"McCartney"

I don’t know where to start. There was magic in the air, but was I going to be part of it? Or was I to miss out? Stay tuned for the answer.

The tickets for the concert had gone on sale months ago. They were gone in hours. Two shows. Me and Kitty didn’t get tickets. We should have camped out. Hung out with the hippies at the “Turtles” ticket outlet. Done anything to get them. But, alas, we did nothing.

Paul McCartney had last been to The Pond back in 1976. With Wings. Of course me and Kitty attended that concert. It was fab. A rockshow at the concert Gebow. Long hair at the Madison Square. Rock and roll at the Hollywood Bowl. We were THERE!

I had grown up with the Beatles and here was Paul McCartney in Bon Jovi singing his recordings. I remember the time George Harrison had his concert here, circa 1974. We had a floor seat maybe on the 40TH row. But to walk onto the floor and see one of the Fab 4 playing guitar and singing is an indescribable feeling. It was even better to see Paul solo.

But that was many years ago. Even though I still buy Paul’s every album his career had been on a downslide. So when we didn’t get tickets to the concert I wasn’t that concerned. If I miss the concert it won’t be any big deal. In hindsight what a dumb, collosal, monumental gaffe of all time that would have been. Paul’s 47 years old. He was last in town 14 years ago. He might never be back. Ever. [ editor's note circa 2006: Paul has been to Pond Jovi a few more times since this concert-But Who Knew at the Time, eh? ]

Sunday night’s concert would be concert number 1. Cancelled until Monday was Saturday’s concert. It had to do with Paul saving his voice.
I had to work Sunday. Normally I get off at 9 or 10. It was a frightful night. Cold around 40 degrees. And it had been raining all day. Not raining but POURING. We had been shorthanded as usual at Hell Whole, [ editor's note circa 2006: Some things never change, especially in the glamourous world of the food biz ] so I was very leery about getting off early and going to the [ Sunday ] nite concert. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you I still didn’t have a ticket. I had looked in the want ad section of the paper and was immediatly intimidated by the number of ads hawking Paul McCartney tickets. They read: Good seats; excellent seats; cheap seats; etc. There were reports in the paper that tickets were going for hundreds of dollars. My plan was to go the scalper route. In hindsight I wouldn’t recomend this approach.

I called Kitty and asked her for advice. Should I go? I knew she wanted to go, too, but couldn’t/wouldn't because of the cost. She encouraged me to go. Because she knew what it would mean to me. With many misgivings I decided why not. My main concern was a big one. My frigging windshield wipers didn’t work and it was still pouring. Could I drive the fifteen miles to Pond Arena in a fog, buy a ticket from a scalper and have fun all by myself? These were a lot of big ifs and I was already tired from working all day.

I said goodbye to the troops [ team members ] and headed for old Betsy, my 1977 Dodge Van. In human years Betsy must be at least 200 years old.

"Old Betsy don’t fail me now old friend," I muttered to my inanimate motorized constant companion. Maybe by some miracle my wipers would work tonight. Uh huh. Yea, right.

I started up the grand hill that signals bye-bye to my work establishment. I looked out the windshield. Or tried to. What were those motorized contraptions coming toward me with their many little lights blinding my already limited sight. I assumed they were cars. I wasn’t sure.

My last moment of indecision occured next. I was at the overpass. Turn right and go home to a nice warm fireplace. Turn left and it’s adventure time. No ticket and no windshield wipers. I hadn’t had much excitment lately so.... I turned left.

The cars sped by me on the Interstate. Driving 40 miles an hour and in the slow lane me and old Betsy miraculously made it to the arena. Now the fun was going to start.

It was still pouring. I paid my seven dollars for parking and ran across the parking lot. Luckily I didn’t step in too many puddles. [ editor's note: if memory serves, the poor boy had no umbrella, either ]

There was a crowd milling about, as I walked up to the first person I saw. The young man asked me if I wanted to buy a ticket. This is too good to be true I'm thinking.

“Where is the ticket?” I asked.

“On the floor,” he said.

The $64,000 question was next. I gritted my teeth. “How much do you want for it?”

Without blinking he calmly answered, “$75.00.”

I had gotten $200.00 out of the Tillie before my odyssey had begun, so I was in good financial shape. This wouldn’t dent the budget much after all.

But before I could swallow good a young punk next to us said, “I’ll take it.” They consumed the deal in seconds, acting as if they were long lost buddies. I felt the urge to kill, being new to the scalping buisness. Next time it won’t be as easy for my adversary. There will be counter offers until that ticket is mine. But when you’re standing in the rain, you’re not prone to rational thinking.

Nagging feelings emerged in me brain-this was going to be difficult. It was already 8:00 the time the concert started. Time was becoming a factor.

“Tickets,” a young black teenager shouted. He was on the street level. I caught his eye and ascended the 50 or so steps to the top. Another person ran after him. Here we go again I thought. But before I could negotiate a ticket he blew me away.

“Get away from me, Cop. I ain’t selling you no ticket.”

“What? Did I look like Rene Enriquez?” [ editor's note: see "Hill Street Blues" for this obscure reference-one of my favorite tv shows ]

I got feisty. “I’m no cop. I just want to buy a ticket.” I threw in some choice ezpletives. I was getting mad. It didn’t work.

Starting to lose confidence, and me being Mr. Optimistic, I looked around. The crowd was thinning out. Most had gone into the building. The scalpers were about done, too. It didn’t look good for the home team. Somebody told me you could go to jail for buying a scalped ticket. I could see myself in jail with all the murderers, drug traffikers, child abusers and drunk drivers. Maybe I could room with Pete Rose or be on his softball team.

I gave it one more shot. “Do you have a ticket for the concert,” I asked the 30ish man standing in the rain.

I gritted my teeth. Again. Jail loomed a possibility. Bingo! For $75.00 I got a ticket. 20 rows up. To the right of the stage.


Was this a good seat? Who knew? I walked into the Omni and called Kitty on the pay phone. [ editor's note: this was before the advent of cell phones ] She was surprised and happy that I had made it. Here voice was tinged with excitement. Mine too.

Richard Lester of "Hard Day's Nite" fame projected Paul in different phases of his career onto movie screens in the dark cavernous arena . As a Beatle ( 1960’s ); as a Wing ( 1970’s ); and as a solo performer ( 1980’s ). The screen flashed the words. Today. And out walked Paul McCartney and Linda and the rest of the band.

They started out with a new song off their new album. [ another editor's note: "Figure of Eight." ] The concert was beginning.... But that’s all for now. However stay tuned for another trip down scalper’s lane. Where you’ll.... go to a basketball game; speed down I-69 at 80 miles an hour and live to tell about it; rush through a maze of stairs and ushers checking your ticket stubs on the way to another concert this time buoyed on row "4"; borrow money from a stranger and change cloths in the Golden Pond Parking Lot, while barely escaping a jail cell with Pete Rose. These stories and more you’ll be privy to when you read McCartney II.

Coming soon to your computer! [ editor's last and final note: The above foray was written on an Apple 2 C computer circa 1991. The next installment will be viewed "On Golden Pond," my blog and not on my computer. ]