FARON YOUNG, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: On the afternoon of July 8, 1992, Faron hosted four South Dakota gals at his Old Hickory home. My best friend and her two daughters were driving with me to Jacksonville, Florida, where I lived, and I called Faron to let him know we’d be coming through Nashville. He actually answered his phone, and he offered to meet us and take us to lunch. We followed him to his house, and he gave us a ride in his baby blue Lincoln. I wish I’d paid more attention when he took us on a tour and showed us the lake house where he formerly lived. Then we visited while the two girls swam in his pool. Faron told me he wanted to be cremated when he died because he didn’t want anyone staring at his grave. I don’t know how we got on that subject, but it seemed to me something far too distant to even think about.

LETTERS
Monsieur ANGLARES Dominique writes from France, “Glad to know your book will be soon published and promotion is starting. Can you help me to have the fall catalog ’cause I’m hungry to read that full-page spread. . . . As soon as I will have material about your book, or the book himself, I will give you a plug on the web and magazine. Until then, have good holidays and have a safe travel.”

Andy Williford, Faron’s boyhood friend, says, “I am looking forward to reading the book, because from my standpoint, it should be interesting.”

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