LONDONDERRY — The highway is dark as I head west, now clear of Pennsylvania and slipping quickly through Ohio. I'm on my way to Nebraska for another Bruce Springsteen concert. I think it'll be number 100-something, but I never wanted to count and so that's just a guess.
The tires of my Subaru thump along a tired stretch of broken concrete, sounding out the miles between my home and the stage and reminding me of the distance I've traveled since first being touched by the music of Bruce Springsteen and by the man himself.
The story of this long road trip begins on a hot August night in 1975 when I was a teenager wasting the summer between my junior and senior years of high school.
I was sitting in my bedroom, which was in the attic of a three-story house in a comfortable New York suburb. I remember the heavy heat in that room and how impossible it was to find relief through the summer.
I had wedged a salvaged television speaker into an empty heating grate on my bedroom floor and wired it to both channels of an ancient stereo on the first floor. That effectively blocked a tiny bit of warm air from rising into my bedroom and brought music from the radio tuner.
New York station WNEW-FM was playing in the background, and I was moping through the evening, barely paying attention to the music or my life.
WNEW-FM wasn't a popular station by any stretch, but it was considered “cool” within my limited social circle. The DJs tended to play album rock, although it was a mixed bag without a playlist.
As a listener, I had learned what to expect in the different styles favored by a handful of DJs, but I had no way to anticipate the transformative power of the live Springsteen show broadcast from a New York club, the Bottom Line, on that sweltering August night.
The music stopped me cold and drew me to the magic of the radio.
I remember sitting in the dark staring at that little speaker stuffed in the floor, aware on some level that I was changing but not knowing how, and suddenly feeling less hopeless against the powerful forces shaping my adolescent life.
There was something special about the raw emotion of the music that night, and something especially captivating about Springsteen's characters, both real and imagined.
There was recognition of life beyond, and the possibility of freedom from the gravity binding me to a future I didn't know or want. Within the music there were stories. There was fear. There was anguish. There was hope.
And there was a beckoning to rise up, break away, and join the world.
I sat cross-legged in the dark, sweating, alone, watching the hidden speaker and finding myself carried along to another place and another time. This time.
* * *
The music of Bruce Springsteen instantly became part of my life, but only at a distance.
I didn't have a record player so my listening was at the mercy of whatever the radio station would play. The DJs at WNEW-FM were as taken by Bruce Springsteen as I was, so his songs regularly surged from that old speaker in the floor.
I moved on from high school and made my way to New Paltz State College, which in March 1977 was selling tickets to a live Springsteen show at the Mid-Hudson Civic Center in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. I waited on line for about three hours early one morning and was rewarded with front-row, center seats.
I cherish the memories of this special night when recollections of the cheap speaker in the bedroom floor were revived, and then embellished by flesh and sweat and full-throated sound, and magically brought to life on a roaring stage. Fear and anguish and hope mixed with passion and power, and blended within a rich musical tapestry to cast a long pathway from there to here.
* * *
I met BrucE once. It was a chilly Buffalo night in December of 1980. I had managed to get backstage after an amazing show and was waiting with Seth Goodchild, a college friend and roommate, as Bruce slowly made his way out of the dressing-room area.
He was all bundled up in a long black coat and looking tired, but he took a moment to share a few words with me and Seth.
We told him it was a good show, and he said “Yeah, do you really think so?,” accenting the question mark as if we could have found any fault with his performance.
I asked for an autograph, but the only paper I had was a tattered blue pass that got me backstage. Bruce had a Sharpie and signed the pass, but the marker was dry and the autograph almost illegible. He apologized with sincerity, although to my mind there was nothing wrong with the autograph. It was his, and it was mine.
Buffalo was a great show, and it was a great night. There have been more shows, and many more great nights. For 14 years, I had a road job with World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) and developed inside contacts at arenas around the country. That gave me access to tickets when Bruce played those same arenas, and I often took advantage of the privilege.
Sometimes I was offered special backstage passes and a chance to meet Bruce Springsteen again. Always I said no. I didn't want the Buffalo memory tarnished by a different man on a different night.
I left WWE in 2001 and surrendered my easy access to concert tickets, but in the years since I have spent dozens of nights and days camped outside the box offices of those same arenas to buy seats to future shows, and my old friend Seth has graciously invited me along when he had spare tickets.
There have been scores of those nights, and now I'm heading to Nebraska for one more.
* * *
So why? As the years stretch on and my Subaru thumps along the interstate traveling to another show, why do I still find inspiration in this music, and why do I find value in the experience?
Life goes on, I suppose. It changes constantly, but it goes on. I can ride along, or I can navigate my own pathway. It's my choice.
Bruce Springsteen taught me that. When I first heard his music coming from that old speaker in the floor, I felt him beckon me forward. He said there is a world beyond the darkness, and it can be mine.
He led me there. He led me here.
His music has changed, just as my life has changed. His stories have conveyed love and loss, happiness and heartache, hope and fear, loneliness and collective joy.
He has spoken to deeply personal issues, and to the global politics that affect us all. His narrative has grown with time and either guided my life or provided the soundtrack as I've nudged forward on my own.
But always, the characters and stories have given me a glimpse of what lies beyond the darkness and what rests within in the souls of the people I touch every day.
Nebraska, here I come.