The Best Day

Meeting our heroes is risky because it disrupts the safe distance where admiration lives. Usually, they can’t possibly measure up to the version of them our minds have contrived. Unless you’re lucky, like I was when I met mine, and they were more, they were better, than I ever could have imagined. Which is tough to believe, I know.

It was the morning of March 30th, 1992, when my best friend Jason and I arrived at school to turn in our homework before skipping the rest of the day to drive to Minneapolis for the U2 concert. We were seniors in high school, more than ready to start living adventurous lives, but still with a healthy fear of getting into trouble.

Just getting to that day had been an exercise in persistence and determination. First, buying concert tickets back then meant obsessively calling 1-800 numbers for information. Then there was the line for the arm band, which guaranteed your spot in yet another line on a different day for the actual tickets.

With the help of my saint of a mom (and her help was extensive, as in a lot of 1-800 number calling), we were able to secure four armbands, which meant sixteen tickets to sell to friends, making a little money to pay her back for all her trouble. Next, we had to drive the thirty miles to St. Cloud from Little Falls, a small Mississippi River town in the center of Minnesota, with our armbands secured just to get the tickets.

The thing is, Jason and I were on the speech team (nerds, I know), and we had to skip a Saturday meet for that trip to St. Cloud. But it was U2, and I would have done anything to see them- anything! And I wasn’t the only one. For those who are too young to have heard of them, U2 was the biggest band in the world in the late 80s and early 90s. My room was wallpapered with their posters and clippings about them from Rolling Stone magazine. I had a different U2 t-shirt for every day of the week, and tested the patience of my friends and family by talking about them incessantly.

But Jason was then, and still is, my most loyal friend, and he seemed to never tire of my U2 ridiculousness. So I couldn’t get too angry with him when, as we sped to St. Cloud on that cold morning, he blew our cover. The thing is, we’d lied to our speech coach about why we were missing the meet. I was driving, Jason was riding shotgun, and we were running late. My boyfriend, a college freshman, had come home for the weekend, in part to participate in the ticket-gathering mission. Except he overslept, which is understandable if you’ve ever been a college student. All of this resulted in my lead foot being fully engaged.

We were passing a school bus when Jason noticed that he recognized some of the faces in its windows. Then he started waving, which looked more like flapping his wings. When I realized what was happening, I screamed, “NOOOOO!” waking my brother and boyfriend, who were each dozing in the back seat. I’d begged my brother to come along, and he’d been more than a good sport, because we needed four people for the armbands.

It turned out that the speech team was on that bus! And now our coach knew we weren’t doing what we’d said we’d be doing, whatever that was. The fallout was a stern talking-to by the coach the following week, in which she threatened to strip us of our co-captainship and varsity letters. But we had the U2 tickets- and that was all that mattered.

Fast forward to March 30th. After the quick stop at school (and trust me, our teachers were almost as excited about U2 as we were), we set out for Target Center in Minneapolis. My body hummed with a level of excitement I’d never felt before. I soon noticed that Jason had an entire kit of things he’d brought along, including a camera, a notepad, and a black Sharpie. “We aren’t going to meet them,” I said, even as I prayed that maybe somehow, some way it could happen. “You never know,” Jason replied, ever the optimist when it comes to overcoming the seemingly impossible.

We arrived before noon, so we had a lot of time before being allowed into the venue. And late March in Minnesota isn’t warm, so we walked over to City Center, a shopping mall in the lower levels of an office building in downtown Minneapolis. We were in a group with several of the people to whom we’d sold tickets and thought we could warm up, get something to eat, and kill some time. Except it was clear that something was up as we approached the mall entrance, because we could see through the glass that inside everything was decorated for Christmas. And there were way more people shopping than you’d typically see on a random weekday. Then we saw signs on the doors telling all who entered that a movie called “Untamed Heart,” starring Christian Slater and Marisa Tomei, was being filmed inside. Jason, an actor since birth, about lost his mind. So whether we wanted to or not, we were going inside.

