Skip to main content

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)

Labels:

Comments

Beth said…
Never had the pleasure of seeing Sir Elton John in concert. I am glad you and your friend created that opportunity for yourselves.
March 21, 2020 at 6:20 PM
Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

Back to School (Without the Triple Lindy)

I hadn’t set foot inside a public library in over thirty years. Last Saturday, when I walked through the sliding doors of the modern County of San Diego branch on Eucalyptus Avenue in Vista, my eyes instinctively scanned the floor for the familiar, comforting sight of varnished oak cabinets and brass pull-handles. Nothing . No card catalog. No little wooden drawers. No rows of index cards typed by someone who presumably had beautiful penmanship and a pension. I walked up to the front desk, looked the librarian dead in the eye, and asked with complete earnestness: "Where’s the card catalog?" She didn’t laugh, though she had every right to. Instead, she offered a warm, dry smile: "We magically had the computer digest it." And just like that, I was enrolled. Not the Rodney Dangerfield kind of back-to-school. No diving board, no loud blazer, no campus party, and thankfully, no need to convince anyone I belonged there. Just an overdue reminder that while I was busy with ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Beyond Facts-The Deep Dive

✨ In this episode, Beyond Facts: Reimagining School–in the Age of AI . . .   This week's podcast is a bit different; it's another example of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) can offer tools to creatively enhance your analytical presentation of information. We took this week's blog and copied it into Gemini with the question, “If a story is to work, it must, on some level, create an illusion of escape and also achieve a goal simultaneously. Does this apply to my blog post that follows?” What's created is not just an analysis of the writing, but an AI-generated discussion produced “On the Fly” - Enjoy! Did you know that the word "school" comes from the ancient Greek word scholē , which originally meant "leisure"? Not a rigid schedule or droning lectures filled with "facts," but free time for thinking and conversation. To the Greeks, learning happened best when life slowed down—when you had room to reflect, to ask questions, and to wrestle ...
4 comments
Read more

Doc Welch - The Country Doctor

In this episode, Doc Welch . . . Many authors have characterized life in rural Illinois over the years. Among the more notables are Edgar Lee Masters, who wrote Spoon River Anthology, Carl Sandburg for his poetry and biography of Abraham Lincoln, and little known to me until recently, my first doctor, whom everyone in town always called Doc Welch - James K. Welch, M.D.  (Feb. 7, 1915, to May 5, 1998) While exploring the microfilm of the Cuba Journal (published from 1884 to 1992), I consistently kept running across articles entitled The Country Doctor. This intrigued me. Doc Welch was a third-generation practicing Country Doctor in Cuba for over 40 years. His father, James William Welch, M.D., practiced medicine in Cuba for more than five decades. His grandfather, James Knox Welch, M.D., settled in Cuba after the Civil War. Cuba, Illinois, is a small, rural farming community in west-central Illinois, where I grew up. Like many small towns, it boasts a central square with a ban...
4 comments
Read more

The Rhythm of the Woodpecker

The morning in Vista often begins under a heavy, gray marine layer that rolls in from the coast, pressing a damp, muffled stillness over the neighborhood. At 4:30 a.m., the driveways are still full. The local commuters are either blissfully unconscious or stumbling blindly toward their showers, clinging desperately to their last shred of peace before the nine-to-five grind claims them for the day. I, on the other hand, am voluntarily wide awake in the dark. When your agenda consists of absolutely nothing, it is critical to get an early start. Inside the house, the quiet is profound, broken only by the sharp, mechanical click of the kettle as it reaches a rolling boil. I stand at the counter, watching the dark ground coffee bloom as hot water hits the French press's stainless steel. The smell is sudden and heavy—a deep, roasted-earth aroma that cuts through the morning fog. I push against the plunger’s gritty resistance, pouring a cup that radiates dark, stinging heat against my pal...
Post a Comment
Read more