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Lifting the Curse, and Living to Tell the Tale
On Saturday afternoon, a small group of friends and family and I set out from the farm to enjoy a much looked-forward-to event, Willie Nelson in concert at the nearby (about 30 miles from my front door) Star Lake Amphitheater.
I was excited. My entire family, both birth and married, are avid traditional country music fans, and Willie Nelson has been at, or near, the top of our list for decades. (Some of you, who think you’ve sussed me out by now, might want to check your disbelief at the door. Keep reading.)
One of the oft-told memories of my sister’s life occurred at a Willie Nelson concert in the UK when he dropped his hat. Seated only a few rows in, she caught it, and threw it back. He blew her a kiss. But this past Saturday night, I couldn’t help a few trepidations about the whole thing. Let me explain:
Somewhere in the early 1990s, I purchased tickets for the Capitol Theatre in Wheeling, WV, (home of Jamboree USA!) to see George Jones. The occasion was a visit from England by that same sister and her husband.
Unfortunately, No-Show-Jones lived up to his name, as he was being dried-out or otherwise cared for, during the aftermath of one of his many unfortunate lifelong “health” calamities. And so Doug Stone, someone I’d never heard of and regarded as a B-List substitute, filled in.
As it turned out, Doug did a fine job, and we greatly enjoyed the show. An added bonus was the fuss the staff made–immediately calling the manager–over my sister. They were thrilled that she’d flown all the way across the Atlantic to attend the show. They loved her accent. They were stunned at her knowledge of country music. They wanted to know if she was going to Dollywood. (Of course, she was!) And they gave us all tickets to attend the after-show party with snacks and drinks, in the room up above the stage.
And so that is how my sister and I came to find ourselves at a party, chatting with the singer for the 1170 house band, which had performed at half-time. He was a lovely young man who gave us each an eight-by-10 studio photo of himself in costume, with the hat. Signed: Brad Paisley. (Everything I’ve heard about him since confirms our initial “nice guy” sense. What a charmer.)
But I was sorry to have missed George Jones.
Strike One.
Fast forward to almost 25 years later, when I discovered in the Spring of 2016 that Merle Haggard had a show scheduled at the same Capitol Theatre in May. (For those who don’t know, I’m in SW Pennsylvania, and Wheeling is only about 20 miles away, much closer, and much less trouble to get to and from than Pittsburgh.) So I got myself a single ticket to see The Hag, as Mr. She wasn’t really up for the trip at that point, and I couldn’t find anyone else on short notice.
Not long before the show, on April 6, 2016, Merle Haggard died of pneumonia.
Strike Two.
This past April, I was on the phone with my sister, and I mentioned that it was Willie Nelson’s 90th birthday, and that there was a big bash at the Hollywood Bowl to celebrate. “I think he’s still touring,” I said.
“Hang on,” she said. “Let me check.” Slight pause. Followed by a squeal. “He’s coming to Pittsburgh in August!”
My first thought was, “Willie! Pittsburgh! I’m all in.” Then caution asserted itself. “Are you Crazy?” (see what I did there). First George. Then Merle. Now, 90-year-old Willie. Four months hence. What are the odds?”
Still, “mother never bred a jibber,” as mine used to say, so I asked around, gathered reinforcements, and bought the tickets. Not the best seats. Not under roof; but rather, on the lawn. Still, an adventure! And Willie!
For the week leading up to the event, we kept a wary eye on the weather. Until Thursday, all was well. Then, ominous reports began to creep in, so that by Friday we were looking at a 25% chance of afternoon showers and perhaps widely-scattered thunderstorms.
Saturday morning? OMG! Severe thunderstorms! Possible tornadoes! High winds! Large hail!
I remembered the always sage–never amiss at such moments–advice of my dear friend Glenda, and so I took a “calm-your-a**-down pill,” regrouped, and checked the venue’s website.
“This concert will be held, rain or shine,” it chirped happily.
So at about 2:30 on Saturday afternoon, we set out with our ponchos (those things like large plastic tablecloths with a hood in the middle), waterproof mats, several other useful weather-related accessories, and an intrepid spirit, arriving at Star Lake in good time, and parking without incident. Of course, we immediately went for the snacks, and settled down comfortably on the lawn for the duration.
