Hanging On

I’m still hanging on here in my little corner of the world.  Things are quiet and busy and for the most part good.  Here’s a quick sampling of the latest and greatest goings on these days:

1.  I am running for the local Board of Education (again).  I’m so much more jaded and realistic about it this time.  I know it’s all just a shell game of name recognition and party affiliation.  Our town is a red town so running as a D is tough, but doable if you have enough name recognition.  I have done a lot in town so we’ll see what happens.

(Here is where I could lapse into a huge diatribe about how this whole government shutdown is keeping me up at nights and how party and politics is stupid and why can’t people do the right thing, but I digress).

2.  My daughter is busy, busy, busy and it’s getting hard to keep up with her.  It’s a good thing, a far cry from her awful days last fall when she struggled with friends and spent a great many days alone in her room after school.  I’m loving that she’s thriving in marching band, in soccer and landed a role in the middle school fall drama.

3.  My little guy is holding his own, but isn’t doing much for activities.  At this point we’re chalking it up to needing the down time after holding himself together all day at school.  We’ve had a few alarming meltdowns recently (one, two weekends ago, was a reminder of the bad old days, with an all out screaming fit that lasted over half an hour).  I’m not going to lie, I’m a little worried for him, but staying the course.

4.  Hubby is looking to potentially switch jobs.  This is big news but likely won’t mean too much of a change for us as a family.  He’s been putting feelers out with other companies and getting some results….we will see what the next few months bring.  After being with the same company for two moves and 13 years, it seems like a big jump.  Especially since this job was the one that brought us here to CT where we knew exactly one person when we moved here.  The new positions he is looking at mean no move but lots of travel for him.  It’s not a huge change for us, and will probably be a great thing for him.  We’ll see what happens.

5.  Worried about my son and daughter in law with all of this shut down business.  My son’s job is with a private company but a lot of their work comes via the EPA so this is all getting a bit much.  They have a baby on the way and I was already worried about how they will support themselves once he/she is born.  They don’t have the luxury of throwing away their savings right now on stupid party politics.  For the love of God, I hope these idiots in the House get their shit together today.

6.  Entered a weight loss challenge from now until Thanksgiving.  I’ve been trying to lose the same 15 pounds for…gulp….two years.  Enough is enough.  Hoping this will be the wakeup call/jump start I need to finally make better choices and feel better about my body.

7.  Speaking of losing weight, it would be perfect timing because I’m finally going to see my favoriate rock start again after four years.  A few girlfriends and I are going to see my pal Rick Springfield in NYC in November.  It’s a small, initiate, acoustic show at a winery.  I hope everyone enjoys it and I’m able to just lose myself in the moment without all the crap that used to be part of going to RS shows.  We’ll see.

That’s about it for now.  Deep thoughts are for later….it’s 6:15 am right now and time for me to start the day.

Advertisements

It’s Still There

I heard from him the other day.

Not unsolicited, of course.  No, I’ve hardly ever heard from him out of the blue like that.  Even when I was working for him, emails from Rick Springfield only appeared in my box with the inevitable re: in front of whatever subject title I had been writing about.  The emails were never long.  I learned, after we started hosting online chats with him, that he was a hunt and peck typist, which I suppose accounts for some of the brevity.

Still, it was a thrill to see his email address in my inbox just the same.  Even though it’s been years since I’ve worked for him.  Years since I’ve even been in the same room with him.  Why is that?  Most of the people I knew who were avid fans at the time of my work for Rick are still in the mix, posting like crazy on message boards or Facebook or the relic Yahoo email groups that were our lifeblood way back when.  They still are going to his shows because he still tours all of the time, nearly every weekend.   They fly, or they drive insane distances.

I get it.  I used to as well.  As I was looking back on some of my old photos after my trip to Michigan a few weeks back I marveled at how much I’d traveled.  At the time it felt like I was constrained, never as able to go to shows as often as my girlfriends who were fans.  They didn’t have young children, or their husbands were more able to care for the kids in their absences.  Still, as I ticked through the places I’d been, I chuckled.  Dubuque, IA.  Las Vegas, NV.  Rockford, IL.  Columbus, OH.  Chicago, IL.  Tucson, AZ.

But I don’t anymore.  Things are different now.  I don’t work for him anymore, and while I’ve come to peace with how that all shook out, it’s something I carry with me, still.  It definitely put out some of the fire I had towards seeing him, being a part of the madness and mayhem that is the fan experience.

