Black and Blue Beatlemaniac or Rain on My Parade

One of the legacies left to me by my father is that I am a huge Beatlemaniac. Their music was the soundtrack of my childhood,

before I could speak or walk. Of Dad's 13 children, I am the one who has inherited the gene. I lost my father in the summer of 2012. Beatle music is one of the strongest connections I have to him. I didn't realize until I was much older that it was very unusual that he, as an African American man loved the Beatles so much, though his tastes in music were very eclectic.

Over the years I have collected Beatle music, swooned to their love songs, and evolved from favoring "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," to their later more complex psychedelically inspired music. This year I saw Paul McCartney in concert at Fenway Park, Beatlejuice, a tribute band, and tonight I went alone to the Citibank Center to see Rain, another Beatle tribute band. I had tried to round up friends to go see the show with me, but ended up going alone. I felt very proud of my independent spirit and fortitude, that I had survived so many emotional hurdles this year, including the loss of a significant relationship. I felt I had discovered a badass new me.

I managed to score a really great seat at the back row of the mezzanine, the perfect distance from the stage, not too far away,

but far away enough that I could imagine that I was really in the presence of the Fab Four. As I took my seat I observed that I seemed to be the only person of color there, and there were a lot of empty seats in the "good" section where I was, though the auditorium had a decent crowd. When the music started I felt transported to another world, the costumes were brilliant and well tailored, the sound rich and vibrant, the musicians almost doppelgangers for John, Paul, George, and Ringo, and the light show created a dynamic and engaging visual palette. I imagined Dad was in the seat next to me, or John, or George, and I sang and danced along with the music.

After intermission the show started again and I was again transfixed by Beatle magic, when suddenly my reverie was disrupted by a old woman usher standing over me demanding to see my ticket. I started searching my purse frantically realizing I was missing the performance. I couldn't find it. I said to her, "I paid for my ticket, this is my seat." She again demanded to see my ticket, saying, "This whole row was empty,I didn't see you here before." The song ended and "The Magical Mystery Tour" began, I said again, "I PAID for my ticket, you are making me miss this song." She said "I'm going to have security escort you out, and you will miss the whole show." The awful truth dawned on me. "You're racist!" I heard myself shout. She continued standing over me demanding I produce proof that I had my ticket. "I don't know where my ticket is," I said finally. She stalked off, to get security I thought. I looked in my backpack, and found it. I clutched it trembling for the next two songs. Then I consciously tried to make myself relax and enjoy the rest of the show and put the ticket away.

What about me made her think I didn't belong in the good seats at this concert? What about me made her feel entitled to disrupt a show I had paid my hard earned money to see, and that she was probably seeing for free as an usher? I suddenly felt very alone in the world. I thought to myself, "Next time I'll need a white person to accompany me to legitimize my presence."

Fueled by righteous indignation I went to find the manager after the show. When I found the usher captain's station, I recounted

my story to the three people standing there. One of them, a young white woman said "she probably didn't mean anything by it, she probably checked everyone's ticket." I insisted, "no, she just came to ME." The house lights had already gone down, and I was grooving to the music and she popped up next to me like an angry spectre. I started telling the story again this time beginning with how much I was enjoying the concert until she ruined it for me. I inexplicable dissolved into tears, though I had been filled with rage. I felt it was my duty to tell my story, to make my voice heard, so that it would not happen to another person of color.

The usher captain asked to see my ticket and asked for a description of the woman. Then he offered to let me come to see the show again free of charge. I accepted the offer. I hope the second time I see it will erase the bad memories of the first.