Harrisburg, PA, November 30, 1999

From the RT list.

Stranger to Herself?

I went to Harrisburg, PA, last night for the last show of the Richard Thompson tour. It was a last-minute decision, and I'm glad I made it. As much as I've enjoyed the camaraderie of friends and acquaintances at these shows (and I've enjoyed it a great deal), it was nice to be "alone"-- among strangers--at one of them. That's what I wanted--relative anonymity, a quiet time (when the music wasn't raging), a place where I could just enjoy the band this one last time. This ballroom, with its phalanx of staffers trying to reassemble the seating chart from the theatre down the street (where the show was originally scheduled), its Texas-sized chandeliers, and its fancy-dress waiters pouring drinks in institutional glassware, was just the ticket. I saw one old friend and talked with some of the band and crew, but it was otherwise the solo experience I needed.

There was a strange moment before the show when I spied a woman whose appearance was enough to get me out of my chair. I worked my way through the crowd in an attempt to catch up with her, but then the opening act came on and the ballroom went dark, so I couldn't look for her 'till the break before the main event.

I found her at the bar. She and a less-fetching friend were trying to con the bartender out of a couple of beers, laughing as they failed to do so. She was a bit shorter than me, plump but not fat, dressed in overalls that didn't hide her womanly curves. She had long blonde hair. Her bangs were cut unfashionably short, but the cut emphasized her winsome eyes and turned-up nose. When she smiled, which she did often, her cheeks were round and rosy. "Excuse me," I said. As she turned and I saw her up close, I saw that the resemblance wasn't as astonishing as I'd thought, but it was still there. I couldn't tell how old she was--maybe older than me, maybe younger.

"Yes?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you bear an amazing resemblance to Sandy Denny?"

"Sandy who?"

Not the response I expected to get at a Richard Thompson show. "Sandy Denny." I said again.

"Not Sandy Denny. Sissy Spacek." She shoved her face forward a bit more, as if to confirm the resemblance.

"You look even more like Sandy Denny," I persisted.

"Who is that? Is she an actress?"

I began to explain who Sandy was. The woman seemed to catch only about half of what I was saying, though she was clearly intrigued. "When was she born? What color were her eyes? Blue, like mine? How did she die? I'm Marlene," she said warmly, offering her hand. "Let me get my husband. This concert is his thing."

He shambled over. "Guess who I look like," she challenged him, tilting her head.

"Sandy Denny," I prompted.

"Who is that?" Marlene asked her husband.

"Greatest English folk voice who ever lived," he muttered, giving his wife a better look through beer-tinged eyes. I explained to them about Sandy and my research. Then I did a dumb thing. I said, "You should go up to Richard afterwards, if he comes out to sign autographs, and ask him if you look like her."

This suggestion brought out Marlene's thespian tendencies. Her eyes lit up. "Will you introduce me?" she asked me. "What should I say to him? How should I smile? Should I do it like this?"

Suddenly I was unnerved. "Gee, I don't know." Marlene seemed very nice, if a bit drunk. And me, well, I'd had a gin and a gin and a tonic and a tonic and a handful of limes. Maybe my judgment was poor. Maybe hers would be poor as well.

In retrospect, I regret that I opened this Pandora's box. It's so easy, sometimes, to unleash things over which you ultimately have no control, to open boxes that ought to be closed. I spent a good part of the rest of the evening thinking about what it might have done to Richard--on what should have been a relaxed and celebratory night--to have this small blonde woman bound up to him, giggling, and ask, "Do I look like anyone you know?"

After the show, I didn't see Marlene again. I didn't see Richard, either; I don't think he came out to sign autographs. I'm relieved, actually. I guess they didn't meet.

(Richard Thompson, if you somehow read this message, know that I'm sorry for what I might have caused. It wouldn't have been a kind thing. People who read this list sometimes think that I know you. I can't say that I really do, but I know you well enough to know that the outcome of my suggestion wouldn't have been something you would take lightly.)

Still and all, I do wish someone else had seen her.

Pam Winters