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WILKES-BARRE — When asked if I was interested in covering the Barry Manilow concert at the Mohegan Sun Arena last Sunday, I didn’t exactly jump for joy.
I was familiar with Manilow’s music — that whole “I Write the Songs” thing. Sure, the guy is talented, but did I want to sit through an entire performance of his “hits?”
I accepted the assignment and decided to make the most of it. Boy, am I glad I did.
I got to interview Barry (he called me Bill and insisted I call him Barry) over the phone.
We had a great conversation, talking about his early years and how he became interested in music, traveling through his 45-year career, or as he put it, 45 years of room service.
The guy was a down-to-earth, easy-to-talk-to regular guy. He has enjoyed his life of writing and singing the songs and, more importantly, has a sincere, genuine appreciation and love for his undying “Fanilows.”
On the night of the concert, I was excited about being part of the nearly sold-out crowd of thousands who flocked to see this man’s final tour.
Barry didn’t disappoint.
But my evening was a bit difficult.
I arrived at the arena early enough to talk to Fanilows on their way into the venue. They were more than eager to share their unique Barry stories. Their adoration for him is as sincere as the iconic singer’s love for them. It was kind of special to realize there is a level of intimacy between Fanilows and Barry, despite most never having had the opportunity to even shake his hand.
My mission was to file a story on the Fanilows prior to the start of concert, then sit back, watch the show and write another story Monday on the performance for Tuesday’s edition.
Best laid plans.
I made my way to the suite level at the arena and to the press box. I set up my laptop and prepared to write. Not two lines into it, the lights went out. When I inquired about the situation with arena personnel — who all were outstanding and very accommodating — I was informed no lights are allowed in the suites, including the press box, during the performance.
Not only couldn’t I see, I had forgotten my reading glasses. Light or no light, I couldn’t see the keyboard. I was in trouble.
I asked if the arena had a Lost & Found department and was told about a booth on the concourse level, clearly marked with a question mark above the window.
Making my way to the big question mark, I asked the attendant if she happened to have any “cheater eyeglasses.” She reached under her counter and plopped a big box of glasses that had been turned in over the years.
I found a pair that corrected my vision perfectly and returned to the suite level. Now I could type my story, finish it in plenty of time and get back to the press box to watch the show.
The chair and table I had been given to file my story was right outside the elevators for the suite level. Every person sitting on that level had to use those elevators. And — I ain’t bragging here — I knew many of the people exiting those elevators.
When they saw me, they stopped to chat. I would engage them for a few minutes and return to my typing, only to be interrupted time and again. It was fun. I loved seeing all those people. Some of them even brought me food.
I filed my story in time and got back to the press box in time for Barry’s show.
To my amazement, I sang along to every song — apparently knowing all the words.
It was awesome.
Could it be magic?