Helen Reddy

Today is a sad day. Helen Reddy has passed away. She was an amazing entertainer that I was lucky to have crossed paths with on many occasions . It all started back in the late seventies. I first got her greatest hits album for a birthday one year and was an instant fan! At about that time I had become best friends with a kid I met in high school, named David Fitzgerald.

David was a bigger fan of Helen’s than I was, and had additional albums that he introduced me to. I soon had all of her released albums in my collection!

At some point, we found out that Ms. Reddy was going to appear at the Cape Cod Melody Tent. David and I snatched up some tickets and had my poor Dad take us to my first concert! Thus began the life of two groupies who went to every show she performed in a 200 mile radius!

My dad was florist, like his father, and his father before him. This allowed me to bring a dozen roses to every concert and we would give her a box at every performance! At one of her shows we asked to go back stage and see if we could meet Ms. Reddy. Since they new we were kids, and brought the roses, we were escorted backstage. First I noticed that our roses had been distributed to a variety of people backstage. I remember feeling a little sad as I I thought that she should have just cherished them. Hey, I was a naive 14 year old! Miss Reddy was nice when we met her, but I remember also feeling that she was a little stuck up…just my first impression. I also remember seeing that she smoked Merit cigarettes and that kind of disappointed me as well, as I was rabidly against smoking and couldn’t believe a singer would do such a thing! Again, I was a young teenager. She autographed our programs, and then wanted to know if we would like her warm-up comedian’s autograph as well. We didn’t, but not wanting to be rude, had him sign as well. I believe his name was Argus Hamilton. I still have her autograph from that night, but somehow misplaced his.

David and I collected clippings, watched and audio recorded every tv show she appeared on, and eventually video taped her performances when we had VCRs.

At about this time, I also began autograph collecting and was able to obtain her home address. David and I sent clippings and pictures for her to autograph, and to our surprise she usually sent them back signed in her distinctive handwriting. It would take many months, but we were very lucky to receive a response. In 1980, my 26 year old brother committed suicide. I was devastated, and David wrote Ms. Reddy and told her of my tragedy. She sent him a signed picture where she wrote for me to “feel better” and he presented that to me. While we somehow fell out of friendship, I always thought that was very kind of him to do.

At one point, Helen Reddy was appearing, I believe at Mechanics Hall in Worcester, Massachusetts. David and I purchased tickets for both the 6PM and the 8PM performances. We also had a dozen roses to give her for each performance. Now at this time, I had seen many shows where someone would walk up on stage at the end of a show, and give the performer some flowers. Instead of giving them to the stage manager, or handing them to her from the footlights, for some reason I had decided that I would walk up on stage and hand them to her. I didn’t know that this was usually done by the theatre when I had seen it happen, and not some random person in the audience. The strains of the closing music were playing, where I walked on stage, handed her the roses, and… gave her a kiss on the cheek! The show ended and we went outside to wait for the next show at 8, where we would do the whole thing again. That is when the evening started to go down hill. David and I were standing outside a bar or restaurant, where someone knocked on the window from inside, and when I turned around to look they gave me the finger! Completely puzzling my teenage brain!

The time came for the 8PM show and David and I were seated in our seats. Then, the stage manager made an announcement over the PA system, “If you have any gifts for Ms. Reddy, please give them to the stage manager, because she was attacked at the last performance.” Attacked! I slumped in my seat, I was in shock. I noticed the stairs to the stage had been removed. Needless to say, I was kind of sick to my stomach for her entire set. We held onto the next box of roses till after the show.

For some reason, we decided that we would try to see her after the show, again, I think we just were in disbelief of all that had happened. We went to the front of the stage, and asked if we could see Ms. Reddy. The person kept trying to tell us that she was out front in the lobby and that we should go there. We said, we know she is backstage, and would like to meet her. We were totally clueless that they were trying to get these two attacking stalkers out of the theatre! They knew that we were the kids with the roses and wanted us out. I felt terrible. David and I would talk about our adventure for years to come, even wrote in our high school yearbooks, “Attack H.R.” We were still fans, but followed her career a little more from a distance.

