Culling from faded memories of that meeting, I recall backstage as a world of its own: risers just off the stage wings, on both sides and behind the stage — where bands, roadies, promoters, VIP guests (and groupies) strolled through a maze of tented meeting/greeting, eating and seating areas. I was dazed, witnessing the pure ecstasy of this 50,000+ dancing, singing crowd, all cheering the rock stars performing less than 100 feet from our seats — close enough to see, hear and feel the vibration of  rollicking rhythms being performed onstage.

Looking back, Lenny liked to remind me that we mingled with countless artists and music peeps coming on and offstage that day. He joked that I didn’t know I was sitting next to Jefferson Starship’s Grace Slick — who didn’t perform but was one of concert promoter Bill Graham's inner  circle. He also teased me about strolling into a backstage volleyball game where I traded hits with Graham himself, along with Joe Walsh, Don Helley and Glenn Frey of the Eagles, and other celebrities I didn’t even recognize because I wasn’t a groupie — I was a young mom, torn between being in the moment and wanting to get home to my kids.

And there we were, each of us standing at parallel points on the same road, in that moment when the Eagles sang “Life in the Fast Lane” to the massive crowd below us. Crowe went on to write Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Jerry Maguire, and Almost Famous — his own coming-of-age story about being a teenage rock journalist, told as fiction. It won him an Oscar and a BAFTA for the screenplay, with Nancy writing the score. Years later, Crowe redeveloped purposed it as a Broadway musical and picked up a Tony nomination.

Lenny never wrote a screenplay, but he certainly lived one. He was that extroverted kid from “Punk’s Corner” on Boston’s Revere Beach who hustled in pool halls and wore tee-shirts, not ties. Daring to dream big, Lenny manifested a gig running a Hollywood recording studio while running with some of the biggest names in music — yet never quite becoming famous himself.

In retrospect, Lenny wasn't almost famous by accident — he was almost famous his entire life, one backstage pass at a time. Our fate manifested that day at the concert, after partying the night prior at Top of the Mark — a penthouse level bar at Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill at California and Mason Streets in San Francisco. Which explains why we esteemed the Eagles’ Hotel California as the most memorable album in Lenny’s expansive record collection over time — and they performed the hit live on our first date.

Years later, after Lenny and I divorced, I remarried someone else on Memorial Day. It had nothing to do with Lenny; it was simply the only available weekend before our daughter relocated to Colorado. Lenny didn't see it that way. He later confided the timing felt intentional — because in his mind, Memorial Day was “our day” since that Day on the Green in 1977.

 Victoria 🍀 ♡