Still, when I looked through those old photos, one leapt out at me.  The moment it captured, one of the first moments I’d ever shared with Rick.  It was after a charity event, where he’d sung about his dead father.  I’d used my mother’s inheritance to attend.   It all came together, his loss and my loss and I thought:  my mother made this happen for me.  She led me to this man who had been my unknowing savior during my teen years.  And I told him so.

At some point during that conversation, this photo was snapped.

(of course I blurred my face….couldn’t actually put a real photo of myself here)

Looking at it again, after all of these years, I couldn’t help but be amazed.  At the intensity, the beauty, the essence of what passed between us captured in it.  And so, even though I haven’t emailed Rick in probably a year or more, I uploaded the photo into an email and sent it along to him.  I told him that I had found this photo and was moved to share it.  How wonderful that moment was.  And that despite everything, I would never forget how wonderful he was to me, that day and many of the days that followed.

I won’t say what words he used in his response, but I will say that they brought a very big smile to my face.   For whatever it’s worth, even after everything, there is still something special about him.  And I am grateful, every day, that i was fortunate enough to live out that one, crazy, teenage dream.

Haters Gonna Hate

I chuckled looking at the computer screen, nearly choking on my first cup of coffee.  Was that the best they could do?

This week our town held its annual budget vote.  In our tiny New England town, the residents have to approve the spending plan each and every year at the polls.  It’s called an automatic referendum.  When I first moved here I thought it was the craziest thing; in the Midwest, we would have to approve school spending every few years in what was called a “millage vote”.  In the district where I lived, they hardly ever failed.

Where I live now?  They fail routinely.  And since we have to approve a plan every year, it means we vote until it passes.  A few years back, that meant six votes.  We were voting so late that we were about to need an emergency loan from the state because the fiscal year was going to start before we had an approved budget.

It’s why, a few years ago, a group of people and I started an education advocacy group.  To help inform parents about the budget votes, to let them know what was really at stake and lost each time our town failed a vote.  We made phone calls.  We placed VOTE YES signs all over town.  We passed out flyers at the Dunkin’ Donuts.  One year, we held a rally on the Town Hall lawn and I was interviewed on TV.  It’s made my name well known around town.  I’m either a hero for protecting our kids or a pariah for reaching into taxpayer’s pockets, demanding more.

Last year, our teacher contract called for a wage freeze.  It meant that our school system could get by with little or no increase in funding.  So when it came time for the budget numbers to be released, we weren’t all that surprised to see no increase in funding.  Most years, this would have sent us into full fledged attack mode, calling press conferences and media outlets to express concern for the future of our students.  But our superintendent managed the flat budget without any damage due to the wage freeze.  Our group quietly supported this move, which turned the tables.

Suddenly, our support of a low budget was called into question.  How could we call ourselves advocates for education if we weren’t demanding more for our kids?  But we were realists.  We knew that in the current economic state, our tiny little town would never vote for an increase in funding for a system with a wage freeze.  We didn’t want to see further cuts if the budget failed, so we supported the 0 %.  And it passed, with flying colors.

We found ourselves in a similar position this year.  A low budget, a new superintendent who was brought in to keep quality high but spending low.  He promised the system could thrive on a flat budget due to savings elsewhere in the system.  We again threw our support behind this plan, again citing positive outcomes and economic reality.

This time, we earned ourselves some enemies.  And while none of them have yet spoken to me personally, they are out there, in my tiny little town.

How do I know? Because they are posting on the Internet.  Under false names, several (or one person using several pseudonyms) people are calling me and my fellow education supporters out on one of those microlocal news websites.  Giving each one of us who signed a letter of support for the budget a comical but derogatory nickname, they go on to tell us our days as education advocates are clearly over.

Fifteen years ago, this would have bothered me.  Ten years ago, when similar things happened on the Rick Springfield fan message boards and mailing lists, I would type out a very hasty and indignant response to whomever had criticized me and something I’d done.  I would be hurt, anxious, and unnerved by the idea that someone out there disliked me enough to take the time and energy to create a false persona and type angry words into their computer.

These days, it mostly makes me chuckle.  I figure I must be doing something right if I’ve gotten under someone’s skin that much. And I marvel at how I really don’t need to respond anymore.  I am satisfied with the work I did.  I am sure I made the right choice.  And I don’t doubt either of those things just because someone woke up at three in the morning and decided to spew some hate on the Internet.  That’s their problem, not mine.

