A long road back
The Silver Mullet was a country-western bar owned by legendary country music singer, songwriter and producer Carl Evans. The Mullet had flourished in the five years since he bought it, after retiring from country music.
Carl was behind the counter, while servers got the bar ready to be opened. He was a tall man, in his early sixties. His face was leathery and worn. He wiped the counter down with a towel. Carl looked over his shoulder at the numerous accolades that lined the wall behind the bar. Carl had received almost every award offered in country music. A small smile came onto his face. Then he turned back to the bar and looked at a faded picture under the counter. He looked at a picture of him, taken about ten years earlier, embracing a smiling women, who was about his same age. He frowned at the framed memory. He turned back toward the trophies on the wall and glared with contempt.
Across the way he saw that tonight's band was making its way into the bar. This band looked the same as hundreds that he had seen file into his bar over the last five years. They were a bunch of kids with instruments, he thought. He saw a rough looking young man bringing up the rear of the posse. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. He had a sturdy build and a familiar swagger to his walk. "That has to be David," Carl told himself. He had personally talked with David and setup the gig because Sara was off work sick. David Moore was a spark plug. He knew what he wanted. Carl felt sorry for him as he thought back on his own situation.
Carl was just like David once, a long time ago. He was full of wind, and the world was his to conquer. Carl had raised Hell and made music with the best of them in the sixties. He blazed a trail of country hits, and rose to the top of country music, before becoming a very successful producer. Some of the biggest acts in country music today had Carl's guidance to thank. But it all came at a price.
Carl met Angel while he was at the top of his career as a performer. The two fell in love and married. His marriage was a big part of his decision to leave the road behind and begin producing other bands. What he learned was that the other side of country music was no less hectic. The hours were long for a producer, especially a good one. His time at home became less and less, the more successful he became.
Now, all Carl has to show for a twenty-five year marriage was a tattered picture, and a huge void in his heart. He gave up country music all together, in an effort to save his dying marriage. But Angel would not come back.
"You can't quit, Carl. It's in your blood. It doesn't matter if it is singing, writing or whatever. You can't quit on music."
"Your wrong Angel, baby," Carl began, pleading. "I can, and I have. I'm done. I called Capitol this morning and quit. I cancelled all of my appointments to come here."
Carl remembers that conversation well. One of the appointments he had that day was with a young man named Garth Troyal Brooks. He lost a lot that day.

"I don't believe you, Carl. I can't believe you. You don't know what it's like to lay around the house, all day and night wondering if and when you were coming home. You can never love me that way I need you to, Carl. I'm going back to North Carolina. Don't come lookin' for me. I am filing for divorce on Monday."
He did get divorced, and he did quit. In one day he lost all that he had. His name was still important in some circles, but the man behind it was just a shell. People would come in sometimes and talk about old times. Carl would just nod and smile. He didn't care anymore.

David's band setup and played a really mean set. The sound was fresh and well played. David seemed to have a way of captivating people when he was on stage. He was raw, and green, but good. After the band was done and all of the patrons had gone home, David cornered Carl.
"Mr. Evans, thank you for letting us play."
"Thanks you, David. Everybody had a good time, nobody got hurt, and you guys did a good job." Carl didn't want to pump David up too much. "Who have you guys signed on with?"
"Nobody. Not yet anyway. We've seen a lot of closed doors. Actually, I know you are retired, but I thought I could trouble you for some advice."
Carl felt his chest tighten. He had turned down such offers a dozen times over the last five years. But something about the look on David's face made Carl hesitate to turn him aside. David had a look of exhausted desperation. Some guys would knock on a few doors, get a little rejection, and come asking for help. Carl decided to qualify David. Chances were that he would find out that David hadn't gotten enough no's to expect a yes.
"Yeah, I got a minute. Let's sit down." The two men pulled chairs off of a nearby table and sat down.
"How many people have you talked to David?" Carl asked.
David mentally does a tally. "Thirty three, but that is counting some people twice."
"Thirty three?" Carl thought. This kid must doing something wrong, Carl thought.
"That's a lot, kid. Who are you talking to?"
"Mr. Evans, sir, I have been to every label in the book. I have sent demos and makes calls until I am at my wits end."
"You don't have a manager?" Carl asked.
"No sir, I can't afford one. I can't pay my boys what they are worth if I invest in a manager. I have some really good musicians, and I would like to keep them."
The picture was becoming clearer now. For all of his talent on stage, he seemed to be clueless on how to manage his career.
"David, I believe that you have the tools to be a successful singer, but you have a lot to learn. As good as they seem, pickers and drummers are a dime a dozen. This is a tough market that you are in. I ain't promising anything, but I have some friends that I am going to call on your behalf. I am going to tell them what I think you need. I can't even promise that they'll meet with you, but I will put in a good word."
David flashed his million dollar smile. "Thank you, Mr. Evans, sir. I would like to come back and play, if you'll let me."
"That's fine by, David. Just call Sara sometime and set it up."

