Real Heroes Don't Let You Down--Conclusion* (*Scroll down for Parts 1-3):

"I've had to wait a decade for my shot at redemption..."


"...it expressly stated we could stay for the after-party."


w/ smoking hot Imelda May:

Little Steven (front, right)/Nils Lofgren (background, right). Guitarists for Bruce Springsteen's E-Street Band:

Les Paul's God-son and 70's Music star Steve Miller (center):

Paul Schafer (front) and Anton Fig (in hat) of Late Night Letterman Band:

Kirk Hammett (center) of Metallica speaks with David Fricke (back to camera/blazer) of Rolling Stone Magazine:

One of my personal favorites--Lou Marini from The Blues Brothers and old Saturday Night Band.

"...like a prophet amongst disciples..celebrities and nobody's cheered aloud."

Like an ancient Jew who had to wander the desert for (40) years, I’ve had to wait a decade for my shot at redemption. (10) years since that fateful morning first described when I began this post in Part 1. September 29, 1999, when I bum-rushed my hero Jeff Beck at 7:00 in the morning. Little did he know he was expected to be on 24 hours a day--at any moment, lest he disappoint a fan out in butt-fuck Denver.

“You got dissed,” my friends told me later that day (and still do sometimes).

What d’ya do last night?” my friend Rules asked me earlier this year.

"Saw Jeff Beck at Madison Square Garden."

“Jeff Beck--wasn’t he that guy who snubbed you when you worked at...”

“Hey! He didn’t snub me.”

He didn’t reader, and I’ve always believed it. And now that I’ve looked in his eyes again I know it. Maybe I just wasn’t prepared for revelation back in Denver. Was too young and hadn’t learned enough life lessons to earn the acknowledgment of overwhelming greatness. I certainly thought I had. But maybe not til now. Or at least, that night at Iridium.

Actually it wasn’t The Iridium. It was Ellen’s Stardust Diner. Biggest tourist trap in NYC and the last place I’d usually be in the whole world. $14.00 burgers. $10.00 bottled-beers. In all my years in New York I've never once stepped foot in there.

But Ellen’s is directly upstairs from Iridium, so that’s where they held the Jeff Beck after-party. My plebeian genes weren’t allowed to get into the actual performance, but my golden Iridium certificate allowed me to sit upstairs in Ellen’s ‘til the show was over. Then it expressly stated that I could stay for the after-party. In fact, all of us upstairs had the same certificate.

Yet you’ve gotta earn everything, right? 40 years of toil in the desert--not just a three day weekend of beer and barbecue.

So I wasn’t surprised to see one of the managers approach just as Beck finished his performance. The manager huddled us together--all of us who’d been upstairs and addressed us as a group.

“Okay guys, now everyone from downstairs is gonna start to come up here, so we need you to step outside till they come in. Then we’ll let everybody back in.”

Hmmm. Okay. Seemed a reasonable request.

So we all obediently made our way towards the exit and lined up against the wall as we waited to be allowed back in. I was the last one out since I took a moment to share a few words with the manager.

“Hey, you’re not _____are you?” I asked him.

“No, I’m not. How do you know _____?” he asked with interest.

“We exchanged a few emails when I first got my certificate. About the way my name was printed. I thought maybe you were him is all.”

“Naw,” the manager said as he looked me up and down, “...but here,” he said as he deliberately handed me his card with a fixed gaze. “That’s me. ..Hold on to that.”

I accepted the card as he led me out the door.

I was the last outside, at which time the manager closed the door behind me. Now all of us who’ d been upstairs were on the sidewalk, lined-up in front of the door. Shortly thereafter a huge bouncer with a black, cannonball-shaped head took a position in front of me. He turned and faced us as a group, much like the manager had done. Only this guy was about 250 pounds and his demeanor was vastly different.

“Okay everybody, listen up. I know they said you’d be able to stay for the after-party, but not everyone’s getting back inside. I’m going to work my way down the line, check your wristband, and look at you. If I say you’re in, you’re in; and if I say you’re out--you’re out. End of story.”

We all looked at each other incredulously. Can’t count on anybody. As a group we were outraged; yet you could also see people begin to evaluate their own chances of getting in. As I voiced my disapproval with my brethren in-line I placed that manager’s card beneath my wristband as seen below* (*actually, turned the opposite way so his name was visible, but I don’t want to do that here). No sooner was it in place then the bouncer turned toward me, since I was first in line. He grabbed my wrist, turned it over to reveal the band and card.

“You’re in--go.”


EPILOGUE:

True religion is based on communion. A great man (or woman) has a vision. Communicates it to the world. People find commonality within it and form traditions around it. A community is born.

But as time passes, memories of that original person or tradition begin to fade. The symbols of the mythology become outdated and no longer speak to the younger generations. As fellow blogger Spencer Troxell might say, eventually Everything in the Medicine Cabinet Expires.”

Course as a secular person, I look to my heroes to guide me. Miles Davis. Jimi Hendrix. Henry Miller. All the great writers. When I listen to their music or read their books its a renewal of my faith.

My man Jeff Beck had his own heroes. I’m not in a position to speak for him, but I know one of his all-time favorites was guitar legend Les Paul. Les had a regular gig at Iridium every Monday night for the last (20) years, which is why Iridium got to sponsor Jeff Beck’s Les Paul Tribute Concert.

Well reader, by now you know I never got into that show. But when Beck came upstairs after that performance, it was like a prophet amongst disciples. All of us--celebrities and nobody’s like me cheered aloud. We reached out to shake his hand and pumped our fists in the air.

When Beck walked by my position, I gave him a soft pat on the back much like Cesar Millan had done to me a few weeks back. I wasn’t the only one, the poor guy was mobbed like a quarterback who’d just won the Superbowl.

But after my touch Beck’s head whipped ‘round. He turned in my direction and our eyes met. His eyes narrowed in a manner that I initially interpreted as anger, but now I’m pretty sure he was just confused as to who I was. Or might be. I pumped my fist in the air and shouted a hurrah! as the others had done, and this time--over (10) years since that fateful morning in Denver, Beck nodded, pointed, and smiled in my direction.

Eventually Beck took a seat in a corner booth where he shared dinner with the band. It must have been like dining in a fishbowl the way all of us huddled ‘round to watch the poor guy chew and swallow his mozzarella/roast-pepper sandwich.


“Look at ‘em,” the guy next to me said as we stared at Beck in awe. “I’m just so proud to have him here.”

It took a few seconds for his words to sink-in, but then I turned toward the speaker.

“Hey, you’re not_____ ?” I asked.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered quizzically. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lodo. Lodo Grdzak.”

“Ha!” he answered with a hearty laugh, “So you’re Lodo Grdzak--God that's a stupid name. But I'm glad to see you got in.”

“Just thankful to be here,” I said as we shook hands, bathed in a glow I assume came from the lights of Times Square, filtered thru the windows of Ellen’s Stardust Diner.


As planets do the Sun, we orbit ‘round God according to Laws as elegant as Keplers. God is as sensible to us as a Sun to a Planet. Tho’ we do not see Him; yet we know where in our Orbits we run--when we are closer, when more distant--when in His light and when in shadow of our own making. ...We feel as components of Gravity His Love, His Need, whatever it be that keeps us circling. Surely if a Planet be a living Creature, then it knows by something even more wondrous than human sight where its Sun shines, however far it lie.
-From Mason & Dixon
Thomas Pynchon


Jeff Beck: Drown In My Own Tears* (*may have to turn volume way up--levels are low):


Tonight Jeff Beck Performs in my old Hometown of Detroit. Blow the roof off Jeff!