Things kicked off on time, about 4:30, the weather appeared to be holding up, and we were starting to think: “Phew, perhaps we’ll make it.”
The first warm-up act was truly awful. I can’t remember his name, which is probably just as well. He was followed by The Particle Kid, who is one of Willie’s sons. Talented, but by-and-large not my kind of music. Although he’s a whistler–a skill I think is vastly underrated–and I greatly enjoyed that part of his oeuvre. And then a band which was quite good but which needs to learn pacing and variety in its music. Love song? BAMM BAMM BAMM. Ballad? BAMM BAMM BAMM. Anthem: BAMM BAMM BAMM. And so on, until my ears were almost dripping blood.
By then, the heavens had opened, we were sitting in the pouring rain in a field on which the newest raindrops were bouncing against the previous ones, everything was sodden, and even the large, spread-out, plastic ponchos were proving useless.
Finally, the thunder, lightning, and the public address system kicked in, and those of us in the peanut gallery were invited to take shelter under the pavilion roof while the show was on hold.
We managed to find seats not quite–but mostly–under the roof, as we continued to be battered by the storm. Everything about me was soaked. Without delving much into realms of TMI, just be assured that every part, every crevice, every crack of me had water running down, through, in, and out of it. And that–although it wasn’t cold–the occasional strong wind gusts gave quite a chilling effect to the whole. The only saving grace was a small group of enterprising lads who took garbage bags and created head-first and feet-first toboggan races down the amphitheater “bowl” in the splashing water. They were entertaining in their own right, but made even more so by the increasingly high-pitched warnings from the Bother Lady on the public address system about the dangers of being out in the weather.
This was around the time that I checked West Penn Power’s outage reporting website and discovered that the power was off at home.
After about 40 minutes of this misery, we were advised that the show would come back on with John Fogerty (the other headliner) to appear next. This was quite cheering to me, as I’d just had the only meltdown (a minor one) I was to experience that evening, in the face of numerous friendly texts from folks on different continents, in several time zones:
I hope you’re having a marvelous time!
Enjoy yourselves! Wish I was there with you!
Can’t wait to hear your review! Have Fun!
“Crimenutely,” I groaned. (TBC, that wasn’t actually the word I used). “History repeats itself yet again. I missed George Jones because he was drunk, and I missed Merle Haggard because he was dead, and I’m about to miss Willie Nelson because of the only thing that could possibly keep the two of us apart–an Act of God!”
Still, out came Fogerty and the band. He was great. I didn’t realize he’s been engaged in a decades-long fight to get his songs back so he can perform them himself. Apparently, he won this past January, so we heard several old standards until (after “Who’ll Stop the Rain”) the show was called again.
This time the public address lady advised that we might want to take shelter in the bathrooms (not something I’ve heard from a venue host before). So we checked the weather app again to discover that tornadoes had landed in the immediate area, and we were now under a tornado warning.
We decamped to the bathrooms, which were very substantial concrete block construction, to wait out the worst of it, then returned to the pavilion to find that more people had left–so we could move further forward and get even better seats–to await the next chapter.
It came pretty quickly, around 9 p.m., when the Bother Lady reasserted herself, said that the program had been truncated, and that WILLIE NELSON would appear at 9:15! Rapturous joy ensued among those happy few still in the arena.
A few minutes later, stage crew folks appeared to start to take down the Fogerty set and construct the Willie set. And then, a wonderful surprise–John Fogerty came back out, with just his old guitar (the one from Woodstock).
He said he wasn’t in charge of the weather or the decisions, but since he hadn’t finished his set, he’d like to entertain us while the Willie folks were getting ready behind him, and we had a wonderful 15 minutes of CCR’s greatest hits, and the standard “Cotton Fields Back Home” singalong. It was glorious, and if things had ended there, I’d always be sad about missing Willie, but I’d have felt I attended a worthwhile event.
But things didn’t end there, and out he came!
Gosh. I remember when “Whiskey River” was a rousing anthem. This wasn’t. But it was Willie, and that’s good enough for me.
