Uncle Mike vs. Bon Jovi

March 2, 1962, 60 years ago: John Francis Bongiovi Jr. is born in Perth Amboy, Middlesex County, New Jersey. It was the same day that Wilt Chamberlain scored 100 points in a game. For a stage name, he shortened it to "Jon Bon Jovi," and named his band "Bon Jovi."

He's nearly 8 years older than I am. He grew up across the Raritan River from Perth Amboy, in Sayreville. So we didn't quite come from the same place and time. The cultural references are a little off.

Sayreville borders my hometown of East Brunswick. South River is jammed in between. The Borough of South River and the Borough of Sayreville are separated by the South River, a tributary of the Raritan. The bridge over the South River, connecting South River and Sayreville, is officially the Veterans Memorial Bridge, but is called the Polish Connector.

South River is a small town that prides itself on small-town values. The Township of East Brunswick is a sprawling community, and if anybody wants to call it "the suburbiest suburb that ever suburbed," I won't dispute it. Sayreville -- Irish 1st, Polish 2nd, Italian 3rd -- wants it both ways: They demand the blue-collar credibility and the home and job growth, and they lose credibility on both counts. And it's got nasty hills, bad bus service, and despite a railroad that splits into 3 branches, no passenger rail station. It's also home to the Middlesex County Sewerage Authority, and my father called it Sewerville, and the name fits. I hate that town.

Bon Jovi seemed to be one of those guys in the 1980s who thought the reason Bruce Springsteen, 13 years older and from 5 towns down U.S. Route 9 in Freehold, succeeded was because he wore denim jackets and sang blue-collar songs in a gravelly voice; and thought the reason Led Zeppelin succeeded was stupidly long hair, open shirts, and screeching your lyrics. He thought he could combine the two and it would work. It was the 1980s, so it did.

I hated his music, and I hated him, with that hate that only a 16-year-old kid with more anxiety than money can understand. The kind of hate that can only be understood by a 16-year-old boy who sees better-looking guys get all the cool girls in school, and finds that the only females who want him to stay late with them are his teachers, and they aren't interested in him other than boosting his grades, and most of them aren't attractive, anyway.

The prettiest teacher in my junior year at East Brunswick High School was a Spanish teacher whose class I was in. (I'll maintain her privacy, and not mention her name.) She was very nice, and she was able to reach her students. Being not that much older than we were probably helped. But not only was she married, she missed the last 2 months of the schoolyear on maternity leave. It's just as well. The religious difference was too much. She was a Mets-odist, and I was an Orthodox Yankee Fan -- certainly, not a Reformed one.

This was 1986. In that Summer, between my junior and senior years, Bon Jovi released the album that turned Jon from rising star to superstar, Slippery When Wet. A few weeks into that senior year, the year the Mets won the World Series -- their last to date.

Bon Jovi was what we in E.B. called a ginker. Think Kelso on That '70s Show or Bender in The Breakfast Club. The kind of guy whose parents told him, "If you do drugs, your kids will be messed up," and was eventually surprised to find his kids copying early Eminem -- or, if girls, early Avril Lavigne.

There was a really funny moment on an episode of Who's the Boss? (Which, of course, had nothing to do with Springsteen.) Angela Bower, a middle-aged and divorced, but still very attractive, woman (played by Judith Light) is sitting next to a teenage girl, wearing headphones and chewing gum. The girl takes off her headphones, and turns to Angela, and says, "Don't you just love Bon Jovi?" Not knowing what Bon Jovi is, Angela decides to bluff, and makes a very bad guess: "Oh, yes, I think it's a wonderful fragrance."

A few minutes later, the other protagonist of the series, former baseball player Tony Micelli (Tony Danza), sits next to the same girl. She takes off her headphones, and turns to Tony, and says, "Don't you just love Bon Jovi?" He knows who Bon Jovi is -- maybe it's an Italian thing -- but says, "Actually, I'm more into the Beastie Boys." And, having a common frame of reference, starts talking to this girl who's the same age as his daughter Samantha (Alyssa Milano). Don't worry, it's all innocent. Tony was never that kind of guy.

Eventually, I got to see (though have never met) the real guy behind the image. He's done very good things with his fame and his fortune. I now respect him. But I still can't stand his music.

There is one moment where Jon has the advantage over Bruce, and that's in their respective greatest anthems. In "Born to Run," recorded in 1974 but not released until 1975, Bruce tells Wendy, "Someday, girl, I don't know when, we're gonna get to that place we really wanna go, and we'll walk in the Sun," but doesn't seem to believe it, preceding it with, "There's no place left to hide." But in "Livin' On a Prayer," recorded in 1986 and a Number 1 hit in 1987, Tommy tells Gina, "Doesn't really matter if we make it or not," but also seems to promise, "We'll make it, I swear."

Note: Mutual respect, non-rebellious hair, and their shirts closed.

It is the difference between the Nixon Seventies and the more optimistic Reagan Eighties? Given that both Bruce and Jon are Democrats, it might not seem like it. But you could say that they each understood their audience in their respective times.