The Night I Met Bono
A friend and I were rocking sweatpants as we headed over to Jerry’s Famous Deli in Westwood one night in 2005. She’d come from yoga. I’m pretty sure I hadn’t showered. The plan was to grab matzo ball soup and catch up. Parking was unusually hard. We quickly found out why as we converged from separate spots and crossed the street. There was a movie premiere starting shortly for the Jessica Alba-Paul Walker adventure film Into the Blue. By the movie theater, a woman holding up a few extra passes was engulfed by a gaggle of young fans clamoring to score a last minute seat. I have no idea why, but this gatekeeper pointed them our way, “You two!” We looked at each other. Why not? We snatched the tickets and shuffled into the theater, just as Alba stepped off the red carpet. We literally walked into the single-screen theater alongside her, camera lights flashing, like smelly movie stars. An usher led us to primo seats near Josh Brolin and Diane Lane. Walker and Alba sat just a few rows ahead. It was spontaneous and fun, an “only in L.A.” kind of night. One of the many times I thought to myself — Is this real, or a dream? This wasn’t the first time this existential thought rippled through my bones. Let’s go back to February 21, 1999…
It was a damp winter eve. Three friends and I had just seen the lighthearted Nick Nolte indie Affliction — ya know, the one where he extracts his own tooth with a wrench — so we definitely needed a drink. I was the Hollywood nightlife “expert” since I’d already been living there two whole years. My Massachusetts friends were newer in town, wanting to go somewhere hip and cool. They hoped to see one of the places featured in Sean’s favorite movie, Swingers, but I thought most of those joints would be too loud. Besides, I was hungry. They suggested pizza. My first inclination was to take them to Jones in West Hollywood since my good buddy Floyd bartended there and the pizza was solid (not to mention the great sizzling apple cobbler). We met out front and peeked inside the popular bar. Already packed. The choice was easy at that point. “Let’s head across the street.” Of course! Formosa Cafe. A classic old school haunt. The only thing saltier than the cheap fried rice was the waitress that’d been working there for decades. It had the smoky carpet Jack Vincennes roamed about in the sultry noir L.A. Confidential. And guess what? It was even seen in Swingers. It was perfect.
We scored the coveted corner booth on the right. More than enough space for the four of us. We ordered a round of drinks and some food. Formosa always delivered a good time. Never pretentious. Great place to talk. You don’t chew the scenery, the scenery chews you. Stepping inside was like entering a time capsule. You could smell the cologne on the Rat Pack ghosts. The walls were lined with celebrity headshots: actors, actresses, novelty acts…and musicians. There must have been hundreds of these pictures. I’d heard rumors that U2’s frontman Bono liked to pop in and get sloshed on Mai Tais when he was in town. I mentioned this to Bill, who was probably the biggest U2 fan I knew. He had even just put together one of his first acting reels, using their epic ballad “Bad” as its intro. After stuffing a forkful of rice into my mouth, I almost choked when I looked up and saw the scene at the bar. A man dressed in all black, wearing dark sunglasses, surrounded by a small entourage. Is that? Wait. Oh. My. God…
I turned to Bill, “Look at the bar.” “What?” he muttered back. Sean, my effervescent buddy, spoke nonchalantly, “Hey that guy looks like Bono.” If an expression could swing a punch, Bill’s smirk woud’ve hit us with a right hook. “Shut up.” Bill’s eyes widened, “That IS Bono.” Our eyes did not stray from the bar, fixated on the unfathomable scene. And then it happened. Not one to be subtle, the burly Bill opened his East Coast mouth, “HEY BONO!” Just like that, almost with a shrug, Bono scampered up to our table. Like we were old friends. Like we were in his living room. It was nuts. Bono, frontman to one of the greatest rock groups of all-time, visited our table to chat. Not just a quick hello and goodbye. He actually hung out. Ok, it was probably a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity. We all stood up in reverence for a moment to greet him. We glanced at Bono’s friends across the room, as if looking for confirmation this was really happening, and one of them nodded. Before Bono could open his mouth, Bill blurted, “Bill McNally from Boston.” Bono replied, “Hello, Bill McNally from Boston. What are you doing out here?” I don’t remember exactly what Bill said, but I’m pretty sure it was through tears of man joy. My artsy friend Julia would later tell me she left her Polaroid camera in the car. I think Sean’s ebbulient heart may have stopped for a few minutes. The whole experience was beyond surreal. Bono told us how much he liked Formosa. He told us where his picture was on the wall. Previously, he didn’t approve. “It wasn’t me! It was a guy who thinks he’s me. So I had them take it down, and gave them a proper one.” It was this moment I noticed how much his body was swaying. I’m guessing he’d had a few Mai Tais. After he left, the waitress came over, and in a very motherly way said, “You met Bono.” We could barely contain our excitement, having no words to express it. “He likes it here,” she said calmly as she manicured our table. We ordered another round, and gave her a good tip after we wrapped things up.
I first saw U2 perform at the Staples Center in November of 2001. The country was still stinging from 9/11. It was an emotional night. They scrolled the names of all the victims on huge scrims. Bono wore a leather USA jacket, and at one point, draped it over the microphone stand and walked off. The lights went down, leaving the colors of the flag as the only thing visible in the spotlight. They played for two heartstopping hours. No Doubt opened for an hour beforehand. Still the best concert I’ve ever seen. I saw U2 a second time in 2015 at the Inglewood Forum. Another amazing show. It was around this time I got wind of the fact that there was a Bono impersonator who roamed around Los Angeles from time to time. Rumor has it Bono even brought him on stage at one of their shows. It brought me pause. Wait, did we actually meet Bono, or the impersonator? Was it real, or a dream? We didn’t have iPhones back then. The trusty pager on my hip could not take selfies. I did a quick Google search to find that this impersonator lives in Minnesota. It couldn’t have been fake Bono, could it? Nah. There was too much evidence. The waitress. The entourage. Bill McNally from Boston. If only Julia had brought in her Polaroid camera. It’s okay, the memory lives forever rent-free in our minds. This was the night we met Bono. And it was glorious.
