Smashing a 'barrier of fear' with Tony Bennett's help, at the Melody Tent on Cape Cod

Even though he was 96, I was still startled and awfully saddened when I read that Tony Bennett had died. He and I met after one of his performances at the Cape Cod Melody Tent.

We met in what’s called the green room, which is behind the big tent. It was August 15, 2010. I still have the tickets to the show on my fridge. And yes, that really is me in the picture.

Our soiree marked the beginning of a new life for me. Tony, who knew about the barrier I had intended to break that night, called me “courageous.” I had intended to publish my “barrier” story so lots of others might try like I did. That is ― if I was successful.

Along with my Cape Cod Times column, I wrote for a lot of national publications, including "Family Circle" magazine, "Chicken Soup for the Soul" and the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation. My columns have been published on a regular basis in newspapers nationwide. So, you see, if I have something to say, I can really spread the word.

The Foundation offers life-changing support for people with spinal cord injuries like mine. By meeting Tony Bennett, I wanted to prove that a certain common barrier for people like me could be smashed to bits.

But when my precious husband, Bob, first surprised me with the tickets, I was forlorn.

“Sweets, you know I haven’t been out at night for the entire seven years since my injury. I’m weaker at night. Even my ability to speak becomes more disabled. I’m just too frail,” I said through trickling tears. “Bob, I love you for getting these tickets, but honey, I … I … I just can’t do this.”

He held my hands as he softly and wisely said, “All I know is that you haven’t tried.”

After a quiet moment, he said, “Isn’t that what you say to a million people? That trying is the hardest but the most victorious part of all?”

And so, because of Bob’s powerful words, I decided to try ― thank God.

Now, meeting Tony was no easy feat. It took me weeks to make it happen. My complicated path through twists and turns, and 31 phone calls, eventually led me to Cape Cod’s legendary radio personality, Dick Golden, who, you might remember, graced us with music from the Great American Songbook on radio stations WQRC and Ocean 104.7 for 35 years. You can still hear Dick’s lilting, soothing voice, can’t you?

From somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody, I found out that Dick knew Tony. In fact, they spoke with each other by phone every other day, Dick had told me. He and I had been friends back then.

I somehow traced Dick’s whereabouts to his home in Washington, D.C., so I called him.

First I told him about my spinal cord injury, then I got to the point: “Bob gave me the gift of tickets to Mr. Bennett’s show. But many people like me have overwhelming emotional barriers to doing anything new. We are just too darn scared to even try.”

With compassion, he said, “How can I help?”

“Dick, I am determined to bust through my barrier of fear of going out my front door at night. If you could tell your friend Tony about my situation, and ask if he would be willing to meet me, then I could write a story about it that might inspire others to break through seemingly impossible barriers of their own.”

“Well, Tony’s not just a singer and a painter. He’s a humanitarian. I’ll see what I can do.”

As I had promised, I emailed Dick a few of my columns. He then forwarded them to Tony and explained my story. That’s when Dick told me Tony’s remark about my courage, and then he said (Can you believe it!?) Tony would love to meet me!

Of course, my lunatic persona took over. I wrote a note to myself in case I froze up when I met him: “Try to remember he sings.” I put it in my fancy purse along with 287 breath mints.

On Facebook, I asked friends, “What should I say to Tony Bennett?”

Everyone was so helpful. (Note my sarcasm, please.)

One gal said, “Ask him to sing his most famous ballad: ‘I Left my Pocketbook in San Diego.’”

Another said, “When he drones on relentlessly about San Francisco, stand up and scream, ‘We all know where you left your stinkin’ heart. Get over it already!’”

My friend, Bill O’Neill, was most helpful: “If he asks if you want his autograph, tell him, ‘Sure. And make it out to Lady Gaga. With all my love, Frank Sinatra.’”

And so, we went to the show, with my cane in one hand and Bob’s strong arm on the other. He held onto me as we climbed the rows to our seats. The patrons behind me became my caregivers. Two women helped me to a standing position when Tony’s songs brought standing ovations. They steadied my hips and my shoulders so I wouldn’t fall down.

After the performance, Dick escorted us to the green room where celebrities mingled with members of Tony’s family. The first thing I said to the first Kennedy I had ever met? While fanning my face with a limp glove, I panted, “Ted! Hot flash! Got any ice?” Honestly, I really did say that to Ted Kennedy.

It was like a slow-motion movie scene as I watched Dick bring Tony Bennett, wearing a stunning yellow jacket, through the crowd toward me. My beloved husband put his arm around my shoulders to show his love and support, as he softly whispered in my ear, “Breath mints!”

I handed Tony a small gift bag filled with treasures from our home. There were two tiny hand painted plates of Cape Cod beaches, a framed old postcard of the Long Point Lighthouse in Provincetown, and a little book about Cape Cod’s haunted houses.

Tony’s rather tall, so he had to bend down to speak with me. As he faced me, he graciously thanked me for the treasure bag. He decided that ― no, it was not yet time to have our pictures taken. First, he wanted to talk about what he knew to be my triumphant moment.

I felt oddly at peace ― and not just emotionally, but also physically stable.

I said to him, “Because you wanted to meet me, you have helped me help myself. And by doing just that, you will be helping many people with all kinds of disabilities break through barriers they never believed they could. Our story will be read by Cape Cod Times’ readers and will be published in newspapers all over the country. We’ll even be the cover story for the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation.”

And then, with our arms around each other’s backs, we had our picture taken.

My words were not written down nor even predetermined. They came right from my heart. I believe we made history that one exquisite night, when a frightened crippled woman pushed beyond her “impossible” limits ― and made it.

Award-winning columnist, Saralee Perel, lives in Marstons Mills. She can be reached at sperel@saraleeperel.com or via Facebook. Her column runs the first Friday of each month.

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This article originally appeared on Cape Cod Times: Column: Meeting Tony Bennett, and inspiring those with spinal injuries