A dozen years ago my wife, Linda, came home from work one day humming a tune. “What’s the name of this song?” she asked. “I can’t get it out of my head. You play it all the time on the piano.”
“Doesn’t have a name,” I said. Nearly every evening I’d unwind at our old Knabe baby grand — messin’ around at the piano, as my mother use to put it. Coming home from my job at AT&T, I sat down at the keyboard to relax. I played from sheet music, or accompanied songs I heard on the radio. Sometimes I just made something up. But it had never occurred to me until now that I had actually written a song.
At Linda’s urging, I wrote out the melody and chords. “If something ever happens to me, the song won’t be lost,” I told her. Several months later I played it at the christening of our friend’s baby girl, Rachel. It didn’t have words, just a tune. From that day on, we called it “Rachel’s Song,” for our goddaughter.
Over the next three years, my work kept me too busy to give my melody much thought. I traveled around the country consulting with plant managers on how they could make their factories more efficient with a computer system. “Sometime when you are in Nashville,” Linda said, “why don’t you record a demo? We could give a copy to Rachel.”