Shaun Cassidy and the Weekend I Didn’t Know I Needed (Part 2)

I don’t drive much these days. Haven’t for years, really. And when I do, it’s certainly not in anything considered “traffic.” So of course—being me—I nervously anticipated (for two weeks!) how I’d get to Pittsburgh for the concert: I-376 through the dreaded Squirrel Hill Tunnel, then over the Homestead Grays Bridge. I needed last weekend to remind me that I’m a good driver. Pissy in traffic sometimes, but trustworthy behind the wheel nonetheless.

I don’t walk much these days. Haven’t for years, really. And when I do, it’s not up and down many stairs. (Damned knees.) So of course­—being me—I nervously anticipated (for two weeks!) how I would get around the city and, more importantly, walk up and down the myriad stairs of the Carnegie Library Music Hall. I needed last weekend to remind me that, despite my physical limitations, there are things called elevators, canes, and Uber to help me get around.

Another thing I anticipated, although not nervously, was that I’d cry when Shaun Cassidy came out on stage, just like I did 45 years ago when he jumped through a large white paper hoop at his concert at the St. Paul Civic Center. But I’m not a teenager anymore, and neither is he, because he casually strolled out from backstage playing his guitar. No fireworks, no smoke, no tears.  

I wouldn’t call his performance a concert, exactly. It was more like story time for former love-sick teenagers. He talked about his crazy life as a teen idol (I can’t believe some of you pulled out his hair!); auditioning for The Hardy Boys; his relationship with his father (the late Jack Cassidy); and of course, his half-brother, David. At one point, he even called his mother, Shirley Jones (who was Miss Pittsburgh 1952), and put her on speaker. It didn’t seem like a planned call because she was, like, “Where are you?” when she heard all of us yelling, “Hi, Shirley!”

We hung on his every word, and we were united in our annoyance of the woman in the back who kept interrupting him. (There’s always one, right?)

We no longer look like this, though:

We’ve traded our Instamatic cameras for cell phones; our Farrah Fawcett feathering for hair that doesn’t take an hour to style; flip-flops and clogs for comfortable shoes; and tube tops for bras.

And while many of us, years ago, dreamed of going on a date (or more) with him, I realize now that what we felt about him was something we could never feel about anyone else (other than another teen idol/rock star/name your celebrity job). I’d had crushes on boys before I knew who Shaun Cassidy was, but how I felt when I heard him singing on the radio, or read about him in Tiger Beat, or saw him in concert from the nosebleed seats, was “safe love”. I was free to feel everything because I knew, even at 14, that he couldn’t hurt me. I knew, without experience, that being in a real relationship would take a lot more work than fawning over a partner 24/7.  

I needed, last weekend, to be in the company of strangers (and my sister-in-law), united in a slice of our mutual past. But while we no longer have Shaun Cassidy posters plastered on our bedroom walls, or kiss his album jackets goodnight, or scream and cry at the sight of him, without a doubt, every one of us last Saturday night recalled her teenage heart and swooned internally when he sang “Da Do Ron Ron,” wishing that, just once, we were Jill.