Reaching Back

It was definitely a weekend evening, probably in January. Well, perhaps it was mid-week, and it could have been February. But it was definitely night, or late afternoon.

Well, it was 1978, of that I am certain. The remaining cloudiness is explained by the decade in which our little tale plays out. (Settle in, kids. When I qualify my extraneous parentheticals with incidental rumination, it's going to be a rambler.)

Back in the day, before Ticketron (as the behemoth Ticket Master was known in its infancy) was a monopoly, concert tickets were distributed in a variety of, what might today be considered, unusual ways.

On the planet Ohio, tickets for certain venues were often sold through AAA offices. Reliable information on precise on-sale dates and times was not always easy to find. But that night, we found ourselves in the company of a young woman from Columbus O. who, wouldn't you know, was employed at the AAA there.

Now THAT bit of news was pretty exciting to your then-young and full of promise correspondent, because it had just been learnt that the tickets to an April 1978 performance by the Grateful Dead, at the Vets Memorial in Col. O. were to be brokered through, yup, AAA.

Our young friend was able to supply us with the precise on-sale date and time. Not only that, your salivating reporter learned that, because it was expected that most tiks would be sold in the Columbus area (Zero State having something approaching six-figures in attendance), the information about the ticket sales was not being generally distributed outside the capital city.

Further inquiry brought out that, notwithstanding the limited disclosures, one could mosey into a small town AAA office at just the right time and, if armed with the internal phone number of the ticket sales people in Columbus, have the local AAA folk order up a heapin' helpin' of those dearly sought G.D. passes. Likely without any wait in line.

Soon, your then long-haired, heavily bearded, sandaled correspondent had the requisite phone number carefully secure in his wallet, together with the start time for ticket sales. But first, where to score the bucks needed . . . . Holding some kind of official position in a certain social organization, one populated heavily with aficionados of a certain Band Beyond Description, we approached the treasurer of the organization and convinced that fiduciary that his peeps would appreciate the opportunity to score some primo tickets to the concert.

So it was that, on a cold Saturday morning in Febhruary, 1978, Yours T. arrived at the AAA office on the public square in a sleepy little rural O. townlet, clutching several hundred of other peeps monies.

Plopping down at a desk commanded by a blue-haired, paisley-dressed matron, and we asked for several dozen tickets to the Grateful Dead concert. Laughter at the never-before heard band, as did some desperate pleading to (quickly now) call the number I gave her to verify the ticket availability. Which she did, reporting that there were several thousand Columbus residents on line outside the office she called, all looking for the same tickets. My dozens were immediately reserved.

So it came to pass that, on April 19, 1978, caravans of like-minded peeps poured south and invaded Vets Memorial, to discover that we occupied pretty much the second through fifth and 7th rows, center, of that fine hall.

What ensued remains, in my admittedly fuzzy and sometimes skewered memories of those days, probably the best of all the many, many, many dozens of Dead shows enjoyed before and after.

Today, back to the Now, in 2007, this morning's mail stunningly brought forth a full, 3-CD set of that show, burned by one of my compatriots that night, and sua sponte delivered by him to half a dozen or so of us in attendance all those decades ago.

The recorded memory lives up to the remembrance entirely. The band started off the long evening with a rousing Bertha. During which the two aisles filled with twirling, dancing, and dazed Heads.

It wasn't beyond notice of the hardworking band that security was desperately trying to usher all back to their seats. To more than some of us, it seemed that the band extended Bertha even longer than usu. Then, as the tune was winding down, and just as the last of the dancing fans had finally been encouraged to begin a return to the seats, a mischievous Bobby appeared to give the signal and the boys suddenly jumped into a powerful Good Lovin'.

This, predictably, brought hundreds of the recently seated streaming back down the aisles -- to the exasperation of security and the apparent delight of the chuckling band.

And the night had only just begun.

Good Lovin' gave way to Friend of the Devil, itself turned into an amazing Passenger, then Candyman, Cassidy, Peggy-O, Me & My Uncle -> Big River and Deal rounded out the first set.

Following a well-deserved break, the boys, and Donna Jean, returned refreshed. Opening the second set with Sampson & Deliah, the journey took us through It Must Have Been the Roses, Estimated Prophet -> He's Gone ->Drums & Space -> The Other One -> Wharf Rat -> Around & Around. The encore included the GD's first ever performance of Werewolves of London followed by the evening-capping We Bid You Good Night. [UPDATE: One of my confederates who attended this show swears that my recollection of We Bid You Good Night was hallucinatory. I'll take his word for it. He does confirm the initial stage rush, an extended ending to Bertha whilst security cleared the asiles, followed upon by a joyful Good Lovin' downbeat perfectly (and to all appearances, intentionally) timed to renew the rush just as the last twirler was taking a seat.]

It was a night to be remembered. The Dead were at the top of their act and, your amazed and altered witness is convinced, they fed and fed off the great vibes generated by such a large concentration of friends at their feet.

Listening now to Jerry wailing through Must Have Been the Roses, he's not gone, all those decades haven't passed, and all those friends are not long since seen and spread far. Strange how no one comes round anymore . . . .

There's nothing like a Grateful Dead concert, kids. Nothing.