Bill's basic backstory

The Praise Caravan had started out with Bill Williams and a couple of his friends, fresh out of school, and two pickup trucks. His gospel/folk/bluegrass band, Bill and the Boys, had traveled tent show circuits in the south, playing and singing for their supper and gas money and not much more. Increased bookings lead to a van for the musicians and a trailer for their gear, then a nicer van and a nicer trailer.

In a few years Bill and the Boys were big enough to warrant an opening act, so they lent a hand-me-down van to a younger, less polished group that followed them from place to place. Occasionally someone's friend's or cousin's band would join them for a few stops, too. That was when the touring act became a caravan, although Bill wouldn't change the name for another few years yet. It wasn't until the aging Boys tired of life on the road and opted, one by one, to drop out of the band and start families that Bill was forced to paint a new name on the side of the bus.

Bill found the transition from headliner to manager easier than he'd expected, and he discovered that he genuinely enjoyed nurturing new talent. Entering middle age, Bill Williams had enough clout in southern gospel circles to keep his bus —buses now — moving and his revenues growing. He shuffled the caravan's roster every season or two to keep up with the public's tastes, and to provide himself backup for a quartet so he could keep one foot on the stage. He turned the increasingly complicated business end of things over to longtime friend Jimmy Hindman, who also happened to have a great bass voice, and concentrated on turning the Praise Caravan into the popular brand it was today.

Here Bill paused in his story. Now we get to the good stuff, I thought, nodding encouragement. But my hopes that Bill would reveal his secret heart were soon dashed. He didn't continue until I turned the monologue into an interview.

"How do you choose who to add to the roster and who to cut?" I asked.

Bill answered, "I get dozens of audition tapes from performers and their agents every year, and I also meet a lot of people at music festivals and revivals and in the churches I visit. I discovered Phillip Davis, for instance, singing at a county fair. It's very hard to choose among so much talent. I add acts to the Caravan based on quality, experience, and how well they fit in with the rest of the lineup."

This made me wonder even more about the La Pierre Family Singers, which seemed too homey to blend with the other, slicker acts. However, I couldn't think of a good way to ask the question without insulting them, so I passed over it for the moment to ask something else I'd wondered about.

"What about the Kelly Brothers?" I asked. "They're your nephews. Did they have to audition like everybody else?"

Bill smiled a knowing smile. "I've taken my share of grief for hiring my sister's sons, but the truth is, I knew a long time ago that they'd be perfect for the Praise Caravan. They've been singing in church since they were toddlers, and their talent is obvious. Their mother made me wait until Quill finished school, or I'd have brought those boys on years ago."

I wondered how Quentin Kelly, age 39, felt about being referred to as a boy. I glanced at him poring over some large sheets of paper at a table nearby. Engrossed, he didn't look up. I knew the Kellys had joined the tour only two years ago when Quilleran, a "bonus" child 15 years younger than his oldest brother, had graduated from college. The elder two — Quin was 33 — had already had wives, careers, and in Quentin's case, children when they joined the tour. It seemed an odd time of life for such a drastic shifting of gears, but if they loved music and had a chance to make a go of it, why not?

I returned my attention to Bill. "And the other acts? How did you find them?"

"I'll let them tell you themselves. That should give you enough for now."

I know a dismissal when I hear one. I also noticed that he hadn't responded to the part about cutting acts from the lineup. That, I supposed, could wait.

"All right, Bill, thanks," I said. "I'll have your interview, the first blog, and some design edits to show you by the time we get there."

"Fine, Kielle, fine." His thoughts were already elsewhere.

I set up shop at the table opposite Quentin's and commenced typing. The first blog entry, which I'd been composing in my head since I received Don's phone call, went quickly. It was really just a more detailed version of the speech I'd given on stage the night before. Bill's interview also came together without much trouble. He was accustomed to speaking in sound bites, which made my job easier. Weaving in additional facts and bits of history I'd gleaned from previous reading, I had it done in about 90 minutes.