Flash forward to the mid 1990’s when I was trying to make it as a stage actor in New York City. I was looking through the paper one day when I saw that Helen Reddy was appearing at a supper club in the city. For old time sake, I called and bought a ticket. I was sad when I sat down at my table. There were only about 12 people in the audience… including me! How could this be? The woman was a Grammy award winner, had 6 top ten hits, 18 studio albums (seven of which went Gold), performed at the London Palladium, and appeared in countless television and movie performances. People were eating their salad during “Angie Baby, ” cutting their steak during “You’re My World’, and settling their bill during “I Am Woman.” I of course, applauded recognition for every song intro, while the rest of the audience seemed to only occasionally acknowledge a somewhat familiar tune when they looked up from their soup! I learned a lot about fame that night.

After the show, I noticed that Ms. Reddy was sitting at the bar having a drink with her then husband/drummer, Milton Ruth. I decided to approach her. I had felt guilty for 17 years over the “attack incident.” I started by saying that I owed her an apology. I told her of the incident when I was a teenager and apologized for kissing her on the cheek. Ms. Reddy smiled, looked me in the eyes, and said,”I haven’t washed it since.”

Four Years

Four years. Four years. Four years since the most influential person in my life died in my arms! She taught me so much: compassion, friendship, respect, understanding, and most importantly…unconditional love. I learned from her to appreciate nature and the beauty of a new moon, the first frost, the first snowfall, and the first buds of spring. I learned to cherish my friends and family and never go to bed angry. I learned how to cherish life and to appreciate every breath that I take. She taught me how to laugh! And this morning…. how to cry.

 

Happy 51 Years to Me?

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Today is my 51st birthday. Time to celebrate! 51! I really can’t believe it. I was the baby of the family, but I guess every baby grows up… if given the chance. I have had an amazing 51 years full of so many tragic and joyful events. The highs have been astronomical, and the lows, below the below. As I contemplate over the years on this day, I realize something about birthdays as we get older, they may not be as joyous as everyone thinks. I know, you are thinking it is tough to get old, and it really is an accomplishment that we actually survive another year. I am not  feeling sorry for myself that I am old, but something completely different. I realize today how many people who used to be around to celebrate my fantastic birth, are no longer having birthdays of their own. That is what is not so much fun. Yes, I am still here, and thankful for that, but I can’t help missing the two people who brought me into this world, my mother and father. In fact, when I really think about it, my birthday was probably much more important to them than I can ever imagine it will be to me. Today, 51 years ago, my parents welcomed a new member to the family. How intense that day must have been for them. A day that I actually have no recollection of, but I am supposed to remember to have a good time on its annual anniversary! All this time, I had birthdays wrong. It really isn’t about me getting another year older and how wonderful that is, it is about remembering an event where I changed a family, by expanding it. Now that both my parents, my only two brothers, as well as  grandparents, and many aunts and uncles are gone,  who I remember used to be a part of this “celebration,” birthdays just aren’t the same. Everyone who remembers my birth is not here. Woohoo …let’s eat cake! Somehow, I really am not that hungry.

Goodbye Mickey Rooney

With the passing of Mickey Rooney, I reflect on all the joy he has given me in my life. When I was in grade school, I was always falling asleep in class because I stayed up late watching Mickey and Judy Garland light up my small tv. The Great Entertainment, hosted by local Boston personality (and Bozo the Clown), Frank Avruch, would introduce great musicals from the MGM vault, many featuring Mickey Rooney. These stars of yesterday, were my pop stars that I grew up with, even though they were on the scene decades before I even became a glimmer. While others were talking about the latest episode of the Brady Bunch, I was enjoying the adventures of “Andy Hardy!” I am forever grateful to the stars of yesteryear, such as Mickey Rooney, although my grades in school certainly were not!

