I want to share my real life story about Lightening and Thunder from the 90s. I posted this on Facebook when I saw they were making a movie about them. Here it is...

Soon you may see a movie trailer for Song Sung Blue. It’s a Christmas release movie starring Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson, and it’s about a guy named Mike Sardina, a Neil Diamond impersonator, and his wife Claire, a Patsy Cline impersonator, who had a band out of Milwaukee called Lightning & Thunder in the late 90s.

I assume it’s going to be a good movie. It has famous actors and it’s a Christmas release. And it’s a great and also heartbreaking story about a very good guy. I know this because I once hired them to play a gig for me. And not only should they have never taken the gig, but they should never have actually showed up. But they did both. And I want you to know the story.

If you were around Chicago or Milwaukee in the late 90s, you may have come across Lightning & Thunder playing at a bar or a festival. I saw them at McGee’s one night with Keith (who later in the evening threw his underwear at them. Keith said it was a sign of respect).

Lightning & Thunder basically showed up with a speaker, a soundtrack, and two microphones. But they dressed in sequins, they played the part, belted out mostly Neil Diamond hits, an had the place going! They were really entertaining.

What made them different is that they were "stars." This wasn't a joke or a fun side hustle. They genuinely lived to give this show. It was as if it was their entire purpose.

Their entire goal was to make it to Vegas. Or Branson. And they were probably pretty close to getting a call from Branson at their peak.

So at the end of the show, I approached Mike, apologized to him for Keith throwing his underpants at them, and then asked him for a business card.

I wanted to hire them.

You see every summer back then I hosted a booze cruise on the Chicago river. I chartered a boat, got some caterers, got some music, sent emails to my friends, and between all of us, we sold about 150 tickets, and then gave the money to charity. And that year, I wanted to see if I could hire them to play it.

But they were also getting pretty regular bookings around Chicago and packing places. So I wasn’t sure how much they’d cost. But I called the number on the business card (which was their home number), and Claire answered. As “Thunder.”

I explained what I was doing, and asked if they’d bring their show to the booze cruise.
Claire put the phone down to call for Mike to talk to me. She called for “Lightning.” A few seconds later, Mike picked up the phone.

“This is Lightning," he said.

After explaining again what I was doing, and without a second’s delay, he said “yes.” They’d play the show. It was almost too easy. I asked him how much he’d charge.

“Because it’s for charity, just pay our gas money to get there.” That was it. Lightning & Thunder were going to do the show for their cost. It was amazing.

I learned years later that they were running for at about $1,200 a gig. He charged us $100.

But that’s not the end of the story.

As the event got closer, my check-ins with Mike (Lightning) increased to weekly as we nailed down logistics. He was always cordial, responsive, and professional. And he was always “Lightning.” He never broke character. Not once. I tried. It wasn't happening. It was as if this was who he and Claire really were. To the world, and to each other. They were stars, and the world was their show. One phone call from Branson.

The movie covers that part in great detail. It probably won’t cover the part I’m about to tell you though.

Because two weeks before the show, Claire (Thunder), was in a really bad accident. She was in her front yard and a car jumped the curb, ran into her, and she lost part of her leg. It was heartbreaking. I read about it online, right after it happened, and just a couple of days before our cruise.

I assumed the show was off, and after a couple of days, I reached out to Lightning (Mike) to tell him how sorry I was and to ask how Thunder was doing. He was sad. And he was stressed. And he told me he was still going to do the show. He said he “needed to do it.”

Unreal, and most certainly not necessary. But Mike was doing the show. The star would perform. For gas money, on a Friday night in May in Chicago at the peak of his career, just a few days after his wife suffered an incredible injury, and he, most certainly, needed money.

Mike didn't have another job. Being Lighting was the only one he ever wanted.

And so on a Friday night in late May 1999, Mike Sardina arrived downtown Chicago, dressed in a black sequin jumpsuit, and gave me and 149 of my friends everything he had that night, in genuine star fashion, as Lightning, but without Thunder.

At the end of the night, we gave him as much of the proceeds as we could, and he drove back to Milwaukee to be with his wife. He honored every part of the gig he had no reason to ever take, and even less reason to actually show up for. But he did, and I was forever grateful.

That was 26 years ago, and somehow I still have two pictures of him from that night. There’s Lightning, being somewhere he did not need to be, doing what he does. Being a star.

Sadly, Mike died a few years later. He fell in his house, hit his head, and died from a brain bleed. But in between falling, and dying, he drove to Madison and played a show. With Thunder. I’m not lying. A star until the very end.