LETTERS FROM HOME: THE WILD, THE INNOCENT AND E STREET SHUFFLE REVISTED

April 13, 2000

Dear Julie,

Recently, DC and I were offered the senior discount when we went to see a movie. I asked the young man how you old you have to be to qualify. He was so embarrassed when we told him we have a number of years to go that he charged us senior rates anyway.

DC, who's dreading her upcoming 50th birthday, insinuated that my gray hair was the reason he thought we were AARP members. I gently pointed out that she would be just as culpable if not for Clairol Auburn.

Saturday night, at a Bruce Springsteen concert in St. Louis, nobody cared about such things. We were among the Brotherhood of "Born to Run."

When Springsteen sang "I want to die with you Wendy on the streets tonight in an everlasting kiss" in 1975, I was one of many millions of who knew what he meant.

He made us care about people like Crazy Janey and Wild Billy and Sloppy Sue, kids who worked sweaty jobs and came alive at night at Greasy Lake and on streets roamed by fuel-injected suicide machines.

It was as if we were growing up with him, experiencing the boisterous passion of "The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle," the disillusionment of "Darkness on the Edge of Town," turning introspective with "The River." He gave part of his concert proceeds to food banks and Vietnam veterans organizations. This was a man we not only liked but wanted to be like.

The idea of getting married never seemed to be part of my universe until it happened to him.

In the mid-'80s, I drove to Asbury Park, N.J., from my home in upstate New York just to see what could be seen. The Stone Pony, the dingy bar where Springsteen started his career, was almost empty that afternoon but you could still smell the sweat and beer and imagine him on the tiny stage.

The boardwalk was deserted that early spring day, the bumper cars still in storage. But Madam Marie, the Gypsy palm reader, was open for business. The cops finally busted her, Springteen sang, "for telling fortunes better than they do."

"He was a good boy," she told me.

Now he's in his 50s, nearly old enough for his senior discount, and conducting raucous 3 1/2-hour rock 'n' roll revivals across the U.S.

"Is anybody alive out there?" he demanded.

We were. Still thrilled to be alive.

Love, Sam