#168992  by Jon S.
 
I've begun writing my memoirs. It's not an autobiography per se but a collection of stories from my life. Each story is a chapter. I thought I'd share this particular early draft now with the RUKIND crew. And if you, too, were at the '74 Roosevelt Stadium show and have your own memories, please share 'em!

Dead at Roosevelt Stadium ‘74​

What a trip this concert was! You really can’t make up a story like this one.

It began with Tony and me copping tix to catch the Grateful Dead live at Roosevelt Stadium on Saturday evening, August 6, 1974. Roosevelt Stadium, located in what was then a run-down part of Jersey City, New Jersey, opened in 1937, was demolished in 1985, and had a seating capacity of around 24,000 with room for more in the infield (and as it turned out, a lot more, as you’ll learn shortly).

As the show was scheduled on a Saturday, neither of us had to return to Massapequa Park for work the next day. So, Tony and I decided to camp out after the show in a nearby state park. Our tickets stated clearly, “Rain or Shine,” so, notwithstanding the rain forecast, we loaded our camping gear and supplies into Tony’s circa 1969 Opel Kadett and, that afternoon, hit the road for Jersey City. We arrived at the venue around 5:30 PM and lit many laughing bones. Soon we were flying high!

What happened next, though, cooled us down, both figuratively and literally. Dark, thick storm clouds blew over from the west. The sun was blotted out and the air got cooler. If the thunder won’t get you then the lightning will – and we got both. A cloudburst ensued, petering into a lighter but persistent rain. By then, everyone was soaked to their skin. But Tony and I didn’t care. We were young, high, and getting ready for the Grateful Dead. After all, didn’t our tickets state prominently, “Rain or Shine?”

The Dead came out to play, a smaller but still impressive “mini-wall of sound” looming inspiringly over them. Garcia and Weir started tuning up. But then they put their guitars back down and left the stage.

What happened next bummed all of the 24,000 some odd heads in attendance. A representative of the Dead came out and announced, “We’re sorry, the show is rained out. We’ll do it again on Tuesday.” The crowd quieted for a couple of seconds. And then it got ugly. Within minutes, 24,000 voices were shouting, “Rain or shine! Rain or shine!” People began pushing up against the stage. The situation had become tense. No one was leaving and the shouting only got louder.

What happened next was yet worse. Bob Weir came out to apologize personally to the crowd. “Hey, we’re really sorry about the postponement. I know the tickets say ‘Rain or Shine.’ But Jerry and I got nasty shocks on the stage. They tell us there’s an electrocution risk. So, we can’t continue today.”

Just when it seemed like that might calm the crowd, some angry person chucked a bottle at Bob. Then hell broke loose. Literal hell, as in the Hell’s Angels. A couple of them jumped from the stage, caught the bottle thrower, and started trashing him. Tony and I looked at each other and said, “Let’s get the **** outa here.” We headed towards the exits, so disappointed, soaked, and no longer intending to camp out for the night knowing we’d be making the long back and forth drive to Union again 3 days later.

There was one happy outcome, though. As people were leaving the stadium, the stadium staff handed out vouchers for returning on Tuesday. Still having some wits about me, I circled around and grabbed two extras which I gave later to my pals, Al and Tom. So, they both joined Tony and me for the actual show on Tuesday. At which, by the way, it became apparent that I wasn’t the only one who had circled back for an extra ticket. If there were 18,000 present on Saturday, it looked like there were close to double that on Tuesday!

Our drive back to Roosevelt Stadium on Tuesday was not without its own harrowing characteristic. Driving us to the show on Brooklyn’s Belt Parkway, to make up lost time because we were running late, Tony, as he often did in his sporty Opel, put the pedal to the metal. He must have been driving over 90 MPH at times while weaving like a tailor between lanes. Being good friends with Tony, I was used to his driving and Al was sanguine but Tom went apoplectic, screaming, “Tony, slow the f- down, we’re gonna die!,” as Al and I surrendered to the inevitability of Tony’s driving.

Fortunately, we didn’t die. We arrived at the venue Tuesday afternoon, safe and sound, again around 5:30 PM. I promptly dropped some acid, followed by Tony, Al, Tom, and I again sharing copious joints. We were sitting then to the right of the stage about 15 rows up as the acid kicked in along with more weirdness.

