missing tony

I miss Tony. On the days that life or business consumed and it never occurred to me to laugh, he'd call. I'd say Hi. He'd spit out a one-liner. I'd bust a gut laughing. He'd laugh and snort too while he hung up the phone. The whole thing would last maybe thirty seconds. But I'd laugh the rest of the day. It's been too many days now since the last one of those moments. I miss Tony.

Need a gospel flashlight? It doesn't matter. Need it or not, Tony was good at selling you one. He could stand on the stage and sell anything, and most of the time you didn't realize he was pitching. You wanted whatever he offered even if you already had it. And you never felt snookered when you bought his goods. Tony stood by his words because Tony's endorsement was a promise. And even in the Gospel music world that's not always the case. Makes me miss him.

What a voice... When I first heard Tony sing, lots of years ago, it hadn't changed yet. Back then, when he harmonized with his family, his notes were above both his brother AND his sister. But man, when puberty finished with him, what an incredible set of lead-singing pipes he ended up with. Since then, when the song needed a man's power voice, Tony's was it. Otherwise, he was the subtle, blending anchor part that was crucial to some of the prettiest phrasing and harmony anywhere. He knew his parts. I'm glad we have lots of recordings to remember him by. But I still miss his singing.

Hundreds of thousands of people, probably more, have forgotten their worries because Tony gave them a moment and a place in which to escape. He knew that responsibility as he stepped onto the stage every night. He and I would talk about our ministry role of being a balm that soothes while God does the bigger thing of repairing and healing the reasons for the hurt. He'd remind me of that from time to time, especially when I didn't feel like singing. He'd tell me to stop being so selfish and to stop depriving hurting people of their opportunity to feel-good, even if only for a while. "Who knows when they'll get another chance to laugh or feel God?" he'd say. Sometimes I don't want to sing. I need Tony.

Sometimes Tony's tales were heard and accepted by the standards of the National Inquirer's official understanding of believability. If a story is so outlandish that no one in their reasonable mind would believe it, they probably shouldn't. Sometimes I didn't know which parts of his stories were fact or not. It didn't matter though. When Tony told it, it was a Tony tale. We took it for what it was, laughed at it and probably re-told it as our own. His version was always funnier. I'd like to hear the one about the fox tattoo again.

Tony was in love with Taranda. The music they made together was Heaven-meant, and it was impossible to not recognize the chemistry and the believability and the compatibility they had with each other. It was the music that introduced them to each other, but the moments without an audience was what made them lovers and partners. And they were devoted partners. A good part of Tony's life was to support and encourage the incredible and anointed gift that is his wife's. Of course Tony loved Isabella and Jocelyn. He didn't completely understand the thinking of itty-bitty girls. But to love them he didn't have to. Tony loved all of his family, and sometimes they all had a lot to love each other through. He's been my model in that way and I've learned a lot from his example of waiting. Gee, I miss his wisdom.

Tony was devoted to the people who supported him. Only a few days before he went to the hospital for the last time he was in the middle of a huge exhibit hall with a line of fans wrapped around corners and aisles just to see him. Although no one was allowed to touch him for fear of transmitting an infection, he looked tired. And like so many others, I was concerned for him. I told him then that he shouldn't be there. The people would understand There were too many germs, and it was dangerous, and as much as everyone wanted to see him, he would be safer in a more sterile place. He told me that these people meant a lot to him. He wanted to see them while he could because he didn't know if he'd ever have the chance to see them again. Tony loved those people. He appreciate their kindness. He was determined to repay it.

As much as Tony was a cut-up and a charmer, a master communicator, a successful businessman, an accomplished singer, a remarkable entertainer, an effective minister, a devoted lover, a committed father, an incredibly close friend and so much more, Tony was above everything a Christian. His faith identified him. His stories and songs, his phone calls and his life were all wrapped by his commitment and compulsion to share why he laughed, why he loved, why he sang and why he cared. He lived his life doing his best to return the favors that God had been so generous in sharing. I have to tell you, it's so refreshing to remember. But right now I am so missing Tony.