A Hug or A Harmonica

A Hug or A Harmonica

When Lisa Rainer told me this story, the words flowed out of her like a damn had burst and she was warning everyone downstream to prepare for the deluge. It she took a breath in the twelve minutes it took to spit out all the details, I didn’t notice one. It was if she had perfected the rare skill of circular breathing that some brass instrument players have mastered, able to play seemingly effortlessly without pause for air. Once she finished, I understood why it had poured from her lips in a stream of consciousness manner. The events and the moments epitomized her purpose for being in just the right place at just the right time with just the right magic spell cast upon her.

Some people are huge Bruce Springsteen fans. They take in a show or two. Dance for three hours non-stop. They buy all the merch. They know all the words. They feel like they were born to run or have a hungry heart and he knows their glory days. They believe that every time he gets on stage, he is singing only to them in a crowd of 50,000 fans. I don’t understand that. A couple shows? Balcony seats? Bruce t-shirt. This is minor league stuff. Kids’ play. Anyone can be a Bruce fan if this is the definition.

I’m not a fan. I’m a fanatic! Crazy. Unsatisfied. Outrageous. Irrational. Please don’t call me a Bruce fan. It’s an insult. I live for Bruce. I dream of Bruce. I don’t care what anybody else thinks of my passion or obsession. You live your life, and I’ll live mine. I’m a fanatic and proud!

I’m set for my summer season. I’ve got front section tickets for the Springsteen shows in Barcelona, Prague and Milan. I’ll sit out for 48 hours for the roll call in the rain or cold, morning and night to be exactly where I want to be on the front line for each show. There are protocols for getting to be one of the first people in, and it requires 5 or 6 visits to the stadium over the three days before the show. No problem. Anything for Bruce. Sleep – overrated. Warmth – Bruce’s fire keeps me warm. Food – who can eat at a time like this.

Well, that’s what I hope. I’m set for shows in Prague and Milan when suddenly he announces he’s cancelling these shows due to an issue with his voice. I’m devastated. He cancelled his last 14 shows on his tour last year due to a peptic ulcer. At nearly 75 years old, I know this may be one of my last opportunities to see him. I’ve still got a chance at the shows in Barcelona, which have not been cancelled. Fingers crossed he recovers and is stronger than ever.

Bruce is back and the Barcelona shows are on. When the day arrives, I’m in Barcelona, and I settle in for the 48-hour affair. I know I’ll see none of Barcelona, but Barcelona isn’t going anywhere. I can come back. But Bruce is here now. It’s the kind of exhaustion I love. By the end, I know my head will be spinning and my feet will be aching from standing and dancing all day and night. That’s the kind of pain I love.

Of course, I meet a crowd of like-minded humans at this marathon. I’ve found my Bruce people. At the roll call, I’ve been stamped fan number 403, which should get me right in the front row. I’ve only flown from Austria. Others are following him from the US and Australia on every stop on his European Tour. I see there is room for me to grow as a Bruce fanatic, and these fanatics share their Bruce stories. Some have t-shirts listing how many shows they’ve seen over their lifetime. It’s a religious experience for only the most pious. It’s the Muslim Hadj and the Buddhist pilgrimage around Mt. Kailash and the Catholic Camino de Santiago all wrapped up in one.

The long wait pays off in Barcelona when the show starts. The band is hot. I’m standing in the front row. Only a fence and security guards stand between me and Bruce on stage. Life is good. No, life is great. In the middle of the show, Bruce walks off the stage down the stairs that lead to exactly where I am standing. He surveys the crowd while singing “All night, All night…” He gives fist pumps and hand slaps with the hand not gripping the mic. The sign I brought begs him to sing Philadelphia, which he’s never done in the 20 years I’ve been going to shows in Europe, but at this very second, none of that matters. Bruce is right here. Right here. He’s centimeters away as he leans in and hugs the girl standing next to me while I grab his shoulder. The videographer follows the whole scene, and the moment plays out on the jumbo screen behind the band and there we all are, there I am, a smile knocking my ears off the side of my face. This is what I live for. The rush and the presence. In this moment, he is not human. He is Jesus and Buddha and Mohammed all wrapped into one semi-sentient being. It’s exaltation and revelation. I’m being born again as a Bruce fanatic right here and now. Nothing else matters in the world. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can only be.

I need more. I need more. It’s a drug I can’t get enough of. Someone I meet at the show offers me a ticket for the show in Helsinki on July 12. I have no more money left in my bank account, and he wants to give it to me for free. His wife can’t come. I refuse. He insists. I refuse again. I never like taking gifts like this. I take care of myself. Full stop. He insists one more time, and I finally accept. It’s Bruce. I can make an exception. I buy my flight and look for an Airbnb.

Helsinki is incredibly expensive. Every place I see is over 100 Euros a night, and then suddenly, a 30 Euro-a-night room pops up right across from the Olympic Stadium. A message. Another piece of magic. I’ve had a lot of magic in the last months, highlighted by my moment spotting Antony Banderas in Málaga (another crazy story) and the other people I met there in some unexplainable cosmic connection. I’m paying attention to the signs the universe is sending. This cheap Airbnb is certainly another one of them.

I go to work to create a new sign for the Helsinki show. I call Jeff. He’s a writer, a sort of magician with words and music. He wrote a song for Bruce to record a few weeks ago and sent it to me on a flash drive. I’ll try to get it into Bruce’s hand or pocket somehow. In less than a minute, here’s what we come up with for the sign: “Bruce, My hungry heart needs a hug OR a harmonica.” He’s known for giving out both. I don’t want to be greedy, so I choose OR instead of AND.

