Time Flies and He Is Still Having Fun

My friend, Sal Nunziato, has a great blog called Burning Wood. Like one of his muisical heroes, Sal never mails it in and his posts are always well written. He also is not afraid to speak his mind when the passion overcomes him. In his latest post, Sal reminded me that it was the 40th(!) Anniversary of the release of Bruce Springsteen's "Greetings from Asbury Park." I was going to put some thoughts down in his comments section, but it turned into a much bigger read. If Sal will excuse me, here's my comment on his post:

Coming home from the service, the Jersey Shore was the "City of Ruin"' that the song of the same name describes. I was living in Belmar, about a half block from the beach. The old Victorian house was three stories high and had enough rooms for four of us to share the rent. We all shared a liking for altering of our consciousness, as well, contributing to the feeling of melancholy that was permeating the area.

On some nights, I would head up to Asbury Park to catch the latest lineup of the Bruce Springsteen Band. Most nights I'd see the band in a small, no frills club called The Student Prince. These were the days before the beginning of the Stone Pony.

Springsteen was a fixture in the local music scene but not as well known as you might suspect he was. I had watched him at the Upstage Club for many of those early morning sessions. Just before leaving for the service I saw the band he was in called Earth. I was overseas during the Sonic Boom and the Steel Mill days.

Springsteen and I traveled in the same sphere though we had little contact. I had become a groupie for the Challenger Eastern surfboard team. While working in his surf shop in Belmar, I hung out with those West Coast guys and got drunk on jugs of Red Mountain wine with Carl “Tinker” West. West was the guy who promoted Steel Mill throughout my tour overseas and was the owner of Challenger Eastern.

As I talked about earlier, the area around Asbury Park was woeful. The fires and the looting from Martin Luther King’s assassination had begun the exile out of Asbury, and the building of the huge shopping centers outside of the downtown area shuttered stores small and large, including the historic Steinbach's Department Store on Cookman Avenue. It was easy to keep telling yourself I gotta get out of this place.

In my unit there were three guys from Oregon who kept talking about the Portland area as God’s Country. I decided to go check this out for myself. I even saw “Sometime a Great Notion” with Paul Newman the night before my escape. With visions of tall trees, flannel shirts and chain saws I hitchhiked out to Oregon taking Route 66. After all, the song said,”If you ever plan to motor west...” That, however, is another story.

After finding my service brothers, I took to God’s Country big time. I had work, a nice place to live and had 1954 Dodge station wagon with a three on the tree in pristine shape. I had restarted the record collection, and was a steady customer at the Music Millennium on the corner of SE 32 and E. Burnside.  I was in there so much that I picked up some holiday work, which turned into full time and began my tour of duty in the music and radio business.

One afternoon, I was making one of my regular visits to the record store when I saw the display in the window. It was the post card, “Greetings From Asbury Park.” Anyone who grew up in the area knew that card. It was sold on the boardwalk in front of every beachwear and souvenir store on those squeaky card carousels that continually turned during the summer.

I can remember talking to myself, “I don’t care who it is, I’m buying that record!” I never read the script on the cover until I was inside holding it in my hand, “Bruce Springsteen.” “Holy Shit,” I said aloud, “He fucking did it!” I was, in a word, gobsmacked.

I proudly told the clerks that this guy was from my hometown who I’ve seen a hundred times and he’s really good. I got the look that customers get from record clerks that says, “Sure he is, Buddy.” First year sales of only 25,000 made it tough to justify my initial review that “he’s really good.” I’m sure that over half the sales were from the Shore.

Springsteen was a guitar god around the Shore. Those that knew of Springsteen enough to follow him were aware that being a rock artist was his absolute dream and that he was driven to obtain it, come hell or high water. It wasn’t until “Born to Run” that the guy I saw in the late 60s and early 70s finally appeared. Nonetheless, Bruce with Greetings, up to 1973 was the only guy I knew who made a record.

Finally, after 40 years, more people than I say, “He’s really good.”