DON REID AT 78: A Quiet Remembrance in a Virginia Field
At 78 years old, Don Reid stood silently on the edge of a weathered field in Virginia, a place once alive with the joyous sounds of the county fair. Years ago, this very spot had been a vibrant stage where the laughter, hymns, and unmistakable harmonies of the legendary Statler Brothers had filled the air. Now, the wooden platform that once brimmed with banners and resonated with four-part gospel blends was empty—silent, save for the memories it held. The rich voices that once captivated audiences—Harold’s commanding bass, Lew’s gentle tenor, and the sweet gospel refrains—had since faded into the past.
Only Phil Balsley, the last remaining member of the group standing beside Don, was present. The two men, hands quietly folded, looked toward the stage—not as a venue for performance but as a monument to the echoes of days gone by, where memory bore more significance than music itself.
For Don, this moment was heavy with reflection. Throughout decades, he had embraced the role of storyteller and lead singer, always with his brother Harold at his side. Along with Phil, Lew DeWitt, and later Jimmy Fortune, the Statler Brothers evolved into one of the most beloved ensembles in country and gospel music history. From their breakout hit, “Flowers on the Wall,” released in 1965, to decades of gospel-infused concerts, they transcended mere entertainment—becoming companions of faith and family to millions.
“We sang here, and the people sang back. It was all so alive,” Don said quietly, his eyes fixed on the empty stage. “It feels like yesterday.”
Yet now, standing in the Virginia field, the harmony of the group had diminished to just two voices. Harold, Don’s brother in both life and music, had passed away in 2020. Lew had died years earlier in 1990, after a long illness. Even Jimmy Fortune, who still performed with enthusiasm, was absent on this occasion. It was simply Don and Phil—men bound not only by songs but by the ache of memory.
Phil, known for his quiet steadiness throughout the Statlers’ storied career, nodded silently. His voice had always blended seamlessly without seeking the spotlight, embodying the subtle strength within the group. Tonight, that quiet presence carried profound meaning—two longtime friends, survivors of a golden era, standing side by side where their music had once seemed eternal.
The field itself seemed to hold the past within its very soil. Those who remembered decades ago could still almost hear the faint strains of gospel hymns drifting on warm summer evenings: “Amazing Grace,” “Do You Know You Are My Sunshine,” and numerous other spirituals that became synonymous with the Statlers’ performances. For countless fans, these melodies were far more than simple tunes—they were reminders of home, faith, and Sunday gatherings with family.
“The music was never just melody,” recalled longtime fan and gospel music historian Martha Jennings. “It was a source of comfort, something that brought people together in ways words alone never could.”
For Don, these songs now carried a profound weight of absence. The voices etched in memory were no longer around him, yet their impact remained palpable—etched in the hearts of everyone who had shared in their songs.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of soft blues and golds, Don took a few steps closer to the stage. Resting his hand on one weathered post—scarred by years of rain, wind, and sun—he whispered, “We built something here. And it lasted.” His tone was reflective rather than boastful: a man measuring success not by fame or fortune, but by the enduring love carried forward through their music.
“What Don and the Statlers created wasn’t just a career,” reflected Phil Balsley. “It was a bond—something living between us and the people who believed in what we sang.”
For Don, remembrance means honoring what came before without clinging desperately to the past. He often emphasizes that the Statler Brothers’ greatest achievement wasn’t found in awards or chart-topping hits, but in the way their music made listeners feel: comforted, uplifted, and truly seen.
“Their songs gave people hope and a sense of belonging,” said Reverend Samuel Carter, who frequently invited the Statler Brothers to perform at his church during the height of their career. “Don’s voice carried a spirit that touched the soul—it was about more than entertainment.”
As Don turned to leave the field, with Phil quietly by his side, the calm evening offered no applause or encore—only a profound silence that spoke louder than any ovation. This was a moment held sacred between two men who had once shared their gift with the world, now standing together in the quiet shadows of history.
Though the stage was empty, the field did not feel void. It brimmed instead with the presence of songs, echoes, and lives deeply intertwined in harmony. Here, at 78, Don Reid found a quiet peace in knowing that the legacy of the Statler Brothers had not vanished. It lived on—in memory, in music, and in the hearts of all who still carried the sound of their four voices that once sang as one.
