Rock and Roll - Save Me

“And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time” (Jon Landau’s famous music review after seeing a relatively unknown Bruce Springsteen perform in Boston, May 1974)

Tonight, I felt the same way.

Lauren and I saw Elton John perform his timeless AM friendly radio hits, some deep FM album tracks, as well as a few songs from his new CD, The Diving Board, for a pre-Thanksgiving sold-out audience.  He and his band are currently touring in support of the 40^th Anniversary of the release of his seminal double album – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. 

I was 11 years old, a shy and naïve sixth grader at Florence V. Evans junior high school when this album was released.  My family moved from Northeast Philadelphia to Marlton, New Jersey in 1971.  One year earlier I was enrolled at the St. Joan of Arc parochial school.  My early New Jersey experience was one of few friends, listening to my transistor radio and developing this obsession with rock and roll.   I often closed my bedroom door and listened to my “friends” on the radio.  Nobody, especially my parents understood what was going on.  Funny, when it was happening, to me this seemed like normal behavior. 

“I remember when rock was young....”

Tonight, my objective was straightforward and simple.  First, I wanted to hang-out with my only daughter catching-up on our lives over bar food and drinks.   Next I wanted to experience our first Elton John show together.  This time last year we were enjoying our first Dave Matthews Band show together.  I am very thankful that she still lets me be an active part of her life, that we can communicate as adults and that music (hers and mine) continues to bring us together.  That was certainly not the arrangement my parents had with me when I was 21 years old.   (My parents: “Turn down that goddamn music, it’s time for dinner.”)

Selfishly, tonight I wanted to celebrate being alive.  I wanted to sing (no shout) out the lyrics to these songs that have brought me joy over the past 40 years.  I wanted to be in the company of my daughter as well as a willing active participant of the larger music loving audience.  I wished to experience a “live” unscripted rock show for three hours, before I was forced to eventually return to my predictable life of adult responsibilities.   Even at this age, I still feel a “rush” when I’m at a rock concert and I’m able to see and feel certain songs “come-to-life”.   (My parents: “I don’t understand why you want to go to the concert…you have all the albums.”)

Tonight, when the band launched into certain songs, I wanted to be reminded of my childhood and my schoolmates who came-of-age with me when these songs played on the radio, in our basements, at dances and in the car when we were small and the world was big.  I wanted to watch my daughter react and enjoy certain songs that she has been able to appreciate while she has grown up listening to this music.  And when she wasn’t looking, I wanted to catch a glimpse of her so that I could remember what it was like to be 21 years old again. 

“Dreaming of the Chevy and my old blue jeans…….”

Tonight, I wanted to be young, not so much in the physicality of youth, trimmer and fit with a more handsome appearance, but to have a chance to recapture a glimpse of my youthful innocence and the freedoms that came part and parcel with being a teenager, knowing nothing had yet been decided back then and my life was still full of promise and possibilities.  I wanted to be transported back to a time in my life when I listened to the lyrics and music with my heart and not my ears, when this teenager could envision an idyllic world of love, hope, peace and dreams. 

Tonight, I needed to be a 21 year old, not a 51 year old.  And the music and companionship of my daughter delivered!

Later today our nation celebrates Thanksgiving. 

I have been the recipient of countless blessings during the first five decades of my life, including good health and the love of close friends and family.  These priceless gifts are not lost on me given the recent knowledge of loss and uncertainty that has befallen three of my friends from various parts of my post-teenage life.  My life that occurred when this album was released, when I was insulated from these harsh cruel realities no longer survives.  I can no longer exist alone in my room.  I need friends and family to help me celebrate when times are good and to provide me comfort when times are not good.   We all do.    

Surrounded by aging parents and friends as well as having experienced a few personal health scares over the past 18 months, I know my time is coming soon.  I’ve enjoyed many carefree “seasons” of play, soon however it will be time to pay.  Instinctively, I’m trying to run as fast as I can, but I will not be able to run forever.  I recently learned the “end” often comes unannounced.  It is painful and indiscriminate.  Sometimes there’s just nothing you can do or say.  So, in that regard my goal remains to “live-in-the-moment” and savor experiences with my daughter (and wife) when they happen.  And that includes things as silly, juvenile and inconsequential as a rock concert with my daughter.

 
"I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will….”

Actually, that is not true.  Tonight, I did.

 

 

The Ties That Bind

It had been over thirty years since I’ve seen either of them last.  

In 1982, if you wanted to “connect” with someone, your options were AT&T, the U.S. postal system or a face-to-face conversation.  While Facebook and texting brought us together tonight, I knew our dinner would not be an entirely fun-filled trip down memory lane.  Nonetheless, I was eager to see my old college friends.

Both were easily recognizable as they entered the restaurant on this unseasonably warm fall evening.

For three years of our lives when we were in our early twenties we called U. of D. “home”.   While he and I were fraternity brothers, he and she were even closer as brother and sister.  We interacted with each other daily; lamenting course loads, playing childish pranks, staying up late studying, getting wasted on the weekends and worrying about life after college during our remaining hours in between.

I suggested she sit with him as I took the bench seat across from them as our night’s journey commenced.

After the beginning pleasantries quickly faded, cautious and sympathetically she asked him some initial questions about what had happened.  He never flinched.  He walked us through the past six months.  I marveled at his courage as he proudly spoke of his daughters and his family’s resolve to move forward.  He was often selfless proclaiming that he would not ask his daughters to sacrifice their dreams to live at home with Dad.  He made no excuses, and while he felt pain I did not sense any bitterness.   Could I be this noble in the face of such a devastating loss?

