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Stephen Stills (background) watches Fromholz sing during a short-lived collaboration in 1971.

He burst out laughing, and that loud, long bellow removed any doubt about his sense of humor's survival. (Rita was a hottie during the Outlaw era -- a beautiful pop star married to Kris Kristofferson.)

Fromholz didn't exactly pour out his heart after that, but he did talk openly about his career and the stroke that has temporarily derailed it. As he spoke, the left side of his face sometimes sagged, and his tongue didn't always cooperate -- he stuttered on a few words and slurred some others. "I'm not drooling or dragging," he said several times, yet he frequently wiped his mouth as if fearing that he was. He wasn't.

I have spoken with Fromholz several times over the past 20 years. On this day, I noticed his eyes lacked their usual spark. I asked him to let me know if he was getting tired. After only 45 minutes, he took me up on it. "Let's call it then, I'm done," he said.

At 10:30 the next morning, I arrived unannounced at his doorstep and found him looking 10 years younger. His eyes twinkled, he spoke with more clarity, and he flashed his wit often. "Yesterday, the interview wore me out," he said. "That's new to me. I'm not used to getting tired that easy. It's no damn fun."

Fatigue is one of many symptoms that accompany strokes. Fromholz' rehabilitation includes an afternoon nap, and my arrival the day before came at a time when his body was demanding rest. After a good night's sleep, he was a new person.

In some respects, Fromholz seemed an unlikely candidate for a stroke. He is not yet 60, and he's one of the most active and outdoorsy of the old-guard singer-songwriters. "I've been healthy as a hog for years and years," he said.

Since 1980, he has been a river guide and horseman leading groups on wilderness adventures. He has maintained his weight by shunning fast food, even when on tour. Cocaine was a staple in the old days but no more. More recently, he's cut back on booze and quit smoking marijuana altogether.

"I don't need all that armor," he said. "It's all just armor, you know. I used to think if I had a bottle of tequila, I had to drink it all. I don't."

If his life up to April 19 hadn't prevented a stroke, at least it helped him deal with it, and its aftermath. Trained in first aid, he knew not to panic. Many stroke victims become so frazzled they have another stroke within 48 hours. Fromholz remained cool, but that doesn't mean he wasn't worried. A stroke had disabled his mother at age 62.

"She never got her speech back, and it totally debilitated her," Blair said. "A stroke was both mine and Steven's worst nightmare. Mother lived 20 years after having a stroke, severely handicapped. That really has an effect on your mind. It's very definitely a genetic thing."

Another problem shared by stroke victims is depression, an emotion that Fromholz has seldom allowed in his life. His fans know him as light and funny onstage; his friends recognize the same traits when the spotlights are off.

"I never said, 'Why me?' or got angry at God," he said. "Why not me? I never said, 'This ain't fair,' because life ain't fair. The fair is in Dallas in September. Life is life and sometimes it can suck, but that's all right, too. This is the largest suckage factor I've ever been involved in -- 10 on the suck scale."

One of his closest friends is singer-songwriter Larry Joe Taylor, who asks him to perform, emcee, and just hang out at Taylor's four-day music festival each year because Fromholz keeps things loose.

During the making of Taylor's most recent album, he asked Fromholz to hang around the recording studio, not so much for his musical contributions as for his personality. "You get in the studio and there can be some intense moments, and Steven is able to keep it light for everybody," he said. "It's nice to have Fromholz around. He's just a great guy. There's not anybody as a songwriter that I would look up to as much as Steve Fromholz either."

Three days after Fromholz' stroke, Taylor went to visit him at a Waco hospital and was saddened to see his old buddy with a grim look. "It was pretty devastating for everybody at that time," Taylor said. "It was almost unbearable to see him like that. He was in pretty bad shape right after the stroke, communication-wise, and he wasn't walking, and he was real tired. It just wasn't Steve. You could tell he wasn't talking good, and he didn't want to talk. I tried to make him laugh a couple of times, and he kind of did but not really."

The following day, Taylor's festival began with a concert by Jerry Jeff Walker, who dedicated songs and stories to Fromholz. Raffle tickets were sold over the next few days, and the festival raised more than $3,000 to help with medical bills. Later, musician friends such as Willie Nelson and Lyle Lovett established the Steven Fromholz Medical Assistance Fund at Liberty Bank in Austin. Benefit concerts were held across the state, including MacHenry's Upstairs in Fort Worth and Poor David's Pub in Dallas. (Fund information is available at Fromholz' web site: stevenfromholz.com).

A catastrophic insurance policy helped Fromholz cover his initial hospital stay, but the money didn't last. The life of a wandering troubadour and wilderness adventurer has its rewards, but large reserves of cash are not among them. He gets royalties here and there, but Fromholz -- like his late buddy Townes Van Zandt -- is a songwriter's songwriter, meaning he is respected among peers for penning smart and meaningful tunes, even if they are not crafted according to a formula for commercial success. Fromholz needs to perform and sell c.d.'s to keep money coming in, and he has been shackled in that regard since April. The fund is buying him time to recover.

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