A FRIENDSHIP SOLID AS A ROCK : U2 Provides the Sound Track to a Special Relationship

When cynics question the value of rock ‘n’ roll, I take the opportunity to tell them about the eloquence and power of U2. I tell them how the Irish group’s generous-spirited music has a magical capacity to make friends of strangers. And I tell them about Mary Louise and me.

I first met her four years ago at a record swap meet in Reseda. Her petite body was balanced on crutches as she inquired after the same treasure I was hunting down: U2 posters and other promotional items. Moments later, we were babbling like lifelong friends--two women in their early 20s who were shy about many things but enthralled by and outspoken about their love for rock ‘n’ roll. We were inseparable after that.

Over Saturday morning French toast feasts at Duke’s and trendy Thai suppers at Tommy Tang’s, she tried to explain how it felt to have cerebral palsy. And I told her why I’d embraced a Christian faith of the born-again variety. Our words tumbled out in giggly tangles or serious, thoughtful bunches. She was a great listener.

She taught me the difference between Stratocaster and Flying V guitars, and passed on her knowledge of horsewomanship, mortgages and classical vocal technique. I regaled her with stories of the funky goings-on at my part-time rock video job, reached for things off the high shelves for her, and danced with enough crazy fervor for the both of us, since, of course, she could not.

Rock ‘n’ roll was the sound track of our friendship. We were especially impressed with certain British bands and braved the exuberant crowds of the Palace, Roxy and Palladium frequently to take in the tunes of favorites like Icicle Works, Big Country, the Waterboys and Simple Minds. We’d also have late-night brownie-and-ice-cream MTV-dissection parties at her place, mercilessly critiquing each video that danced or flowed onto the screen. The only disagreement that threatened our relationship was her vehement dislike of Springsteen. Sadly, to this day, she hasn’t seen the light.

U2’s music topped both our lists. I’m not sure that Mary Louise ever told me exactly why she loved it best of all bands. My attempts to describe the group’s enormous impact upon me usually included sweeping hand gestures, as though I could somehow sketch into the air the intense poignancy, faith, joy and yearning I felt from each song. U2 was a young band of friends and dreamers. They seemed to sing for me.

Mary Louise and I prided ourselves on being American cheerleaders for U2’s Bono, Adam, Larry and the Edge since their first album in 1980. And, I’ll admit it--we were a bit obsessed. Both of our apartments were plastered with posters of those handsome lads from Dublin. And each new U2 album, video and concert was cause for near-hysterical celebration.

The excitement peaked four years ago at the Club Lingerie Incident. We were there checking out Welsh rockers the Alarm when in strolled U2’s charismatic singer Bono Hewson and its stunningly blond, blue-eyed drummer Larry Mullen Jr. Both Mary Louise and I were thrilled. She stared longingly at the balcony where the guys had positioned themselves, realizing she couldn’t navigate the steep stairs to speak with them.

I sympathized a few minutes and then ran up there myself to chat a bit with (gulp!) Larry. He was immensely friendly and talkative and when I asked him if he’d follow me to the lower level to say hi to Mary Louise, he assented immediately. When she turned around and found him standing next to her table, she glowed and I went weepy. My friend’s dream was fulfilled and my rock heroes had lived up to their reputation. What could be sweeter--except, perhaps, a genuine U2 love story.

Enter Mauro. Mary Louise “met” this young Scotsman through the U2 fan club’s pen-pal directory, and eventually fell in love with his wise-cracking wit via voluminous letters and budget-busting transatlantic phone calls. In 1985 they married and moved up to the Bay Area. Now Mary Louise and I are the ones running up the big phone bills.

We’ve mellowed . . . well, a bit since those days of fanaticism. Rock has settled down to take its place in our lives as just one of many pleasures.

But when U2 hits San Francisco’s Cow Palace later this month, watch out. Mary Louise and I will be there side-by-side, like old times, singing along with a vengeance. The uplift of great music, like that of great friendship, never fades away.