by Bill Haggett, Executive Director
I was walking through the City Green and passed the picnic tables as a warm breeze crossed my face. The band had just wrapped up another City Green Live and things were winding down when a memory from long ago flashed into my mind.
Over the course of my career, I’ve worked on more summer concert series and festivals than I can count. Each one leaves behind a story or two—some fun, some frantic, and some that stick with you in quiet, meaningful ways. This is one of those.
Early in my career, I landed a job managing a summer concert series at a small 6,000-seat arena in the Northeast. I was young and eager, responsible for making sure everything ran smoothly, from the first truck’s arrival at dawn to the final load-out late that night. As anyone in the entertainment and event business knows, the hours are long, the work can be grueling, and you’re always on your feet. But as my entire team knows, if you love live music, there’s nothing like it.
One of my duties was meeting the artists and their teams, helping them settle in, and making sure hospitality was exactly as requested. Sometimes this part can be tough: road weariness doesn’t always bring out the best in people. But every now and then, you meet someone who reminds you why you fell in love with this world in the first place.
That day’s headliner was a true legend. A household name. His fame had dimmed slightly with time, but his son had recently helped revive his career with a fresh energy and even an appearance on MTV. I was already a fan — but I knew to stay professional.
When his limo pulled up, I met with the tour manager, gave the usual backstage tour, and expected that would be the last I’d see of the star himself, aside from his time on stage.
Later that afternoon, with the sun shining and a breeze in the air, I passed a picnic table behind the stage, the kind you’d find in a state park. There, alone, sat the star. He looked peaceful. Then he spotted me and waved me over.
He asked my name. He thanked me for having him. Then he invited me to sit.
What followed was an unexpected, unhurried conversation. We talked for more than 30 minutes, about the weather, family, life. It felt like chatting with a favorite uncle or grandfather. No pretense. No ego. Just a warm, easy exchange.
As I stood to return to my duties, I thanked him for his kindness. I shook his hand and said, “It was really great to spend this time with you, Mr. Bennett.”
He smiled and said, “Bill, call me Tony."
