Henrietta Hay's Column

People on vacation are scattering to the four winds. Even I scattered a little. Travel is not my thing any more, but sometimes I like to drop in on my kids and see how they are doing. Those visits always end up with more excitement than I had anticipated and this year's jaunt to Phoenix was no exception.

Phoenix is not a popular a travel goal in the summer. It is a little warm there in June but I lucked out. It never got above 110. Heat or not, it has been one of my favorite cities ever since my lawyer son moved there many years ago. Having spent most of my life looking at mountains and pine trees I still marvel at those tall, straight palms with their little fringes on top, which line the wide streets. And eating at my favorite Greek restaurant with my family and re-establishing contact with my sixteen year old grandson and his computer reassure me that all is well with the world.

Parents of adult children will understand that when you visit your kids, you are not in control. You just follow along to see what will happen. Whatever it is, it is always fun. So it was that on a June Sunday in Phoenix I spent the first half of the afternoon with my son and grandson and a group of their friends in the Symphony Hall watching a wonderful performance of "Jesus Christ Superstar," and the second half in a sports bar watching the sixth game of the NBA finals, "The Basketball Game of the Year" between the Phoenix Suns and the Chicago Bulls. On that afternoon World War III could have started in the Balkans, or San Francisco could have fallen into the Pacific Ocean, but the Phoenicians would not have known it. Or if they had known it, they wouldn't have cared. At 4:00 the streets were empty and still. Every eye that wasn't in the America West Arena was glued to a television set. The Suns had another chance to knock down the mighty Bulls.

I didn't dare admit it to anyone I saw that day, but until a month ago I didn't know that Phoenix was a contender for the basketball championship, or that Charles Barkley had moved to the southwest. The last time I had seen him on TV he was being the bad boy of the American Olympics team. Now Sir Charles is the Hero of Phoenix, and his shiny, shaved head has a halo shaped like a basketball hoop over it.

A hotel sports/restaurant/bar with at least twelve big TV sets and a mix of teenagers and baby boomers was not my usual late Sunday afternoon location. People were staring at the TV screens as though life as we know it on this earth might end at any minute. The game was the only topic of what little conversation there was. And at the end, with the Suns ahead and 3.9 seconds to go, Paxton of the Bulls lofted the ball. There was dead silence for what I am sure was five long minutes as the ball hovered in mid-air. When it finally dropped through the hoop and the Suns lost, the collective groan could have been heard at the Grand Canyon.

In complete contrast to the game, the first half of my Sunday afternoon was straight out of the sixties, when musicians were more important than athletes. We watched and listened to the rock opera, "Jesus Christ Superstar" one of Andrew Lloyd Webber's early and greatest compositions.

I saw it in New York some twenty years ago and was fascinated this time by the contrast in the two audiences. Then the theater was mostly filled with young longhaired radicals trying to reform the world and shock their elders. In Arizona, the audience consisted mostly of fairly conservative middle-aged people with their kids. Or maybe they were the same group with haircuts, twenty years later. To quote Bob Dylan, "the times they are a-changin." In any case, both audiences shared a love for the wonderful music, which is as fresh today as it was then, and for the brilliant singing and dancing which were colorful and dramatic - and loud. The sixties heroes were the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. It was the music that was important, and it was enjoyed mostly by the young. Today's heroes are the athletes with their multi-million dollar salaries. Somehow I think the Beatles will be remembered longer than Sir Charles, although I don't think I would want to say that in Phoenix.

Anyway, it was a great week. I think I'll go back again some time.