Tickaboom

Burt loved tickets. I think I have shared the joke before: he said he liked getting tickets better than going to the show.

Be that as it may, we went to most of the shows for which we had tickets. Tickets were a big deal and I think it had to do with his childhood.

As a lad, he spent many a Sunday at Ebbett’s Field although he was a Giant’s fan. The Dodgers played near home. His dad would drive his cab to the apartment for a breakfast break on his Saturday shift bearing rolls and, yes, tickets for the next day’s game.

When we were courting, Burt went to Lincoln Center on the first sale day of the ballet season and returned with tickets for  every matinee.

He knew how much I loved the New York City Ballet. In our last five years, he’d say he would like to go to the ballet. I always wanted to grant him the wish but feared he’d be restless. I think that was a fair assessment of the way things were. We would watch a ballet on TV’s Great Performances. Sometimes, he’d say “that’s pretty.” Sometimes, he’d have no patience.

Acquiring tickets was an art for Burt. He took a great deal of care at the booth. Ticket sellers all over the city got to know his requirements and he knew who was naughty and who was nice.

For his 60th birthday, Burt gifted himself with a comprehensive sports package. It included a bunch of Knicks games, some Rangers tickets, a women’s tennis tourney at the Garden. He also got Saturday series tickets for his Mets.

The Giants and even the Dodgers had left for California. On the grounds that the Yankees always win, Burt refused to cheer for them. He was a Mets fan when we met.

His birthday was in November 1999. The baseball season we would witness was the year his hapless team would make it to the World Series.

A miraculous event- although not as much so as the 1969 team my mother watched as if she really understood baseball. [I doubt she did but she was glued to the tele every time I visited.]

We, Burt and I, were headed to the 2000 World – Subway- Series. The Mets were going up against my Yankees. If you really want to know, I was rooting for Burt’s Mets. They were the underdog.

Theater, like sports, was not always a win but it was always a happy experience. Wrangling tickets at the box office, never on the internet, was a Burt sport.

He expanded on our interests to take in opera, and jazz, the great American Songbook, and an occasional concert series. Pop singers would pop up on his radar and we’d be at the Beacon watching Rosanne Cash or at Radio City with Dolly. We did see the beautiful Barbra, during one of her last NY performances. We found out she was coming to town from a street fair vendor; next thing, we were dashing to the Madison Square Garden ticket booth. Who knew we’d be seated behind Smokey Robinson.

Tickets and celebrity encounters were a Burt thing. Smokey was one of the few Burt did not chat up.  Derek Jeter showed up at one of those women’s tennis matches I mentioned, and Burt tackled guards to speak to him.  He told me he’d said he’d been to 1000s  of Yankee games. Jeter raised a brow, “Thousands?” Most every big name Burt spoke to enjoyed his enthusiastic charm. The list is long, but we must have run into Jerry Stiller at least a half-dozen times; even I had a long, lovely conversation with him.

Tickets bought can lead to tickets returned, or sold. Note that they always have greater value at the ticket office. Scalpers will not give you a good deal. We got to the theater really early and it was going to be a long wait til Diana Ross was scheduled to appear. The fellow who eventually agreed to help us out said he’d buy the tickets ’cause his mom was a fan. We went out to dinner on our losses.

Burt had a philosophy that went along with this, too. Once you’ve spent the money, that money’s gone. A lot of the fun was in the time spent buying and wheeling and dealing for those best seats, even when they were in the 4th ring.