A Little Bit Like Home

The Friend Who Never Says Goodbye

Some friendships begin because two people choose each other. Others begin because somebody makes a housing assignment. I met Bart Hansen in the summer after our junior year of high school, at Nebraska Christian College in Norfolk, NB. The program was New Way Singers, which brought high school students together for several days of rehearsal before sending us on tour to sing in churches and stay with host families. Bart was tall and lanky, from Pierson, Iowa. He sang bass. I sang tenor. He wore cowboy boots and a blue Chicago Cubs hat, which seemed unusual until you got to know Bart.

I will be the first to say we were not instantly close. I had been part of New Way the summer before and already had a friend to room with once we hit the road. But when the first night’s housing assignments were announced, I was paired with Bart. The couple we stayed with lived quite a ways out in the country. Conversation on the drive was limited by the fact that Bart and I were in the back seat and they were hard of hearing. When we arrived, the husband showed us a collection of medals and trophies he had won in sharpshooting contests and said if we wanted, we could try our hand at shooting in the morning.

The next morning, after breakfast, he filled two 1-gallon milk jugs with water, then trekked out beyond the backyard, tying them in a tree. Returning to the house, he brought out a heavy bull-barrel rifle with a scope. Bart shot first and annihilated the target. That meant the pressure was on me. I lined up the shot, pulled the trigger, and the jug instantly exploded. When we returned inside, the old man took two medals from his collection and gave one to each of us for our sharpshooting skills. As fate would have it, Bart and I roomed together every night of the tour and quickly became closer friends.

Bart carried his own entertainment with him. Before tour, he had somehow acquired the handset from an old telephone that no longer worked. He would pull it from his pocket and begin talking as if he were in the middle of an important conversation. At malls, he would do the same, then turn to a complete stranger and say, “It’s for you.” This was years before cellphones, which made the whole thing much funnier.

Our friendship continued beyond New Way Singers. He visited me at Mizzou. I went to Branson to watch him perform. He sang “Somebody’s Prayin’” at our wedding. Bart always wanted to be involved in country music, and eventually he made his way to Nashville, where he performed on stages along Nashville’s Broadway. In the early 2000s, he called to tell me he was joining Loretta Lynn on tour. At first, he drove the bus, sold merchandise, and occasionally played with the band. Within a few years, he became the frontman for The Coalminers, Loretta’s band.

Beth and I saw him perform with her several times. There was always a pinch-yourself quality to watching my friend sing duets with Miss Loretta, but the best part was the Bart on stage was the same Bart I had known since I was 17. In late spring 2013, our family traveled to Nashville for Bart’s wedding. A few weeks later, I had my heart attack and was scheduled for bypass surgery. Bart’s Facebook post was perfect: “I love you, Tommy. Somebody’s praying.” I do not generally like being called Tommy, but the list of people who can call me that is short. Bart is on it.

Bart is one of those friends I do not see often enough. When we do talk, the conversation begins as if only a few days have passed. At the end of a call, Bart never says goodbye. He says, “See you later,” or “Love you, Tommy,” and then he hangs up. I am a person who likes closure, so this should probably bother me. But it does not. Some friendships begin with a room assignment, two milk jugs, and a medal in a suitcase. If you are lucky, decades later, you can still hear that friend’s voice keeping the conversation going.

Tom Brand is a St. Joseph, Missouri, writer whose latest book, “You Have To Leave If You Want To Come Back,” is available at RichardsonPress.com. He still has the sharpshooting medal, the memories, and a friend who never says goodbye.