It serves as a good reminder of how much I’ve grown, how far I’ve come in the last ten years.

Knocking On the Door

It took me several days.  Days of mulling over the what ifs and the if onlys and the why the hell nots.  I looked through the window online a few more times, trying to envision my friend Dennis and what his life would be like now.  He’s older, of course.  Would he have grandchildren?  I was sure he’d retired from teaching already, and clearly was making music in a band.  But what else?  What else?

I went back and reread all of what I’d written about him here, trying to form in my head his possible responses if he heard my voice on the other end of the phone.  In every case I couldn’t imagine him not wanting to catch up or talk to me; we’d left things on very good terms.  In fact, truth be told, it has been me all these years that has stopped keeping in contact;  I guess I had never been quite sure how to merge a part of my former life into the new one I was trying to build for myself.  My marriage, my pregnancies, my children….did I really want to muddle that all up with someone whom I’d loved once upon a time?

But then I realized, the love part of it, the romantic love part of it, was only a small piece of the puzzle.  If the puzzle was the entirety of what Dennis had meant to me and his place in the story of my life, the part where we were involved with each other was just the top right corner.  The rest of it was a wonderful care and concern of a man who saw a young girl in harm’s way and did a million little and not so little things to make sure that harm didn’t take her into its dark being.  He held my hand as I cried over my absent father, my abusive brother, my crushing insecurities and my suicide attempt.  Later he offered a shoulder as I navigated becoming a single mother at age 19 and my mother’s cancer at age 21.  I wondered, sometimes out loud to him, what on earth he received on his end of the relationship; it felt often like I was taking, taking, taking.  But somehow, he never made me feel anything less than a valued friend, a person important to him in the most equal sense.

And when I added all of those things up, I couldn’t think of any reason not to open the door.  So yesterday afternoon, with my heart racing, I picked up the phone and dialed.  He answered the phone, and it felt as if the 13 years we hadn’t spoken to each other hardly existed.  The conversation was easy and genuine, the casual back and forth banter that I had always loved between us.  My curiosity slowly ebbed as he talked about his life since we’d last been in touch.  He admitted to thinking of me and consulting Dr. Google as well when his questions had reached a critical level a few years back.  His chuckle at hearing about my Rick Springfield adventures sounded exactly the same as it was twenty five years ago when he read the essays I wrote about that far away rock star.  “I wasn’t at all surprised to find that you’d found a way to him,” he laughed.

An hour and twenty minutes later, I looked at the clock and realized it was likely time for me to hang up and let him get on with his day.  After all, my children would be home soon and there was plenty I needed to do as well.  We exchanged email addresses and promised to connect in person the next time I go out to visit my family.  Just like that, the conversation ended, and I went about my daily tasks of children and cooking and chauffeuring as if nothing had changed at all in the world.

But something is different, of course.  Something is very different.  A piece of my former life, the person I used to be, a piece that had long since gone missing and left a tiny hole in me, was put back in place.

It feels good.

I’m glad I knocked on the door.

 

Make It A Good One

“Oh, boy,” I said as I walked off of the elevator and saw the Holiday Inn’s lobby full of people.

“What?” asked my friend Sue, slowing her pace and stepping off to the side with me.

“He’ll be here any minute.  That’s why all of those women are congregated there.”  My eyes scanned the group of women sitting on every available seating implement in the lobby.  I had stepped back, away from the group.  I didn’t want to be in the group of Super Fans that lay in wait for Rick Springfield in the hotel lobby of a Holiday Inn in Waterbury, CT.

It was April, 2009.  It had been two and a half years since I’d seen the man in person, since that fateful weekend when I’d proposed an online fan membership idea to him.  Since he’d told me that he loved my idea but would run it by management.  Since I’d discovered many of my ideas encompassed in the online fan membership area that showed up on Rick’s official website just a few weeks after that meeting.  Since I’d been forced to step back from my very prominent place in the Rick Springfield organization.

I’d been embarrassed.  Humiliated.  Confused.  But as time wore on, I found myself pulling further and further away from the Rick Springfield fan base.  My real life friends had no idea that I’d ever worked so closely with someone so famous, and I rarely spoke about it.  I threw myself into my children’s schools and my community activism, into autism support groups and freelance web design.  I joined a book club and forged female friendships, something that I rarely had time to do when I’d been so busy updating websites and answering emails.  Looking back on it all, I grudgingly could say that it probably was for the best, even if I would have preferred that I was the one who made the choice as opposed to having had the choice made for me.

