The Great Equalizer

 As a teen growing up in the 1970s, I went to a lot of rock concerts from Bruce Springsteen and Styx to Foreigner and Tom Petty to Kansas, Queen and many others. Back then there was little access to rock stars. There was no following them on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. They made very few appearances on television outside of The Midnight Special or Don Kirschner’s Rock Concert. Most news about rock stars came through magazines like Creem, Circus, and Rolling Stone. Consequently, rock stars were treated as . . . well, as rock stars. They were lionized, placed on pedestals, and lived larger than life in the minds of most fans.

For instance, graffiti in London in the mid-1960s proclaimed about Eric Clapton that “Clapton is God.” John Lennon of The Beatles stirred controversy when he cheekily stated in March 1966 interview that The Beatles were “More popular than Jesus.” Led Zeppelin’s lead singer Robert Plant was proclaimed “The Golden God.”

 

Fast forward four decades, and many of these rock stars are still touring. Several years ago, Jergel’s Rhythm Grille in Warrendale, brought Lou Gramm, Foreigner’s lead singer, to town, and we happened to get tickets. Before the concert began, I went to the Ladies Room, and as I left, I had to pass through a vestibule and glass doors to get back into the main room. And guess who held the door for me? Lou Gramm. When I got back to our seats, I told my husband about it and laughed that had that happened 40 years ago, I’d have been delirious, but now he was just an average-looking middle-aged man, and I just said thanks.

We saw The Who about five years ago, and although Pete Townsend didn’t jump as high while strumming his guitar and Roger Daltrey laughed about how his voice would probably crack when he screamed on We Don’t Get Fooled Again, the concert was great. 

In 2019, Phil Collins came to town. He can no longer play the drums for health reasons, and on the big screen with his glasses and bald head, he looked like my dad singing In the Air Tonight. But Phil still had it and made the concert fun and amazing.

Rod Stewart came to town a few years ago too. Everyone in the crowd had a good laugh, when on the big screen, the cover of a Rolling Stone issue with a picture of him in 1978 appeared. It was published when his song Da Ya Think I’m Sexy came out. He quoted the article back then where he said he didn’t want to be in his 60s and still singing that song. It would be ridiculous. He laughed, and said, “Guess what, I’m 72 and I’m singing it tonight.”

This past October 4, I saw The Rolling Stones for the first time at Heinz Field, and although Mick Jagger is nearing 80, he still strutted, posed and rocked the stadium. At one time, I looked at my husband and said, "Forty-five years ago, did you ever think you'd be in your sixties and watching Mick Jagger still performing?" 

 The view from the cheap seats.

But with all these concerts there was a difference from the ones I attended when I was in my youth. From Phil Collins to Mick Jagger—all of them seemed to be more humble, relaxed and happier. In fact, Mick quipped, that sadly, he hadn’t had much time to spend in Pittsburgh; he didn’t get a chance to go “to the Warhol and gaze at myself.” It’s not often that an entertainer who comes to town has a portrait hanging in a museum. But rather than being haughty about it, he seemed to be amused by it all. 

Time catches up with everyone.  These rock stars are no longer gods but mortals just like the rest of us. Aging is the great equalizer. And I find myself liking and appreciating these performers even more now that we have become acquainted with their human sides. 

This article originally appeared in the November issue of Northern Connection magazine.

A Mother's Love

My article on a wonderful mother I knew appeared in the May issue of Northern Connection magazine. In case you missed it there, here it is. Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.

 A Mother’s Love 

Most everyone thinks that his or her mom is wonderful, which is how it should be. In this month’s issue, we feature some exceptional mothers like Lacie Spagnolo. As I was writing about them, I began to think about some of the remarkable moms I’ve met during my lifetime. As I was going over the roll call of mothers, there was one who stood out among the crowd. That mom was Olive Argentah, and she was a neighbor who lived the street behind me in West View, next door to my best girlfriend, Marilyn. Olive was her real name, but the neighborhood kids knew her as Aunt Tootie.

 I don’t remember when I first met her, but I do remember when I first met her son.

 I used to take my 45s up to Marilyn’s, where we would sing and dance to records in her bedroom like The Rolling Stones’, “Honky Tony Women” and The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar.” One day during the summer while the windows were open, we were debating our next musical selection when I heard a strange sound outside.

“What’s that noise?” I asked.

 “Oh, that’s just Kenny,” Marilyn said nonchalantly.

 “Who’s Kenny?"

 “Aunt Tootie’s boy. He has something wrong with him.”

 I knew Aunt Tootie’s daughter. She was gorgeous and worked downtown and wore beautiful suits and had black hair like That Girl. She had once given Marilyn a whole rainbow of mini lipstick samples from Avon that I would have traded all my issues of Tiger Beat magazine to own.

 For the next several years, Kenny was sort of a Boo Radley in my life—a mystery person. Then one day when I was probably about 10 or 11 when we were out playing in Marilyn’s front yard, Aunt Tootie asked us if we wanted to come in and visit with Kenny. Marilyn had been in a number of times to see him, and she said sure so I tagged along.

Aunt Tootie took us into her small home and guided us to a first floor bedroom. There lying in a special bed dressed in kid’s pajamas was a man/child. Kenny was about the size of a 12-year-old boy, but he had the face of a young man. It was one of those moments where you stop breathing; I’d never seen someone like Kenny before.

Aunt Tootie smiled, rubbed his hair and said so lovingly, her kindness pierced my shock, “Here’s my handsome boy. Look, Kenny, Marilyn and Janice have come to visit.” He just glanced our way and made a noise. “Sit with him a minute, while I get his lunch.” She returned and spoon-fed him his meal.

 As I’ve grown older, I’ve met other mother’s with children like Kenny, but Aunt Tootie stands out in my mind because of her love and pride for her son and for bearing what some would have found so burdensome with great joy, even when it seemed that life was out to break her.

 Her husband, coincidentally was named Ollie, and they were madly in love. She once told Marilyn and me that the day this “handsome lumberjack walked into my high school, I knew I was going to marry him.” As long as they had each other, it seemed they could handle whatever came there way, including a profoundly handicapped child. They played games together, played their organ and bought a backyard pool so they could take stay-cations. Cruelly, Ollie, died suddenly while in his forties.

But I never once heard Aunt Tootie complain. She was funny, generous and loved a good time. She kept right on loving and caring for Kenny and seeing beauty where others may not have.

Thirty years ago this coming August, I invited her to my wedding. While most guests are concerned with receiving thank you notes for the wedding gifts they had given, not Aunt Tootie. Upon my return from my honeymoon, there was a thank you card waiting for me from her. In it she thanked me for inviting her to my wedding, said I looked beautiful, praised my parents, the food and the music and hoped that I would be as happy in marriage as she had been.

Nearly 20 years ago, my brother and his wife bought Marilyn’s old house and some years after that Aunt Tootie passed away, but not before loving and taking care of Kenny until he reached middle age and then passed away.

Her house was sold and the new owners told my sister-in-law that when they pulled up the old carpeting, they found notes under it that read: “This carpet was put in with love by Ollie and Tootie.”

Aunt Tootie need not have worried about leaving notes behind as a mark that she had lived. Her example of selfless, motherly love made a greater impression than any note or monument could ever have.