My dad has been gone for forty years. When family pictures were taken, we used to kid him about "getting into the picture," because on February 23, 1945, he was on Mount Suribachi scouting possible airstrips the Army Corps of Engineers could build so Navy flyers could bomb Japan. That’s what naval intelligence officers like Dad were doing—about twenty yards from where the most famous photograph of the twentieth century was taken. "If Joe Rosenthal, the photographer, had asked me, I would have said no," Dad recalled one time.
Over the years we argued about plenty of things: the length of my hair, how loud I played my music, Vietnam, and what he called “creeping socialism.” But baseball united us.
After he died, my mother told me something I’ve never forgotten. “Those hundreds and hundreds of Red Sox games you and your father watched together,” she said, “were the only times the man I met and married in 1942 was the same. He suffered so much from the war, but when he watched baseball with you, the silences were lifted and his face glowed again.”
A few nights ago, near the anniversary of his passing in 1986, I cried. As Steve Goodman once sang, “I wondered when I was going to do that for my old man.”
Your Boss/Promise piece remains a revelation. I saw Bruce live in ’73, ’75, ’78, ’90, and ’95. Each time, it was redemptive.
Since the time I first read this my Dad has passed away and it read SO differently this time. Harder to read, but really reawakened the pride I had - have - for Dad. So similar to yours, similar stories, random skills, physical talents. It's been over a year, but this beautiful story warmed my heart.
Enjoy the concert. And try to listen to more music.
Joe, this is beautiful. My dad didn't have the sports interest as I did. But we drove to work together each morning. He taught me what real country music
and I taught him about Bruce. He gets it! Thank you
Joe, I'm struck dumb after reading this, sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville before I go to work. So beautifully and thoughtfully written.
I'm overwhelmed with emotion, so much so that I can't put into words how much this piece meant to me or how it will be on my mind the rest of the day and probably tonight, too.
What I will say is this - don't leave the music behind. Never leave the music behind.
Recently, I finished a wonderful book, "Here Beside the Rising Tide," by Jim Newton. It's a biography about Jerry Garcia. Really, though, it's about the 1960's; the counter-culture movement; a way of life that focuses on togetherness, community, and shared experiences; the music business; and, of course, the Grateful Dead. It's a wonderful book.
I'm not a Deadhead, per se, but I love music, and I was lucky enough to take a flyer and drive from Knoxville to see the Dead at Freedom Hall in Louisville, KY, in June 1993. I just wanted to experience a Dead show and to see them live. Jerry Garcia died a little more than two years later, sadly, so I've always been glad I made the effort and went to the show.
The past few days, I've been on a Grateful Dead deep dive, using an app called "ReListen" to stream old Grateful Dead shows from as far back as the late '60's. It's been great fun!
Go see Bruce. Live the music. Slow down a little bit. Take a breath. Enjoy life and don't let it go by too fast, which is exactly what I told my 14-year old son, last night, on the way to his school's Father-Son dinner.
Thank you for writing something, today, that moved me and enriched my life. That is your gift and I am grateful that you share it with all of us.
Damn you, Joe! Why do you make me cry?!?! And why do you make me love your non-sports stories more than your baseball ones that I love?!?
(Also, I’m not a Springsteen guy, but am flying across the country to see Rush’s fist show in 10 years in LA this summer for the same nostalgic reasons.)
23 years ago when I was mid 20s so had no excuse I saw Public Enemy on a weeknight so didn’t bother going to see James Brown who was here on the Saturday night thinking ‘I’ll catch him next time’ forgetting that people die and it’s not like James Brown tours Sydney every 6 months
I can't say that I'm a big Springsteen fan; I liked his "Dancing in the Dark" and his give-away "Because the Night", but this post took me to his song "Youngstown". It was where I was born and where I grew up. At that time, the top ten payrolls in Youngstown comprised seven steel mills (at one of which my Uncle Ralph worked), two steel fabricating plants, and Republic Rubber (where my mother and father worked - and met). My father could have found jobs for his sons at the factory, but we both knew that we wanted something else and worked in the public library. At 16, I left Youngstown to go to college and never came back except to visit.
The steel mills closed down, almost simultaneously, in the late 1970s, Republic Rubber and General Fireproofing, which made steel office furniture, hung on until the late 1980s. Not long before the Aeroquip Corporation decided to close the plant, there was an open house held at the factory, the first time, as far as I know, that the public got to go inside the building. I was home for a visit, and my mother asked me to take her to the open house. By then she was working as produce manager at a Loblaws store in the neighbourhood, but she wanted to back to see old friends who were still working there and revisit her memories of the place where she most enjoyed working. I was struck by the oppressive heat and the dust that hung like fog in the air. I understood why my father smelled the way he did when he got home from work and why he would often fall asleep in his chair before supper time.
