The morning of the show we learned that the $55 million requested for ICE training (Immigration and Customs Enforcement, a part of Homeland Securuty I would feel was important even if my husband didn't work there) was reduced to $0. His entire section shuts down training (officially referred to as "leave without pay") on Tuesday.
Welcome to Mr. Bush's America. Have a nice weekend.
With the tickets and hotel already paid for and four more days until unemployed-what-the-hell-will-we-do-now panic sets in, we headed down to Orlando.
On the trip down the absence of standing billboards was refreshing, the downed trees and piles of debris were not. At our prepaid hotel, they informed us that their hurricane damage repair was not going "as quickly as we anticipated" and they handed us a letter for a dive down the street. The difference between the Kleenex (TM) and the towels there was that the Kleenex (TM) were clean. Throw in some hassles connecting with friends and the mood upon arrival at the TD Waterhouse Center was not jovial.
I expected megaphones and Kerry campaign materials outside the facility. But there were no rallies, no pronouncements, just a couple of funny anti-Bush t-shirts and buttons worn by folks who looked like neighbors and school teachers. Some earnest folks of varying ages with clip boards worked on signatures to help get out the vote on election day.
There was no pamphleteering in the hall either. Even greater the surprise, the only merchandise was Change the Vote t-shirts and hoodies. The artists skipped the chance for lucrative personal merchandising.
Somehow that made me feel better.
My brother had been the the Cleveland show and I had read about the early shows extensively online. I knew Springsteen would come out at 7:40 and declare it a "no Brrrrruuuccccceeee zone" in support of the other acts on the bill. He threatened, with a smile, to "get medieval on the ass" of anyone who tried the familiar call. He promised the night was about rock and roll and brought Tracy Chapman on the stage.
Her voice was simple, clean and pure. By the time she worked through a couple of hits and got to "Talking About a Revolution" , you knew why you were there.
Although REM's Stipes sometimes looked like a spider monkey in a white suit on speed, REM hammered the next set home. The house sound system had its problems and when Stipes joked that no one was telling HIM what to do through a transistor in HIS ear, the audience got it and laughed.
Springsteen traded verses with Stipes on "Man in the Moon." The audience was buzzing by the final break.
In the ladies room, two young girls with clipboards worked the line hard getting signatures to help with get out the vote efforts. Their energy was over -the-edge and exciting. When one lost her pen, a dozen purses in line opened in unison to hand her replacements.
In the men's room (I'm told), a 4-year-old was marching up and down the line saying "Bush lies" to applause and whistles. Of course, the more attention he got, the longer his impromptu demonstration played. Once his father washed his hands and carried him out, he got a final applause round waving over Dad's shoulder.
In the t-shirt line, the guy in front of me talked about getting his ticket as a tip in a Fort Lauderdale bagel shop from an old man whose name he didn't know. "I wear Springsteen shirts in the shop," he said. "And figured it was worth the drive down here to see if the ticket was any good."
Was it ever.
The final set opened with Springsteen alone playing an electric version of the Star Spangled Banner that brought people to their feet in the amazing strength of hearing something so familiar and so foreign at once. It said clearly this night wasn't about bashing our country, but celebrating what it can be. It felt so good.
He went right into Born in the USA and the train had left the station.
Springsteen joked he was glad to be in "the Sunshine State, or as I like to call it the scene of the crime," if that happens again, he said "I'm going to Disneyland and hiding in a mouse suit". He, as the others, kept his personal remarks short.
There was no comment necessary when he brought Tracy Chapman back out to share "My Hometown." Buffalo gal I am, that song always gets to me. Adding the female voice to the story, my story, opened up tear floodgates.
But nothing hit harder that John Fogarty, all energy and excitement, playing with Bruce songs that could have been written yesterday about Iraq "Fortunate Son" and "Bad Moon Rising."
I watched at my husband, who fought in Vietnam when these songs were written, and wondered how we all could have allowed things to come back to this place.
Fogarty nailed it with his new song Deja Vu (All Over Again)-- lyrics are at the end of this blog if you haven't heard it).
With everyone on the stage, the encores of Elvis Costello's "(What's So Funny About) Peace Love and Understanding?" and Patti Smith's "People Have the Power" shook the house until I couldn't stand up anymore.
On the way home, I felt it might be safe to believe.
Since my daughter Jen couldn't go to the show, she made us promise to bring a concert shirt. We brought two. She loved them, but didn't wear either when she went out last night.
I asked her why and she replied simply that people around here would give here way too much hassle.
She's not a coward. She's a pragmatist who barely clears 5 feet and 100 pounds in a red state with very red necks.
Being bigger and older than most of them, I'll wear my hoodie proudly (evemn if it doesn't get comfortably cooler).
We do have the power. If we choose to exercise it, Jen will be able to wear her shirts after election day.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Did you hear 'em talkin' 'bout it on the radio
Did you try to read the writing on the wall
Did that voice inside you say I've heard it all before
It's like Deja Vu all over again

Day by day I hear the voices rising
Started with a whisper like it did before
Day by day we count the dead and dying
Ship the bodies home while the networks all keep score

Did you hear 'em talkin' 'bout it on the radio
Could your eyes believe the writing on the wall
Did that voice inside you say I've heard it all before
It's like Deja Vu all over again

One by one I see the old ghosts rising
Stumblin' 'cross Big Muddy
Where the light gets dim
Day after day another Momma's crying
She's lost her precious child
To a war that has no end

Did you hear 'em talkin' 'bout it on the radio
Did you stop to read the writing at The Wall
Did that voice inside you say
I've seen this all before
It's like Deja Vu all over again
It's like Deja Vu all over again

- John Fogarty's "Deja Vu All Over Again"