Aug 1 1999, 1:00 AM

The music wakes me up. Its my downstairs neighbor. My father who had just arrived in Chicago wakes up and asks me what the noise is all about. Now I’m upset. Not only am I awake, but so is my Dad. And his first day in Chicago too. Not a good start for his stay here. I stomp my feet to indicate my displeasure. They don’t seem to have heard me, so I stomp harder. A couple minutes of footwork, accomplishes its objective. The music stops. I go back to my sleeping bag a happy camper.

Aug 1 1999, 1:15 AM

A knock on the door. I really don’t know anybody who would knock on my door at this time of the night.

‘Who’s this?’

‘Sean Byers.’

‘I don’t know a Sean Byers.’

‘Was the music too loud?’

I open the door, look at a chest and then look up to see a face.

‘Hi, I’m from downstairs. Was the music too loud?.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Are you sure? Your air conditioner’s pretty loud. Are you sure you could hear the music over this?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. And if it was just me, I wouldn’t complain, since its the weekend. But my Dad’s visiting from India.’

‘I understand. Do you know who Eddie Vedder is?’

‘Ummm, the name sounds familiar. But I can’t seem to place him’

‘Have you heard of Pearl Jam?’

‘Of course! Is Eddie Vedder their lead guitarist?’

‘No, he’s their lead singer. He is kind of a friend of mine, and he’s downstairs and we’re trying to have some fun. He’s singing for us. But we don’t want to keep your Dad awake. If we promise, not to crank it up too high, can we play our music.’

‘Sure. I want you to know that I feel bad doing this. If my Dad wasn’t here, you wouldn’t have heard a word from me.’

Going back to my sleeping bag, I lay awake for a while with my ear to the floor, listening to singing from downstairs. I must say, it sounded good. And Sean was true to his word, he made sure it wasn’t too loud.

Aug 1 1999, 11:00 AM

Neighbor Steve regales me with stories of John McEnroe at the Senior ATP match he saw yesterday. I tell him about what happened at 1:00am.

‘Eddie Vedder! Eddie Vedder was downstairs. You should have called me.’

‘Steve, it probably wasn’t him. I think John took me for a ride, so they could party.’

‘Eddie Vedder is in town this weekend. He’s singing with Pete Townsend.’

‘Oh’

‘You told Eddie Vedder he couldn’t sing!’

‘Steve, I don’t think it was him.’

‘Did you hear singing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you heard singing before?’

‘No. Its always been recorded music.’

‘You heard Eddie Vedder sing.’

‘I heard somebody sing. I don’t know who.’

‘I can’t believe you told Eddie Vedder, he couldn’t sing.’

Aug 2 1999, 10:00 AM

I read a glowing review of the Eddie Vedder/Pete Townsend concert, in the Chicago Tribune.

Aug 7 1999, 8:00 PM

Over dinner, I recount my Eddie Vedder encounter to my friend Daniella, who is a big fan.

‘You told Eddie Vedder to shut up. I can’t believe you did that. I just love Eddie Vedder. Oh my God, Sooda.’ (NOTE: NOT A TYPO. THAT IS HOW MY NAME IS PRONOUNCED BY MY NON-INDIAN FRIENDS.)

Present

After being chastized by two friends, I’ve decided to go public.

Eddie Vedder, if that was REALLY you at 739 W.Briar, Chicago, in the early morning hours of Aug 1 1999, can you come back again, please? This time you can bring the house down. My Dad leaves mid-October.