The drummer clicked off the tempo and the band swung into it, filling the empty hotel ballroom with a mountainous wave of sound. The groove was positively ferocious: the horn players bobbed in time, staccato guitar chords sliced the rolling roar while the organ wail came straight from the soul, the drummer absolutely insisted that everybody GO! NOW!!, and the bass player grounded it all, keeping the flow strong, and steady, and down to earth. They'd played this song thousands of times, but it was obvious that they still loved it as much as they had when it was new, many years ago. The few of us in the audience couldn't help but tap our feet and dance in our seats.

    This wasn't an ordinary sound check before a concert, though. The bass player was a new guy that the band had never heard before, and he was younger by half than most of the guys in the band. They had no idea how well he knew the tune, how good he was, or that he would even be able to keep up, much less contribute anything.

    It wasn't long before they began looking around at each other, smiling. This kid HAD IT! Totally solid, hitting every kick, and throwing in killer fills of his own to boot. They relaxed and the smiles became wide grins. This gangly 21-year old with the backwards baseball cap really knew their music, and loved it as much as they did. The song was nearly a decade old when he was born, but he played it as if he'd done it forever.

    The kid was surprised when they turned to him and motioned for him to take a solo. This band never had bass solos, so he wasn't prepared, but, after a moment of surprise, he got right to it: starting slowly, nothing too flashy, just a little more prominent than he'd been before. Building it bit by bit, he climbed up the neck, every lick a little bolder, stretching out his ideas and feelings and showing what he could do, but all the while never losing hold of the solid groove. He reached the climax, then took a long, smooth slide back down to the bottom of his instrument, telling everyone that he was done.

    They made him do it again.

    He took another solo, then the singer called for more horn solos, working to make the moment last. They finally wound it up and finished strong, with the kid stoppin' on the dime perfectly. Those of us in the audience leapt screaming to our feet, clapping till our hands hurt, and, in my case, with tears of joy streaming down my face.

    It was Saturday, October 13th, 2001, the place was the ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel in Maui, the band was the legendary Oakland-based soul band "Tower Of Power," the song was their signature tune "Knock Yourself Out," and the kid was my son, Steven Swinnerton Spring. The band was there to play for an American Cancer Society benefit that night, and my son, his girlfriend, and i were there as guests of the band and hotel. Despite a rare bone cancer that had eaten away half his left shoulder, most of several vertebrae and part of his right wrist, and had engulfed his lungs, liver, kidneys, and brain, and despite the bewildering array of drugs that he felt turned him inside out, he was not only still playing, he was, as musicians say, "a monster."

    After congratulations all around, Steve played on "What Is Hip," another of their hits that's famous for its tough bass part, then they broke for dinner. They had him close the show that night with "Knock Yourself Out," and gave him a bass solo in the middle of it. As they left the stage, every band member gave him a hug, a high-five, or a handshake that congratulated him and welcomed him as an equal. My wish had come true.

    The dream had been born in the summer, on the way to a brain tumor radiation treatment. Steven needed more sophisticated equipment than was available to us in southern Oregon, so we made an appointment at Emmanuel Legacy Hospital in Portland. While listening to our local public radio station a couple days before the trip, i had heard that the day before our appointment Tower Of Power was playing a free concert in Roseburg, which was right on our way. Steve, his girlfriend Teddi and I put a futon mattress in the back of my old Volvo wagon, and off we went to see Tower Of Power.

    The concert was in a bandshell with lawn seating, and by the time we arrived all the best places had been taken, so we got as close as we could and settled in. While we were waiting, Steve told us about the last time that he'd heard the band, when they'd played at the Mt. Hood Jazz Festival in Portland. Steven had been studying bass at Mt. Hood Community College when his cancer was discovered, and he regaled Teddi and me with the story of how he had been thrown out of the stagefront area at the festival three times by the same security guard because he wanted to dance right in front of the band, which was not what the people in the cordoned-off, high-priced seating area wanted. Finally, the security people gave up and let the crowd of young gate-crashers have their way, with Steven right in front. After all, this is a band whose leader is known to announce over the microphone "We're here to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable!..." 

