It’s been nearly two months since the death of Tom Petty, and I’m still haunted by his passing. In the past, these melancholy emotions have been reserved for people I’ve known personally. Not famous rock stars.
So why is this? I honestly don’t know. Perhaps one of the factors is that I have history with him — even if it is threadbare.
The year was 1970. I was a student at the University of Florida. Long hair, acne and bell bottoms were my outstanding features. Vietnam, civil rights, drugs and the counterculture were all major players in this watershed era.
And then there was the music. Oh, the music. In Gainesville, Florida, at the time there was no shortage of garage bands that played on the quad Friday afternoons and the fraternity houses on the weekends.
[Tom Petty, Hall of Fame singer who became rock mainstay in 1970s, dies at 66]
One of those bands featured a thin, albino-like singer who had hair down to his butt. The name of that band was Mudcrutch, and the singer’s name was Tom Petty. We knew they were good. But, honestly, there were lots of decent garage bands back then. And most of them would fade into oblivion as their members pursued more traditional lifestyles.
But not Tom Petty. Members of Mudcrutch would eventually reform into Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. They released their first album in 1976, featuring classic hits such as “Breakdown” and “American Girl.”
Coincidentally, 10 months after the release of that album, I opened a record shop in Portland, Maine, over which I presided for 24 years.
Being the owner of a record shop had its perks. And one of those perks was getting complimentary tickets to rock-and-roll shows.
In the summer 1978, I attended two shows at the Augusta Civic Center. One was Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, and the other was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I didn’t know it at the time, but those two performances would turn out to be the greatest rock concerts I ever attended.
So, what is it about Tom Petty that resonates so deeply with me and countless other baby boomers?
He didn’t have the looks of a Paul McCartney. The virtuosity of an Eric Clapton. Or the moves of a Mick Jagger. Indeed, he looked and acted just like one of us. He could have been anyone’s college roommate — or best man at a wedding. The only difference was that he made his living onstage.
Dovetailing off that were his lyrics. They weren’t splashy. But man, did they ever strike a chord.
When Tom wrote a lyric, we all nodded our heads in unison. “The waiting is the hardest part.” “She was an American Girl.” “Even the losers get lucky sometimes.” “I’m learning to fly.” Hey, that’s me!
[Tom Petty’s Americana felt stranger than the rest]
For 15 years, my record shop had a manager named Becky. She was also a big Tom Petty fan. We actually attended two of his concerts together in the late 1990s. And as the years passed, Becky became more than just an employee. She became my closest friend.
Three years ago, she contracted cancer — and died a year later. But boy, did she put up a fight! Whenever I hear the song, “I Won’t Back Down,” I can only think of Becky. And all the things she taught me.
I’m guessing there are other Tom Petty fans with equally personal stories. And it all goes back to one thing. Tom was one of us. A rock star of the people.
I don’t know that anyone has adequately defined the term “rock and roll.” But to my mind, rock and roll is more like a feeling. And no one felt it more than Tom Petty.
For whatever reason, this loss runs deeper. A lot deeper. I’m reminded of the Carole King lyric, “It’s gonna take some time this time.”
But what a time you gave us, Tom. And for that, I give thanks.
Eddie Adelman is a writer who lives in Belfast.
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