By Joe Pagetta

Now, less than twenty-four hours removed, some thoughts are finally starting to arrive. I mean, you can tell me again and again that he’s just a person, flesh and blood, pants on one leg at a time, but there’s no denying the massive scope and breadth of this meeting. We spoke briefly about practically nothing. Simple cordial friendly talk. I think we even talked about the weather. Christ, does it get any more detached than that?

But what can you do, really? It happens so fast – in a flash – that there’s no time to take it any further, and the opportunity for a more intimate conversation doesn’t present itself.

Probably, the first thing that hits you, that hit me, is that he’s actually human. He has skin, he has eyes, arms, and hair and words come out of his mouth. As fanatical, as weird as that sounds, it’s really not. Seeing someone from a hundred feet away at a concert is not the same thing as standing in a room two feet away from him with just a few other people and one of them is your wife, of them is his wife, one is Bono and one is Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics. It’s unfuckingreal. It’s even less strange (this earlier human comment) when you consider that when someone lives in your head, your heart, your ears for so long, they in a way are not real. And you start to wonder if they really do exist. Strange I know, but definitely not fanatical.

And when that door opens and he’s standing there it really takes a moment (or moments) to absorb this aforementioned very simple notion (the "he’s human" thing). Because as much as you know the music, know what you’ve read about the person and think you know them, you really don’t. And they don’t know you. You’re faced with absorbing all this information in your head and at the same time you have to say something as you would if you met any other person for the first time. So you talk about the weather. Or maybe invite them over for eggplant, which I did, when I asked him if he might be playing in Nashville any time soon. Eggplant? What the hell was I thinking? He was nice enough though, and let out a muted laugh/agreement to the offer. Sort of like, "All right, that sounds good, whatever you just said."

The eggplant thing sort of came at the end though, when I had run out of two or three things to say. When you meet someone for the first time, it’s good to find something or someone or someplace that you both have in common. When you’re from New Jersey, and you’re meeting Bruce Springsteen, and the two of you are not in New Jersey at the time, that’s a good start. I almost didn’t have a chance to say it though. My wife said we were from Nashville, which we are, but we’re more in the sense of coming from there, not really being from there. She was fucking up my whole introduction, so I had to act fast and blurt it out: "But I’m from New Jersey originally." Plus, I thought the Jersey thing would work on the Boss like it does anybody else I meet outside the state who’s from the state: "No fuckin’ way! Where you from? Get out! I’m from Hoboken…Nutley…Carteret….etc." And it kind of did, except he didn’t get all crazy about it like other people. Maybe he was thinking, "I can’t believe I’m in Miami and I can’t get away from these people."

But he was cool, so it went like this, in a paraphrased way:

Then it faded off a bit. We talked a little about a mutual acquaintance-- the reason we were meeting him to begin with--about the nice weather in Miami; about him going to Australia next; about whether or not Nashville was on the itinerary, and then I mentioned the eggplant. Why I didn’t say home-cooked Italian or just plain dinner, I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t say that for the same reason I didn’t say a lot of things. Like that Darkness on the Edge of Town inspired me and helped me through a dark time of depression. That "Adam Raised a Cain" and reading about Bruce’s relationship with his father helped me come to terms with my relationship with own father. That Tunnel of Love gave me comfort when dealing with a romantic relationship that I had started to question. That Nebraska continually revitalizes me when I struggle with my own songwriting. Or that meeting him was on my list of things to do before I die. I didn’t say those things, I think, because they were too personal. Too forward. Too much. Those were, "Let’s hang out a while and drink some beers and shoot the shit" things, and I didn’t know him well enough to say those things, never mind give him one of those manly handshake and shoulder-to-shoulder hugs. Eggplant is a more detached thing, or vegetable, I guess.

There were less personal things I could have said too. Like that "The Rising" is a healing record. We already know that. That my sister wanted to marry him. Who has a sister that didn’t? That I stayed up all night for Giants Stadium tickets in 1984. What kid from New Jersey didn’t spend the night on a ticket line for a Bruce show? That one year on my birthday, my friends and I piled into a car and listened to "Human Touch" and "Lucky Town" while taking a trip down to the Jersey Shore, listening to one on the way down and one on the way up. Listening to Bruce on the way down the Shore? Gee, that’s original.

So I essentially chose to say nothing. I acted like a person meeting another person who graciously agreed to let us come backstage and say hello. Not a fan. No big thing. Just, "hey, how are you, great show, etc."

My wife said that was the best thing to do. She was right. And as we walked out with Bruce’s assistant, and I told her what a fool I felt like, having thought of so many things to say, but having said nothing, she comforted me, saying "Don’t worry about it. The first time I met him, I didn’t know what to say either."

As far as Bono and Dave Stewart being there, as I mentioned earlier, that, strangely enough, was a little less nerve-racking. I guess because I wasn’t planning on meeting either and hadn’t thought about it every day for a month. Bono told us about a new campaign he was launching to improve awareness in the United States of the AIDS crisis in South Africa. Is there anything this guy can’t do? The tour would be stopping at a church in Nashville and he told us we should come by. It was a comfortable and casual conversation and he seemed willing to talk to us about his passions.

In hindsight, it’s a good thing I didn’t know he was going to be there. I might have invited him over for stuffed peppers.

Originally from Jersey City, NJ, Joe Pagetta is a singer/songwriter, occasional essayist, aspiring screenwriter, rare book collector and amateur chef who lives in Nashville with his wife, two cats and dog.  His latest album, Joywood, comes out in early 2004.