It is no secret that I have been riding on the fast track to get rich slow my entire life. Recently, when I had the opportunity to purchase one of the two last row coffin corner partial view $20 tickets to the hit musical, Fun Home, currently staged at the Public Theater, I pounced. I reasoned:
Me (reasoning): Better to see some of this show than none.
Below, is an image of my irresistible view.
I could see about a third of the stage. The woman sitting next to me, who paid the $45 membership rate price, had a full view, but was not happy. She also felt sympathy for me. An Alpha New Yorker, she complained to someone. I figured that when the show would start, I would stand for the 105-minute duration. But the woman’s complaining reaped results. Shortly before the play began, an usher informed everyone in the back row that we could have better seats. I was moved to the center of the seventh row as if I paid full price for my ticket. I thought:
Me (thinking): Sweet! This is a great day!
Then my iPhone vibrated in my pocket and I was gob smacked back to reality. I had an alert from the New York Times announcing that Lou Reed had died. Even though he was 71 and had liver disease, I felt sucker punched. Lou was one of the reasons why I moved to New York City in 1982. He was one of my heroes when I was growing up in San Francisco. He was cool, he was smart, he was talented, he had attitude and he was a Brooklyn born New Yorker. He was the real deal.
My sitting in the cheap seats has a connection to him. When I was a high school senior attending Our Lady of Perpetual Misery School or, Our Lady of PMS, Lou was on tour promoting his latest album, Rock & Roll Heart. He was playing in the East Bay at the Berkeley Community Theatre on November 30, 1976. I told my best friend and fellow Lou-fan, a girl named Faith, that we had to see him. We agreed that we would sit in the $4.50 seats. We deemed the $6.50 seat price too steep. We were sitting so far away at this sold out show it was as if we were watching Lou sing from another galaxy. I brought my super 8 mm Minolta movie camera with me. Somewhere in my father’s house today is a reel of silent, anything but super, super 8 mm film of a gnat-sized Lou Reed performing.
Fast-forward 35 years to October 15, 2011. Milton and I are attending a screening at the New York Film Festival of a documentary film called Pina directed by Wim Wenders. As I approach Milton at Lincoln Center’s Alice Tully Hall, he is giddy with excitement. Milton recognized Lou standing outside the theater. Quick thinking Milton, whipped out his iPhone and immediately took a photograph.
Then, he took more images finger obscuring-free.
I was very happy that Milton took the pictures, and we were both amazed when it turned out that Lou was sitting in our row just a few seats away from us. Lou probably felt like he was being stalked. Lou made a quick escape before the Q&A ended, but when we were leaving, we saw him again in the theater lobby talking to Wim Wenders. Milton took more pictures and Lou, to his credit, did not file a restraining order.
One of the many great things about living in New York City is that you never know when you might run into a legend on the street. Unfortunately, there is now one less legend around town to glimpse by chance. Embedded below is the title song from Rock & Roll Heart that I heard Lou sing live back in the day.