At times, I would glance at her as she would provide a woman’s knowingly kind glance his way or gentle touch on his extended arm, gifts that only a woman friend can give away freely wanting nothing back in return.  I mostly listened absorbed in their verbal exchange.  He explained his girls’ current career pursuits were exactly the “dream” he and his wife had mapped out almost 25 years ago.  They had succeeded in raising two independent daughters in this day and age.  His one daughter is currently enrolled in a Gap Program learning about what they can’t teach you in a text book in the poorest countries of the world, while his other daughter is attending grad school with lofty aspirations.  The pain he expressed was not having his wife around so together they could witness their girls crossing the finish line.

When she excused herself, he and I were able to speak more casually laughing about how we’ve still managed to cling to our childhood obsessions of Springsteen and the Flyers all these years later.  I laughed out loud when he recounted losing his ’78 Capitol Theater show he had recorded on two cassette tapes when his roommate inadvertently recorded another band’s album over the Springsteen live radio concert.  I informed him I could supply him with a CD replacement of the legendary concert since sometime in the 90s I developed this unhealthy obsession of buying bootleg shows on eBay.  At that moment, I instantly recalled playing The River non-stop on my cheap Sears stereo during my sophomore year at Delaware.  We laughed out loud.  In that briefest of moments……we were both still young and alive and 20 years old again.

He told me about some recent Flyers games he’s seen with his daughters, describing in fine detail, the pride he feels that they finally love his favorite team and sport.  Suddenly his face lit up describing the 2^nd row seats they enjoyed together two weeks ago.   We both expressed our frustrations at the current season and our bucket list desire to see another Stanley Cup parade down Broad Street.  We discovered we were both at the 2012 Winter Classic held at Citizen’s Bank Park and replayed that last minute heart breaking loss to the hated New York Rangers play-by-play.  I mentioned I was fortunate to have been able to celebrate the Phillies 2008 championship year with my Dad and daughter present, the three of us watching that series clinching Game #5A on that cold October night.  He and I remembered the U. of D. campus erupting in joy when the Phillies won their first World Series back in 1980.

When she returned to the table, they laughed out loud when I told them that I heard the old George Thorogood & the Delaware Destroyers song One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer on MMR getting out of the shower tonight, followed by a caller in Newark, Delaware requesting another rock song immediately after the Thorogood “number”.   Maybe there were truly some higher powers at work here tonight setting the stage for our reunion dinner?

Immediately, we wondered what college buildings, bars and landmarks had survived the past three decades.  Testing our long-term memories, we talked about who lived where on campus, the frat parties, old roommates and relationships.  They both informed me that the Pi Kapp house and Little Sister house on Wyoming Road had been demolished making way for university administration buildings.  North campus was filled with new condos and the Harrington dorms were just a distant memory.  I told them about a high school friend of mine who lives nearby who told me the legendary Stone Balloon (bar) had been turned a wine boutique.  We agreed somehow that didn’t seem right!  Almost immediately, we started to crave Daffy Deli’s subs.  It’s funny sometimes what quirky almost inconsequential moments remain locked in our memory banks.

I guess in retrospect, I had the luxury of forgetting this part of life, because I left Delaware at the end of my junior year, returning home to New Jersey to finish out my remaining college years at Rutgers.  I got married months before my 21^st birthday and suddenly my Delaware years vanished in the blink of an eye.  I was working part-time nights and going to school trying to finish up my accounting degree.  Before I knew what had hit me, Marie and I had moved to North Jersey and had become the characters living the songs that Springsteen had sung about on The River. 

They are both raising daughters as are Marie and I.  It was a topic we discussed at length, the timeless generation gap.  I told them that my daughter is currently in her last year of college.  I wonder how she will remember her Rider days thirty years from now.  Will she have kept in contact with her ZTA sisters better than I had done with my Pi Kapp brothers?  As the evening progressed, I must admit I had some regrets for not having done a better job keeping up with people who willingly and unwillingly helped to shape my life back then.

Forcing time to time stand still, hours later the three of us walked out into the warm fall night.  We embraced and said we would attempt to stay in touch as the holidays approached.  The three of us then walked to our three separate cars to take us on three very different roads to travel to three different homes and to the lives that awaited us there, knowing one person’s journey would be quite painful over the months to follow.

My eyes started to water as Racing in the Street (song) came on my iPod while I was stopped at the light on Route 38, two lights from Meadow Drive.  I thought of my wife as I always do when I hear this song.   Marie and I made plans to marry and start a life together during those late nights spent together in that cramped back bedroom of our frat house.  Her latch hook art project of our fraternity letters graced the very bare house walls.  She and I fell in love on that campus…….

I stayed in my car until the song concluded occasionally glancing up through the windshield at the full moon which illuminated my front yard.  I walked into the house to observe the week’s recycling that had remained piled high in the corner of the kitchen.  Our furniture was moved to one side of the dining room exposing the dry wall and spackle remains in front of where the workers had installed our new heater on Thursday.   Bills and paperwork were strewn across the kitchen table.  Two jackets were hanging on the back of the chair.  Marie was in her pajamas lying on the couch suffering from a sinus infection, the remains of her dinner and our two pets were in close proximity both sleeping. 

Tonight, I couldn’t have been any happier to have seen this mess.  I was happy to see my wife’s smiling face when I walked into the family room.   Suddenly none of this crap mattered.  The cruel hard world “out there” remains, but I was home, safe and loved.