Alan Walden: the Man Who Hung the Moon

On this day, 66 years ago, a red-headed baby boy was born in a small house off Montpelier Avenue, here in Macon. He was the youngest of three boys, his big brothers being Blue and Phil, and he did his best to keep up with them, despite his acute asthma as a child. The Walden family made their home on a humble ranch off Ayers Road, where the three country brothers had stars in their eyes, girls on their minds, and eventually, a penchant for music that would become known as rhythm and blues . . . and would change their family's courses in life for generations to come.

The story has been told time and time again. Sometimes in different versions, depending on who you ask or what state the person telling it was in at the time. But one thing is for sure, the story rivals any Southern fable; even the silver screen wouldn't properly explain the truth that was lived by those who lived it.

The red-headed baby boy now has two grown daughters and a red-headed son of his own. His hair has never grayed and the creases in his face are the elegant kind that men get from smiling too much. He has a beautiful wife (the third time is the charm!) and a simple life, surrounded by gold and platinum records, museum worthy memorabilia, chicken feathers, treasures from the Bolingbroke dump, and most importantly, family pictures of a family who has been through it all and continues to love each other harder every aging day.

Today, Mom is looking forward to wrapping her arms around that man and telling her daddy how much she loves him and how grateful she is his rock and roll soul has survived this Earth for 66 years.

There is not enough space to write everything her daddy taught her, but a passionate spirit, heart of gold and the beauty of a simple man (or woman) is only the beginning . . .



He checks this blog everyday, so please post your comments wishing Alan Walden a very happy birthday.