He’s showing his age, and looks like nothing so much as a friendly garden gnome. But the twinkle, the imp of perversity, is still there. And he sang many of his old standards and a few new ones. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
His son Micah (The Particle Kid) shared the stage, along with a drummer, a bassist, and a harmonica accompanist. All of them took great care of their frail and indomitable headliner. It was a joy to behold.
We ended with another singalong, in this case, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” and then it was time to get on the road (again). My little party drove through the gates of home at about midnight, to discover that the power had been restored (Alleluia By and By!) about 20 minutes prior.
I fell into bed. I woke up early on Sunday to my sister’s WhatsApp concern that I’d returned home safely. Before I responded, I checked the news and discovered that three tornadoes had touched down in Washington County, two of them very close to home, and that the little town of Claysville, about three miles down the road had seen tennis-ball size hail.
I guess I missed the worst of it.
And Willie and I lifted the curse.
Please share your own most trying entertainment experience, in which you’re glad you persevered against the odds.
Published in General
She, you were always one of our best writers, but this…
There an elect few among the elect few who can write The Sentence. I can’t even think of the others right now, except one, and I don’t know his last name, just an initial.
I am looking forward to watching your career climb steadily toward its pinochle.
She, with all respect…are you kidding us? Who do you think we are, O. Henry or something?
You should have asked before posting this!
The Mets spring training facility would play music between innings and put the name of the song and the artist on the scoreboard. Late in a game this caused Mets broadcaster Ralph Kiner to come back from a break and tell his audience the Mets had made a defensive change: “Now in ‘Centerfield,’ John Fogerty.”
Great post!!
As for my “own most trying entertainment experience,” it was the Woodstock festival, August 1969. That month would mark our first wedding anniversary so naturally what better gift for my bride than a motorcycle ride from Philly to Woodstock for three days of rock?
Bought tickets and everything, but by the time we got there, we’d wound our way, thanks to being on a motorcycle, through miles of backed up cars, trucks and RVs only to find there was no need for tickets any longer — the size of the crowd had overwhelmed the fencing. We were actually supposed to meet up with some friends. What a joke!
We found ourselves a place to park and pitch our gear, then headed up to the crest of a hill. Beyond in the distance was the stage, but the sound was fabulous, and we could hear every note. We lay there in a state (which shall not be further described) for the next several hours listening to the music and the announcements. Finally we toddled off back to where we sweltered in our sleeping bags but had no choice — we were camping apparently in a damp pasture where the mosquitos were . . . plentiful and hangry. A miserable night.
Next morning word was going around about the coming dearth of food and water, and the rest of the situation did not look to improve. So we made the slow trek back out to the open road through even more miles of stalled vehicles till we could roar– and I mean roar — all the way back to our air conditioned apartment, where we listened to the rest of the weekend’s festival being broadcast live on the radio. We’d left before the deluge of rain arrived. All the amusements, none of the miseries.
One of the best concerts ever.
Willie’s daughter Paula hosts a show on my favorite Sirius station, Willie’s Roadhouse.
I was just listening to some Doug Stone the other day – he’s not that obscure is he?
Well, I’m talking about the early 90s, and Doug the stand-in versus George Jones the headliner. So that might make a difference. As I said in the OP, I thought he was quite good.
I don’t recall any trying entertainment experiences like that, but I do recall an experience from my childhood when I was very trying and the perseverance and patience of my parents won the day. My father had tickets for the Civic Light Opera and it had been decided that the whole family was to go. As a 9-year old boy the term opera sounded like a night of intense boredom to me. I dragged my feet and was mopey about missing out on watching Sergeant Preston of the RCMP on Channel 9 (Which broadcast from Steubenville and was barely watchable from Pittsburgh in those days).
The venue was the Melody Tent in Pittsburgh which was CLO’s home before the Civic Arena. It was theater in the round. We had good seats 3-5 rows back. The actors entered and exited via the aisles and I had the aisle seat in our row. The production was Kismet. The sounds, the colors and the close physical presence of the actors were like nothing I had ever seen before. I was blown away.
Hope not. That O. Henry story about the young couple always strikes me as deeply disturbing.
Thanks. Pinochle is great, and I love to promote it.
