If you've seen John Tony Grubbs on stage playing harmonica in his wheelchair, you may have wondered what his story is. He's got a good one, that's for sure, and he's happy to share it with anyone who wants to sit down with him and have a chat.

His story starts in the Robertsdale area of Baldwin County and continues in Midtown Mobile, where he and his wife, Barbara, live a comfortable life in the home where she grew up. Making music has been a big part of his life, off and on, since shortly after his path was drastically changed when he was a freshman in high school in 1969.

"I broke my neck when I was 15 playing football," he says. "I tackled a guy, and I couldn't get up. I was just lying there on the field."

At first, he was paralyzed from the neck down, but after surgery, he was able to walk again, with some difficulty, for many years. He took up drums to help with his coordination and played steadily for about a decade with several popular groups in Orange Beach and Gulf Shores. Gradually, though, this did more damage to his neck, and he had to put down the sticks. That turned the page toward another significant chapter in his life.

"I couldn't physically play music full-time anymore, so I made the decision to move to Mobile and study vocational counseling at the University of South Alabama," he says. That led to a career with the Mobile Association for Retarded Citizens, and something of a new identity. Having two first names (though not at the same time) started at USA, where he ended up earning a master's degree.

"My full name is John Anthony Grubbs, and everybody had called me Tony when I was growing up in Baldwin County," he says, "but over here, nobody knew me, so I went with John. It was just easier that way, because that was what was on all the official paperwork."

With MARC, he started as a service coordinator, putting together vocational plans for people with developmental disabilities. Later, as program manager, he oversaw the MARC Enterprise work center in Irvington. It was a bustling facility where clients constructed outdoor furniture from cypress, sorted wire hangers for a uniform company, and raised hydroponic lettuce for grocery stores and produce stands. 

He retired from MARC in 2016 after 24 years, driving himself to work every day. He still drives, using a van outfitted with hand controls and an automatic ramp, but his physical mobility has become more limited. For years, he was able to get around with a walker or a conventional wheelchair, but now relies on an electric one.

"I'm pretty independent," he says. "Once I get in my chair, there's not a lot I can't do. I love to cook, and I love to work in the yard, though I can't mow anymore. I'm considered an incomplete quadriplegic. I can move my legs and my feet, but not in a normal fashion, and my hands won't open up. My sense of feeling is diminished, too. If you poke me with a needle, it's going to take a few seconds for it to register as pain."

For more than half a century, he's undergone countless medical procedures and rehab 

regimens to keep himself moving along. One in particular was especially life-changing. While participating in a wheelchair basketball program, he found himself drawn to a recreational therapist who was assisting. It was Barbara, who has overcome many obstacles herself, having been deaf since birth. Just two years younger than he was, she still works part-time at MobileInfirmary, 37 years after fate brought them together.

"It really is amazing," he says. "There's no way our paths would have crossed if I had not been injured."

Tony doesn't reflect much on the past, but he does have cool memories of playing music in Gulf Shores and Orange Beach in the 1970s and early '80s. 

As a drummer, he'd first played around Robertsdale at some high school functions and battle-of-the-bands events. He later fell in with a fun-loving group with the unlikely name of Walter, Shine, and Sometimes John, a regular act at the old Gulf Gate Lodge, which was a hotel and bar in the Bear Point area of Orange Beach. 

"Walter and Shine (whose real name was Madison Powell) were both marine biologists, and John was a big realtor up in Birmingham, so sometimes John could make it and sometimes he couldn't," Tony explains.

They were a really good vocal group, he says, and got an opportunity to record at the legendary FAME recording studio in Muscle Shoals in northwestern Alabama. 

"I was 20 or 21 and had barely been out of Baldwin County," he says. "They heard about me somehow, and we went up to Muscle Shoals in a big ol' car, like an Oldsmobile 88 or something. We recorded three songs, and then we went to Nashville to Charlie Rich's studio, where they mixed it."

Later, he was part of a reconfigured version of the band called Shine and Blackwater, which held court every Sunday at Sam and Shine's Lounge. It was a big club in a former bowling alley that was at the corner of U.S. 59 and Fort Morgan Road (and later became Margaritaville). His last gig before his physical decline was back at the Gulf Gate, keeping rhythms with Clark & Joanie and the Quarter Moon Band.

A vocalist as well, Tony didn't play any music whatsoever for about 25 years, but got the itch around 2010 and took up harmonica. On occasion, he would join in with the Family Jewels at Veet's in downtown Mobile with the encouragement of Jeff Fidler, the band's drummer, who also had been his childhood friend.

These days, he often "sits in" with Phil & Foster at Callaghan's.

"Whenever I go see them, they are very welcoming," he says. "I'm honored that they let me play with them."

In response to that, Phil had this to say: "He's a super nice guy, he plays well, and he behaves like a pro. Anyone with those qualities is a shoo-in with us." 

Tony has recently found another way to express himself creatively, and it's with the help of artificial intelligence. 

He started writing song lyrics just a couple of years ago. Ideas would come to him, often during the night when he'd have trouble sleeping. He would recite them to himself over and over to remember them. In the mornings, he would type them into his iPhone using the knuckle of his little finger. 

He learned about an app called Suno, which uses AI technology to generate songs, and decided to give it a try. He uploaded his lyrics and, almost instantly, heard radio-ready arrangements that sound like polished studio productions.

The technology is remarkable, almost unbelievable, though unsettling to some. Many of his friends have been blown away by the songs he's shared on Facebook. It's safe to say the enthusiasm from some of the real musicians he knows has been more tempered.

"I expected a backlash, but it's been pretty mild, really," he says. "I love it, though. It's given me a way to be more creative, and it's helped me improve as a songwriter. The weird thing is, all those years I was playing music full-time, I never even considered writing songs."

One that he's really proud of is "I Believe," which directly expresses his spiritual beliefs. Many of his songs take on unconventional topics and have unique perspectives, such as "Daddy Come Back to Me," a plea from a child in a broken home, and "Until the Next Time," from the point of view of a woman in an abusive relationship.

And of course, he's written a lovely tribute to Barbara, a devoted woman who has always strongly supported his musical ambitions even though she has never heard him play or sing. His song "Silent Wings" sings her praises as someone who "flies on silent wings like an angel in the night," who is "a messenger of love, a blinding ray of light." His song talks of her "heart of gold she wears up on her sleeve" as she "dances to the melody of a silent symphony."

He has no trouble expressing his gratitude in person, either.

"That's a true story—she truly has a heart of gold," says Tony. "She married me knowing what she was getting, and I don't know what I'd do without her. All I can say about that is God has a plan, and he laid it all out for us."