For different reasons, it was a deeply moving experience for my mother and me, particularly me, because it brought home in a powerful way the sacrifices my parents accepted to make it possible for my brother and me to get the education that allowed us to work in more amenable surroundings. Your recollections about your father brought back so many memories, some painful, some joyful, in a way that is more meaningful than Springsteen's "Youngstown".
I also hadn't listened to music in a long time when I started to have to drive a lot of rental cars which came with Sirius XM. If there was no sports on, I'd listen to the Grateful Dead channel. I remember driving to the airport after my uncle's funeral and Me and My Uncle came on and I had to pull over because I was crying so hard (I had a wonderful uncle). When I got a new car, it came with a free month of Sirius and I decided to keep it, and I listen to the Dead and the Beatles and Siriusly Sinatra and rarely much else. But it at least reminds me there is music. I actually "own" a lot of music on Amazon but the enshittification of the internet has made it so I can listen to about one song I have "bought" before it shuffles me off to crap without me paying them more.
Thanks for reposting this, Joe. I've said before but will repeat here, that it is pieces like this that are why I subscribe. We readers are given a rare privilege when you post your personal pieces. It's also why we feel we know you, even though we have only an inkling.
It's really cool to see Brilliant Readers™ experiencing and reacting to The Promise for the first time. Great art moves us and makes us feel various emotions, and this beautiful piece is a Rembrandt of prose.
When I first read The Promise, I posted the link to the USENET group (why yes, I am indeed old), "rec.music.artists.springsteen", which was a sort of online discussion board for hardcore Bruce fanatics. One prominent member of the group remarked that he had read countless Springsteen articles throughout his life, and Joe's was by far the best. Another group member was a university English professor. He simply said that, "Mr. Posnanski is gifted." Facts.
Got my tickets for the Pru Center. In the nosebleeds and would've preferred the Garden and nothing will top my previous Springsteen show, but still I felt the need to go.
My dad has been gone for forty years. When family pictures were taken, we used to kid him about "getting into the picture," because on February 23, 1945, he was on Mount Suribachi scouting possible airstrips the Army Corps of Engineers could build so Navy flyers could bomb Japan. That’s what naval intelligence officers like Dad were doing—about twenty yards from where the most famous photograph of the twentieth century was taken. "If Joe Rosenthal, the photographer, had asked me, I would have said no," Dad recalled one time.
Over the years we argued about plenty of things: the length of my hair, how loud I played my music, Vietnam, and what he called “creeping socialism.” But baseball united us.
After he died, my mother told me something I’ve never forgotten. “Those hundreds and hundreds of Red Sox games you and your father watched together,” she said, “were the only times the man I met and married in 1942 was the same. He suffered so much from the war, but when he watched baseball with you, the silences were lifted and his face glowed again.”
A few nights ago, near the anniversary of his passing in 1986, I cried. As Steve Goodman once sang, “I wondered when I was going to do that for my old man.”
Your Boss/Promise piece remains a revelation. I saw Bruce live in ’73, ’75, ’78, ’90, and ’95. Each time, it was redemptive.
Since the time I first read this my Dad has passed away and it read SO differently this time. Harder to read, but really reawakened the pride I had - have - for Dad. So similar to yours, similar stories, random skills, physical talents. It's been over a year, but this beautiful story warmed my heart.
Enjoy the concert. And try to listen to more music.
Joe, this is beautiful. My dad didn't have the sports interest as I did. But we drove to work together each morning. He taught me what real country music
and I taught him about Bruce. He gets it! Thank you
Joe, I'm struck dumb after reading this, sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville before I go to work. So beautifully and thoughtfully written.
I'm overwhelmed with emotion, so much so that I can't put into words how much this piece meant to me or how it will be on my mind the rest of the day and probably tonight, too.
What I will say is this - don't leave the music behind. Never leave the music behind.
Recently, I finished a wonderful book, "Here Beside the Rising Tide," by Jim Newton. It's a biography about Jerry Garcia. Really, though, it's about the 1960's; the counter-culture movement; a way of life that focuses on togetherness, community, and shared experiences; the music business; and, of course, the Grateful Dead. It's a wonderful book.
I'm not a Deadhead, per se, but I love music, and I was lucky enough to take a flyer and drive from Knoxville to see the Dead at Freedom Hall in Louisville, KY, in June 1993. I just wanted to experience a Dead show and to see them live. Jerry Garcia died a little more than two years later, sadly, so I've always been glad I made the effort and went to the show.
The past few days, I've been on a Grateful Dead deep dive, using an app called "ReListen" to stream old Grateful Dead shows from as far back as the late '60's. It's been great fun!