Carl made some calls to some old buddies, who were more interested in talking about the good old days than discussing new business. Some of them agreed to look into David, though none seemed overly eager.
"Well, Carl," one said. "You've been out for a while. Five years is like fifty years in the music business. It ain't that I don't trust your judgment, it's just that people like a different kind of music today."
"Look, Reggie, I might be out of touch with the latest sound, but I know what it is a man has to be made of to make it. This kid's got it. He's got guts, Reggie. He's got guts, and looks and talent."
Reggie paused. "Ok, Carl. For you, I'll look into him. It's good to hear from you buddy. We miss you. We all do."

A couple months later Carl got a call from David. "Mr. Evans, sir," David started, with desperation in his voice.
"Carl, call me Carl, son."
"Ok, Carl. I really need to talk some more. I am still having trouble getting anybody's attention."
"Did anybody call you from Capitol?"
"Yeah they called. They wanted a demo. I sent them one and I ain't heard back from them."
Carl cursed silently. He didn't know why he had called those buzzards. They, like most record people, were spineless and couldn't be trusted.
"When are you going to be back this way, David?" Carl asked.
"We are playing the Mullet in . . ." David paused to look at his calendar. ". . . ten days."
"Alright, son. We will talk then. Don't get discouraged. These things take time."
"Ok. Thank you Mr. Eva-Carl." There was audible relief in David's voice.
"Don't mention it. Just try not to worry too much. Remember, the music is what's important. You take care of the music and the music will take care of you."
Carl fumed after that conversation. It was partly because the jerks at Capitol had just placated him, and not really taken his recommendation seriously, and partly because he was starting to care about David, and his career. He could feel the beast sucking him back in. He really didn't want to get involved in country music again. He felt like Superman trying to retire. He left the industry without knowing, or caring about, the impact it would have on the industry. Now he could see that he was successful because he took care of people like David, people of integrity and a desire to succeed. Carl had found people that the "big dogs" had rejected and helped them believe in themselves.
"What did he have to lose?" he asked himself. Angel was gone for good. This bar didn't need him around to be successful. He wasn't ready to retire, not really. Country music had consumed him so fully because he loved it so much.
He had been his own road manager for awhile. Other than that, he hadn't really managed anybody in a hands-on way. He hadn't made his mind up fully, but he could feel the workings of his subconscious exciting him.

"Hell of a job today, son." Carl began as David sat down at the table in a chair adjacent to him.
"Thank you, sir. I had fun. I always do." David replied.
"That's the key. Have fun and play your heart out. We can take this a long way."
David looked up at Carl, surprise on his face. "We?" David asked.
"David, I am going to make you an offer. I have thought about this a great deal." Carl paused and looked down at his cup of coffee. "The way I've got it figured, we need each other, David. You need somebody to open some doors, and I need to get off of my backside. I can't promise anything, but if you will listen to me, I am willing to manage you."
"Mr. E-Carl, I don't know what to say to that. You know what we make per show, I mean-"
"-Don't worry about the money. I don't need to be paid, not until things get rolling at least. I just . . . . I ain't ready to be done yet."
The two men sat silently digesting the conversation for a few moments.
"We can talk more about the details on Monday. Well need to hammer some things out, and sign some stuff. But I would like to get started as soon as possible, if you are interested."
"Yes sir. I am interested. I will see you on Monday."
"Alright, David. Make it 10:00 a.m."
"10:00 a.m. sounds good to me. Just meet you here, in the bar?"
"Yeah that's fine."

Carl lay in bed the next night trying to figure out why he had said what he said. He was genuinely scared about what lay ahead. He wasn't afraid to fail. He had learned to overcome that, years ago. He was mostly afraid that he would succeed, and how that would change him. Would he become the person he once was? Would be become a workaholic who invested his entire life in his work? Would he care? A part of him wanted to at least have something to care for. He told himself that he was doing it mainly for David, and people like him. Maybe if he told himself that enough, he would believe it. Maybe.