    When the band began, i noticed that Steve recognized every song as soon as they played the first note, and knew them all by heart. He and Teddi moved closer to the stage, but i stayed back, listening to a voice in my head that said "Do something good here, this is a real opportunity..."

    I went around to the back of the backstage area, got right across the fence from the local security people, and froze. I wanted this so much that i didn't know what to say, so i just stood there. Finally, i got the nearest person's attention and made my request: "My son is a big fan, he's on his way to cancer treatments, and it would mean so much to him to just meet the band for a minute and get a picture, please..." I choked on the words, unable to hold the tears in.

    The local security people had strict orders from the band not to let anyone backstage, and they did their job. I dried my eyes and went back to find Steve and Teddi, who by that time had become part of the dancing mass in front of the stage. I watched them till the show ended, then we headed for Portland. I didn't say anything about my failed attempt to help him meet his musical heroes.

    When we got back home after the radiation treatment, the thought about how great it would be to get this crazy idea to happen just wouldn't leave me alone. I went to the band's website and sent them an email about Steven, and how much it would mean to us if they would just meet him, and let him sit in at a rehearsal for a few minutes. Anyplace, anytime, with no trouble to them other than a little bit of their time.

    Weeks went by with no response, so i sent another email and waited patiently. Still no answer. Finally, my good friend Jennifer Schloming talked to her friend Herman Edel, who had retired to southern Oregon after a very successful career in the music business in Los Angeles. Jennifer had lost her husband, Gordon, to cancer in 1994, and Herman had experienced the tragic loss of his daughter, Margo, so they both wanted to help. Jennifer and Herman know each other through Temple Emek Shalom, one of our local Jewish synagogues. One of the deepest and strongest tenets of the Jewish faith is the doing of "mitzvot," or good works, particularly without thought of reward other than the goodness of the act itself, and they did a huge mitzvah for Steven and me.

    As did Herman's son Scott, an entertainment lawyer in LA. He approached the band's agent, Guy Richard, who in turn called their manager, Michelle Zarin. After discovering that she and Scott were neighbors, they got together to talk about it. They hit it off, and she looked in her calendar for possible dates.

    "I turned the page and there it was," she recalled. "We had a benefit we were doing for the American Cancer Society. It was just meant to be. I felt like an opportunity to bless someone had just been dropped in my lap."

    Sometimes everything falls into place, and we are lucky enough to see for a moment the hand of the Divine at work in the world, and to feel that we are part of something much larger than ourselves. Because the owner of the 4 Seasons Hotel chain had lost his 17-year old son to cancer, once a year every hotel in the chain hosts a cancer benefit, and Tower Of Power had been booked to play for their flagship resort in Maui. They were scheduled to fly over on a Thursday, play Saturday night, and leave Monday evening. Since this was a relatively long stay at a premier resort, many of the band members were bringing their wives, and some were bringing their children, too. I will be forever grateful to Guy Richard and Michelle Zarin for giving us their tickets, and to the Four Seasons for giving Steven and Teddi an ocean-view room. We were given the same generous meal allowance as the band members, and were treated wonderfully by everyone. The time we spent there was, and always will be, one of the most treasured memories of my life.

    There are even deeper levels to this story, though. Francis Rocco Prestia, TOP's long-time bass player, had collapsed on stage during a show in Bend, Oregon the year before, and had been rushed to the hospital. Near death from liver failure and without insurance, he hadn't known how he would be able to pay for treatment, but the doctors told him not to worry, that he would be treated anyway.

    "You just don't find people like that anymore," Michelle said. "They were so amazing. So Oregon has been in the back of my mind since that happened, and I'm so glad that we can do something good for someone from Oregon. And he's even a bass player!"

    The whole trip was amazing. We met the band at the San Francisco airport, and even though they had gotten just a couple hours' sleep after playing late and travelling, they were gracious and welcoming to us. As we got to know them better, many of them shared with us how cancer and other tragedies had touched their lives, and how glad they were to have us there. The guys in the band and crew are deep, real, and genuine people, and we are truly privileged to know them as friends.

