Coney Island High

My junior year the Ramones played Coney Island High, back when it was on St. Mark's Place, not far from where I lived. My roommate Tara, a heavy blonde from the midwest, wanted to see them.

Considering my size, I was never much for concerts-can't see over people and tend to get crushed by the crowd. Not a fun evening.

But I liked Tara, and I thought I would give it a try. We got into the small space which was packed by punks. Tall punks. I knew there was no way to see the stage especially since we were way at the back.

Tara went to get us drinks and as I was standing there what looked like a Red Wood in punk regalia strode over to me.

"Want a lift?" he said.

He had a thick Scottish accent, and I wasn't quite sure what he meant.

"Want to sit on my shoulders?"

Of course, it was the only way I would ever see Joey Ramone.

"Sure," I said.

I thought he meant to lift me up for a song or two, but he kept me there the whole concert. Afterwards, Tara wanted to buy him a drink.

"Not necessary. It's honor to help a wee bonny lassie."

I was about to ask him to put me in his pocket and take me home. When he bid us good night and strode away.

Surely to help some other lassie.