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1995
Sweetheart Like You
Lee Parham, 53, is a musician and personal assistant who met Jenny Langley, 36, in 1985 at a biker bar he once owned in Barnesville, Georgia. Jenny was the first person in that state to prove that living at home was less expensive than living in a nursing home, which resulted in the establishment of the state’s Independent Care Waiver Program. Lee and Jenny are currently building their own home in McDonough, Georgia.
The date was October 11, 1995. The place was Atlanta’s Fox Theater. After arriving at the theater, we had a hassle with the ushers because of my friend Jenny’s wheelchair (she’s quadriplegic). We had front-row tickets, and by gosh, we were going to sit in the front row. After much grumbling from the staff, we made them move a chair and put her wheelchair in place, which placed us about four feet from the stage.
Bob came out dressed in a gold shirt with the tail out, a black leather belt with conches, black pants with stripes down the sides, and square-toe boots. When he began to play his sunburst Fender Stratocaster, electricity ran through our blood from just being that close to someone we admired so much. For the first four songs, he never looked up from his guitar. Then he stepped back, took a long drink of water, and looked out at the audience. We caught his eye immediately, and for the remainder of the concert Bob looked directly at us on numerous occasions.
As the show wound to a close, the previously vigilant ushers (who’d been so concerned that everyone was in their proper seats) allowed everyone to rush the stage. We pushed our way up to the point where Jenny’s footrest was flush against the front of it. Bob broke into “Seeing the Real You at Last,” and the band locked into an intense groove. There were so many people in the orchestra pit that the wooden floor began to bounce furiously. During the frantic finish, I had to throw my arm across Jenny to keep her from bouncing right out of her wheelchair.
Following the encore, Bob picked up a bouquet of beautiful spring flowers at his feet that someone had thrown onstage. He walked from one end of the stage to the other, holding them high in the air and taking his bows. When he reached our side of the stage, he strolled up to Jenny and looked her directly in the eyes. Gesturing with the bouquet in his hands, he said, “Would you like to have these?”
Jenny, smiling from ear to ear, vigorously nodded her head and screamed out, “Yes.” Bob handed me the bouquet to pass on to her and gave me a high-five. Jenny yelled out, “Thank you, Bob.”
At the close of the second encore, Bob once again strolled the stage taking his bows. Just as he was walking off for the last time, he turned to look and walked back toward us again. Grabbing my right hand, he shook it firmly and said, “You’re all right, man.”
As the houselights came on and people began milling out onto Peachtree Street, several concert-goers came up to Jenny, saying, “Wow, Bob Dylan gave you flowers. Congratulations.”
Jenny brought those beautiful flowers home that night, and, after taking a quick snapshot of her holding them to her chest, we hung them up to dry. Only then did the impact of what actually took place begin to sink in. Those flowers now hang in Jenny’s bedroom as a reminder of that very special evening.
Bob Dylan seems to speak of feelings we all have about life, death, and the bitter sweetness of love, and we somehow find comfort in his words. For us, it was an experience we’ll never forget, and Bob Dylan will never realize the impact he made on Jenny’s life that night.
Sweetheart Like You
Lee Parham, 53, is a musician and personal assistant who met Jenny Langley, 36, in 1985 at a biker bar he once owned in Barnesville, Georgia. Jenny was the first person in that state to prove that living at home was less expensive than living in a nursing home, which resulted in the establishment of the state’s Independent Care Waiver Program. Lee and Jenny are currently building their own home in McDonough, Georgia.
The date was October 11, 1995. The place was Atlanta’s Fox Theater. After arriving at the theater, we had a hassle with the ushers because of my friend Jenny’s wheelchair (she’s quadriplegic). We had front-row tickets, and by gosh, we were going to sit in the front row. After much grumbling from the staff, we made them move a chair and put her wheelchair in place, which placed us about four feet from the stage.
Bob came out dressed in a gold shirt with the tail out, a black leather belt with conches, black pants with stripes down the sides, and square-toe boots. When he began to play his sunburst Fender Stratocaster, electricity ran through our blood from just being that close to someone we admired so much. For the first four songs, he never looked up from his guitar. Then he stepped back, took a long drink of water, and looked out at the audience. We caught his eye immediately, and for the remainder of the concert Bob looked directly at us on numerous occasions.
As the show wound to a close, the previously vigilant ushers (who’d been so concerned that everyone was in their proper seats) allowed everyone to rush the stage. We pushed our way up to the point where Jenny’s footrest was flush against the front of it. Bob broke into “Seeing the Real You at Last,” and the band locked into an intense groove. There were so many people in the orchestra pit that the wooden floor began to bounce furiously. During the frantic finish, I had to throw my arm across Jenny to keep her from bouncing right out of her wheelchair.
Following the encore, Bob picked up a bouquet of beautiful spring flowers at his feet that someone had thrown onstage. He walked from one end of the stage to the other, holding them high in the air and taking his bows. When he reached our side of the stage, he strolled up to Jenny and looked her directly in the eyes. Gesturing with the bouquet in his hands, he said, “Would you like to have these?”
Jenny, smiling from ear to ear, vigorously nodded her head and screamed out, “Yes.” Bob handed me the bouquet to pass on to her and gave me a high-five. Jenny yelled out, “Thank you, Bob.”
At the close of the second encore, Bob once again strolled the stage taking his bows. Just as he was walking off for the last time, he turned to look and walked back toward us again. Grabbing my right hand, he shook it firmly and said, “You’re all right, man.”
As the houselights came on and people began milling out onto Peachtree Street, several concert-goers came up to Jenny, saying, “Wow, Bob Dylan gave you flowers. Congratulations.”
Jenny brought those beautiful flowers home that night, and, after taking a quick snapshot of her holding them to her chest, we hung them up to dry. Only then did the impact of what actually took place begin to sink in. Those flowers now hang in Jenny’s bedroom as a reminder of that very special evening.
Bob Dylan seems to speak of feelings we all have about life, death, and the bitter sweetness of love, and we somehow find comfort in his words. For us, it was an experience we’ll never forget, and Bob Dylan will never realize the impact he made on Jenny’s life that night.