Still, when I’d seen that Rick was coming so close to where I now called home, I wondered what it would be like to see him again.  We’d traded a few emails now and then, and he was always wonderfully friendly and sometimes asked when he’d see me again.  One night when Rob was out of town and my children played with my girlfriend Sue’s children, I had asked Sue if she would be interested in going to the show with me.  I loved the idea of taking my girlfriend to the show, to share the experience with her, and she loved the idea of rubbing elbows with a celebrity.  She was in.

As I stood there, though, I was filled with trepidation.  The scene in front of me was everything I hated about the whole fan experience.  Pushy women, stalker behavior, false friendships.  Sue had already chuckled about how everyone seemed to know me as this person and that regaled me with warm hellos upon our check in.  “You’re popular,” she’d whispered after the fifth time.

“No, just an object of curiousity,” I’d answered.  Everyone wanted to see what had happened to me after what had happened to me.

There was movement and noise in the group of women, and I knew without looking up that Rick had entered the lobby.  “He’s here,” I answered.  “What do you want to do?  Wait with the stalkers or go over to dinner?”

Sue looked at me like I was crazy.  “Are you kidding me?  Of course I want to meet him,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.  The women in front of us were all jumping out of their seats now as he doled out the hugs, one by one.

“Alright then,” I said, slowly walking towards the seating area.  I stopped short; I just couldn’t approach him.  I stood behind the group, staring, immovable.  I watched my friend Sue taking it all in; her excitement was catching.  She was waiting for direction from me when it happened.

I looked over at the group and could see Rick starting to disentangle himself from the group.  He was scanning the room, looking for the elevators.  His gaze moved, and then stopped as it rested on me.  His eyes grew wide, and he made a mock gesture of surprise, grabbing his heart.  In two long steps, he was in front of me, reaching out and gathering me in. “Look who’s here,” he said warmly.  “It’s great to see you.”

I could feel the eyes of the group of women on us, trying to listen to our conversation.  I knew that emails would be sent from their hotel rooms to other people who remembered what had happened to me, phone calls would be made telling about the scene playing out right now.  And I found myself not caring. Finally, after all this time, I was able to not think about what others were saying, going to say, think about me.  Instead, I reveled in the knowledge that despite everything that had happened, Rick was still glad to see me, that I was always going to be welcome at his shows, and that I could share the good parts of my former life with those who now shared in my current life.

“It’s great to see you too,” I answered as we pulled apart.  “This is my good friend Sue,” I said in introduction.  “This will be her first Rick Springfield concert tonight, so you better make it a good one.”

 

 

Just Like Everyone Else

I sat on the bench at the local kids’ play gym, watching my two youngest.  Tonight was the Special Needs Playgroup night at the gym, and about ten families of children were in the huge enclosed space of toys and mats and dress up clothes.  R was working in New York City these days, so I was alone with the kids; Zach was working at his new job at the local sub shop this Friday night.

It was good for me to get out of the house.  I’d been wallowing in self pity for weeks, watching as the fans moved on.  I felt stupid.  I felt like I’d wasted so much time that I should have given to my children and my husband on something that evaporated before my eyes.  I admonished myself daily that perhaps if I wasn’t so worried about promoting Rick Springfield that I would have noticed Michael’s issues sooner, and gotten him more help faster.  How many hours had my three kids sat around watching TV while I talked with managers, record companies, other fans?  How many fits of stress induced anger had they been subjected to because I was trying to be everything to everyone?

I looked up to see Michael getting upset because another child wanted to go through the flexible fabric tube he was playing in.  He’d been in there ten minutes, repeatedly and incessantly going back and forth in it.  I went over to try to convince him that he needed to let the child have a turn when the little boy turned away and made a beeline for the train table.  “Sorry,” I offered to the mother.  “He isn’t really great at sharing, yet.”

“Well if there’s anywhere else that someone would get that, it would be here,” she responded, smiling.  She was young, younger than me. “My name’s Jessica.”

I nodded and held out my hand, telling her my name.  “Do you mind me asking what your son’s diagnosis is?”

She bolted and ran from me.  I followed the direction of her sprint to see her stop her son just in the nick of time; he’d been about to whack another little boy, this one with obvious Down’s Syndrome, on the head with one of the trains from the set.  “No!”

