City Life, Part Twenty-Eight: The Dark Underbelly Of an Eddie Vedder Tour

by Greg Silva · Published July 12, 2011 · Updated November 29, 2018

”Eddie, we love you!”

On Wednesday afternoons, I volunteer my time answering the phone for an organization in Chicago’s Loop that helps recovering addicts. I go there, mostly, to soak in the collective serenity of the other office workers. They’re a happy, compassionate lot.

Three people man the phones for that particular 4-hour shift. The phones ring from 5 to 25 times per hour. Consequently, there’s plenty of time for us to entertain ourselves between incoming calls. I use the time, typically, to job hunt, catch up on my emails and otherwise organize and advance my life.

It was in this spirit of calm conviviality, on a recent Wednesday, that I exited the building, midway through my shift, for a smoke. A crowd was collecting in the alley that is shared by our building and the famed Chicago Theater. I casually strolled up to one of the roadies who were, apparently, taking a union break from setting up for that night’s show.

“Hey, what’s all the fuss?” I asked.

He looked up from his cell phone, gave me a once-over and, without saying anything, looked back down.

I said, a bit more assertively, “Excuse me, sir . . .”

“You need to go stand over there, with the others,” he grunted.

“Are you not allowed to tell me who’s playing tonight?” I asked.

He blew up. “Why ya bothering me, man? I’m just sittin’ here! I don’t need no trouble. Why don’t you go bother them, over there?” he bellowed, pointing to the group of motley twenty-somethings behind a barrier.

I replied, with a chuckle, “Geez, no need to be rude. I work in this building and I was just wondering . . .”

“Well, if you work in this building,” he interrupted, “you should know what’s going on!”

Just then, a security guard came over. “Sir,” he said to me, “you’re either gonna have to go over there with the crowd or stand back behind the loading bay.” (which is where I had exited our building)

“Okay, no problem,” I said. “But can you tell me who’s performing tonight?”

He turned his back to me and mumbled something.

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I know enough about the music industry to surmise that Vedder’s management team had, more than likely, arranged to have a few cameras and a few industry employees present when he got off the bus.
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I said, “Excuse me, sir . . .”

He shouted, “Eddie Vedder!”

I made my way back to the loading bay and finished my cigarette. As I turned to go back into the building, the crowd cheered, “Eddie! We love you!”

I turned back to see Mr. Vedder emerging from his bus in the alley and waving nonchalantly to his fans. I know enough about the music industry to surmise that Vedder’s management team had, more than likely, arranged to have a few cameras and a few industry employees present when he got off the bus.

Me? I had exited the building feeling well; and now I was in the mood to smash Eddie’s ukulele. Instead, I waved demonstratively to the crowd and yelled, “Thank you! Thank you, very much!” Then I disappeared through the loading bay door, as the roadies, the security guard and Eddie all turned to look at me.

City Life, Part Twenty-Eight: The Dark Underbelly Of an Eddie Vedder Tour

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