A small piece of paper. Shaky handwriting. A thank-you never spoken aloud… and Don Williams carried it with him until the day he died.
In 2005, during a concert in Austin, Texas, Don Williams—known for his quiet voice and gentle soul—was handed a folded note by an elderly woman who came on stage. She was a familiar face at shows, often writing letters to artists, and no one thought much of it at first.
But once she left the stage, Don unfolded the letter, read a few lines… and fell silent.
The woman’s name was Martha Elkins, 76, a retired literature teacher from West Texas. She was battling terminal lung cancer and believed this might be her last concert. In her letter, she wrote:
“You don’t know me, but your voice helped me survive losing my husband, my son, and parts of myself. Thank you for singing softly—like talking to an old friend. If I’m not around much longer, I hope you know… you’ve saved me more times than you’ll ever understand.”
Don was so moved that he asked his team to help him reach her again—but just days later, he was informed that Martha had passed away the same night, on her way home.
He kept the letter—not framed, not filed—but folded into quarters, tucked inside his wallet. He carried it to every performance after that.
“I never sang for awards. I sing for people like her,” he once said in a rare interview.
In 2017, after Don passed away, that same letter was found in his wallet—next to a faded family photo.