ABSTRACT
One night in California, some forty-five years ago, Henry Ned Miller sat down to play a game of solitaire. An idea for a song came to him as he turned the cards slowly onto the table. “From a jack to a king, from loneliness to a wedding ring.” It’s a testament to the song’s strength that it’s so familiar. Miller himself has done little to promote it; he’s a painfully shy, self-effacing man, who went as far as to send his buddies out on tour as himself. Fame involves screaming “Look at me, look at me!” but Miller couldn’t do it. Uneventful as it is, his story adds a little postscript to the Fabor Robison stories.
