The Story behind "Song For Abby"
Villa Montalvo, an expansive estate located in Saratoga, California, once belonged to James Duval Phelan, wealthy Mayor of San Francisco from 1897 to 1901 and US senator from 1914 to 1921. Son of an ambitious Irish immigrant who had made a fortune during the gold rush, Phelan purchased the 160 acre property in 1911, proceeding to have a beautiful Mediterranean mansion constructed with artistic flair and the grounds landscaped with "hidden nooks and wisteria-covered pergolas."
Upon his death in 1930, Villa Montalvo was willed to the San Francisco Art Association along with financial provision to maintain the property as a public park. The primary focus of the buildings and grounds, however, was to be the development of art, literature, music and architecture by promising students. Fortunately, the Art Association was faithful to fulfill that mandate, and Villa Montalvo still stands today as a vibrant Center for the Arts.
Living in the Bay Area in the 80's, I was blessed to be able to participate in the writing courses offered at Montalvo, and was privileged to become a member of the Montalvo Writers Group. With the exception of me, this distinguished little company of writers consisted mainly of wealthy matrons who lived in or near Saratoga. At that time, I was the youngest, the least affluent, and the only songwriter, but what we all shared in common was a passion to become more proficient in our craft, to help one another mature as writers, and to encourage one another to be the best we could be.
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Having wealthy in-laws who owned property in Saratoga, I would sometimes coordinate poetry readings under the magnificent spreading elm tree in their back yard. Other times, we would Invite an accomplished writer or poet to inspire and challenge our creativity. Once, one of our members hosted such an event at her home, bringing a local published poet, Abby Niebauer, to give us some instruction.
The day we gathered was a perfect California afternoon. Our member's homewas elegant, beautiful and spacious, inside and out. After refreshments, introductions, 3nd a taste of her poetry, Ms. Neibauer gave us our assignment. Each of us was to find a place outside where we would feel comfortable writing. We could use the literary form of our choice, but the content had to include something about water or birds. She charged us to listen to our environment and let it inspire us.
1 chose a garden chair positioned under a shady tree from which emanated the bountiful sound of bird chatter. As I closed my eyes, a soft breeze washed across my face and the melodious chirping filled my senses. Almost immediately, a lyrical melody wafted into my mind, and before I knew it, a little song poem had been created! In some ways I felt like a scribe merely taking dictation. But it didn't take long for me to realize that the song had a message, and that message was for a very particular person...our guest poet.
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When it came time to share our creations with the group, I sang the poem as best as I could remember hearing it.
Abby was quite touched by the song. When we chatted later, 1 promised to make a recording and send it to her. I followed up on my promise not many days thereafter, and she responded with a very lovely note, thanking me for taking the time to do so and sharing about her mother's recent illness.
A few weeks later I had the opportunity to meet her husband at a party she had been unable to attend. He seemed quite amiable, and I was really glad to meet him. I Inquired about Abby, and he said she was doing well.
Some time passed by. Then one day I received in the mail an invitation to a memorial reading of Abby Neibauer's poetry. Memorial reading....those words hit me hard. Did that mean what I thought it did? Did that mean she had died?
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Somewhat unbelieving, I contacted a friend in the Writers Group. She confirmed that Abby was indeed dead, and that the events surrounding her death were very strange. Apparently, her husband had been cleaning or holding his rifle which accidentally discharged, killing Abby instantly. The Incident had been thoroughly investigated by the police, and he was not found guilty of any crime. Nonetheless, I was told, some people weren't so sure, and the artistic community was both shocked and deeply saddened by this tragedy.
That summer, while performing in the San Jose Museum of Art as a part of their annual Arts in the Park Festival, I shared a number of original poems and songs, including "Song for Abby" and the story surrounding it. When I finished my program, a group of people approached me with tears in their eyes. They told me of their love for Abby, expressing that she was one of the kindest and sweetest people they had ever known. They also asked, essentially, if she had been saved and was now in Heaven.
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As I prayed for an answer, I could only reply that I genuinely believed she was, based on the song I had received that day just for her. God, the omniscient Deity He is, knowing what was in Abby's future, had taken the time to assure her that she indeed belonged to Him and to invite her to fully partake of His saving Grace. If she did, she is with Him.
As for me, I have never been so humbled as to have been chosen to deliver tidings of such great consequence. And I will never forget or take lightly such a divine assignment.
* Fourteen years after the fact, Abbys case was reopened, and her husband was found guilty of murder and sentenced to prison for the deed.
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