THE PUNK AND THE GODFATHER

If I sounded a little distracted during my interview on Tuesday's edition of "The World," the BBC/Public Radio International show, there was a reason: shock. Because while I was mumbling about the Pentagon's so-called budget cuts in the BBC's cramped studios on Broadway, a hero of mine was sitting in the next booth over.

He'd seen better days – better decades – clearly. His eyes were puffed and heavy; bags dropped most of the way down his cheeks. His skin was saggy and full of lumps. A couple days' worth of gray gristle didn't make him look any more lively. Still, it took me only about a nanosecond to recognize him: Pete Townsend, guitar and songwriting god of The Who.

Now, when I was about thirteen or so, I didn't just like The Who. I came pretty close to worshipping them. Before my record collection had thirty LPs, Townsend's two records from the mid-80's were piled near Who's Next and Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy. "My Generation" was the first bad-ass song I learned to play on bass. I even went to a Roger Daltrey solo show at Madison Square Garden; Big Country opened the bill.

In the BBC studio, I smiled a teenaged grin as I saw Townsend. And it took just about everything in my power not to go up to the booth's glass and start doing Townsend's signature windmill strum. But I managed to resist. And as I tested my mic levels, the engineer kindly pumped in Townsend's interview into my headphones; he was discussing a pink Stratocaster guitar.

My interview quickly got underway. As I answered a question about the Raptor stealth fighter, Townsend backed away from his microphone, put on his coat, stood up, and walked out the door.

I sang "Behind Blue Eyes" the whole way home.