There are two concerts (don’t ask me the years, but quite a while ago) that I attended where I suspect the singer was inebriated. Hank Williams Junior gave a pretty erratic performance at We Fest in Detroit Lakes, MN. Wild and crazy one minute, then it’s like the downers kicked in and he was kind of mumbling like he couldn’t quite remember the words to the songs, even though he wrote them.
Mary Chapin Carpenter played at the Red River Valley Fair in West Fargo, ND. The show was delayed because of rain and I wonder if she didn’t use that time to drink. She was a bit crabby, going off-topic and making references to the rich and the French Revolution in between songs.
pinochle is very fun, I grew up playing it every Sunday afternoon at my paternal grandmother’s house. Now I play more euchre. Both games are great. I have seen many fights erupt during euchre games. Never while playing pinochle. Much more civilized.
A trying entertainment experience? I might not have had any. Unless you count bicycle tours or wilderness canoe camping adventures as entertainment. (That’s what came to mind while reading your weather report.)
It was June of ’97. The biggest names in music (Bush, Collective Soul, Jewel, Matchbox Twenty, No Doubt, Counting Crows) were to play at the biggest stadium ’round Here at the time: TEXAS Motor Speedway. Sponsored by the biggest name in entertainment: Blockbuster Rockfest.
We were in Jerry’s Mazda RX-7 travelling I-35N, about 2 P.M., and traffic was at a full stop. People were running out of gas, cars overheating. People were abandoning Their cars, grabbing all They could carry, and just started walking along the highway. It was nighttime when we finally made it into the parking lot. Estimated turnout a quarter million plus.
Our cooler consisted of a few cases of BEER and a package of bologna for the weekend.
I’ve never seen so many helicopters at one time; all the local traffic helicopters and all the VIPs shuttling them to the Speedway.
Monday morning newspaper, front page, were pictures of people, while waiting for the traffic to move, running across the service road and into people’s backyards and jumping into Their pools.
The DJ of a local station, “If Y’all left the concert with less people than You arrived with, would You go back and pick up the rest of Yer party.”
Life rule in any situation if you can do it.
Great story Mrs. She – life time memory.
Many years ago, my entire family (25+ people) got tix to the Hollywood Bowl. We usually did it once a year, typically choosing the cheapest show regardless of the show.
That year it was Michael York reading Shakespeare while the LA Phil played in between recitations. We were in the cheap seats picnicking and just enjoying ourselves.
Son #3 was about seven and had the same attitude as you on the way, feet dragging, eyes rolling. About halfway though, he nudged me and said “I didn’t get quite get that one”. He’d been hanging on every word.
Just six months later we went whale watching and there was Michael York. He nudged me: mom. Shakespeare is here!
Mr York graciously provided an autograph when I told the story.
Wonderful story! I’m glad Michael York enjoyed it too, and that you got an autograph. Kids so often are far more capable of engagement with things we normally thing of as “far beyond their years,” and I always love to see that.
My brother (starting at age about three) loved watching and listening to the Boston Pops on PBS, and although we never got to see them live, every time he saw Arthur Fiedler on the TV he’d get very excited and yell, “Come quickly, it’s Boston Pop!”
I went to a David Allen Coe concert many years ago. It was supposed to start at 8 pm. We waited and waited and waited. The MC kept saying it’d just be a minute. Finally, the artist came on at 10:30 pm. DAC explained he’d been right outside for the last four hours haggling with the IRS. “They say I owe a bunch of taxes. They took my bus and most of my stuff, but we’re going to play anyway.” It was a great show and since the theater was only 2000 seats, most of us knew one another by the time the wait was over and he finished playing. But, that’s another story.
I probably have some trying entertainment experiences but none like that. I’m glad you got to see Willie in the end and missed those tornados and hail.
Regarding Brad Paisley, I’ve liked him quite a lot for a while but he was never one of my top favorites. I just had the opportunity to see him in Tampa in May. He was doing a charity concert for Special Operations & Intelligence Community members and families. It was unplanned but I was invited last minute. Wow, what an absolutely fantastic show! And yes, an extremely nice guy. Super impressed with him and the show and he went way up on my list of country musicians.