12 SECONDS WITH THE BOSS

by Craig Colby

I was 21 years old when Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. was released. My brother Scott and I bought that album and added Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town, because why not. As I listened to those albums my mind opened, particularly during Darkness on the Edge of Town. Badlands, the first track, perfectly described how I feel about life, that you can be defiant in the face of heartbreak. From that moment Bruce Springsteen’s music became part of the fabric of my life.

Thirty-two years later I am standing in the wind and rain outside a bookstore in downtown Toronto to finally meet the Boss. In a two hour window six hundred fans will shake Bruce’s hand, have a picture taken with him on our own cameras, and pick up an autographed copy of his autobiography, Born to Run. I did the math. We each have 12 seconds. Not much time.

The night before I had rehearsed my 12 seconds with my 12-year-old son Shane standing in as Bruce. Shane’s first concert was a Springsteen show, 4 years earlier. Shane partied gamely for 3 hours and 35 minutes, right through “Twist and Shout”, which everyone believed was the final encore. Then Bruce said “one more song” and launched into Glory Days. Shane, in turn, launched onto my shoulders and collapsed. Bruce rocked him to sleep. Earlier this year Bruce did the same thing with my 8-year-old Curtis.

At 10:00 we enter the doors of Indigo on Bay Street. The first barrier is cleared, and none too soon. The umbrella I bought had exploded in the wind. But another hurdle awaits. After I receive my wristband, a representative of Simon & Schuster, the book’s publisher, says “please leave any gifts or notes for Mr. Springsteen in this bin. We’ll make sure he gets them.” There goes the bottle of Jack Daniels I was going to hand Bruce. Fortunately I had anticipated this. I have paper, a pen and a rubber band. I write “I’ve always wanted to buy you a drink. Thanks for the all the great music” sign my name, wrap the rubber band around the note and bottle and drop it in the bin. Down the stairs I go to join the indoor lineup.

I have been separated from my line-mates, a group that goes to concerts together. Sadly, none of my Boss Fan Friends got a ticket. Now my brand-new friends are gone too. Only one thing to do. Make new friends. I talk to some of the people stranded in Teen Fiction with me. John, a middle-aged guy with a nice camera, is telling stories to Teri, a 67-year-old woman from Toronto, and Melissa, a 26-year-old who had driven up from Buffalo the night before. The line moves on to the Entertainment and Performing Arts section and more stories come out. Bruce brought Teri on stage for Dancing in the Dark in Rochester. She shows me the video.

I hear a 30ish redheaded woman telling John a story. Her name is Alison, and she was conceived after a Born in the U.S.A. show in 1984. She has a picture of her parents wedding and hopes Bruce will say “Happy Anniversary”. Randy chimes in. He’s seen Bruce a whopping 56 times and has met him twice already. He still needs another 12 seconds of Boss time. Another woman, whose name escapes me, flew in from P.E.I. this morning for this.

Everyone is so nice, but that should not be a surprise. It occurs to me that if you relate to the values in Bruce’s music you likely have those values yourself. Springsteen fandom may be self-selecting warm folks, Chris Christie notwithstanding. We are all making new friends as Bruce’s music plays over the loudspeakers. I try to take a picture of the crowd. My phone won’t do it! The memory is full. Furiously, I delete pictures of my children (they are mostly doubles). I have a spare camera too, in case the phone has more problems.

At noon the announcement comes “He may have been Born in the U.S.A. but today he belongs to Canada!” Bruce is here! People cheer! Wait! He is an hour early! Does that mean our 12 seconds has ballooned to 18 seconds? We’ll see.

The line starts to move. People are combing their hair ‘til it’s just right (sorry). Middle aged women in low cut tops fix their makeup. This is great. Two long haired dudes in their early 20s talk about how their dad got them into Springsteen and how they feel the mere 3 concerts they have attended doesn’t measure up. We tell them 3 concerts is great. Teri doesn’t even count. Who cares? It’s not a competition. We all love his music.

As the line winds through book cases, we catch glimpses of Bruce with his fans in the distance. No, we won’t get 18 seconds. As we get closer there is a coat/bag check so that you don’t have to haul a bunch of stuff with you during THE MOMENT. Nice touch Indigo/Simon & Schuster.

We get closer still. Have your cameras ready! I had hoped to take a picture of Alison. She is running video for her parents’ anniversary and won’t get a still otherwise. Not going to happen. The PEI woman in line behind me is trembling.

We are close! A young woman comes to take my camera. I tell her to take stills of Alison too. No problem. Alison goes first. She tells the story quickly, holds up the picture and says “Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!” Bruce smiles and says “Happy, happy, happy.”

I am up. This is the same rush I felt when I hit the starting gate of my only marathon. I step forward. Bruce is ready to receive me.

Since I got the ticket two days I ago I have wondered what this brief experience will mean to me. I have a relationship with Bruce Springsteen’s music, not the man himself. I certainly won’t get a relationship in 12 seconds. I used a vacation day for moments with a stranger. So what is this, really?

The night before I was talking to my friend Larry.He said “the moment won’t mean much to him but it will mean a lot to you.” It’s clear Springsteen understands this already. Bruce is ready to receive me.

I step forward and stick out my hand. He takes it. He looks me in the eye. It’s there. The connection. This is what I want. Even though he understands this is my moment, I think he wants it too. ight

I say “Thanks for all the great music. It’s been a big part of my life.” He smiles warmly. He has heard words like this thousands of time but he accepts it like it is the first. Our faces are close together. It’s an intimate moment. We turn to the camera. I put my arm around him. As soon as the picture is taken I say “and I am so sorry for what I have done to it on karaoke night,” I feel his shoulders shake. A gravelly “ha, ha, ha” slips out. It feels genuine. That was my moment. Appreciation and a laugh.

I move off to allow the next connection. I barely remember getting my phone back. We move to the coat check collection. PEI Woman comes up behind me. She is trembling.

We are given our autographed books and leave the store. Some of us decide to go for lunch. After being received we need to commune. Teri, Alison, Melissa, Randy, Joey and I go upstairs for lunch. We are all still buzzing.

After we order lunch, Melissa says she is not happy with her picture. Teri tells her “go back and ask them to take it again. They will.” Melissa gets her wristband, which had been cut off as we left, and goes back. Twenty minutes later she returns. She brings a story.

This summer Melissa’s 18-year-old sister died in a car crash. Melissa’s first time through line she told Bruce his music helped her get through the suffering. When her picture was retaken Bruce said to her “Did you have a sign requesting Terry’s Song in the pit in Pittsburgh?” Terry’s Song is a eulogy to Bruce’s longtime assistant Terry Magovern. When Bruce saw the sign in Pittsburgh, which included a picture of the 18-year-old girl, he asked Melissa “is this your sister?” Bruce remembered that connection. I don’t know about anyone else at the table but when I heard that story I choked up.

Melissa said “I don’t think you can really appreciate Bruce’s music until you’ve lived a little.”

Why did this day mean so much? Why did 600 people spend hours in line for 10 seconds with one man? Why were so many people disappointed they could not do the same? Why did strangers suddenly relate to each other? Springsteen’s music taps into the pain of life and defiance you need to keep moving forward. It celebrates “that it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive.” The artist and his fans are connected by those ideals. We were there to feel that connection and return it to him. It turns out twelve seconds was just enough time to do that.

Still, the picture and autographed book were a nice bonus.

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Craig Colby is a television executive producer, producer, director, writer and story editor. He runs a storytelling consulting and production service for businesses. Craig can be reached at craig@colbyvision.net.