When I was in college, I would sometimes — not often enough — come into Chicago to hang out. As I set off to Northwestern, I imagined I’d spend my weekends in jazz bars, hanging out and listening to great live music. That rarely happened. The big reason was a combination of laziness and the Howard El platform. The Evanston purple line ended at Howard unless it was rush hour. You’d have to transfer to the red line. But the Purple line didn’t run very often late at night so you’d stand out on the Howard platform waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

The Howard El platform is officially the coldest place on Earth. Except in summer, when it is sweltering. It was a very physical barrier. The stop that separated the city from the suburbs.

But one night some friends and I ventured into the area around North Avenue on the border of Lincoln Park and Old Town. There were a lot of theaters along that stretch and somehow we wound up at a bar across from the famed Steppenwolf.

From the mini-series, Meeting the Velvet Underground: Lou Reed, John Cale, Moe Tucker, and Sterling Morrison

I met Lou Reed twice. In two very different contexts. He was only kind of a jerk one of those times. But it’s important to understand why I met Lou. So let me take you back to my high school band classroom. (Note: these posts won’t always be long, but I need to set the stage for what’s to come)

I won’t say, “my life was saved by rocknroll.” But it’s impossible to understate the way this black cassette altered the my trajectory. Sometimes my brain does a nice job of remembering really important moments, even if they don't seem like it. Anil handed me a black Maxell XLII-S tape (a step up from my usual XLIIs) with Lou Reed's New York on it. From there it was all the day down the rabbit hole. I think Velvet Underground Live 1969 was next. And then deeper into Lou's solo and the Velvet's catalog. Eventually, as I continued my obsession (as seen in the Daily Northwestern), I got into the bootlegs as well. But being a Lou Reed fan used to be a pretty lonely thing. Even when I went to see him live at the Fox Theater on the Magic and Loss tour I had no way of knowing that Ernesto, who would become a great friend, was only a row away.

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This newsletter is a series of stories of how I’ve met my heroes over the years and the lessons I’ve learned in the process. And I’m going to give away the end, because it’s so key. The most important thing I’ve learned is this: