Yesterday we lost a towering figure in the history of popular music and one of the kindest, humblest, most gracious people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.

Phil Everly has died at the age of 74.

I met Phil Everly in the fall of 2011.  I was one of the founders of what then was known as The Buddy Holly Guitar Foundation and is now The Buddy Holly Educational Foundation and had worked to secure the participation of musicians like Pete Townshend, Brian May, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Graham Nash. That work led to being asked to assist in organizing the unveiling of Buddy Holly’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on what would have been his 75^th birthday on September 7, 2011. In addition, I consulted on the production of the PBS filmed concert that evening that featured the likes of Stevie Nicks, Lyle Lovett, Chris Isaak, Graham Nash, Patrick Stump, Boz Scaggs, Raul Malo, Michelle Branch, Shawn Colvin, Paul Anka, Cobra Starship, and guitar deities James Burton and Albert Lee.

From the outset, I thought that the one person who really needed to be present at the celebration of the bespectacled one’s 75th birthday was Phil Everly. Phil had known and toured with Buddy and had served as a pallbearer at Buddy’s funeral in 1959.  So, I contacted him and asked him to speak at the unveiling and to perform in the tribute concert. Even then Phil’s health was failing – he suffered from Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) – and he said that he might not be up to performing, but that he’d be honored to speak at the unveiling of Buddy’s star. “I’d really like to be there for Buddy’s memory,” he said.

Phil arrived at the unveiling ceremony in the company of his family and was quickly ushered to the speakers’ area and I wasn’t able to greet him. During the ceremony, Phil stood at the side of Buddy’s widow, Maria Elena Holly, and spoke movingly and eloquently about his friendship with Buddy. The photo of the moment reveals a beaming Phil Everly, thrilled to be able to honor a fallen friend.

At the reception that followed in Capitol Recording Studio A, as I wandered through the crowd of invited guests looking for Phil, I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and came face to face with Phil. “Are you John?” He humbly asked. “I want to thank you.” His grace, charm, and humility were even more apparent when I took to the riser to present him an award.  He joked about not being deserving and deflected all attention back to Buddy Holly, remarking on the injustice of the Everly Brothers receiving a star before Buddy.

As the reception drew to a close, I approached Phil and asked if he’d be willing sing in the evening concert’s finale, an all-star rendition of That’ll Be the Day. “I’d like that,” he said. I advised him on the time for rehearsal of the finale and we parted. Phil hadn’t performed in public in years and this, sadly, would prove to be his last.

Rehearsal was scheduled from early afternoon until shortly before the evening’s curtain time. As time for the finale run-through approached, Phil was nowhere to be found. One of the event’s stressed-out organizers pulled me aside and caustically remarked, “But, I thought you said he’d sing in the finale? He’s got to rehearse.” I reached Phil through his son, who told me that Phil was very tired from the morning’s events and was resting. “I just don’t know if he’ll be up to attending, let alone performing tonight. We’ll just have to wait and see.” That seemed completely reasonable and fair to me and I said so, adding that it had been an honor to have Phil attend and speak at the day’s earlier events.  The organizers weren’t quite so congenial.

Rehearsal came and went, but no Phil.

Just before the curtain rose, a rested and very happy Phil Everly walked through the main door of the theater. He threaded his way through the incoming crowd, said hello, posed for a photograph with Maria Elena Holly and me, and virtually skipped to his spot in the front row of tables in the audience. My wife and I sat a couple of tables away and I couldn’t help but glance Phil’s way now and then, and he looked radiant.

The tribute to Buddy also became something of a tribute to Phil. Nearly every performer who took the stage looked down at Phil sitting in the front row and uttered some form of tribute. Perhaps Chris Isaak put it best when he remarked on how intimidating it was to sing before a singer of Phil’s caliber. By evening’s end, we all knew Phil would join in the finale.

As rehearsed while Phil was recuperating from the day’s earlier events, That’ll Be the Day began with Raul Malo singing the opening verse solo. The concert’s stars slowly walked on stage and suddenly there was Phil stepping to the microphone to sing a verse! Graham Nash rasied his hands over his head, applauded Phil, and shook his head as in disbeleif at what he was witnessing. It was a sight to behold and every person in the theater, performer and audience member alike, knew that this was a magic moment.

As applause died down and the performers exited back stage, Phil, as I imagine was his custom, chose a different path. He climbed down the stairs, greeted Maria Elena Holly, and then approached me. I could only see the mist of my tears as he thanked and embraced me.

I certainly can’t say that I knew Phil Everly well. But I did spend sufficient time with him to learn that he was so much more than a brilliant musician and songwriter. Humble, self-effacing, and kind. Sure, he enjoyed being at center stage one more time. But doing it for a cause and to serve the legacy of someone else obviously moved him.

After hearing of Phil’s death, I watched that finale on YouTube.  There’s Phil, holding the microphone with Graham Nash, Lyle Lovett, Chris Isaak, Raul Malo, Michele Branch, Shawn Colvin, and Boz Skaggs gazing at him in awe and wonder. Yeah, I snapped a screen-capture as the credits rolled and my name appeared next to a triumphant Phil Everly. I met the man with the golden voice only once and my role in his life qualifies as but the tiniest of asterisks. But his grace and humility were palpable and I still get the chills recalling that day.

May you rest in peace, Mr. Everly.

(all photographs by John Rowlands)