Where the Band Was: St. Paul, June 28 – July 2, 1984 (Kevin’s story)

In 1984, there was no internet, no cell phones. You communicated by landline and letters, so when I left the house on that fateful Thursday afternoon, there was no personal communication.

I headed out on my bike to the Saint Paul Civic Center from my house in Minneapolis with just my camera in hand.  No plans, no agenda, and no insight as to what was going down at the Civic Center other than past experience when Bruce is in a town performing in support of new material.

You see, when Bruce is in town, he likes to get around and take in the quite hometown feel that is the Twin Cities: parks and lakes and friendly people to mix with, not to mention a great bar scene.  So this was the backdrop I was hoping for heading into Saint Paul, along with possibly getting a glimpse of Bruce and the band going in and out of the arena.

I camped out on a facing lawn with a great view of the back entrance of the Civic Center. Before long, I noticed people approaching the entrance, mostly in pairs and met by a security guard.  After a few words, they were led into the venue.  This was repeated over and over for nearly an hour until I decided to check out what was going on.

I walked down the hill and caught the eye of the security guard, who asked me if I was there for the video shoot. My response was simple: ”What video shoot?”

The “Dancing in the Dark” video shoot, it turned out. The guard told me that vouchers were handed out to fans who attended the Rush concert as they exited the show the night before.  Each voucher allowed two people to appear as extras as background to the performance, approximately 200 fans or so, a pretty accurate estimation as to how many were invited.

Needless to say, I did not have a voucher.  With my camera in hand, I was just about to retreat back to my spot on the hill and hope for a Bruce sighting when two young ladies walked up and were met by the security guy.  He explained that they needed to commit to the entire day and would not be done until well into the late afternoon.

To my delight, one of the girls had to back out and the second followed, thus giving me an opportunity to plead my case to the security guard to let me take their place.  After several “pleases” I was in… but not so fast: I was told that I could not enter with my camera and needed to return it to my car. And with no car (because my transportation was my bike), I was back to square one.

Just at that moment, a car pulled up to the entrance and the guy that got out was my manager at the movie theater where I worked.  He was a runner for the local production company and was making a delivery.  What were the chances?  My camera was now safely tucked away into the trunk of Ray’s car, and I was free to enter the Saint Paul Civic Center.

Once inside, I was ushered to a section filled with other fans, two of whom were very close Bruce friends of mine. They couldn’t believe their eyes that I was actually there–they had actually been trying to find me, because they had a spot for me to get in.  Who knew? As fate would have it, it all worked out for our group.

As we all sat to one side of the arena, the floor was bustling with activity, production crew, stage hands and such, even members of the E Street Band, just mingling around.  But no Bruce.

And then just like that, Bruce walked out onto the floor, greeting band members and the like as we all looked on, some of us waving, some yelling out to Bruce.  He never looked our way.

That was when I got the impulse to go down to the floor myself in typical fan fashion and say hello.  I didn’t want to look back on the memory someday and wish I’d done it, so I did: I walked onto the floor and right up to Bruce. And of course, typical of such euphoria, I can’t remember a single word of what I said other than my name!

Bruce, however, as gracious as he is, took my hand and shared enthusiastic energy of friendship and appreciation for me as his fan.  He then asked me who I was with and if I would introduce him to my friends. We walked side by side up into that section of two hundred other fans, and Bruce shook hands and shared greetings with everyone up there.

Bruce was Bruce, a fan of fans.  He spent a pretty good amount of time with us before he headed back down to the floor. Now it was time to get filming.

Bruce performed “Dancing in the Dark” a few times with everyone in that location, and then we were moved clockwise to the next section and repeated. Moved again and repeated.  Moved again and repeated.

The next stop was the section behind the Mighty Max–a sure bet to get on camera if you could get into the seats right behind the drum kit…and that we did, myself and my two other friends.  That is, until the guy with the headset went around the section and pulled selected people from their seats and gathered them on the steps and in the aisle.  My friend Jackie and myself were among them, even though we pleaded to be allowed to stay in our seats. After all, we thought were golden right where we were.  We didn’t want to be fillers in and around the section. But our pleas were to no avail.

We couldn’t have been more wrong about being golden, though, because the headset guy told us,  “You guys are all going down to the front of the stage!”

We were moved directly in front of Bruce! For whatever reason, that day I chose to wear a pink shirt, a golf-like pink pullover.  All I can say is that it must of been because I saw a cover of a magazine where Bruce was wearing the same shirt, a pic from the River Tour I’m sure.  Anyway: bad choice!

Brian De Palma, who was directing the video, had issues with it and wanted me moved back up to the seats.  Again: the pleading.  Seems as though I had been doing a lot of that!

The focus of attention and the cause of a hold-up, I once again was blessed with way  to stay in the front of the stage: Off to the side stood a stage hand in a white tee shirt.  I posed a question to the guy with the headset: what if I could get that guy in the white shirt to switch with me, my pink shirt for his white shirt, could I stay?

The look on his face was priceless, funny now but not so much then.  He told me to make it fast.  I approached the white shirt guy (who had no idea what I was about to ask) and explained my situation as quickly as I could, keeping in mind that I was holding up production with my drama.  All the while, Mr. De Palma had to be dumbfounded and confused by what was going on.  I would say with confidence that was my fifteen seconds of fame.

Long story short, I got the white shirt and remained with my friend Jackie.  Once we realized that Courtney Cox was not a Bruce fan and just brought in to be the “one,” we understood why Brian De Palma struggled with directing her to be more enthusiastic, more “fan-like.” She really didn’t look like she belonged.  I bet every other fan who was there as an extra knew that they would have been a better choice to dance with Bruce.

We were not informed that there was a backstory for Ms. Cox in the video: she was supposed to have battled her way into the concert and fought her way through the crowd to end up front and center. That concept was apparently left on the cutting-room floor, but as fate would have it, I was the fan that Ms. Cox was directed to butt in front of to get to her position in front of Bruce.

I didn’t know any of this in the moment, and I was having none of it. I’d struggled hard to be where I was in that moment, and I was not going to give her any room to pass. As she pushed past me, I gave her an elbow to the boob.  Again, funny now but not so much then, and once again I found myself on Brian De Palma’s radar.  I thought for sure that I had not only written myself off the floor but out the door.  Fate can be funny, though. It was with me all day, and it was with me once again.  Someone else was humored enough by it to allow me to stay and remain a part of a very special experience and one of my fondest memories as a Bruce fan.