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Years after Don Rich died, Buck Owens was still walking onstage with his friend’s guitar. It was a silver-flecked Telecaster, the kind of instrument that had once belonged naturally in Don’s hands beside him. By the late 1980s, Buck had already stepped away from the relentless recording and touring schedule that made the Bakersfield Sound famous, yet he continued playing that guitar as a quiet way of keeping Don close. The two men had worked together for sixteen years, sharing stages, recording sessions and the tight vocal harmonies that made Buck’s records recognizable within seconds. Buck later said Don had been as much a part of his sound as he was. On July 17, 1974, Don finished work at Buck’s Bakersfield studio and left on his motorcycle to join his family for a vacation along the California coast. He never arrived. Near Morro Bay, the motorcycle struck a center divider on Highway 1. Don was thirty-two years old, less than a month from his thirty-third birthday. The accident ended a partnership that had begun when Buck first met him as a teenager in Washington and quickly realized that the young fiddler and guitarist could hear musical ideas almost before Buck finished explaining them. Buck kept working because there were contracts, television commitments and people depending on him, but the machinery of the career no longer carried the same life. He later described the years after Don’s death as a haze and said he believed he had come close to a nervous breakdown. Recording became sporadic, touring gradually diminished, and by the end of the decade he had largely withdrawn from the road. The loss reached far beyond friendship. Don’s sharp Telecaster lines, high harmony and instinctive understanding of Buck’s phrasing had helped build the sound that separated Bakersfield from Nashville during the 1960s. Replacing the musician was possible; replacing the chemistry was not. Even years later, Buck spoke of the two of them as something larger than a normal singer-and-guitarist partnership. He eventually returned to the charts with Dwight Yoakam and “Streets of Bakersfield” in 1988, giving Buck his first No. 1 single in sixteen years. The comeback introduced him to a younger generation, but it never erased the break that had occurred on that California highway. Don Rich was no longer standing at Buck’s shoulder when the applause came back. But his guitar was.

“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

YEARS AFTER DON RICH DIED, BUCK OWENS WAS STILL CARRYING HIS GUITAR

Years after Don Rich was gone, Buck Owens could still walk onto a stage holding something that had belonged in his friend’s hands.

It was a silver-flecked Telecaster.

By the late 1980s, Buck was no longer living at the relentless pace that had made the Bakersfield Sound famous, but he continued playing Don’s guitar. It was not a replacement for the man who had stood beside him for sixteen years.

It was a way of keeping part of him there.

The Music Had Been Built Between Them

Buck first met Don as a teenager in Washington.

Don was a fiddler then, later becoming the guitarist whose sharp Telecaster lines and high harmony vocals would become inseparable from Buck’s records.

Their musical communication was unusually quick. Buck could begin explaining an idea and Don seemed to understand where it was going before the thought was finished.

By the 1960s, that chemistry was everywhere in songs like “Act Naturally,” “Love’s Gonna Live Here” and “Together Again.”

Buck later said Don was as much a part of his sound as he was.

The Ride Toward the Coast

On July 17, 1974, Don finished work at Buck’s studio in Bakersfield and climbed onto his motorcycle.

His family was already heading toward a vacation along the California coast.

Don planned to meet them there.

Near Morro Bay, his motorcycle struck a center divider on Highway 1.

He never arrived.

Don Rich was thirty-two years old.

Buck Kept Working

There was no practical way for Buck to stop immediately.

Contracts remained. Television commitments remained. Employees and musicians depended on the operation continuing.

So he kept going.

But later, Buck described the period after Don’s death as a haze and said he believed he had come close to a nervous breakdown.

The records became less frequent.

The touring slowly diminished.

By the end of the decade, one of country music’s hardest-working performers had largely stepped away from the road.

A Musician Could Be Replaced. The Partnership Could Not.

Other guitarists could learn Don’s parts.

That was never really the problem.

What disappeared was the instinct between the two men—the timing of a harmony, the attack of a guitar phrase, the ability to know where Buck was going before he got there.

That relationship had helped separate Bakersfield from the smoother Nashville records of the era.

When Don died, Buck did not simply lose a band member.

Part of the machinery that created his music disappeared with him.

The Applause Came Back

In 1988, Buck recorded “Streets of Bakersfield” with Dwight Yoakam.

The song reached No. 1 and introduced Buck to a younger generation that had grown up hearing the influence of his records in artists like Dwight.

It was Buck’s first chart-topper in sixteen years.

The comeback was real.

So was the absence beside him.

What Don Rich’s Guitar Really Leaves Behind

By then, Don had been gone for more than a decade.

Buck could not bring back the voice that had harmonized with him or the musician who seemed to understand every turn his songs were about to take.

But he could still put Don’s Telecaster around his shoulder.

The crowds returned.

The No. 1 records returned.

Don Rich never did.

His guitar kept standing beside Buck in his place.

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