In A Little While - The Lesson of Joey Ramone

Even if our maker accidentally wired the reflexes of a honey badger into Muhammad Ali, someone still had to teach The Greatest when and how to throw an uppercut. Just the same, someone taught Mickey Mantle how to swing, Michael Jackson how to dance, and Martin Luther King Jr. how to give a speech. Even Leonardo da Vinci – someone had to show him something about a brush or a canvas before he painted the Mona Lisa.

Keep your hands up - you still get hit

There’s no doubt that an untrained Muhammad Ali would still whip your ass – but knocking out George Foreman took more than instinct. It took refinement. Coaching. Craft. No phenomenon illustrates this better than American Idol, where the experts turned the face and voice of an angel into the Carrie Underwood that we know today. 

Humans have been around long enough that true prodigies are rare. With excellent training and expert mentors available to those who can afford it, even the prodigies have stiff competition. 

This is something that makes Bono’s story more compelling. In the late 1970s, he didn’t think he was a good singer – because he didn’t sound like everyone else. The man doubted himself.  But that changed when he heard the Ramones.  The Ramones were punk rockers, and by my account, it’s music that appeals to, well…not many.  Yet the Ramones sold out. 

Joey Ramone, with his strange posture and stranger voice, broke all the rules – and somehow made it work. Through Joey, Bono realized that his voice didn’t have to be coached. It had to be honest. He could sing his way. He could tell the stories he wanted to tell.

Oddly, I can’t find a single instance in which U2 and the Ramones jammed.  Not even one song.  Whatever friendship Bono and Joey had, it happened quietly.  Offstage. 

Bono is handing Ramone his award

 Bono idolized Joey Ramone –  when the rest of the world chased the Stones, Queen, and Fleetwood Mac. I guess even Bono’s ears were something different. 

My son must have different ears, too.  Because it’s hard for me to understand the stuff he listens to. One night, he played a track that sounded like it was in a dialect native to a sci-fi movie. The beat was a mess – nothing you could dance to, let alone feel any type of vibe. I asked him, shouldn’t music mean something?  Or at least tell a tiny story? 

Songs like Biko, by Peter Gabriel. Live Like You Were Dying, by Tim McGraw. Even Tay Tay gets it – her songs carry narrative, heart, a little bit of scar tissue. If she and Travis don’t make it, her next album is going to be galactic. Since her music comes from her heart, as she ages, it will change.  When she gets to the right age, her version of The Rose will rival that of Bette Midler’s – for sure.

So, when I saw U2 on my son’s Spotify list, I knew I had done something right.

Bono says he found his voice through Joey Ramone. I believe him. And I think that if Joey hadn’t died so young, he and Bono eventually would have shared a stage. After all, Bono sang with Pavarotti and Springsteen – why not the Ramones?

When Joey was dying, what did he choose to listen to? Yup. U2.  Bono later said it was an honor to know Joey Ramone died with In a Little While playing.  The story is that’s the song that was playing as Lymphoma ensured Joey Ramone’s final breath.

Bono dedicated that song to Joey repeatedly on U2’s 2001 tour. Even here, in Boston. I think about that song often.  Why Joey Ramone might have wanted it to be the last sounds he’d ever hear.

There’s this photo of me and my son at an apple orchard – he’s two years old, I’ve got an apple in my mouth, and he’s biting the other side. I have an 8x10 of it in my living room. I look at that photo now and think: In a little while, he’ll be almost six feet tall, ripping a triple into left-center in a Little League game. That happened on Tuesday.

In a little while.

A song with deep meaning for me

When things were at their worst, I kept telling myself…In a little while.

In a little while... the pain is dull. The noise settles. The storm passes.

That phrase became a kind of heartbeat. A rhythm I lived by. Because time doesn’t just heal – it reveals. It reveals what matters. Who stayed. What faded. And who you really are when all you have left is hope.

Joey Ramone didn’t live to see how deeply his music shaped the world. But Bono did. And Bono carried Joey with him – into lyrics, into grief, into gratitude. Whether he was belting out I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For or whispering In a Little While, you could hear it: the sound of a man who was always becoming – not just being.

That’s what we gotta cling to in our lives. 

Not the wreckage. Not the silence of people who vanished when things got hard.

But the belief that in a little while, I’ll be someone else entirely. Not brand new – just refined. Scarred, maybe. Clearer. Stronger. Still standing.

We don’t always get to share the stage with our mentors, or have our words sound like they are coming from the center of the earth to our feet, then out through our mouths. 

Sometimes, we just carry their lessons in our bones.

If Joey taught Bono that his voice mattered – even when it didn’t sound like anyone else’s – then maybe there’s something in that for all of us.

Because in a little while – we can put life’s lessons to use.