It almost made me feel a little better.  Here, Michael didn’t seem so different.  People weren’t going to stare when he launched into his recital of the theme from his favorite TV show; they weren’t going to be fazed by the Pull Up peeking out from his trousers even though he’d just celebrated his fifth birthday.  They weren’t going to bat an eye when he screamed about someone else hogging his favorite toy.

And here, I didn’t seem so different, although I was.  No one here knew.  No one here knew my very public shame, that I’d lost the gig working for the famous rockstar.  In my tiny New England town, at the special needs playgroup, I was just like every other frazzled mom of a spectrum child.  I was trying to balance the needs of my typical kids with those of my very needy child.  I was a stay at  home mother because of the crazy schedule I carried of preschool, therapy appointments and support groups.  No one here was whispering about my fall from grace, or was talking about how I hadn’t been good enough.  And here, watching Melinda play with Jessica’s older daughter while keeping tabs on Michael’s current mood, I almost didn’t even have time to think about who I used to be, not so long ago.

I wondered, in that quiet moment, if Jessica or the other parents could sense the sadness I carried with me, heavy in my chest, just under the surface of my sympathetic smile. When I paused, the guilt, the regret, the self loathing rose into my throat.   What did these people see when they looked at me, these other parents?  They didn’t know the girl I used to be in any my former lives.  These strangers couldn’t imagine all of the things that floated in my head these days, the things that I once had and now lost:  Joe, Ray, my teaching career, my job working for my idol.  I was 35, overweight, and all I saw in the mirror was the shell of the shining potential I used to think I had.

I looked up to see Jessica return to the center of the room where I stood, able to be within arms reach of Michael.  “He’s not diagnosed,” Jessica responded breathlessly.  “But he’s over there repeating the presidents of the United States over and over, in order.  What do you think that means?”  Her face was full of anxiety and fear.  “He’s just turned four.”

I looked at her, trying to put on my friendliest, most sympathetic face.  “I’m not sure,” I answered.  “But I can’t help but be jealous.  My kid just recites the the scenes from Blue’s Clues over and over.  At least your kid memorized something useful.”

Jessica laughed and looked around.  “It would really be so much more helpful if they served alcohol here at the snack bar.  Don’t we deserve a little nip for all we have to deal with?”  And off she went again, to rescue a six year old red head who had unwittingly interrupted her son between McKinley and Roosevelt.

I smiled, for the first time in what felt like years.

 

End of an Era

I was stunned to see the new online fan membership area, chock full of the same ideas I had presented to Rick just two weeks prior, there online without any notice from Rick or his team. There had been no indication that this was coming, no “thanks, but no thanks” from anyone on Rick’s team.

Without thinking much about it, I fired off an email to Rick himself.  After all, it had been him whom I had spoken to about my idea, him who had given tentative approval to it.  I was sharper than likely I should have been, asking him directly why he hadn’t told me of this plan, which had surely have to have been in motion, when I spoke to him in Atlantic City.  I waited for the answer, checking my email far too often in between volunteering at my daughters’ school and scouring eBay for a costume that would be appropriate for her kindergarten Halloween parade and party.

Rick must have forwarded my note to his manager, who called me later the same day to break the news.  I parked the kids in front of Noggin and retreated to our first floor bathroom to have what I anticipated to be a difficult conversation.

“You have to understand, Amy, that with all of the new things Rick is doing, like General Hospital and other TV appearances to promote it, that we can’t have a lot of different things going on at once.  It gets confusing to the fans.”

I listened, nodding slowly, although the guy in New York City couldn’t see me.  “I suppose I could see that,” I offered to keep the conversation going.

“So here’s the deal. The new area of the website is going to be handled by Jim.  It just makes sense for all the web stuff to be done by one person; then we just have one point person.  With the old fan club closing, it just makes sense to close the circle.  You can of course continue to inform fans of different things of course, but we won’t send you updates any more.  It’ll all be on the official website, and then you can take it from there….with attribution, of course.”

I was stunned.  Less than a year ago I was standing in front of this same man collecting accolades for my ability to rally fans and focus their efforts to accomplish great things.  Now I was being kicked to the curb.  “So…the street team?” I asked, struggling to keep my cmposure.

“Well obviously if we’re pulling everything together, that means fan based promotion, too.  So any contests, projects, initiatives will go through the official website.  You can still use your team to do things to rally the base, but we won’t be contributing any materials or incentives as we did before.”

