26 APRIL 2023 WorldWide Drilling Resource® The Un-Comfort Zone II by Robert Evans Wilson, Jr. Manifesting a Free Concert Jeff, my childhood friend from the suburbs, showed up at my inner city apartment as I was finishing dinner. He said, “Wanna go to the Journey concert tonight?” “You got tickets?” I asked. When he said he didn’t, I told him I heard it was sold out and even if we could find a scalper, the tickets would be expensive. Jeff said he didn’t want to pay to get in, he wanted to get in backstage. I thought he was crazy for suggesting it. “You just go to the backstage door and say you have a pass,” he said. He had heard that people did it all the time and he figured we didn’t have anything to lose by trying. His enthusiasm was infectious, yet I was getting the sense he didn’t quite have the courage to try this stunt completely on his own; he needed me along for moral support, if nothing else. In many ways, Jeff was like my little brother. We had grown up on the same street, five doors apart. We played together, hung out, made each other laugh, double-dated, and shared secrets. We were very close; and he was one of my best friends. I laughed, but I also admired his audacity for wanting to try. So, I decided I was curious enough to see if it would work. “Okay, what the heck, let’s go; the Fox Theatre is only six blocks away. At worst, I’ll have a nice after-dinner walk.” Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the theater. It was April 23, 1978. I was 21 years old and Jeff was 19. Our hair was long, and we wore the popular clothes of the day: bellbottom slacks, shiny multicolor print acetate long-sleeve shirts, and platform shoes. There were no crowds, everyone was already inside, and so we walked around the back and found what appeared to be a likely backstage door. Jeff knocked loudly, and we waited. Almost immediately, the door was opened by big, burly bearded man in overalls. “Whaddya want?” he demanded. Jeff replied, “We have backstage passes.” “Yeah, what name?” he looked down at a clipboard. I piped in at the point and said, “Wilson.” He ran his finger down a list, paused, and then said, “Okay, come on in.” We walked into the dark backstage area and started following the sound of music. Jeff whispered that he couldn’t believe we got in. I whispered back, “Benefit of having a top-ten most common last name - there’s always a Wilson.” We found our way to the stage right wing. We’d missed the two opening acts, and Journey was just beginning to play. We stood behind a curtain that blocked us from the audience, but the band could see us quite well. Each member of the band glanced at us once, but then paid us no further attention, except for Steve Perry, the lead singer. As we stood there through the first two songs, he kept looking over at us. After the second song ended, Jeff spotted two empty seats on the front row, in the center. He looked at me and said, “Let’s take those two seats.” “Are you sure? What if somebody shows up with tickets for those seats?” Jeff replied, “If nobody is sitting there now, they’re not coming. Let’s go!” We quickly walked out onto the stage as discreetly as possible, turned right, down some side steps, and then over to the empty seats. And there we sat for the rest of the concert. During the concert, Steve Perry frequently stared at us. I’m sure he was wondering who we were based on the way we showed up in the wings, and then took the two best seats in the house. When the concert ended, I turned to Jeff and said, “You did it, man; you got us into a Journey concert for free! And, front row center at that. I didn’t think it was possible.” All in all, it was a magically fun evening, but more than anything, I was impressed with Jeff’s confidence and belief to manifest exactly what he set out to achieve. Seven years later, Jeff would die in an automobile collision. I was devastated when his mother told me. I'd always heard denial was one of the stages of grief; and I became stuck in that stage for years. Intellectually I understood Jeff was gone, but emotionally I couldn't accept it. I convinced myself his mother must have lied to me for some unfathomable reason, and one day he'd show up at my door unexpectedly just like he did the night of the Journey concert. Eventually, I saw a newspaper clipping about Jeff's car wreck, and reality settled heavily into my chest. I sobbed wantonly in that moment as I finally accepted Jeff was indeed gone. The world lost a bright light; Jeff was a beacon of positivity with a powerful sense of life. These days I honor his memory whenever I think something I want to accomplish is too difficult. I think back to that day and how everything he wanted came true, and then I set out to try it anyway. Robert Robert is an innovation/change speaker, author, and consultant. He works with companies that want to be more competitive through innovation and with people who want to think more creatively. Contact him via e-mail to michele@worldwidedrillingresource.com
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