Last week I was invited to give 2 presentations on Memorial Day. Both of these – appropriately enough – took place at Senior Living centers. And after both events, I left with the feeling that I had received much more from the residents than I could ever possibly have given to them.

Using Tom Brokaw’s best-seller as a springboard, I talked about the courage and sacrifice of Americans during World War II – a time most of my audience remembered very well. Singing songs of the era for them (and with them), I was amazed as always at their letter-perfect recall of the lyrics, and the way that – as they sing – they temporarily shed the 65 years or so which have intervened.

Through the 50s and 60s, in addition to raising Boomers like me (the “Whiniest Generation”), these folks discovered cures for diseases that had plagued humankind since the dawn of time, enacted landmark civil rights legislation, and bestowed on their children a level of affluence undreamed of in their own early years.

As the 80′s ended, their relentless pressure on the Communist despots of Eastern Europe caused the Berlin Wall to fall, one totalitarian Iron Curtain regime after another to topple, and another billion souls to learn the meaning of freedom that my generation takes for granted.

It is the nature of superlatives like “greatest” that only a few will ever qualify for such a distinction. But Brokaw was right when he appended an “e-s-t” to that particular generation. Never in human history have so many changes for the common good occurred in such a short time.

I was honored to spend time with these precious people. And I encourage you to do the same at every opportunity. They deserve so much more than we can ever give them. It is fitting that more and more members of my generation – the “Me” generation – are at last saying thanks to those whose deeds have meant so much to so many.

We Boomers will never be “the greatest.” But some of us – I’m happy to report – are at last becoming members of “The Grateful Generation.” I hope you’ll join us – while those we owe so much are still here to thank.

Many years ago, I wrote a song dedicated to my father, who taught me most of what I know about the meaning of the words “professional musician.” (Ed Bernet being the person who taught me all the rest.)

Anyway, regarding my dad, I said – in part:

“He starts on time and plays what they wanna hear,
If he ever talks, he keeps it clean and sincere,
And he acts like he plans to be invited back some day…”

I mention this because Gina and I went to see “The Boss,” Bruce Springsteen, this weekend at our local arena. 20,000 other folks – give or take – joined us for the 7:30 concert. Unfortunately, Bruce didn’t. Not at 7:30, anyway. Or 8:00, or 8:15 or :20. No announcements over the PA informed us of technical problems, transportation issues, or any other reason for the delay. Apparently, the Boss didn’t think we were owed an explanation. My dad – and I – would beg to differ.

When – about 55 minutes late – Bruce and his E Street Band did come on stage, they were talented, tight, and put on a pretty good show. What kept it from being a very good show were a couple of needless, pointless, and – in my mind, at least – clueless political comments. Speaking only for myself, my enjoyment of Springsteen, Linda Ronstadt, and Elton John (among others) is based on their music, not their voting preferences. I guess I’m philosophically in tune with the guy who yelled “Shut up and sing!” to Barbra Streisand after one of her on-stage diatribes. I just come to hear the music.

I’m not inferring that celebrities don’t have a right to voice their opinions, because they do. And a rally in support of a particular candidate or issue – where the majority of the audience probably shares their world view – is a perfect place for them to do so. But – in these politically polarized times – almost any general audience is likely to have a wide spectrum of opinions. Unless that audience came to hear what ___ thinks (as opposed to what they sing), I think that when entertainers accept my money, they owe me a performance, not polemics.

It’s too bad that today’s celebs never knew my dad – he would have taught them better.

My father passed away yesterday at the age of 84.

A veteran of the Big Band era, Bill Tanner was my first musical mentor and role model. World War II and a growing family led him out of the music business and into a “real” job, but he never lost his love of playing or his belief that it was actually possible for someone with a modicum of talent and a good work ethic to thrive in showbiz. Without the experience I gained working with him as a teenager – and without his rock-solid conviction that I possessed both of those necessary ingredients for a pro – I’d have never seriously considered music as a full-time career.

Until my mom’s advancing Alzheimer’s caused him to retire from his last combo, he continued to play “his” music – Big Band Swing – a few nights every month for appreciative audiences of the Greatest Generation. Long after Mom could no longer speak, she would still pat her foot every time he sat down at his keyboard and played “I’m Looking Over A 4-Leaf Clover.” His music allowed the two of them to communicate in a way that nothing else could, and continued the bond they shared through 65 years of marriage.

Thirty years ago, I wrote a song simply titled (in true Southern fashion) “My Daddy.” The chorus went like this:

My Daddy starts on time and plays what they wanna hear
If he ever talks, he keeps it clean and sincere
And he acts like he plans to be invited back someday
He smiles when he’s happy, and he’s happy a lot
And he always gives the people everything that he’s got
And there’s one thing more, I’m proud of my daddy for
He knows when it’s time to go, And when it’s time to stay

Yesterday it was – at last – time for him to go. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for everything.