Dear Harry,
It’s been a while since you and I connected. Forty eight years ago this July 18th, to be exact.
It was a hot and humid WNY summer night under North Tonawanda’s Melody Fair Dome. None of us seated around the circular stage that night, cared.
What we did care about was you. You singing your stories, sharing your memories, and weaving us together within the magical strands of your music.
There was just one problem.
The plane transporting you from your Long Island home to Buffalo had been delayed by weather. “Severe thunder storms,” as the Melody Fair announcer continued to update us. And so we sat, from our early 7:30 pm arrivals to 8, 8:30, and closing in on 9 pm.
As I waited, I clearly remember thinking about music stars who had died in airplane crashes….Richie Valens, Otis Redding, Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, and the most recent at the time, fellow musical storyteller, Jim Croce.
The more I considered those artists the harder I prayed that nothing untoward would happen to you…to your plane. At the same time I kept selfishly hoping that you would disregard the stormy danger and make the 40-minute flight.
As time forwarded to an hour past the scheduled start of your concert, you could feel the audience awaiting a dreaded announcement about ticket refunds.
Then it happened.
You bounded onstage with an energy that infused all of us who had been restlessly sitting and waiting in the round. You asked how we were doing and explained your weather related delay. You expressed your joy in being at Melody Fair… being with us.
Your band members filtered onstage behind you and after a bit of chatter with them, you boisterously shouted out, “Buffalo, are you ready?” We answered with equal excitement, “Yeah!”
I wish I could fully remember the details of your performance that night. The songs you sang and spoken stories you shared in-between. What I do remember are the feelings that flowed from you as the Melody Fair stage circled you around to every section of the audience: energy, hope, and connection, all communicated within your songs of life, love, and loss.
What I also remember is that everyone in the audience sang along with you. We all knew your words and your melodies by heart, which seemed to energize you even more.
Despite the fact the concert started more than an hour late, despite the challenging weather conditions of your flight, despite having to fly home in the same, you were completely immersed in connecting with us through your music . And the longer your performed, the more fully you wanted to celebrate with us..
Finally, almost two hours after you’d begun…after we’d laughed through 30,000 Pounds of Bananas, reflected on Cats in the Cradle, and became one during All My Life’s A Circle, you bounded off the stage with the same joyous energy as you’ had bounded on.
Yet for we audience members you left behind, we felt as if every bit of oxygen had been sucked out of the Melody Fair Dome. Your passion and energy that had infused the space, and all of us in it, was suddenly gone. And we were left wanting for more…of you, of your music, of your magic.
Thankfully we all had your albums at home and the spectre of future concerts to help us through our Harry Chapin in-person withdrawal. Little did we know that five years, almost to the day, we would lose you permanently in a shocking car crash that is still hard to accept.
A few nights ago, while searching for something to binge watch I came across a wonderful surprise. It was a documentary titled. “ When in Doubt, Do Something,” which was one of your favorite life challenges to issue to yourself and to others.
Doing some research, I found that the film was released in 2020 and its main focus was how you used your music and fame to try to end world hunger.
It also allows us glimpses into the more private parts of your young life, along with the ways you balanced on the adult tightrope suspended between your wife, Sandy and your five children, throughout your music career and your world hunger crusade.
This is a glorious 90-minute celebration of you, Harry, cradled in your music of the 1970’s-80’s—-music that was part of the fabric of people’s lives around the world. Witnessing the way you lived your life and created and performed your songs, I was transported back to 1976— to that night at Melody Fair. And once again I became enveloped in the vibrancy of you.
The movie ended with you and me, and so many people in the film who loved you—-all singing “All My LIfe’s a Circle.” And as I sang, I cried. Not because you are gone, but because you and your music truly touched my heart 48 years ago, and still today.
Since watching your documentary, I’ve been listening to your albums and reliving many moments of my life that your songs defined. The more I listened, the more I felt this really strong need to reach out and thank you for finding the music and the words to so perfectly tell our stories.
When I mentioned this need to my daughter, she looked at me with concern and asked, “Mom, you know he’s dead right?”
Yeah….I’m sure you’re laughing as well, Harry. We both know that no matter….your soul continues to live on in all of us through your music. Just wanted to let you know and say thank you.
Christina