On Memorial Day weekend, I was fortunate enough to attend the concert of a legend. In case you haven’t noticed, many of our beloved legends are dying off. Just recently we said good-bye to Dennis Hopper, Lena Horne, and Peter Faulk. I was fortunate enough to meet John Ritter and Charlie Shedd before their demise and for that I am grateful.
The legend I heard was the famous or infamous Jerry Lee Lewis known as “Killer.” Although he is well into his 70s that voice and piano style is unmistakable. Jerry’s gait is a little bent but his performance was as good as I remembered from my teens. The audience of twenty somethings to baby boomers let enthusiasm reign when “Great Balls of Fire” and “Whole Lotta Shakin’ ” came around. We clapped, danced, laughed and celebrated a great entertainer.
It got me to thinking about other legendary figures in my life. Little Richard performed in this very concert hall a few months back and so did Loretta Lynn. With their fortunes made, these performers have no need to travel and entertain an audience. But it is who they are.
As a writer, I f eel the same. If I won the lottery today and didn’t have to write another word EVER. I would because I must, it’s part of who I am. That realization gives energy when you are spent, hope when you are emotionally bankrupt, and peace trusting that WHO you are is more important than WHAT you do.
Meeting a legends is seeing a person doing what they love. And even if I am never a celebrated figure I can join their tribe.