“Anyone want to join me? I’m going to Home Goods.” My sister’s tone was breezy, nonchalant, with no hint of the unfolding conspiracy.
“Sure!” I said. “Let me grab my purse and slip on some shoes.”
As was later reported, the moment the front door closed behind us, and the audible crunch of car tires on gravel signaled our departure, three laptops flipped open. My brother-in-law, Matt, friend, Cathleen, and Dave began frantically tapping on their keyboards along with thousands of others around the world. Their goal: scoring tickets to Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s Land of Hope and Dreams show at Boston’s TD Garden. Matt was 15,000th in the queue – yes! 15,000! Dave was at 1,700, and Cathleen was closest to the prize at 850. Whoa. There are a lot of Bruce fans out there.
Closer, closer, closer … and bang! Cathleen nailed them! Two tickets for Sunday, May 27th, Loge 4, 6th row. The hoots of triumph were quickly hushed as this was to be my birthday surprise.
Unlike Cathleen, who estimates her attendance at Springsteen shows at 20 times or more, Dave and I had never seen Bruce perform. We like his music but were never ardent fans. This concert drew us for more than the music. This concert was a call for unity, awareness, love, and resistance in the face of cruelty, retribution, and authoritarianism, and we wanted to be in the audience with 19, 598 others to hear Bruce deliver that message.
But we had to get there first.
Once the glorious surprise was presented, Dave and I headed to Boston over Memorial Day weekend. It was a grim, rainy day of cancelled parades, drooping flags, and dispirited picnics as we pulled up in front of the Hotel Indigo on Friend Street. We spotted Edison, the doorman, in his long black overcoat and cap as he stepped to the curb. I rolled down my window and yelled, “Eddie! So good to see you!”
He beamed at my greeting and said, “What took you so long? We’ve had your room ready since noon. And… you have a new car!”
Yes, Dave is thrilled with his new lease trade-off, a fire engine red EV Ioniq 5, and we were equally thrilled to be back at the Hotel Indigo, our favorite hotel in Boston.
We hopped out of the car, hugged Eddie, chatted a bit, turned over the keys, and went to our room to settle in.
Dave had been planning this night since February and had pictured a leisurely stroll to the North End for a delicious Italian dinner at Antico Forno or Ristorante Villa Francesco before the concert. As I stood at the window watching windblown sheets of rain pelting the building across the street, I voiced my doubts.
“We have umbrellas,” Dave said, his tone disappointed and, yes, a tad annoyed at his wuss of a wife.
After all, this was his surprise. He had envisioned the whole scene: Hotel Indigo, Eddie’s welcome, a stroll, dinner, and Bruce. He came to stand beside me at the window and gazed sadly at passersby hunched against the downpour. I pointed out three restaurants within view, each on the same block as the TD Garden, all a short walk from our hotel. He did not argue further.
Cathleen and her husband had sent me a Land of Hope and Dreams tee-shirt, so I was in uniform, part of the Bruce clan. In the lobby and the elevator, other guests commented, “Nice shirt! You going tonight?” There was a vibe of anticipation, of community, and my shirt was my badge of inclusion, pretender though I was.
Having not been to an indoor concert in a major venue in decades, we didn’t know the drill. We’d chosen a food court adjacent to the Garden and wound up parting ways as we inched among and between Bruce fans to check out the offerings. Lines were long… but not at the pasta place. Not usually a good sign, but the pasta pomodoro looked tasty enough, so I submitted my order, and stepped aside to wait, hoping Dave would find something he liked.
A man standing behind me ordered a panino, then turned and asked, “So, you here to see Bruce?”
“Yep! First time! I can’t wait to hear him sing ‘Minneapolis,” I said, testing the waters to get a sense of the man’s politics.
“Me too!” he said. Jason was here for the music and the message and had brought his teenage daughters along. “It’s important for the next generation to hear this. We need voices like Bruce, leaders speaking out.”
