Captain Fantastic

“Captain Fantastic raised and regimented hardly a hero, just someone his mother might know.” - Bernie Taupin.

In this episode - Captain Fantastic . . .

1975 was my first full year of college; like most teens, music was my world. The ideals of our small midwestern town of Cuba, Illinois, were being reshaped by a record, at least for me.

For those who don't remember, 1975 was the year the album Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy was released; music by Elton John and lyrics by Bernie Taupin. Hundreds, maybe thousands of hours were spent with that album spinning on turntables while studying that grotesque album cover.

During the 1970s, many records spun on home stereo systems and radio stations throughout the world that brought artists like Elton John to your town. LP Record albums with flashy covers were the delivery vehicle for music, lyrics, album art, and what parents considered wild ideas in the minds of the baby-boomer generation. In hindsight, music had a powerful impact on this young, impetuous high school graduate. What kept going through my mind? Who was Captain Fantastic?

I became a devoted fan of Elton John and Bernie Taupin and began collecting all of Elton's records. The question haunted my thoughts: How could I ever see someone who had risen to Super-Star in concert? The tickets must be outrageous!

WGN Radio Chicago announced that Elton would perform three nights at the Chicago Stadium. We waited impatiently for concert tickets to go on sale. The announcement came, sold out! How is that possible? Undaunted, early morning of July 28, 1976, my friend Chris Sharpe and I began the long five-hour drive to Chicago. As you can imagine, there were doubters, "You guys are idiots - get tickets, absurd; it's obvious you don't understand what sold out means!"

Rocking out to tunes on the eight-track player in my Opel Kadett, we hit the road, determined to see this concert. It was the first night of the show. During the long drive to Chicago, the discussion continued: "How will we get tickets?"

I'll admit the lyrics, "Should have stayed on the farm, should have listened to my old man." surfaced in my thoughts.

It was early afternoon when we finally arrived at the Chicago Stadium; the enormous parking lot was empty. The concert was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. Without a doubt, I had decided that morning; we would go directly to the ticket window at the Stadium and ask for tickets. The shocked look on Chris Sharpe's face was priceless when the ticket agent said, "You guys are in luck; the concert seating has been rearranged for tonight's show. How about two tickets for row six." Excellent! We shouted in unison.

. . . A fog drifts from the stage with multi-colored flashing lights - the eerie sound of an organ rises to a crescendo and then drops to complete silence. A solitary piano plays a familiar melody, the crowd waves their arms, and lighters glow throughout the Stadium. Funeral For A Friend/Loves Lies Bleeding from the album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - rocks the Chicago Stadium, and the performance begins. What a night! After years of listening to Elton John on the radio and watching those records spin, I could not believe that we were sitting in the sixth row rocking out to Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting - Crocodile Rock - Bennie and the Jets - Grey Seal - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - and Yes - Captain Fantastic and The Brown Dirt Cowboy. It was a night to remember two guys from Cuba, Illinois, who bucked the odds, laughing at all who called us idiots, ecstatic from seeing Elton John at the height of stardom.

That night, while driving home, with our ears still ringing, I realized success comes from doing - not wishing opportunities would drop into your lap. When the odds are stacked against you, give it your best. Never give up. Never, never give up.

Maybe through music, Elton and Bernie spoke to the youth of America that you, too, could be Captain Fantastic - hardly a hero, just someone his mother might know.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

(Updated - April 20, 2023)

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️ In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...

Pushing the Pause Button

In this episode, Pushing the Pause Button: Stepping Off the Treadmill Hello, friends — If you're reading this, I'm already off the grid. Today begins a much-needed vacation, and for the next few weeks, On the Fly is taking a break right along with me. For a long time, my inner voice has said, 'Keep every commitment, no matter what.' That's meant early mornings, long days, and a calendar packed with posts, podcasts, and projects I couldn't seem to say no to. I've been trying to be the tireless workhorse—but that kind of grind doesn't end well. Lately, I've noticed I'm not quite myself—shorter fuse, louder sighs, and a few too many grumbles (Lori deserves a medal). That's when you know it's time to hit pause before the spark burns out. So, I'm stepping back to rest, recharge, and remember what it feels like to not live by the next deadline: no tech, no to-do lists, just some space to breathe. Thank you, truly, for all your support and ...

The Friday Morning Pause

In this episode, The Friday Morning Pause: When My Brother’s Bookshelf Called Me to Stillness We live in a world allergic to stillness. Our mornings begin mid-sprint—thumbs scrolling before our eyes even open. The impulse to jump into the digital chaos is immediate. But sometimes, stillness finds you . It was early Friday morning. We’d arrived late the night before, stepping into the cool air before the day turned hot. Half-awake, I reached for my phone—emails, headlines, social feeds waiting like a morning buffet of distraction. We were in Cuba. No Wi-Fi. No 5G. No password. Just stillness, disguised as inconvenience. Instead, I caught sight of something unexpected: a small stack of books on my brother’s TV shelf. My brother and his wife are powered by perpetual motion. They are the definition of overscheduled and overstimulated. Yet there it was: Stillness Is the Key by Ryan Holiday, quietly mocking my scrolling habit. The irony was perfect. I put my phone down—a small, delibe...

Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment

In this episode, Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment. Sometimes love waits half a century for its moment — and when it finally arrives, time doesn’t stand still; it disappears. The moment I stepped off the train in Nantes, it felt like time froze. There she was — my cousin Michèle — waiting on the platform, arms waving desperately. When we finally embraced, the fifty years that had passed between us disappeared in an instant. The melody in her voice was the same, but softer than I remembered. We both shed tears of joy that only come from love long overdue. “I’m so happy you are here,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Thank goodness for the translation app on my phone, because the conversation began immediately — fast, fluid, and unstoppable. The Frenzy of Catching Up As we drove for about an hour to the tiny town of L’Épine on the Island of Noirmoutier, the words kept tumbling out. Michèle and her husband, Alain, are the most gracious hosts — but my new challe...

On The Fly

Search This Blog