If you live anywhere between Pembroke, Allenstown, Pittsfield, or Hooksett, chances are you’ve already met him — maybe without knowing his name. Maybe he sang to you while you waited for parade floats to roll by at Old Home Day. Maybe he brought your mother or grandfather to tears with “Amazing Grace” at a nursing home. Maybe he made you smile at a restaurant on Route 106.
But once you meet him, once you hear that unmistakable old-school country voice, you remember him.They call him “The Cowboy.” His name is Don Smith.
And for 50 years, Don has been carrying his guitar across New Hampshire — singing gospel, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, and the kind of country music that doesn’t just fill the room, but fills the soul.
A Boy, a Guitar, and Johnny Cash
Don still remembers the night his father brought him to see Johnny Cash. He was only a little boy, but the moment Cash walked out onstage, Don felt something settle deep inside him — something like purpose, something like destiny.
At home, a cousin had a handmade guitar — nothing fancy, a piece of wood with strings. Don wandered into the cousin’s bedroom during a family Christmas gathering, strumming it awkwardly, not even knowing how to tune it. But his cousin saw something in the boy’s eyes.
“Why don’t you take it home?” he said.
From that moment on, Don lived inside that guitar. No lessons. No classes. No sheet music. Just instinct — and a pair of ears that could learn anything they heard. What began as imitation became a gift. Today, people hear Don play and can’t believe he’s entirely self-taught.
“It’s my DNA,” he says simply. “Planted by my father.”
A Life Turned Toward Faith
In 1972, Don became a believer, and his music shifted. He began writing gospel songs — songs that came from the heart, songs that spoke of grace and redemption. He recorded two cassettes, Traveling On and Since I Met Jesus, and later a CD of originals.
But music wasn’t full-time yet. Don spent decades working factory jobs — cold, windowless buildings, assembly lines, five dollars an hour. The work paid the bills, but it drained the man.
Then his wife, Tracy, had a thought she believes came directly from God.
“Have you ever considered singing in nursing homes?” she asked.
He had friends who did it. He gave it a try.
One performance turned into two. Two became ten. Word spread from one activities director to another. Soon Don wasn’t working in factories anymore.
For almost 17 years, music has been his full-time livelihood — and his joy.
“I see a different man come home now,” Tracy says. “Happier. Alive. Doing what he was created to do.”
The Woman Behind the Cowboy
If Don is a man of few words, his wife Tracy is the opposite — expressive, articulate, enthusiastic, and unmistakably proud of her husband.
Their love story is one of the most remarkable pieces of Don’s journey.
Before meeting Don, Tracy was a 21-year-old alcoholic whose boyfriend had died of a drug overdose. She was lost, slowly killing herself with alcohol. One night, she stopped at a gas station at 2 a.m., where the clerk — a stranger — felt compelled to tell her she was meant to hear about God that night.
That conversation saved her life.
After weeks of returning to that gas station for guidance, the clerk left for school but encouraged her to visit a new church meeting in a high-school auditorium.
That’s where she met Don — ponytail, fringe jacket, gospel guitar in hand.
She wasn’t romantically struck at first.But she felt something.“I could picture me being friends with him,” she recalls.
They were married five months later. That was 45 years ago.
“I feel like God saved me,” she says, “and then He sent Don to steady me. He was the first man I ever met who was reliable and gentle and grounded.”
And Don? He simply says, “There was chemistry. We both knew.”
From Factories to 30 Nursing Homes
Today, Don performs five to six days a week. At age 76, he is booked solid — sometimes months or a year in advance — across roughly 30 nursing homes.
He drives from Laconia to Fremont, Danville to Epsom, carrying his guitar and the good humor that patients have come to love.
He always begins with a joke:“I’m just here picking out a room for myself.”
Some of the residents laugh — younger than he is. Some don’t respond at all. Some live in the fog of severe dementia.
But when Don begins singing The Old Rugged Cross or Amazing Grace, something extraordinary happens.
People who moments earlier didn’t recognize their own children suddenly begin singing every word.
“I can’t figure it out,” Don says quietly. “But it’s there.”
There is research supporting the phenomenon, but Tracy has her own explanation:
“Music enters the soul. Dementia can take memories from your mind, but it can’t reach what’s been stored in your soul. That part of a person is untouchable.”
Old Home Days, Restaurants,
and a Thousand Stages
Don is a familiar face at Old Home Days across the region. He’s performed in:
Allenstown/Pembroke (for over 20 years)
Epsom
Pittsfield
Hooksett
And at local restaurants including Beanies and Putnam’s
If you’ve been to these events, you may have heard him without realizing it — the warm voice, the iconic Cash twang, the songs that make you close your eyes and sway.
Don’s business is simply called Traveling On Music — and the name fits.
He’ll travel just about anywhere within an hour radius of Epsom, where he and Tracy live today at Kingstown Mobile Park.
To hire him, folks can call his landline or text his cell — the Cowboy still does things the old-school way, and he likes it that way.
Friends in High Places
For decades now, Don and Tracy have been close friends with Willie Nelson’s drummer. When Willie comes to town, they get backstage, VIP seats, even time on the tour bus.
Tracy laughs when she says:“Don’s got friends in high places.”
A Marriage Built Through Fire
In December last year, the couple survived a serious car accident that nearly took both their lives. Tracy spent five and a half months unable to walk or even put a toe on the ground. Don — who had never boiled water, cooked a meal, shopped for groceries, or used a washing machine in the first 40 years of their marriage — suddenly had to do everything.
And he did.Without complaint.While recovering from his own chest injuries and pneumonia.
“He took care of me in every way,” Tracy says, tearing up. “I cherish him more now than ever.”
Why He Still Sings
Ask Don why he keeps going — why he logs the miles, sets up the equipment, plays five or six days a week — and his answer is simple.
“As long as God gives me breath,” he says. “It’s natural. Like breathing.”
Music is his therapy. His purpose. His way of giving back.
And judging by the smiles, the singing, the tapping feet in nursing homes, and the cheers at Old Home Day, the world is a brighter place because “The Cowboy” hasn’t hung up his hat yet.
