Several years back – I believe it would have been eight or nine years ago – I was in Nashville on book tour for my publisher. Nashville was always good to me with lots of radio and television appearances, good crowds at the signings, and a spot on its best-seller lists. In between obligations, I was going to have lunch with my longtime friend, Don Light, one of the pioneers of the music business. “An original hillbilly,” he would say. Those men who started in the business in the early days, always referred to themselves as hillbillies. It was a badge worn proudly and those who still survive, refer to themselves as such. It’s a small, exclusive club. Don was sharing a cute bungalow on 17thAvenue, owned by Chet Atkins’ estate, with producer extraordinaire Tony Brown. His secretary waved me into his office where I found Don on the phone in a well-mannered – he was a true, soft-spoken Southern gentleman – disagreement with someone. There was a glossy magazine spread open on his desk. A few minutes later, he hung up the phone, shaking his head in exasperation.