It's cold and rainy in Helsinki when I arrive on Wednesday to begin my two days of checking in to be sure I have a spot on the front line. Here in Helsinki, I’m fan number 152! The weather is dreadful, but it’s just the weather. I’ll be in the front row for sure!

On Thursday, I wake up with a special feeling. I can’t explain it, but it’s more than just the excitement of the show. It’s something else. It’s not just hope or enthusiasm. I take note even though I don’t know what this means.

I spend the day in two places: the roll call at the stadium where I need to be at 10am, 3pm and 7pm, and the hotel where I think Bruce is staying. He always stays at Hotel Kamp. We fanatics know this. A few of us wait there outside in the rain, but there is no sign of Bruce at all. It’s cold and wet. After I share a tram ride with a couple girls back to the hotel after the 7pm roll call, I look for some food around 8pm. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day. When I return, the girls tell me I missed Anthony and Roy leaving the hotel. I can’t believe it. The one moment I leave, the band passes by.

From all the chatter at the roll call, I learn that Bruce is not in Helsinki today. He’s with his equestrian Olympian daughter in Paris before the Olympic Games. She didn’t make the US team this year, but they are together there. That’s fine. The E Street Band will do for me.

It’s raining heavily. The few who have come to see the band have left, but I’m still waiting. I see a guy walk out of the hotel and ask, “Are you John Landau?”

Landau has been Bruce’s producer, manager and right-hand man forever.

“No, I’m not him,” he tells me. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for the E Street Band,” I tell him.

“Come with me,” he responds.

“No, I’m waiting for the band,” I tell him.

“I will take you there. Come with me,” he repeats.

I don’t know this guy at all. Normally, I would completely reject this, but for some reason, I say OK, and in the next moment I’m in a taxi with a complete stranger. I figure if something bad starts to happen, I’ll just escape. This is the part of me that drives my mother crazy. She thinks I am too naïve as a woman when it comes to how I live my life and my choices. I live by my own rules, but I’m not a criminal. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just living as I want.

We arrive at the 5-star Hotel Maria and get out of the taxi. I’m soaking wet in ripped jeans and a leather jacket and my wristband holding my sopping hair back, and I tell Carl Hughes from Ohio, “I can’t go into this hotel looking like this. It’s impossible.”

“It’s Ok, I’m your banker,” he replies.

When we enter, he asks if I want to go to the casual or business restaurant, so of course I choose the casual one. I don’t even feel dressed enough for this. As we sit, Anthony Almonte, percussionist and singer in the E Street Band, walks by and goes to the first floor! Wow! Anthony!

Carl asks the waitress if we can go to the business restaurant, and up we go. It’s basically empty. Only a few tables are full, and there are only a dozen tables or so in total. I’m completely full from the huge dinner I just had and wonder what I’m going to order as I look at the menu. I feel like I’m going to throw up if I eat anything. As I look up, three tables away from me I see Anthony, Max Weinberg, the drummer, Eddie Manion, the saxophone player, and Roy Bittan, keyboardist and accordionist. What?! Right here. I’m dizzy. I wonder if Carl paid the waitress for some information about where the band is. I’m speechless trying to both look and not look at them. I think Max is looking at me. Then, I see Little Stevie sitting two tables from me. Oh my god! What is happening? My premonition was right this morning. I felt something, and this is it.

Then Carl says, “I think you need to go to the bathroom to wash your hands.”

So, I get up and walk right past all of them. Millimeters away. Millimeters!

In the bathroom, I call some friends whispering that I am having dinner next to the E Street Band! It’s crazy. I’m out of my mind. I can barely get the words out of my mouth.

I return to my table walking past the band. Fifteen minutes later, I get up to go to the bathroom and walk past the band again. I must have done this 6 times during the night.

When Stevie finally stands up, I think he looks drunk, but maybe he’s just tired. A British couple go up to him and ask if they can take a photo with him. Carl suggests I go and ask for a photo too, but this is where I draw the line. I’m a fanatic. I’ll scream and cry and sing at the shows. I’ll make my signs and beg for a hug and a harmonica. I’ll get a tattoo on my arm where Bruce signs it if this ever happens, but off the stage, I respect their privacy. They are bombarded by requests all the time, I’m sure. For me, I send a smile. That’s my sign. I’m not a stalker. I have all the memories I need in my mind. I have my private story I will carry with me my whole life. No one else needs to know or believe or trust or hear about it. It’s mine. I’m not here for the story that I can tell everyone about my evening having dinner next to the E Street Band. I’m here the way I am wherever I am in life. I am here to fully embrace my experiences, to celebrate the amazing moments I live whether it is as a Bruce fanatic or quietly at home with my own four-legged Bruce. These moments are all for me, just like everyone else’s moments are for them. We are always in the right place at the right moment. This is how I see life. We are here for a short time. We are not here just to live, but to be alive. We have to put our whole selves into this ever so short and fleeting moment on earth. We have to be fully present and look forward. We have to live without regrets. I don’t know everything about the world. I have not traveled to the corners of the planet. But I know those few things. And those things and those ideas are what gave me this experience I will cherish in my own memory forever.

I’ve never been to the top of the highest mountains in the Himalayas, but I’ve been to my own mountaintop many times. In the big moments at a Bruce show, and the small moments with the child I teach, and the farmer I talk to every Friday at my local farmer’s market, and the moments I just spent with my mom in the hospital, and my sacred moments on the beach in Málaga. Today was one of those days on my own mountain looking out over the sea of life. And it was good. And it was right. And tomorrow at the show will be another. And it will be grand. And it will be right. And it will be magical. And it will be mine forever.