Frankly, it hurts a little to think that the Merriweather Post Pavilion is 50 years old, because I was there right after the whole thing started, fresh out of college, and this means I’m also 50 years older.
I was one-half of the Howard County bureau of a now-vanished afternoon newspaper called the Baltimore News-American when Columbia first opened for business.
The reviews were mixed. A lot of Howard County folks thought Columbia wasn’t for them. It seemed too modern, too upscale, too inviting to a bunch of damned outsiders. Howard County was comfortable with its traditional rural roots. What was Jim Rouse trying to do, drag the whole county into the 20th century?
The new city had houses with sunken living rooms and fireplaces. They were lovely to look at, but they went for $30,000. For Pete’s sake, whoever imagined spending $30,000 for a house?!
So the initial sales were mixed, and the original residents had to search for any sense of community, of togetherness. But that’s where the Merriweather Post Pavilion played such an important role.
It brought people together. The gatherings, down there in the seating bowl, or out there on the grass (some of it for sitting on, some of it for smoking), helped people mix a little. Those who lived in Columbia were bumping into neighbors for the first time. It made them feel a little less alone.
And those who lived elsewhere were getting their first healthy impressions of the handsome new community, and they spread the good word.
Most memorable Merriweather night, for me: the evening my wife and I saw Frank Sinatra there, a blistering hot July night, not a breeze anywhere, the perspiration pouring off of everyone. And Sinatra on stage, under hot lights, in front of a big orchestra, in a three-piece suit with a vest that must have been suffocating.
“Take off your coat, Frankie,” a guy in the audience bellowed in a moment’s silence between songs.
“Take off your own coat,” Sinatra hollered back. “I’m not complaining.”
The orchestra leader was his son, Frank Jr. “I wish the kid would get a job on his own already,” big Frank laughed.
He seemed in a good mood that night, so we forgave him his musical transgressions. This was late in his career, when he’d forget a few lyrics, or he’d let a tough note get away from him. That inimitable voice that had unleashed passions in swoony teenage girls half a century earlier would bend and lose its way for a moment, and Sinatra would strain to snatch it back.
When he did “My Heart Stood Still,” he missed the last note so badly that he went back and tried it again, muscling his way through sheer willpower and hoping the ancient pipes would hold out.
We forgave everything. We understood that this was an American legend holding on to fading elegance. It was a man with a history worth recalling even with all its flaws, and a voice that still articulated pain and longing better than any pop voice of his century.
Well, Sinatra’s gone now. Hell, so is his son, and so is the old News-American. Things vanish over 50 years. But the Merriweather Post is still there, back there in Symphony Woods, out there in Columbia, still bringing people together.
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We Need More Barenaked Ladies – Adam Stone on one of his favorite bands
Running into the Sun (But I’m Running Behind) – Alan Feiler on musical bragging rights
So Much Music, So Little Time – Amanda Krotki on growing up attending concerts in Columbia
Merriweather on My Mind – Molly Blosse on summer concerts as an escape from reality
Reeling in the Years – Simone Ellin on feeling like an old Steely Dan fan
To share your own stories, please go to www.facebook.com/JMORELiving and let us know who you’ve seen at the concert pavilion.
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