Two Years

Mom and Me, March 2011
Two years? Can it be? Two years since my life changed forever and my mother died in my arms? It is so hard for me to comprehend. I still cry many mornings, but not every day now. I still ache deep inside for my loss of my dear, sweet, friend. I find Christmas especially hard, since she loved it so. Most Christmas songs can send me straight into a crying jag. I feel no Christmas spirit anymore and really can’t wait for the whole season to be over. Time has given me some perspective though, I can see how much pain my Mom was in over the last year of her life. I am glad that she is not around to endure any more pain. Life in pain, is not the way to live. I recently looked at a video taken about 2 weeks before she died and I can see that her end was closer than I could face at the time. I just couldn’t think of losing her then.
I miss her wit, her wisdom, and her smile. Each day, she lives on in me, but I am a poor imitation. I miss my friend.
Everyone has a different relationship with their mother. I certainly did. We were so much alike and we were always there for each other. We had lost so much together… My father to Alzheimer’s Disease, a sister-in-law to cancer, and my two brothers to suicide. With losses like that, it bonds the remaining family even tighter together, even if they were close to begin with. I find it difficult sometimes when I realize that I am the, “last one standing,” in my immediate family. I am moving forward… little by little, but today I step back more than a few steps. I miss my friend.

Boston Marathon Memorials 4.20.2013

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Tonight we went out to dinner with our friend, Chris, and stopped by one of the many memorials sprouting up around the Boston Marathon crime scene. It was eerie seeing that part of the city without any activity in it. Just being there really hits you hard. We really can take for granted our daily lives and sometimes you get a giant slap in your face to pay attention. Life is so fleeting… and so much can change in an instant!

Bah! Humbug or Maybe The Dickens With It by Betty Ann Fisher

Bah! Humbug or Maybe The Dickens With It
by Betty Ann Fisher

Though Santa’s on the rooftop
With his reindeer hitched to sleigh
I’m convinced his trip is non-stop
And he’ll head the other way.

The stores are filled with bustle
And shoppers in a rush
Theirs is a test of muscle
And their manners make me blush.

This year’s cards all leave me cold
Show naught of Season’s meaning.
Angels in modern dress are bold
Some at a lamp post leaning.

I long for Cherubs garbed in white
With faces which are meek
And Wise Men of that Holy Night
Not thugs with tongue in cheek

Where’s the heartfelt spirit told?
The joy of love and giving?
What of the shepherd tending fold?
How come these times we’re living?

It surely will be Christmas though
Wherever stars come out
To light the way across the snow
Of that there is no doubt.

Two Poems my Mom wrote about her Mom, yet they are true about how I feel as well.

Whenever I’m happy I’ll wish that she could share, and when I’m sad I’ll long for the comfort that only she could give. For my triumphs—if only she might prideful be and my faults could help correct. When someone else says, “Mother” I’ll remember mine.

My Truly Special Mom

by Betty Ann Fisher

And when she smiled—
‘Twas as if the world was new,
And when she laughed
Our troubles all seemed few.

She cried but seldom
And ah, she hid the tears
Or wiped them quickly
That none would know her fears.

If steep her path,
She wore no outward sorrow
But kept the ache within herself
Not bitter on the morrow.

She’d never stoop to deed unkind
Nor would she hurt another
Nor hold a grudge within her heart
My sweet and gentle Mother.

IN MEMORY OF MOM

by Betty Ann Fisher

A fitting tribute to her memory—a statue struck in bronze? An impressive gravestone in the churchyard? Which of these shall I choose?

I think that I shall always remember her in the first bright flush of dawn, whenever I see a clump of Lilies of the Valley in a quiet glade, when the first Crocus peeks above the ground, in the scent of early Lilacs, when the first Robin makes his appearance, when the earth smells sweet after a summer shower, when the trees swish in a gentle breeze, when I hear a Bob White call.

When the smell of autumn is in the air, when the first frost sets the leaves aflame, when snowflakes fall from Heaven, and when the sunset comes. I’ll remember her when I hear the laughter of children at play or see nuns at prayer. When I hear a lullabye, when a music box tinkles a merry tune. Whenever I smell Violets, I’ll feel that she is near. And when the thaw sets free the mountain brooks and streams, I’ll think of her.

When church bells ring at Easter-tide, when Christmas carols are sung, when I see a cozy kitchen or a warm and glowing hearth, when a kettle sings on a stove, when the crickets chirp and when the stars come out.

Whenever I’m happy I’ll wish that she could share, and when I’m sad I’ll long for the comfort that only she could give. For my triumphs—if only she might prideful be and my faults could help correct. When someone else says, “Mother” I’ll remember mine.