it was nineteen seventy, i think probably, five. i was sound asleep & i mean sound. the doorbell might have rung but that sort of thing never intruded on my teenage sleep. my parents were on one of those trailer vacations & had left my young party animal self home, so i was most likely more than tired. it was early.
urgent knocking at the window. it was ron. now, ron was my high school sweetheart & the source of my elton john fanaticism — his taste in music was much better than my own, john denver addled proclivities ever were. in any case, it was him at the window.
he, his parents & brother out in the cutlass, picking me up to go wait in the line for the tickets. early in the morning, bay area-type cold, i remember that line. i remember being among the last few dozen that scored the tickets. yesssssss.
fast forward to the concert. oakland coliseum, nosebleed seats. sit down, smoke doobies that were so badly rolled — i’m sure we were barely stoned. i remember the overwhelming sensation i had when elton took the stage in his sequins & feathers, & the music. i remember thinking that i was in the same coliseum with the greatest human being that had ever lived. yeah, i was probably stoned. but let’s face it — seeing elton at the height of the seventies, glittering & young & utterly perfect for the age…
i have not very many memories of that time. i wish i had more, because they were perfect.