Once my pasta was ready, Jason and I bid each other farewell, and I set off in search of Dave. He’d nabbed seats at a nearby table and was nibbling disconsolately at what looked like a plate of plain tomato wedges. That was indeed the case, and he was not happy. He’d ordered a Greek salad and wondered, “Would a bit of feta? Some lettuce? A few olives be too much to hope for?” My pasta was piping hot, perfectly cooked, and sprinkled with just the right amount of parmigiano. I offered Dave a bite, which he took, and said “not my favorite.”
Sigh.
Like I said, we didn’t know the drill, and when the crowd thinned out, we should’ve paid heed. That was a message too, but we took our time, finished up, and headed through the bank of doors leading into TD Garden.
OMG. The line! Or I should say lines… hundreds, nay thousands, of people shuffled along, a surge of souls – who’d had the sense to wrap up dinner promptly - making their way to a distant destination I could not see. Still, like Jason, like the folks I met in the elevator and lobby, this was a community, yes, of Bruce fans, but also – judging from the snatches of conversation about the ballroom, war in Iran, division and detention centers - many were here, as we were, for the message as well.
En masse, we pressed forward, squeezed through doors, climbed stairs, bumping one another, apologizing, smiling, falling into conversation.
“You’re from Maine? What do you think of Platner?”
“Well, he’s got problems, but Collins is a nightmare.”
More doors. Should we bring up our tickets on our phones? No, not yet. Security ahead. Hands up, through the scanner. “Open your bag please?”
“Sure, of course.” I open my bag to expose tissues, Chapstick, pens, phone, and enzyme pills.
“You’re good. Thanks. Enjoy the show.”
Almost there! But first, a trip to the restroom, and a conversation overheard:
“Is he going to be uncomfortable?”
“I warned him. This tour is not just about Springsteen’s music. There’s going to be a vibe, a message…”
“He’s not gonna like it.”
“Well. I told him…”
How many in the audience were going to feel like the man in question? At least two more… and they were sitting next to me once we reached our seats in Loge 4, row 6. In the darkness, in the scramble of apologies as we nudged our way to our seats as Bruce spoke onstage (yes, we were late. Of course we were. I was with a Sylvestro, and he thought the show didn’t start for another half hour), I did not notice their dissatisfaction. Plus, I was focused on the man in the spotlight and his words.
“The E Street Band is here tonight in celebration and defense of the American ideals and values that have sustained our country for 250 years…. Our democracy, our Constitution, our rule of law are being challenged right now as never before by a reckless, racist, incompetent, treasonous president and his ship of fools administration. So, we ask all of you to join with us in choosing hope over fear, democracy over authoritarianism, the rule of law over lawlessness, ethics over unbridled corruption, resistance over complacency, truth over lies, unity over division, and peace over war.”
And then, boom, Bruce and the E Street Band dove into “WAR, Huh. What is it good for?”
On this, all 19,600 of us could agree, “Absolutely NOTHING!”
Loved the opening, the song, and the message, but to my dismay, this was an “I’m not gonna sit!” kind of concert. Everyone was on their feet, hands in the air, singing along, knowing every word.
We did not know the words. And I’m not a big hands-in-the-air kind of person, but Bruce and the E Street Band are a force, and their fans love them. As did the two women sitting next to me. They were up and dancing. They knew every word. They were hands-in-the-air kind of people… but. Whenever Bruce slung his guitar over his back and came to the front of the stage to reflect and grieve over government corruption while calling for “honesty, honor, humility, character, truth, compassion, humanity, thoughtfulness, morality, true strength and decency,” the women sat down, arms crossed over chests, stoney-faced, lips pinched in a thin line. Hm. Seemed to me, everyone would find those qualities desirable? No? As soon as the Boss was back to the music, the women were on their feet, arms in the air, and mouths wide with song.
We had sort of a see-saw thing going, me and those women. Sure, I stood, bounced, and swayed when I knew the song or was moved by the lyrics, but I sat a lot too. When the instruments stilled and Bruce walked center stage, the ladies sat and glowered, while Dave and I rose in tribute to the message. Thank you, Bruce.
