I went to Seattle to see Bob Dylan in concert. It was at Memorial stadium at the Center, and being outside I thought that it would be all right to smoke and discreetly drink wine. I saw that at the gate people were asked about alcohol and drugs, and bags were being searched. I did not like that and went back to my truck and stashed the wine and kept just two joints. The show was good and Dylan was in good form. After his part was over, I went back out of the arena, retrieved my wine in the Seven-up plastic bottle, and stood outside the fence where the show could be heard good, but not seen.
After some time, I decided to walk back from the crowd and smoke a joint. I walked around toward the other side while smoking, and saw a big dark black and grey bus. There was nothing written on it, but it was obvious that it was a band tour bus. There were other trucks and vans at the side entrance, and a small group of people were standing near the bus front. I asked one of them what was going on, and he said that the bus may be Bob Dylan’s bus, and that he may be in it.
I waited with the others, and soon the door opened and out stepped Bob Dylan with a towel around his neck. He looked around and walked in front of the bus, and the crowd of about a dozen people went up to him. They did not crowd into his space and were very respectful and low key. Dylan was also open and inviting so it was a casual event. The people took turns speaking to him, two of them had guitar strapped to their backs. He would turn to face the one talking to him.
For several years, I had sent Dylan a card for his birthday. I used picture post cards with northwest mountain scenes on them, and always the words, “Happy Birthday. Thanks for the music.” I had never received a response, which I understood, but always wondered if Dylan ever received or read them. When I got a chance to speak, I said, “Thanks for the music.” Dylan who was turned away from me, swiveled his head around fast and look right at me. At that moment I knew that he had read the cards for sure. Thinking about it later, I was glad that Dylan did not call security. Then Dylan smiled and said, “You’re welcome.” I asked him if he wrote Heartland, referring to his latest album. Dylan said that Willie and he wrote it together. Then someone else spoke to him, and he turned away from me. After a few more minutes, Dylan went back into the bus. It was a great, and I could not stop smiling. I would bore people with this story for decades to come.
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The list of those left is smaller than the list of those still with us...or so it seems.