Once we were all warmed and fed, I was ready to go back to Target Center, but the rest of the group was endlessly fascinated by watching the scene being filmed over and over on the escalator. In it, the lead characters played by Slater and Tomei, pass each other and have a moment where they gaze into each other’s eyes- one going up, the other going down. After watching for what seemed like forever, I noticed that the most important member of our group was missing. “You guys- where’s Jason?” I asked. As soon as the words escaped my lips, one of our friends pointed and exclaimed, “There he is! On the escalator!” In summary: yes, Jason had snuck into the scene as an extra, and ended up in the actual movie.

Once I’d retrieved him, the two of us went back to Target Center, where we worked our way around the building trying to meet anyone we could who was connected with the band. We found a bus that transported the catering crew and chatted them up a bit. There were semi-truck trailers parked nearby, and roadies were moving black-wheeled containers with “U2” spray-painted in white on the sides.

Soon, we came upon one single security guard standing outside of a closed garage door, and since we had nothing better to do, we started up a conversation with him. He ended up telling us his entire life story, which was actually kind of fascinating, and then, out of nowhere, in a deep voice, he said, “If you want to see the band, just wait right here. This is the door they’ll be coming through.” Holy crap! I nearly passed out. Jason and I did our best to just breathe and be chill, and not draw too much attention to ourselves. But eventually other people congregated too, rightly assuming we knew something they didn’t.

Then, after we’d been standing there for who knows how long, the garage door began to open as a limo pulled up. The back windows came down and waving through them were the bass player, Adam Clayton, and the drummer (and hands-down best looking member of the band), Larry Mullen, Jr! They slowed down enough for everyone to get a good look- there were maybe two dozen people standing around at that point- and then they drove into the building.

But before Jason and I could pull ourselves back together, another limo pulled up! This one stopped and the back doors on either side opened. Out stepped guitar player The Edge, and lead singer Bono. I died. Freaking BONO!!!

Tears streamed down my face. My brain could not form words. I was overcome in a way I’d never been before, and haven’t been since. Bono walked straight up to us with his high-heeled boots, shearling coat, Fly shades, and in his so cool Irish accent, he earnestly thanked us for coming. Except I couldn’t respond because my mouth wouldn’t work. So I took a silver ring off my finger that I wore every day and handed it to him. That’s all I could think to do. He took it in his hand, looked me straight in the eyes because we were virtually the same height, and he said, “Thank you so much for this- I’ll wear it tonight.”

I couldn’t even move. I was in my body, and outside of it, at the same time. Bono and Edge slowly made their way around the semicircle that had formed around the garage door, and they were gracious with a sincerity you had to witness to believe. That’s the thing- they were so kind to everyone! By the time The Edge got to Jason, he had the clarity to get out the paper and Sharpie, so we each got autographs from him. Eventually, Bono and Edge went into the building, and that’s when I sobbed- undone in every possible way.

The concert itself was everything we’d hoped it would be. Hearing “Where the Streets Have No Name” performed lived was sublime! But the biggest highlight occurred when a camera zoomed in on Bono as he held the microphone close to his lips, and on one of his fingers, there it was- my ring! He actually wore it!!!

On the drive home, my friends and I went over the events of the day, still unable to wrap our heads around all that had occurred. I was still so excited that I neglected to pay attention to the speed limit and was pulled over by a highway patrol. When the officer came to the window and asked me to explain why I was driving so fast, I told him about meeting Bono and he let me off with a warning!

When I finally arrived at home, my mom got up to meet me and I got to relive the entire day by telling her every detail. I wouldn’t call the mom of teenage me indulgent, but the way she listened to me in the middle of that night, even though she had to get up and go to work in the morning, was everything- I’ll never forget it.

I have two boys, and I know moms are supposed to say that the births of their children are the best days of their lives. Those were good days. My two favorite people emerged into the world on those days. But the best day of my life? March 30th, 1992.

And if you don’t believe my story, thanks to Jason, I have the photos to prove it.