THE FAREWELL THAT BROKE STAUNTON’S HEART — DON REID & JIMMY FORTUNE SING HAROLD HOME ONE LAST TIME
Staunton had always been home for the Statler Brothers — a place where their music wasn’t just heard, but lived. Yet on this night, the familiar hometown stage felt different. Quieter. Heavier. Almost sacred.
When the lights dimmed and the gentle hush settled across the room, Don Reid stepped forward with Jimmy Fortune beside him. No grand introduction. No stories. No attempt to ease the weight in the air. Just two men carrying decades of music, memories, and one name that still echoed like thunder in their hearts.
Don rested a hand on the microphone, steadying himself. He drew in a slow breath, the kind you take when you’re about to open a door you hoped you’d never have to walk through.
“This one’s for Harold… only Harold,” he murmured — barely louder than a whisper.
But everyone heard it.
And everyone felt the tremble in his voice.
Jimmy nodded softly, ready to catch Don if emotion took him under, the way Statlers always caught each other. Then the first chord fell into the silence — warm, low, carrying that familiar ache of a brother remembered and a brother missed.
Don began the song, his voice deeper, slower, shaped by the years since Harold’s laughter last filled a dressing room. Each line felt like a confession he’d held close, waiting for the right moment — or the right courage — to release. And Jimmy’s harmony rose beside him like a gentle hand on the shoulder, steadying the weight of those words.
In that moment, it wasn’t a performance.
It was family saying goodbye.
You could almost feel Harold’s presence at the edge of the stage — that unmistakable strength, that rumbling humor, that big-hearted spirit that anchored every Statler harmony. He wasn’t gone; he was simply beyond sight, listening as his little brother sang the tribute he never got to give while Harold was here to hear it.
By the time Don reached the final whispered line, his voice thinned, tremored, and finally broke — not from age, but from love that refused to let go.
And across the room, grown men wept openly. Longtime fans wiped their eyes. Couples leaned into each other. Even Jimmy stood with glistening eyes, singing softly through the ache.
When the final chord faded, Don didn’t bow.
He didn’t wave.
He didn’t speak.
He simply lowered his head, turned slowly, and walked offstage into the darkness. And in that quiet, heartbreaking exit, the audience felt something they would never forget:
It was as if Don wasn’t walking alone.
It was as if he was following his brother’s shadow home, step by step, note by note.
A farewell years in the making.
A tribute only a brother could sing.
A moment Staunton will carry for the rest of its days.