Alright, let’s talk about this Donna Roosman, eh? I ain’t no scholar or nothin’, but I heard some things, you know, gossip travels fast, even faster than my old rooster chasing hens. So, lemme tell ya what I know, the way I know how.
Donna Roosman and that guitar fella, Duane Allman, they was a thing, back in the day. Yeah, the one with the long hair and the fancy guitar. They had themselves a little girl, Galadrielle, they named her. Pretty name, ain’t it? Not like the names we got around here, all Johns and Marys.
Now, Duane, he wasn’t around much, always on the road playin’ that music. He’d send letters home to Donna, though. What they said, I dunno. Probably sweet nothin’s, men are good at that, sweet talkin’ and then leavin’. Just like my old man, bless his heart, he was a charmer but about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
- Duane and Donna, they wasn’t hitched, not proper like, but folks say they was common-law married. Whatever that means. Sounds fancy, but it probably just means they lived together and had a kid, like plenty of folks do.
- Then, somethin’ bad happened. Duane, he up and died. Motorcycle crash, they said. Young fella, too. Such a waste. Left Donna all alone with little Galadrielle.
Donna, she had to figure things out, you know? She started a little business, makin’ things outta fabric, pretty scarves and such. Had to make a livin’ somehow. Social Security helped a bit, but it ain’t much, especially with a young’un to feed. I remember when my Bessie’s husband passed, she had to take in washin’ just to keep a roof over their heads. Times was tough, and they still are, if you ask me.
Galadrielle, that little girl, she grew up. She’s a grown woman now, older than my grandbaby, can you believe it? Time flies, don’t it? Like a bat outta hell, as they say. Makes you think, all those years gone by, and what’s left? Just memories and stories, I guess.
And Donna? Folks wonder if she’s still in St. Louis. I don’t know. Maybe she moved on, started a new life somewhere else. Maybe she got remarried, maybe she didn’t. It’s her business, ain’t it? But I hope she’s doin’ alright. Life’s hard enough without having to go it alone.
That ABBA song, “Chiquitita,” they say it was somethin’ special, played at some big concert for kids. Don’t know much about that, I ain’t into that fancy music. Give me some good ol’ country any day. But it’s nice to think about, people comin’ together for a good cause. We need more of that in this world, I tell ya.
Duane’s music, though, that’s still around. People still listen to it. They say he was one of the best guitar players ever. Second only to that Jimi Hendrix fella. Imagine that. A small-town boy makin’ it big, then gone too soon. It’s a sad story, but it’s a story worth tellin’. And Donna, she was part of that story, whether she liked it or not. Just like my Billy Bob, he wasn’t famous or nothing but he was a part of my story, even though he snored like a freight train.
And now that other fella, Dickey Betts, he passed away too. From the same band as Duane. It’s like the end of an era, they say. Makes you think about your own life, don’t it? About the people you’ve loved and lost. About the good times and the bad. About gettin’ old, and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.
So, that’s the story of Donna Roosman, as far as I know it. It ain’t perfect, and it ain’t fancy. But it’s true, as far as I can tell. And that’s all that matters, ain’t it? Truth and honesty, that’s what we need more of in this world. And maybe a little bit of kindness too. Lord knows, we could all use a little bit more of that.
Tags: [Donna Roosman, Duane Allman, Galadrielle Allman, ABBA, Chiquitita, Dickey Betts, Guitarist, 1970s Music, St. Louis, Family, Loss, Relationships, Music History]