    The Four Seasons Maui has been rated among the world's top resorts, and i can't help but agree. The setting was spectacular, the weather perfect, the food incredible, and the service flawless. David Reaves, the manager of the benefit, made sure that we were well taken care of, and the video tape of Steven playing with the band that was made by the house audio-visual staff is priceless to me. Steven and Teddi even ran into one of their old high school friends who worked at the hotel, which made us feel even more that we were in the right place.

    We closed down the after-gig backstage party. Emilio Castillo, one of the founders and leader of the band, told Steven that he was welcome to sit in with them anyplace, anytime. Before the sound check, Steve had somewhat anxiously asked me if i thought that they would let him play with them that night. I'd told him "You just be yourself and play the way you play, and everything will take care of itself just fine," and he had relaxed. It felt so good to be able to give him some comfort and hope, and to feel his trust and faith in me.

    When Monday afternoon came we didn't want to leave. Everything was so warm--the water, the breeze, the sun and sand, the people at the hotel, the band members and their families--and going back to Oregon and the coming winter seemed cruel and unfair. I had gotten all that i really wanted out of the trip during the sound check, when the guys in the band had recognized my son for the tremendous musician that he was, but the rest of that particular piece of paradise had been pretty easy to take, too, and getting back to real life just didn't hold much appeal for any of us. Reluctantly, we left the island and went home.

    We were deeply touched when we got emails from some of the guys telling us how impressed they were by Steven's playing, and, more importantly, by his character. Baritone saxophonist "Doc" Kupka and guitarist Jeff Tamelier wanted to hire him to play on a project for their Strokeland Records label, and the band invited him to play with them at the legendary Fillmore in San Francisco for Christmas and again for New Years in Lake Tahoe, but he couldn't take the travel. He kept on playing as much as he could, but only locally.

    He played with his own band on January 4th in our home town of Ashland, and if you didn't notice that he rested the head of the bass on the back of a chair you wouldn't have known that anything was wrong. During the entire course of his illness, no one -- not family member, friend, doctor, nurse, or stranger -- ever heard him complain, or call attention to himself, or ask for pity or sympathy. Once, when he was considering giving up chemotherapy, i asked him what treatment he would do instead. After a long, deep pause he looked me in the eyes and said "Play as much music as possible." He gave me an example of courage and determination that will inspire me for the rest of my life.

    We were with him at home on January 31st, 2002 when his spirit went Home. He had done a lot in his 22 years, and i will be forever thankful that he had pursued exactly what he'd wanted to do with a single-minded passion, and that i had helped and supported him in the best way that i knew how. He had made no enemies, he'd been a joy to all who knew him, he was truly fortunate to have known real love, and he'd lived his life without doubt, fear, or regret.

    When i called the guys in the band to tell them, they told me that they had been talking about him that very day because they were in the middle of auditioning bass players. Frank needed a liver transplant and was nearing the top of the waiting list, so they were trying out substitutes, and the guy that day had played all the right notes but just didn't have the feel they wanted. Half the band thought he was perfectly adequate as a sub and argued for him, and half the band thought that "perfectly adequate" wasn't good enough for TOP, and was adamantly opposed to him. During a very pregnant pause, someone finally summed it all up by saying "We need somebody who plays like Steve." Emilio told me that if Steven had been available they'd have given him an audition--and i know in my heart that he'd have had the job--and they sent yellow roses to the memorial service with a note declaring that he was "an official Tower Of Power alumnus." TOP is a class act all the way. They truly know in their souls that, among the many joys and powers of music, the deepest one is the power to heal.

    After a tremendous outpouring of support from their fans, Frank got his transplant and is healthy and back with the band. He spent a lot of time with Steve and Teddi that weekend, and the picture on my refrigerator of Steven and him smiling and mugging for the camera never fails to make me smile, too. And in June of 2002, the band happened to play at the Britt Festival here in southern Oregon, just when our family from around the country was "coincidentally" holding a reunion! It was a wonderful blessing for us to be able to give them our appreciation and thanks in person.

    Steven was so fortunate to have gotten to know the guys in Tower Of Power as both musicians and people, and they were lucky to have known him. I will be forever grateful to have been a part of it, and, through sharing this story, to keep alive the memory of my beloved son, and a truly magical moment of music, and joy, and love, and healing.