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Hank Williams's sister, Irene, gave this photo to my friend Marty Stuart, and Marty sent it to me. It depicts country music's troublemaking genius in a rare moment of peace, riding his beloved Tennessee walking horse, Hi€'Life. Marty says he loves this picture "because it cuts through the myth and shows what a down-to-earth country man Hank Williams really was."

More than any singer before or after, Hank's life, his death, and his music not only define what country is all about, but they make him the tragic, magic messenger sent here to heal a broken heart. For Hank, I believe, instinctively understood one of the greatest paradoxes of human existence: The only heart that is whole is one that has been broken.

Hank Williams died on January 1, 1953, on the road somewhere between Montgomery, Alabama, and Oak Hill, West Virginia, a twenty-nine-year-old American prophet, a hillbilly Shakespeare, burning out of control like a country music comet exploding in the soul of every kid who ever wanted to be a country star.

Hank, like all of us, I suppose, was on his way to the show he never played. It was a New Year's Day gig in Canton, Ohio. My friend Bob Neuwirth was there as a young teenager and vividly remembers the stunning announcement of Hank's death to the crowd, and Red Foley and his band, from behind the drawn curtain, playing "Peace in the Valley."

It could simply be, as I've often maintained, that some people will do anything to get out of a gig in Canton, Ohio. That was just a joke, folks. Like life itself. The first commandment of country music, I believe, is Never Take Hank Williams More Seriously Than He Took Himself.

Several years ago, my pal in Hawaii, Will Hoover, introduced me to the late great Jerry Byrd, obviously before he became the late great Jerry Byrd, and he gave me some interesting insights into Hank. For those who haven't had their country music hip card punched, Jerry Byrd was the virtuoso steel-guitar player who in large part gave Hank his distinctive sound on many of his biggest hits. Jerry Byrd, indeed, was a musical tutor to Hank and the Drifting Cowboys both in the studio and on the road.

Jerry Byrd believed, from experience with Hank over his brief, turbulent career, that if all country stars behaved like Hank, the fans would revolt. Hank's demons, according to Byrd, had driven him to the point at which he had very little regard for the fans, the band, and ultimately, of course, himself. No time for autographs was putting it mildly, as Jerry Byrd saw it. The irony was that in spite of his life spinning completely out of control and destroying him after four short years of stardom, his star has shined brightly ever since, reaching the hearts of millions of people around the globe.

My theory is that Hank had a little bit of Jesus and Mozart and van Gogh in him, and people are just plain perverse; they like you better when you're dead. That is, everybody except Bill Monroe, who had the unique gift of bringing flowers to the living. On one snowy December night when Hank came through Nashville for the last time, the folks at the Grand Ol' Opry didn't want him to come up and they certainly didn't want to go down and see him. He was only the biggest star they ever had. But it must be admitted, he was also a mess. Of the entire Opry cast, only Bill Monroe went down to the street, got in the Cadillac with Hank, and spoke to him in words that would be Nashville's final farewell to country music's greatest star.

May peace be with Hank and Hi€'Life. May they be safe and sheltered from sorrow. May they ride like the wind. May they walk in peace. May they travel together the trails of their dreams.