Jack and the Boss — A Stage in Our Life
Jack's first ever concert was Bruce Springsteen's at AAMI Park on 4th February 2017. He was only five at the time. We didn't think he'd cope, but his pure fandom earned him a shot.
This is the story that played on the ABC’s ‘The Friday Revue’ today as part of Brian Nankervis and Jacinta Parsons’ ‘A Stage in My Life’ series. It’s adapted from a Facebook post and video that was viewed more than a million times in 2017.
I’ll start by talking about a stage in his life.
Jack was four years old when it started. Before Bruce there had been Uptown Funk, played and replayed until we were all a Bruno Mars suit shade of hot pink.
So I was relieved, and yes maybe a little proud, when Jack’s tastes took a Bruce-ish turn in the middle of 2015. I was a big Springsteen fan myself, still am. My uncle Al gave me ‘Born to Run’ at aged 11 and it had been transformative. I’d spent nearly four decades in the Bruce tunnel of love.
But Jack’s fandom quickly outpaced mine. He’d watch endless Springsteen Youtube gigs — always ‘full shows!’ — No greatest hits fan was Jack. He could identify each video by the timbre of the cheering, ‘Circus Maximus, Rome, 2015. MetLife stadium! No, not Night 1, night 2!’ He had favourite guest singers, ‘Bwian from Gaslight Anthem, I want Bwian from Gaslight Anthem, Hyde Park, 2012!
I should mention Jack has cerebral palsy that confines him to a wheelchair, and cortical vision impairment that means he doesn’t see clearly beyond a metre. He spends a lot of time on his iPad.
And so when Bruce announced his 2017 tour, we were torn.
On the one hand, Jack was seriously obsessed. He could name check the E-street band. A regular bedtime story for us was Jack meeting drummer Max Weinberg at a petrol station and his being invited to join the band.
But on the other, we didn’t think he’d cope. Jack’s sensory processing issues mean he gets upset around loud noises. He’s made screaming exits from cinemas, school concerts, school fetes and dozens of other PA scenarios. He even hates rain if it’s too loud on the roof.
I told my wife Tamsin he’d last two minutes max.
She said we had to at least give him a shot. ‘C’mon, he’s earned a chance. What if he makes it?’
When the day arrived, he didn’t want to go. ‘Maybe I’ll see Bwuce later,’ he said, over and over. Then he’d cry, begging not to go. ‘I want to see Bwuce another time! Not today!’
We made plans for the inevitable failure. My brother offered to wait outside AAMI Park I didn’t waste my ticket.
Jack flinched at the first blast of noise as we exited at Jolimont station.
‘Is that Bwuce?’
‘No that’s Jet.’
‘Is there clapping at Jet?’
‘Yes there will be clapping at Jet.’
‘Will Bwuce be on soon?’
‘Yes, after Jet.’
‘And Steven Van Zandt?’
‘Yes, he’ll be on guitar’
‘And Patti?’
‘Yes, she’ll be there too.’
‘Bwuce’s wife, Patti?’
‘Yes, she’s Bruce’s wife.’
‘And Nils?’
And so we namechecked the whole E-Street Band as we crossed the railway yards.
Jet got louder and louder, but he seemed to be coping.
Then a nervous moment. Security told me that I couldn’t take in a backpack.
I explained Jack’s cerebral palsy. “Without this I reckon he’s no chance,” I said.
‘Fair enough,’ said the most sensible security officer on earth, and ushered us through.
We navigated lifts and concourses and found our spots at the back of general admission. The calm before the storm.
“Will Bwuce play American Land?
Jack loved Bruce’s thumping, Celtic style, ode to American immigration above all other songs. It’d been on an almost Uptown Funk level of repetition.
‘Maybe,’ I said
‘Will he play Badlands?’
‘Definitely.’
Then it started. The ‘Melboooourne, good evenin’!’ the clapping, the drums, the music. American Land it was. It was like Bruce was play listing to order. Unbelievable.
Jack started shrieking, but they were his happy cheers. He called Bruce’s name. ‘Bwuuuuce'!’ He called Steven van Zandt’s name. He jiggled, he rocked, he had a ball.
For 12 songs.
One hour and ten minutes.
Then he broke. Youngstown broke him, and he asked to go home. It was nine o’clock after all. He’d been in prep a week.
My brother left the car window open so Bruce could sing them home. The volume dropped as Punt became Hoddle which became our little patch of the inner north.
I remember Jack’s first words when he woke the day after:
‘Dad, I’m a Bwuce Springsteen fan. I’m a Bwuce Springsteen goer.’
There’s a photo of him on my back in the backpack, head tossed back, his bright blue ear muffs engulfing it, his smile bigger than everything else.
The stage, with Bruce on it, is in the background.
Jack and I are in the foreground.
The music, which you can’t see, is everywhere.
It’s my favourite photo of us.
We are Bruce Springsteen fans. We are Bruce Springsteen goers.
This beautiful photo was taken by either Sonia Denisenko or Andrea Smith, who both took photos of us that day on my phone. The story on facebook led to spots in The Huffington Post, the Herald Sun, and on The Project.
You can buy my books (for kids, middle grade and adults) at tonywilsonauthor.com. The Cow Tripped Over the Moon is the title dedicated to Jack.
Hi Tony
I was at the Feb 2 show, which was my fifth Brucestravaganza since the solo show at the Palais in 1997. They are the 15 hours in my life that I have been truly, unreservedly happy. So it warms my usually stony heart to see that you and Jack had a great bonding moment in the presence of the E Streeters. I've seen and appreciated other acts since my first concert in 1985, but in a world that is mostly dull and colourless, a Springsteen show is full rainbow.