By Lorry Myers
Good-bye Eric Clapton,
I saw you in concert recently. Actually, I purchased a ticket months ago, paying more than I have for any concert ticket ever. I booked a hotel room, and drove hours to get there. Then, I waited in a bar with total strangers, until a shuttle came to pick us up and take us to hear you.
It was some night.
You, Eric Clapton, were number one on my husband’s concert bucket list. Randy gave up on seeing you years ago, thinking you might not tour again and then, Randy suddenly died, leaving me with this list that has your name at the top. Randy introduced me to you when I was newly in love and he was newly home from Vietnam. I have to tell you, Eric Clapton, Randy was always the bigger fan. My husband loved the rifts and the guitar finger play that, in his mind, only you can do. He believed your guitar playing was full of anguish and heavy thinking while I just wanted to dance and sing along.
I did that at your concert.
That night, I sat alone at the bar waiting for the shuttle and realized, I was not alone at all. The bar crowd was enthusiastic, the air was full of expectation, and I looked around and saw that most everyone there, was just like me, reliving a time in their life. Soon, it became easy to chat it up with whoever wanted to chat it up. Seems everyone that night, had a concert story about you, Eric Clapton.
You were the talk of the bar.
One couple flew in from New York, this was their fifth time to see you. I sat beside a man who had just completed his last radiation treatment, you were his reward. There was a couple from Illinois who were traveling the country doing concerts, with tickets in the next few weeks for Van Halen and Aerosmith. There was a table of rowdy couples from Nebraska who had rented an RV to get there, and then, there was the silver haired couple from Iowa. The wife confided that she was going to leave her husband when they got home, she just hadn’t told him yet. This would be their sixth time seeing you and she wanted him to have a nice night.
A night he would never forget.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard