Where the Band Was: Frankfurt, April 14,1981 (Dan’s Story)

Let me set the scene: when Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band toured Europe in the spring of 1981 to support The River, I was living in London, out of work, with only my home-made fanzine Point Blank to my name.

I had time on my hands, but I was broke. If I wanted to travel, I hitch-hiked to most places and slept on friends’ floors and sofas. Selling a few fanzines meant I could buy basic necessities to live on or occasionally stretch to the luxury of a train ticket, and in a few months it had already brought me some good friends and many pen-pals I’d never met.

When the UK tour was postponed by a couple of months, meaning that the European leg started on the continent rather than in Britain, I thought I’d have to wait for my first Bruce Springsteen concert. I was wrong…

After the months from December 1980 to March 1981 spent collecting tickets for the UK shows and the postponement announcement, I got a letter from my German pen-pal Rena one day in March with a note saying “See you at the Canadian Pacific Hotel, Frankfurt, 13th April.” Enclosed was a side balcony ticket for Frankfurt Festhalle, 14th April.

My friend John H had been promised a ticket for one of the Paris shows and was going to stay with a friend there. I arranged to meet him in Paris at Easter and went there first to try and get tickets for various friends in advance.

Having been tipped off as to the expected date and place of sale of the Paris tickets, I hitched there only to find no trace of any tickets at the box office or supposed venue. The only indication that Bruce was coming to Europe at all was a window display of singles and posters in a Metro subway: “Bruce Springsteen en France!” But I was told that the tickets had all been sold before I even arrived (like the early sale at the Edinburgh queue!).

Disheartened at the thought of disappointing my friends hoping for tickets, I splashed out on a train from Paris to Frankfurt (I gave up hitching after hours wasted trying to hitch out of Paris) and arrived late on the 13th. Tired and bleary, I was overjoyed to see the huge red sign outside the Festhalle: “Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band, 14th April.” At last!

Across the street was the Canadian Pacific hotel: huge, modern and expensive. A self-conscious tramp, I asked at the reception for Rena. A phone call to her room showed she was out, so I left a note for her: gone to sleep in the park (couldn’t afford a room!).

Meanwhile…just around the corner from the reception lobby, Rena was waiting for me in the bar, sitting with copies of my fanzine Point Blank displayed. (Mike H sent her a bunch for me, marked “For Display” to get through his office franking machine – Rena, having no explanation – I didn’t know! – duly obeyed instructions and displayed them!).

Who should wander into the bar but the whole E Street Band, who just happened to be staying in the same luxury hotel and wanted to buy Max a drink for his birthday! Clarence sees Rena alone, and being the gent he is, sits down with her, puts his arm around her and booms: “Heyy, little girl, are you married?”

And there’s Rena, sitting between CC and Bruce, surrounded by the band, celebrating! And here’s yours truly huddled up in his sleeping bag under a tree near an ornamental lake!

Several drinks later, Rena finds my note, and says to Clarence: “Hey, we’ve got to go and find Dan in the park.” So they rush round the park, looking for me, shouting “Dan French come out tonight!” (I have nothing to hide!) Guess who slept through it all?!

9 am, 14th April: Even more dazed and bleary, I call Rena again and go up to her room and meet her for the first time. “Dan! Come on, we have to go and wake Clarence.”

Uh-huh. Clarence?

Clarence.

CLARENCE? CLARENCE!! Can it be? Are they here??

Another door: she knocks, and eventually a deep, sleepy voice answers. It’s dark inside. There’s a huge black guy gripping my hand warmly, and it’s him! I’m speechless – knees probably shaking! Clarence has a terrible hangover and can’t face the daylight yet. “I had such a baaad dream, baby” he moans, “thanks for waking me.”

More handshakes, and he flops on the bed. We go and have breakfast in the hotel, spotting Max and various crew-types around. I begin to wake up and realize what’s happening!

After a leisurely morning, we go back to CC’s room to wake him again at midday – knocking first on a door marked “Do Not Disturb” which Rena calls at: “Bruce. Bruce?” No reply.

Clarence is as glad to see us as if we’d been long-departed friends but is still not fully awake. Let him sleep a little longer, OK?

About 2 o’clock, he finally gets up on our 3rd visit and slowly gets washed and dressed. Larger than life and twice as natural! What a start to the day of my first show. Just the start…!

Around 4 or 5 o’clock, after leaving Clarence with Glen P, his personal manager, to sort out his clothes for the show, we wait in the lobby with some American roadies discussing a shopping list of cameras. (CC wants an automatic one for holiday snaps.) A girl from CBS Germany is checking details on a clipboard. Rena points out Barbara Carr: “That’s Jon Landau’s assistant.”

I immediately mistake her for Rhoda, Neil G’s prime contact, who also works for Landau, and tell Rena I’d heard she (Rhoda) was supposed to have sent me a show review, on Neil’s request, for the mag. “I must introduce you,” insists Rena, and reluctantly I shake hands with a bewildered Barbara Carr as I tell her I’m afraid I never received her review, and that Neil said hi! She must have thought I was crazy!

Gradually, the whole band filters into the lobby with various girlfriends and wives and crew (no Joyce, as far as I know) and Jon Landau.

“There he is,” says Rena, pointing.

Who? That guy with dark glasses and a leather jacket over his shoulder?

It’s Bruce.

I had to look twice to make sure. They all stand near the exit, waiting for the King. Clarence makes his grand entrance at last, and they’re ready to go to the soundcheck. Rena and I walk out with CC and the band to where a minibus is waiting.

No, let’s walk, they say: it’s just over the road. (You can see the red sign.) On the way I’m within a couple of feet of Bruce as we climb over some security fencing (like hurdles) near the entrance. Bruce jumps over one and drops his jacket, which I pick up and pass to him, saying: ‘Able to leap tall buildings at a single bound’.

‘Right,’ he mutters, seeming pre-occupied – thinking of the soundcheck, no doubt.

We come to the security limit and Clarence takes us both in with him and the band. Inside, the Festhalle seems huge: only 4,000 seats? Two balconies, and a figure-8 shaped plan.

Glen tells us: “You’d better have these. Stop you getting questioned.” Two backstage passes. “You two got tickets?” Yes – here. “Have these instead.” Row 14, stalls. Hey, thanks, Glen! “You’re welcome. Keep off the stage now.”

And while Bruce walks around the hall, the band is on stage and Roy begins a crystal clear intro to “Hungry Heart” – loud and sparkling. Sounds perfect already!

Rena takes photos, despite being told not to. I sit front row centre in the empty seats to watch and listen to the soundcheck, hardly believing what’s happening. An awkward moment when a merchandise guy tells me to stop giving away those magazines, since he fears it might affect his programme sales. I’m too happy to argue. Who cares?

They’re all playing now apart from Bruce, still circling the balconies with Bruce Jackson. “Prove It All Night,” and Bruce joins the band at last on guitar and then vocals – lazy and serious-faced, but magnificent – effortless, in his element.

After one and a half to two hours he‘s satisfied with those two songs and it’s back to the dressing-rooms until showtime: the kids are building up outside, and the armed police look alarming. Harry Sandler, road manager, gives the band Dutch editions of The River. “Fainter blue sleeve,” I remark to Roy over his shoulder. Yes, he nods.

We’re in Clarence’s room with him and Glen when Bruce, tense with hunched shoulders, wanders in. I get up to offer him the seat, when Glen waves us both out: Bruce wants to talk to the Big Man. Time for us to find our seats.

Hey, there’s Mike H, over on the Mead Gould coach trip! And a few other familiar faces. Lots of American GIs (a base nearby). The excitement is electric! From a hum to a buzz and then a roar as the lights go down. Talk about an adrenalin rush – we’re up and on our chairs before we know it.

Out of the noise drones the organ whine of “Factory,” and this is it! It’s really happening, like living a dream.

I don’t know if the show was a good one or not – I didn’t care – nothing could go wrong! I scribbled the initials of the songs down and yelled myself hoarse and dry.

After the lights went on, Rena and I went backstage. I took a couple of programmes and a badge (from Mike, Kev, and a girl). Exhausted, elated and parched, we waited for at least an hour in a room outside the dressing-room area. There was no drink or food to be had! Various people were there waiting for Bruce, including a German reporter who interviewed Jon Landau while we were all waiting. Landau stressed: no tape interviews.

After an age Bruce wandered out, leather jacketed and hair slicked back, grinning and looking fresher than before the show! He greeted friends and well-wishers, and spoke to a reporter briefly. At last he turned, about to go, and walked up to us. He looked at Rena and me, his eyes dark but somehow glazed. I grabbed my moment and stuck out my hand: “Hi, Bruce!” Rena said: “This is the guy who does the magazine.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

London, I said, feeling dumb. Then I remembered the souvenirs, and asked: “Could you sign these (programmes) for a couple of friends waiting outside? They have to catch a bus home.”

“Sure.” He signs the poster centrefolds: “Who’s this for?” “For Mike.” I gave him a Point Blank leaflet – all the paper I had on me. “And this is for me – Dan.” He wrote: “To Dan – thanks for your support. Say hello to everyone for me, Bruce.”

Then I gave him the badge: “Some girl wanted you to have this.” (Bruce is holding the badge in the photo Rena took of us.)

He shook hands again and waved goodbye with a smile. “I’ll see you in Britain, if not before!” I called, as he left. Bruce nodded and was gone, hungry but willing to sign more autographs for a group of fans outside.

To be continued…