She Hasn't Met Bruce Springsteen. Yet.

What's more important is that her intention was really to give a gift to our parents.

When I was in college, I had lots of odd jobs. I took surveys in a mall, was a traffic flagger for a tree surgeon, a "flyer" at Saks Fifth Avenue, and eventually assistant to a loss-prevention auditor.

But some of my fondest memories were of my waitressing and bartending days. My sister and I had jobs at the Harley Hotel, the nicest Hotel in Willoughby, Ohio--known for housing the performers who came to entertain at the Front Row Theatre, a "theater in the round."

There was always a great buzz around the hotel when the performers were staying there, and a great hush-hush surrounding the whole thing. Yet many of the performers would come into the cocktail lounge after their shows and just relax, often unbeknown to the other guests who were there.

This was great fun to be around, and my sister was very adept at getting in on the star power--so much so that she (and eventually I) got weekend jobs at the Front Row Theatre as well, parking cars. She'd meet the stage crew, and get backstage passes, and offer up assistance above and beyond what her job required. Once, she went into the kitchen at 2:00 a.m. to concoct a consommé for one of the Everly Brothers. They were in town for a couple of evenings and were good-spirited and fun-loving. They asked us, "Where is a good place to go out dancing?"

Of course, my sister Karen, mover and shaker that she is (her nickname was Keg in college), was up for it. And what goes down in history, is that we--my sister Karen and I, and possibly my cousin Laura--did indeed take the Everly Brothers out dancing. Now, mind you, I was only about 19 at the time, and my sister about 24, and the Everly Brothers were, well, at least in their late 50s. But dancing, dancing is ageless. We had a ball. They cut a rug paid for the beverages.

But my sister was to outdo herself. No, she hasn't met Bruce Springsteen yet. But one of her best 15 minutes of fame was getting to know the lights guy who worked for Peter, Paul, and Mary. Not only was she able to get us tickets to see the show, for two nights in a row, she was also, after lots of prodding, able to get us backstage. And what's more important is that her intention was really to give a gift to our parents.

Don't worry, we weaseled in, too. But it was our parents--who owned every Peter, Paul, and Mary album imaginable--who had introduced my six sibs and me to "Lemon Tree" and "500 Miles" and "The Marvelous Toy"--such wonderfully poetic stories of joy and heartbreak. Songs that could bring you to tears.

My mother cried. I cried. But I don't think I ever saw a broader smile on my mother's face.


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