The writing was on the wall.  I could hear Blue’s Clues on the TV in the playroom.  Steve was taking three random pieces of evidence and putting them together to figure out a mystery.  I stood in the bathroom, seeing it all clearly for the first time, seeing all the clues laid out in front of me.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen it all before.  This was the way it would end, of course.  First there was the phone call from Rick’s tour manager over a year ago, telling me that the website would be going in a new direction.   Then the new web guy had peeled away most of my duties. Of course there had also been the  anonymous chatter had come into my RS chat room calling me a “housemom” and complaining about how I’d run Rick’s site during my tenure. I had solved the puzzle, put together the clues:  my time had come and gone.

I told Rick’s manager that I understood. I ended our brief conversation by thanking him for his kindness the few times I’d met him, and that I wished him well.

Nov. 9, 2005

Just wanted to give you a head’s up on the note I’ll be sending out to the Shock Team tomorrow. Per our conversation several weeks ago, we agreed that more of the promotional efforts previously discussed on the team will now be moving to http://www.rickspringfield.com. While I think that the team will continue as a fan based online community, I wanted to let the group know that the change of focus is taking place. I have discussed this already with my regional managers and they are revamping their local groups as we speak.

I will continue to send out updates to the group as I see them posted to http://www.rickspringfield.com and obviously if you have anything you’d like passed along that will be done as well. Please know that my door is always open if you need anything.

If there is anything you’d like me to change in this letter, please let me know.

Thank you all very much for your kind words and support. It has been an honor to be trusted with the management of this team.

Amy
____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Shock Teamers,

I wanted to write all of the street team members and give you a bit of a head’s up on the status of the Shock Street Team. After many conversations with members of Rick’s team and with the regional managers of the group, it’s been decided that the focus of this group will be changing.

For the last two years, the Shock Street Team has worked very hard with its membership to help promote Rick Springfield and his career. We’ve used a grass roots approach to help increase visibility of Rick and his music and career. We have gained press, radio interviews, radio adds, prominent displays in media outlets and booked shows. You, the members, have worked unpaid hours talking up Rick to passers by at malls, movie theaters, at work, on the internet, to disc jockeys and program directors; often with little incentive other than to give back something to the man whose music has a place inside of you. You’ve changed the focus of your fandom from “what can I get” to “what can I give” and it’s been astounding to watch.

As all of you know, Rick’s visibility has increased dramatically over the last year. Rick has a new team at the helm guiding the course of his career and big changes have already been put in place. Rick’s new management has vastly improved on the previous efforts towards promoting Rick and his career. Therefore, at this time, the Shock Street Team is pulling away from a promotional role as part of that team. For information on how you can continue to help Rick and his career, as well as the latest news on him, please continue to visit http://www.rickspringfield.com.

What will happen to the Shock Team? This mailing list will continue on to send out updates and help enhance your fan experience when we can. Your local regional groups may stay open, they may close, or they may move to a different location to be more of a discussion group than a working team. What that means for you as a member is that you will be directed less towards “work” and more towards ways to interact with each other and hopefully expand your experience as a Rick Springfield fan. Look for announcements from your regional managers for what that will mean for your local group.

The best part of being a Rick Springfield fan for me has always been the energy that is created by the fan community (obviously besides the music!). It’s why in my nearly ten years as part of it, I’ve tried to contribute in some way to moving that energy moving forward. The direction that what has been known as the “Shock Team” is entirely up to you, the members. You represent the most fervent, the most die hard, the most active of the Rick Springfield fan base. Most of you love interacting with other fans nearly as much as the music and the shows. When we were all experiencing Rick for the first time in the 80s (and 70s!) it was mostly a solitary experience. The great thing about being a fan now is the ability to share it. I’m not sure the direction the new Shock Team will take, but I hope that somehow it’s legacy will live on in new ways for fans to come together to share their energy and excitement for Rick Springfield.

Right now is a terrific and exciting time to be a Rick Springfield fan. With General Hospital, upcoming concerts, an overseas promotional tour, two new CDs in the last two calendar years and much more on the horizon, fans have more to look forward to with Rick and his career than any time in recent memory. You’ll want to talk about it, you’ll want to gather together both online and in person, and you’ll want to share those experiences. However you choose to do so, I hope you’ll continue on with the spirit of coming together for a common cause. So sit back, take a deep breath and enjoy this resurgence. All of what is going on now is what all of us came together to work towards.

It has been an honor and a priveledge to have worked with so many amazing people. I am proud of the work we accomplished, and I am proud of the team we created. Thank you to all of you who have been a part of it.

Sincerely,

Amy
Shock Team Manager

%d bloggers like this: