Saving Lives

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Live Aid was Teddy Pendergrass' first public appearance since a
near–fatal car accident in 1982; he died of colon cancer in January.

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If you're old enough to remember it, Live Aid was 25 years ago today.

And if you are old enough to remember that day, you probably only need to be reminded of the actual date that it occurred. The event itself likely is vivid in your memory.

To briefly remind you, the event was put together by Bob Geldof to raise money for famine relief in Africa. I don't recall hearing what inspired Live Aid. I guess I always assumed that it was sort of a natural evolution that started with the Woodstock festival in 1969 and absorbed the charity aspect of the Concert for Bangladesh in 1971.

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They called it a "global jukebox" because concerts were held simultaneously in London and Philadelphia, with a lengthy list of performers at each location. And concerts in other places, like Australia and Germany, linked up as well, permitting people like B.B. King to participate.

And nearly half a billion people watched it worldwide.

Just about every popular performer of the day — and even some whose best days were probably behind them by then — participated.

More than 70,000 came to Wembley Stadium in London, where acts like Elvis Costello, Sting, Bryan Ferry, U2, Dire Straits, David Bowie, Paul McCartney, the Who, Queen and Elton John performed. Phil Collins also performed in London, then took the Concorde to Philadelphia's JFK Stadium and performed there as well. He also played drums for Eric Clapton and a reunion of Led Zeppelin.

There were nearly 100,000 people at JFK Stadium, and they were treated to Joan Baez, REO Speedwagon, the Beach Boys, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, the Cars, Power Station, Hall and Oates, Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan, among others.

Reunions were the order of the day in Philadelphia. In addition to Led Zeppelin, Crosby Stills Nash & Young reunited, as did Black Sabbath.

And there were moments that were timely in 1985 but might need a little elaboration today.

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For example, when Madonna was about to sing "Love Makes the World Go Round," she noted the heat (mid–90s) but insisted that she wasn't going to take off her coat. "I ain't taking shit off today," she said, which was a reference to nude photos of her that had been taken several years earlier and had recently been published in Playboy and Penthouse.

Madonna was criticized by many for posing for the photos — even though she had posed at a time when she was unknown and needed the money such photo shoots could provide (meager though it was).

Anyway, as the temperature in Philadelphia soared to 95°, she pledged not to remove her coat and explained that "you might hold it against me 10 years from now" if she did.

With all the talent on those stages, it's hard to imagine that anyone wasn't there, but there were some who didn't participate, each for reasons of their own. Bruce Springsteen, who was one of the most popular performers of that time, didn't participate. Neither did Billy Joel, Paul Simon, Stevie Wonder, Huey Lewis and the News, Prince and Michael Jackson.

Jackson, it should be pointed out, did make his own contribution, composing "We Are the World" with Lionel Ritchie, which did its part to raise money for famine relief by selling more than 3 million copies.

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There seems to be no doubt that Live Aid was a turning point for some performers who were ready for the attention of more mainstream listeners.

U2, for example, had been around for a few years and had enjoyed some success by July 1985, but Live Aid really gave the band the exposure it needed. It virtually confirmed what Rolling Stone said in March — that U2 was the "band of the '80s ... the band that matters most, maybe even the only band that matters."

That was a pretty daring proclamation at a time when bands like R.E.M., Dire Straits and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were attracting a lot of attention.

But U2 surely was the only band that mattered to the woman who danced with Bono during U2's 12–minute version of "Bad" on that day.

Viewers around the world saw only that he was dancing with a young woman, but she revealed 20 years later that he actually saved her life. She was being crushed, and Bono saw it. He waved frantically for the ushers to do something, but they couldn't understand him so he leaped off the stage to take care of it himself.

Saving lives was, after all, what Live Aid was all about.

Chasing the 'Demon in the Sky'

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The Mercury Seven
From left: Gordon Cooper, Walter Schirra, Alan Shepard,
Virgil Grissom, John Glenn, Deke Slayton, Scott Carpenter

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In 1983, there was no shortage of space, flight and technology-oriented options for moviegoers — "Return of the Jedi," "WarGames," "Octopussy," "Blue Thunder," even "Superman III."

Twenty-five years ago, such movies featured plenty of high-tech special effects, but the stories often didn't live up to the technology. "Return of the Jedi," for example, was said to boast state-of-the-art special effects, even if its story wasn't as great as the first two films in the "Star Wars" series.

And then there was "The Right Stuff" — the tale of the awkward early steps of the space program in the United States — when America resolved to chase down the "demon that lived in the sky."

The film is sometimes overlooked when the best films of 1983 are discussed, but it had lots of special effects, and it had the advantage of also having a great story to tell.

"The Right Stuff" is the true story of how the space program began in the United States — and how the test pilots, like Chuck Yeager, laid the foundation for it.

Some of the story is probably still told in the history books, but much of it will be news to modern viewers — who are accustomed to a world of space shuttles and space stations.

Many modern movie viewers have no memory of what it was like when a young president issued a challenge to America to send a man to the moon and bring him back safely before the decade was over.

And modern movie viewers have no memory of the many setbacks the space program endured before making amazing strides in pursuit of that goal.

America rose to meet the challenge of landing on the moon, but it did so largely because of the triumphs — and the tragedies — of the Mercury astronauts — and the sacrifices that were made by the test pilots who came before them.

When I was a child in the 1960s, the names of each of those astronauts were practically household names. They were certainly used for marketing purposes.

Like most boys of my generation, I had a "G.I. Joe" toy. One year, for my birthday, I asked for the latest accessories for the "action figure" — an astronaut's spacesuit and helmet — and a miniature space capsule.

I received those items as gifts that year, and I was delighted to find that the capsule was packaged with a small 45-rpm recording of John Glenn's radio transmissions during his historic flight into space.

I could dress up my G.I. Joe to look like an astronaut, put him in the capsule and pretend to send him on a journey into space while my record player provided the soundtrack for the mission.

I remember that one of my childhood buddies was fascinated by the space program. He had a poster on his wall showing a map of the surface of the moon with photos of each individual astronaut lining the margins on the top and bottom.

Such public adulation was a mixed blessing for the original Mercury astronauts. As Scott Carpenter (played by Charles Frank) says during an argument among the astronauts about intrusions into their private lives, "Now, whether we like it or not, we're public figures. Whether we deserve it or not, people are going to look up to us. We have got a tremendous responsibility here."

Even after a brief flight, an astronaut could expect to be treated like a conquering hero, complete with a visit to the White House to meet the president and a tickertape parade.

The belief that such a prize was waiting for them at the end of the rainbow kept more than one astronaut's wife on the reservation — and makes the story as much about the unknown — and mostly supportive — spouses as it is about the astronauts.

Betty Grissom (played by Veronica Cartwright) often states in the movie that she expects the military to repay her for the sacrifices she's made, only to be bitterly disappointed when her husband's flight is deemed a failure.

Other wives found it impossible to stick it out. Gordon Cooper's wife Trudy (played by Pamela Reed) talks, at one point in the movie, about conversations she had with old friends who complained about the "cutthroat" lives their husbands endured in the business world.

"I wondered how they would have felt," she says, "if each time their husband went in to make a deal, there was a one in four chance he wouldn't come out of that meeting."

The possibility of a sudden and violent death hangs over the test pilots and astronauts throughout the film, from the ominous presence of the cryptic minister to the smoke rising from crash sites (visible from great distances in the California desert) and the easily recognizable "crash truck" that is always summoned to the scene.

A patron in Pancho Barnes' bar observes a wall filled with photographs of test pilots and points out that the picture of "fancy pilot" Chuck Yeager isn't on the wall.

"What do you have to do to get your picture up there, anyway?" she asks.

"You have to die, sweetie," Pancho replies.

A sobering reminder of the risks the test pilots took every time they flew.

There is a wealth of talent on display in "The Right Stuff," including some actors and actresses who had already achieved some noteworthy things by the time the film was made — and others who were on the brink of success.

The cast includes Sam Shepard as Yeager, Scott Glenn as Alan Shepard, Ed Harris as John Glenn, Dennis Quaid as Gordon Cooper, Fred Ward as Gus Grissom, Barbara Hershey as Glennis Yeager and Jeff Goldblum as a recruiter.

Not all of the talent is in front of the camera, either. Philip Kaufman did a remarkable job of adapting and directing the film version of Tom Wolfe's book. Irwin Winkler was nominated for an Oscar for his work as producer.

And there were a few people you might not recognize but who nevertheless had an influence on the film — if not the industry, in some ways.

Like Mary Jo Deschanel, for example. She plays Glenn's stuttering wife, Annie, whose refusal to be interviewed on television infuriates Lyndon Johnson.

Deschanel, who studied acting but apparently gave up her career to focus on raising her children, is the mother of Zooey Deschanel, who has enjoyed a modestly successful acting career on TV and on the big screen.

Zooey was about 3 when her mother acted in "The Right Stuff" — and her father was the film's cinematographer.

And Yeager himself puts in a brief appearance as Fred, who works at Pancho's bar.

Only two of the original Mercury Seven astronauts — Carpenter and Glenn — are still living. The silver anniversary of "The Right Stuff" is a reminder — particularly relevant on Veterans' Day — of a debt that America can never repay — and should always remember.