Ellen once told me a story about a teacher she had in Junior High. She told me the teacher asked everyone which they would prefer: to be blind or to be deaf. The question wasn’t meant to trivialize either condition and I have no idea what conversation preceded the discussion, but I remember what Ellen said next. She said that everyone answered that they would prefer to be deaf. Each cited a difficulty they would face living without eyesight: how they couldn’t drive a car, how difficult it would be to do simple tasks, and how they would be afraid to live in the dark. Then the teacher surprised them all and said she’d rather be blind. She said that she wouldn’t want to live in a world without music. Ellen said she was surprised by this teacher’s response, but that she had grown to realize the truth in it and that she now agrees with her teacher. I don’t know if I fully agree with Ellen, but I do know that life is more beautiful with music. I know how deeply it affects me.

I’ve since been to many other concerts with Ellen. One in particular stands out. A local rock station, WBCN, sponsored a concert at the Paradise club in Boston.
The Maids of Gravity were playing with God Lives Under Water. I liked both bands, but the real motivation was going in town on a beautiful New England day, last minute, at a great small venue, and you couldn’t beat the cost. The concert was sponsored by WBCN 104.1, so the cost was only $1.04 if you mentioned the station at the door. I called Ellen and she was in.

As I mentioned, the Paradise was a small venue rock club. It had an adequate sized stage and it takes up half of the first floor room. There’s an upstairs balcony which overlooks the whole room and there are a handful of booths to each side of the stage. We arrived fairly early, but there were still enough people crowded around to create problems finding a good spot to watch the show. We walked around a bit before I came to the realization that sitting in a booth would probably provide the best view and comfort. Unfortunately, all the booths were occupied, although only with a few people each.

Ellen was ready to stand at the back of the room, when I proposed that we simply ask someone if they would mind sharing their booth with us. Ellen didn’t think that was going to work out and was ready to accept a position at the back of the room. I tried the back of the room for a few minutes, and even looked around at other possible areas, like the balcony. Finally, I arrived at the conclusion that there was no harm in asking, so I walked over to one particular booth right next to the stage, with perfect eye-line, and occupied by only two people. The booth was massive, enough to hold at least a dozen people, so we really wouldn’t be intruding, I reasoned. Ellen still thought I didn’t stand a shot, and I guess I steeled myself for rejection, but I politely asked the couple if they would mind sharing their booth with us, and they kindly agreed. It was that simple.

They turned out to be very nice people and I think they really enjoyed our company and our conversation. I don’t remember either of their names and I would have no way of knowing if they remember the concert like I do, but their simple act of kindness contributed to a lasting memory. Every time I think about that show, that summer at that time of my life, I remember them. This pair of strangers that I’ve never seen since will always be the lynchpin of that memory. The same can’t be said for the rude people I’ve encountered in my life. With few exceptions, I can’t remember them at all.

I don’t know if that couple realized that their act of kindness could have such an impact. They may just be friendly people, who are accustomed to being courteous and honorable. They may have forgotten the matter as something you just do for people, like holding the elevator door open. But, I know it did have an impact. I’m certain I would have remembered the concert anyway, both bands put on a great show and I bought two CD’s that I still have, but my memory wouldn’t have been as perfect without them.

I thought it interesting that at the same show, I didn’t see anyone else ask to share a booth; certainly, no one asked us. If they had, I like to think the couple would have agreed as cheerfully as they had before. Some of the concert-goers may surely have preferred to stand, or dance, or gather at the front of the stage or the back of the room, but I have to think there were many who would have preferred to sit in a comfortable booth like us. Unfortunately, it’s easy to fall into the trap of cynicism and see only the negative qualities of mankind and not seek out the goodness in others. They probably thought that no one would have agreed to share, even though it really wouldn’t have been an imposition at all. I don’t fault them for believing this, but I remember it every time I see someone searching for a place to sit or stand and doesn’t have the courage or insight to ask someone to share a table or bench. I don’t fault them for being cynical. I offer them a place next to me.  I do that whenever I see an opportunity and each time I brush it off like it was the simplest thing in the world, because, really, it is. And I never know when I’m going to make someone’s day and give them a memory they hold with them for a lifetime.

"If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else.”
Booker T. Washington

I’ve been to a lot of concerts. At some point I started collecting my concert tickets to help me remember them, but I’ve never actually looked through the old stubs, so I don’t know accurately how many shows I’ve attended. I haven’t looked through the stubs, because I’ve never needed help remembering them. In fact, I remember my first concert as clearly as I remember the most recent. Some concerts were less memorable than others, but I’m sure if I thought hard enough, I could remember those clearly, too. However, my favorite concerts, the ones that just spring to mind without any concentration at all, do so not because of the great bands, although some of them were great, but for different reasons. I remember them because of the magic of the moment, the perfect slice of time, and because of the people I shared them with.

My sister, Ellen, took me to my first concert. We saw Aerosmith play at a small stadium in Lynn, MA: the Manning Bowl. I was too young to really know music in the way that I do now, and I’m not entirely sure if I even knew who Aerosmith was at the time. I was just happy to spend the day with my sister. We stood in a crowd of people, cheering, and dancing, and singing along. I really felt part of something special and it changed my life forever. I want to take my daughter to her first concert. And I hope she remembers it as sweetly as I remember that day with Ellen.

"Turns out not where but who you’re with. That really matters”
The Dave Matthews Band: The Best of What’s Around

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