Bruce: From Thunder Road to 62 by Ron Wells

On Sept. 23, 1949 there was a darkness all over the land, a darkness rising from the desert floor, and a deathly darkness on the edge of town. There was blackness and sorrow, a sky of longing and emptiness. The poets weren’t writing nothin’ at all, they just stood back and let it all be. Everyone hid on the backstreets, even the river was dry, containing nothing but memory and shadow. In one town , a man was taking a knife to cut the pain from his heart. So many were bruised and battered, it was like a living hell of devils and dust. There was just a meanness in this world, and a father sighed, “Sorry son it’s gone gone gone.”

When suddenly out of nowhere, out of a new sky of fullness, a sky of blessed light, shooting down from the heavens came a bolt of dry lightning shaped just like a Fender guitar. It flashed around the world, over the badlands, over the streets of Philadelphia, all the way to the Jersey Shore.

It eventually struck a house in Freehold, New Jersey, followed by an earth-shaking crash of thunder on the road. A peace settled over that little house where the lightning became a human charge, electrified by Elvis, energized by Dylan, and enchanted by Roy Orbison. Then a shout went up: One, two, one-two-three-four, and a mighty chord was struck, when out the front, screen door slamming like it was Independence Day, came Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen, bursting like a supernova, no hero, it’s understood, but a man with enough energy to grab Scooter and the Big Man and the rest of his band, shouting, “No more shall dreams be thwarted, from now on faith will be rewarded.” He spit in the face of the badlands, and screamed, “I want the heart, I want the soul, I want control, right now!” He flew up sugar mountain and and across the deep blue seas. He and his band headed everywhere that lives were on the line and dreams had been found and lost.

He was willing to pay the cost; he was willing to be the boss.

Suddenly, joyously, Crazy Janey and her Mission Man, exploded and traded hands, while all the little pretties raised their hands and danced and sang. Everyone watched him and believed in the faith that could save them because he was blowing away the dreams that had torn them apart, he was blowing away the dreams that broke their hearts.

He was the new king of the alley, boy, he could really talk some trash, just like some kind of saint in the city. He sang that “good will conquer evil, and the truth will set us free,” before slowing down to drink from the sacred and cool clear waters of Maria’s bed, then heading off, rocking all over the world. Everywhere he went he took a righteous stand playing music for the ages with his magnificent band.

Finally, out into the street he boldly strolled past two hearts in a Pink Cadillac, past a barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge, past the parking lot where the visionaries dressed in the latest rage, past Wild Billy who yelled, “Happy birthday, Boss!”

Then someone whispered that two of his Band of Brothers had gone away forever, to which Bruce smiled and shook his head, saying, “They’re now spirits in the night, pointing the way to the promised land! Can’t ya see paradise by the C?!” And with the glory days chiming like bells of freedom, he and his band welcomed everyone on board their train, whether saints or sinners, and played that heavenly music loud as hell, showing one and all that even in the darkness, there are hidden worlds that shine, especially for anyone willing to look deep into the light within his eyes, where there are reasons to believe.

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Thanks for 36 years of shining a little light in the darkness. Happy Birthday, Bruce.

Thanks, Ron, for the wonderful birthday tribute to Bruce. Bruce’s birthday is always a red letter day in our house! Happy Birthday from Art Predator and Family!

PS I’ll try to add a photo or video to this post but I was born to run and don’t have time right now–and I wanted to get these wonderful words out there to the world!