North Of Boston Magazine Vol 1 Issue 4

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Created: Monday, 01 May 2000 12:55

Brad Delp Brilliant With Boston - Burning For The Beatles
by John Scott

In 1977, you couldn't pass the dial on any rock radio station and not hear "More Than A Feeling", "Peace Of Mind", or "Long Time". I was 16 years old then, and the band Boston was taking the country by storm. I remember dreaming, like most kids my age, of meeting my rock idol, Brad Delp. Well, I came pretty close.

I was at the Gannon Municipal Golf Course, which we called "Happy Valley" (I think it may now be a country club) in Lynn, MA. I was with my best friend, and we were both junior members at the course, enjoying summer vacation from high school, rockin' and rollin', trying to get girls and having the time of our lives.

We were on the first tee with no one ahead. Behind were two guys heading in our direction coming off the practice green. As my friend hit his ball, I looked at one of the guys coming toward us and thought he looked a bit familiar. I put my ball on the tee, looked back at him and said, "You look like the guy who plays drums in the band Boston." I would have known, having diligently studied every inch of that Boston album jacket. He replied, "Next time I see him, I'll tell him". I hit my ball with a horrendous trademark slice that went directly into the woods, creating that horrible knocking sound as the ball struck trees, broke branches and smashed limbs 200 yards deep. Sensing that this may be a particularly "long day," the guy asked if he and his partner could play through my friend and me, since they were in a hurry. The only thing on my mind was, "He knows this cool drummer.....Who is he?" We let them play through, and as this mystery man stroked his golf ball (no better than my shot, I might add), he then grabbed his clubs and briskly walked past me pointing to a faded, tattered concert t-shirt that faintly read "Foghat with Boston."

Stunned, I started following him, forgetting we offered to let them play ahead. As he tried to make his way down the fairway, with radar precision, I kept hitting my ball in his direction. By the end of the third hole, as if worn down by the torment of a teen or the constant dodging of my golf ball, Sib Hashian, drummer for the band Boston, asked me to play along.

I would later play 18 holes with him again that summer, and we became buddies. (Of course, none of my friends believed me.) Then we met again by chance, on a crowded frozen pond to play a game of ice hockey, which had to be cut short because of constant interruption by his fans. After he pulled away in his green Cadillac Seville, my friends seeing that I really did know him showed me a new respect, and a few girls who had never spoken to me before now suddenly did.