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It may seem unlikely that a middle-aged woman would sprout an all-out obsession with a famous dead guitarist, leading to a love affair with a city some 2,000 miles away. But this “Austin thing” has been one of the most meaningful chapters of my six decades on the planet — and it ain’t over yet.

Like most people of a certain generation, I knew a little something about Texas blues guitar legend Stevie Ray Vaughan, whose star burned brightly until a helicopter crash clipped his life at age 35. But though he’s been gone more than 30 years, it wasn’t until I stumbled upon one of his YouTube clips about eight years ago that I fully comprehended his power. 

Watching him tear it up on his Fender Strat, sweat dripping down from underneath his black bolero hat, I found Stevie utterly spellbinding — so much so that I went straight down that YouTube rabbit hole, jumping from one video to the next. But I wanted to know more. Who was this man who performed with the ferociousness of a lion, yet seemed so gentle and humble offstage? What was his story? 

I devoured every article and book I could find about him. But I felt the only way to truly immerse in Stevie’s story, to get a tangible sense of his life and times, was to visit the place where it all happened. Austin was where Stevie moved to chase his music dreams when he left his Dallas home at age 17, and it was where he ultimately rose to fame, riding a wave of worldwide success until it came to a tragic end on that fateful night in 1990. His bandmates, the rhythm section known as Double Trouble, were not on that copter, left to carry on without their beloved leader and friend.

My first trip to Texas was in February 2016. So many serendipitous things began to happen that it felt as though Stevie himself was the silent puppeteer behind the scenes, pulling strings.

Venturing to the legendary blues club Antone’s, one of many Austin venues where Stevie made his mark, synchronicity was at work: Tommy Shannon, his longtime bassist, was playing that night with his own blues band. When I walked in the door and spotted him sitting alone at the bar, it felt like kismet. 

Tommy and I spent about 30 minutes chatting before he took the stage. It would be the first of many encounters with important Austin musicians, many of them former Stevie bandmates. 

The most pivotal of these encounters happened in the most woo-woo of ways. In 2017, I headed to Austin’s Bullock Museum for a special exhibit honoring Stevie. While eyeballing a black-and-white print of a very young Stevie, I overheard a woman animatedly describing the day she’d taken the photo. Turned out she was a photojournalist who at the time was working for the Austin American-Statesman.

I confessed I’d been thinking of writing a book and wanted to interview Stevie’s longtime drummer, Chris “Whipper” Layton. Her eyes twinkled.

“Oh!” she giggled. “Chris and I went to school together. He’s now a neighbor.” 

I mean, what were the odds?

I gave her my number and she passed it along. Some nine months later, I saw an unknown caller pop up on my phone. It was Chris, and he was as surprised as I was: He thought he was calling his photographer friend, but had accidentally called me. We talked for more than an hour — a conversation that led to three years of collaboration on a possible memoir. 

The book did not come to fruition. But the interview process meant multiple trips to Austin to spend countless hours with a fascinating human and famous drummer. On my list of extraordinary life experiences, this one is up near the top.

My love for Texas blues (and maybe just a bit of brazenness) has led to many other pinch-me moments. I’ve had a private tour of Stevie-related landmarks, including his childhood home and grave, in Dallas. I’ve met Stevie’s original bassist, Jackie Newhouse. Remarkably, I once spent three hours at the home of the late Denny Freeman, another former Stevie bandmate and one of Austin’s most acclaimed guitarists. When I’d go to his gigs, Denny, the ultimate Texas gentleman, would often spend his break times chatting with me. 

When I visit now, it’s not uncommon for me to walk into a club and be approached by a musician who recognizes me, or meet up with a local pal (I’ve made several) for a show. There’s been a definite domino effect. One connection has led to another.

It’s been a life-altering, even spiritual experience, this Austin thing. I can’t help but think Stevie is behind all of it — and I will forever thank him.   

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