Go see Bruce. Live the music. Slow down a little bit. Take a breath. Enjoy life and don't let it go by too fast, which is exactly what I told my 14-year old son, last night, on the way to his school's Father-Son dinner.
Thank you for writing something, today, that moved me and enriched my life. That is your gift and I am grateful that you share it with all of us.
Damn you, Joe! Why do you make me cry?!?! And why do you make me love your non-sports stories more than your baseball ones that I love?!?
(Also, I’m not a Springsteen guy, but am flying across the country to see Rush’s fist show in 10 years in LA this summer for the same nostalgic reasons.)
Sometimes something is so beautiful it is beyond ability to add a word. Beautiful that takes away a breath.
Beautiful as the stillness of a sunrise on an empty Cape Hatteras beach.
Joe. You did it. Again.
I’m not saying it’s ‘Thunder Road’.
But you’re on the jacket cover.
It’s a Wonderful piece.
I’d stopped going too.
I’m going now.
23 years ago when I was mid 20s so had no excuse I saw Public Enemy on a weeknight so didn’t bother going to see James Brown who was here on the Saturday night thinking ‘I’ll catch him next time’ forgetting that people die and it’s not like James Brown tours Sydney every 6 months
I still regret it
I can't say that I'm a big Springsteen fan; I liked his "Dancing in the Dark" and his give-away "Because the Night", but this post took me to his song "Youngstown". It was where I was born and where I grew up. At that time, the top ten payrolls in Youngstown comprised seven steel mills (at one of which my Uncle Ralph worked), two steel fabricating plants, and Republic Rubber (where my mother and father worked - and met). My father could have found jobs for his sons at the factory, but we both knew that we wanted something else and worked in the public library. At 16, I left Youngstown to go to college and never came back except to visit.
The steel mills closed down, almost simultaneously, in the late 1970s, Republic Rubber and General Fireproofing, which made steel office furniture, hung on until the late 1980s. Not long before the Aeroquip Corporation decided to close the plant, there was an open house held at the factory, the first time, as far as I know, that the public got to go inside the building. I was home for a visit, and my mother asked me to take her to the open house. By then she was working as produce manager at a Loblaws store in the neighbourhood, but she wanted to back to see old friends who were still working there and revisit her memories of the place where she most enjoyed working. I was struck by the oppressive heat and the dust that hung like fog in the air. I understood why my father smelled the way he did when he got home from work and why he would often fall asleep in his chair before supper time.
For different reasons, it was a deeply moving experience for my mother and me, particularly me, because it brought home in a powerful way the sacrifices my parents accepted to make it possible for my brother and me to get the education that allowed us to work in more amenable surroundings. Your recollections about your father brought back so many memories, some painful, some joyful, in a way that is more meaningful than Springsteen's "Youngstown".
Tears, just tears. Thanks!
I also hadn't listened to music in a long time when I started to have to drive a lot of rental cars which came with Sirius XM. If there was no sports on, I'd listen to the Grateful Dead channel. I remember driving to the airport after my uncle's funeral and Me and My Uncle came on and I had to pull over because I was crying so hard (I had a wonderful uncle). When I got a new car, it came with a free month of Sirius and I decided to keep it, and I listen to the Dead and the Beatles and Siriusly Sinatra and rarely much else. But it at least reminds me there is music. I actually "own" a lot of music on Amazon but the enshittification of the internet has made it so I can listen to about one song I have "bought" before it shuffles me off to crap without me paying them more.
I remember reading this 15 years ago and it has stayed with me ever since. It's my favorite piece of your writing, Joe. Thank you for it.
I’m speechless. Please. More personal stuff.
Thank you, Joe. Cherish your Dad every day. And thank him often.
Thanks for reposting this, Joe. I've said before but will repeat here, that it is pieces like this that are why I subscribe. We readers are given a rare privilege when you post your personal pieces. It's also why we feel we know you, even though we have only an inkling.
It's really cool to see Brilliant Readers™ experiencing and reacting to The Promise for the first time. Great art moves us and makes us feel various emotions, and this beautiful piece is a Rembrandt of prose.
When I first read The Promise, I posted the link to the USENET group (why yes, I am indeed old), "rec.music.artists.springsteen", which was a sort of online discussion board for hardcore Bruce fanatics. One prominent member of the group remarked that he had read countless Springsteen articles throughout his life, and Joe's was by far the best. Another group member was a university English professor. He simply said that, "Mr. Posnanski is gifted." Facts.
Got my tickets for the Pru Center. In the nosebleeds and would've preferred the Garden and nothing will top my previous Springsteen show, but still I felt the need to go.