Catching up with Ringo Starr 60 years later

"We were all on this ship in the sixties, our generation, a ship going to discover the New World. And the Beatles were in the crow's nest of that ship." 

—  John Lennon

BANGOR, Maine — We were wonderstruck at the sight of a 75-year-old former Beatle parading around the stage like a young Olympian.

 A smorgasbord of ageless rock and rollers, whose timeless music brought the audience to their feet all evening, looked on as Ringo Starr shouted peace and love followed by a piece sign to the cheers of a grateful crowd last Wednesday night at the Cross Insurance Center.

Ringo introduced his All-Starr Band, which featured: Steven Lee Lukather, singer, songwriter and guitarist whose know for his work with Toto; Greg Alan Rolie, a keyboardist and organist who was also a lead singer for the bands Santana and Journey; singer and songwriter Todd Rundgren; Richard Page, lead singer bassist for Mr. Mister; saxophonist Warren Ham and drummer Gregg Bissonette.

Several of the musicians played their own music, with many of Ringo’s favorites like “Photograph” and “Yellow Submarine” interspersed throughout the evening.

These guys have aged like the rest of us, but their precious voices have not withered over time. They sounded like they were in the prime of their lives.  Time has been kind to all of them and their music. Ringo’s voice never wavered and his quirky sense of humor made us all smile.

Listening to three Santana songs with Rolie working his magic with his voice and nimble fingers on the keyboard was a delight for this Santana fan. I thought Carlos was somewhere in the building providing backup on each of the three songs.

Rungren’s rendition of “Bang on the Drum” made us all feel like banging on a drum all day. Page’s voice is still stunning and Lukather is still one helluva guitarist.

Ringo bid the audience adieu with his heart-rending rendition with “A Little Help from My Friends.” Of course, we all could have listened to all his friends play for another hour.

What a son of a gun!

I haven’t been to a rock concert since Crosby Stills, Nash and Young played at the old Boston Garden in 1977. I knew Ringo was still touring with a variety of talented artists over the years but never considered attending the band’s performances until my son sold me on the idea several months ago.

My son, Anthony, had an ulterior motive to persuade me to shell out $240 for the three tickets for a show in Bangor.

For years, I reminded my son that The Beatles performed three miles from my home in Revere, Mass., on Aug. 18, 1966. The mop-tops played at a racetrack called Suffolk Downs, which is located in East Boston, which right next door to Revere.

I was six years old when my cousin Suzy informed me that the Beatles were coming to Boston on a hot summer day.

I was terrified and raced for home to tell my mother that huge beetles were heading this way and it was time to get the hell out of Dodge or be eaten by giant bugs. She was puzzled but smiled at her frightened son. She explained that the Beatles were musicians who were part of the British Invasion of talented rock singers.

What the hell did I know that the four Lads from Liverpool were a worldwide sensation and made young girls scream and cry with every note they sang.

My father, who wasn’t a rock-and-roll fan, thought the Beatles could spark the end of civilization as we knew it. A few years later, I couldn't get enough of the Fab Four.

Anthony’s angle was that I now had an opportunity to see a Beatle perform and settle a score with history. Hey, if a guy from Ireland can fly a couple of thousand miles to see Ringo and his All-Starrs, making the 90-minute drive to Bangor was an easy sell.

Hanging out with my son and wife, Terri, who danced and sang the night away, and catching up Ringo 60 years later was worth the price of admission.

FRIGHT NIGHT

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." - H. P. Lovecraft

AUBURN — Since we all have crosses to bear, I decided to build two of mine out of wood to celebrate Halloween, and maybe, just maybe, have a devil of a good time spooking trick-or-treaters on my front lawn.

I am not a big fan of a holiday that observes things that go bump in the night and turns sane adults into candy pushers who are complicit in triggering a nationwide sugar high among this nation's youth for several days. My wife and son, on the other hand, enjoy being rattled by a good ghost story as well as putting up Halloween decorations and butchering, aaah, I mean carving a pumpkin.

I couldn't care less about zombies, vampires, ghosts, the undead, and no, I am not referring to members of congress. What frightens me about this night is the spike in cavities across this great nation — and the fear of rational adults handing out healthy treats.

When I was a kid a couple of centuries ago, I thought it was a nightmare to receive a nutritious snack instead of a chocolate bar. It was like staying after school for talking too much in class. How could grownups traumatize a child who longed for a bag full of M&Ms and Malo Cups? Finding a fruit bar at the bottom of my bag was like getting pajamas for Christmas.

No toys! What was up with Santa, anyway!

But this Halloween, my son wanted to go all out and shake up the neighborhood kids with more spooky stuff. I suggested we use leftover two-by-fours and build a pair of crosses to send chills up our neighbor's spines. But I wasn't sure what names to use on our grave markers. Anthony didn't flinch when he suggested the last names of Terry Francona and Theo Epstein, the Boston Red Sox's manager and general manager who are no longer employed with a baseball team that burned up in orbit at the end of the season.

I smiled, got out my wood-burning tool and went to work on the crosses. I love the smell of burning pine as I carved deep letters into the soft wood. I put my skill-saw and tape measure to good use to make our macabre endeavor come to fruition. We stained our crosses to make our grave markers weather resistant and then surveyed the front lawn to choose a location that would induce nightmares for weeks to come. I understand that location is everything when it comes to scaring unsuspecting trick-or-treaters out of their socks.

But please understand that I had no desire to see Francona or Epstein banished from the Sox organization. These guys brought starving Red Sox fans two World Series titles after decades of disappointment. I was not happy to see these fine men leave Beantown. I didn't show up at Fenway Park with a mob, and sickles and torches in hand, demanding to see heads role. So, when you see our crosses bearing the names of these two fine human beings on my front lawn during this evening of fright, this is not a demonstration of anger toward two men who ended Boston's drought. This father-and-son duo is merely having a little fun at the expense of the Boston Red Sox.

Besides I will never understand how fans go berserk when their team comes undone or how they "hate" an opposing team. Look, I grew up 10 miles from Friendly Fenway, but there has never been a day when I uttered the phrase, "I hate those damn Yankees." I don't hate the damn Yankees, Montreal Canadiens, New York Jets or the Los Angeles Lakers. I do enjoy watching the Yanks take it on the chin when they play Boston, but I also think Derek Jeter is a class act. I do not carry a grudge against Bill Buckner. And I was hoping Francona would stay on for another year.

So the Red Sox had a meltdown and missed the playoffs. Life goes on, and there will be other seasons for Boston to make amends

So lighten up, and remember, this is not a trick, but a treat. So take this candy bar as an expression of our goodwill. But we also hope you leave our front lawn frightened and looking over your shoulder when things do go bump in the night.