It began with someone at the venue shooting off fireworks. A rocket exploded about 60 feet in the air above us. The resulting ember then began falling directly down at me. I found myself paralyzed and unable to move. The ember continued falling exactly at me. I screamed, “Tom, what can I do? The ember is going to get me!” Laughing hysterically, Tom replied, “Silverlady, just move over 5 feet!” “I can’t move,” I shouted back, “This is the end!” Tom then grabbed and physically dragged me 5 feet over while we watched the ember land almost exactly where I’d been sitting. By then, we were both laughing hysterically.

Tom, and I headed down to the infield. We got to about 60 feet from the stage. The prior weekend’s heavy rains had turned the infield into a mud puddle. A crazy naked fat dude began whirling like a dervish in a huge mud puddle mere feet away. “Holy ****!,” I shouted. “Crazy, Silverlady!,” Tom replied. Tripping my brains out by then, I didn’t know what to think anymore, but Tom certainly found the whole thing hilarious – including the horrified look on my face. He couldn’t stop laughing and I do believe he still is to this day!

Tuesday’s show, thankfully, went on without a hitch. My first of many more Dead shows to come was a total blast. Years later, Tom and Al surprised me by remembering that the opening number was Bertha. I would never have recalled that.

Despite everything, Tony, Al, Tom, and I made it home alive and well, life and limbs intact, and with the best memories of our experiences. Tom and Al remain my closest friends to this day. I lost track of Tony a couple of years after the show. The last time we saw each other, however, was yet another Tony experience.

Having later joined the Navy, Tony returned to Massapequa one weekend on shore leave. We met up, with a gaggle of additional high school friends at the Smoke Eater’s Pub, where we passed around drink after drink after drink.

Two days later, I got a call from someone else who was also at the Pub that night. “Did you hear about Tony?,” he tells me. “Word is he has hepatitis.” Crap!

I dragged myself the very next day to a local clinic for a gamma globulin shot. To this day, I laugh as I recall telling the doctor what I needed and hearing him reply, “Oh, you’re also a friend of Tony Savona’s?” Apparently, business was hopping at the clinic that week for gamma globulin shots!

This particular shot, at least in 1974, was such a big one that you had to receive it in your butt as the gluteus maximus is the only muscle big enough to absorb all of the liquid. When I pulled my pants down, the doctor told me, “I suggest you not turn around until I’m done.”

Of course, when someone tells you not to look, it’s a virtual invitation to do so. My eyes locked on the largest syringe and needle I’d ever seen! I remember it taking the doc a good 5 seconds just to shove it into my butt cheek and another 5-10 to pump in the liquid, which then burned like hell.

It’s probably a good thing I didn’t run into Tony again after that. I’d surely have given him a piece of my mind about going out drinking with friends while positive for hepatitis. Though as Al remarked to me decades later, perhaps “a piece of my mind” isn’t the best way to put it after having received a huge shot in the butt.
Last edited by Jon S. on Sun Dec 20, 2020 1:34 pm, edited 3 times in total.
 #168993  by lbpesq
 
Your story may have cleared up a mystery for me. I was at Roosevelt Stadium (which I believe was in Jersey City, not Union) when The Band opened for The Dead on Jerry’s 31st birthday, August 1, 1973. (I moved to California 12 days later). In Rock Scully’s book, he talks about the show being rained out and the crowd rioting at the 8/1/73 show. Having been there, I knew no such events occurred. Now, after reading your memoir, I assume Scully just got the year wrong.

I also once owned a 1969 Opel GT. As I read your story, I at first thought “hmmmm... I bet they didn’t have very much camping equipment”, as the Opel GT was, essentially, a miniature Corvette, which itself is a pretty small car to begin with. Then I read about the Tuesday trip. How in the heck did you ever fit four guys in an Opel GT???!!! Lol

Bill, tgo
 #168995  by Jon S.
 
lbpesq wrote: Sat Dec 19, 2020 11:22 am In Rock Scully’s book, he talks about the show being rained out and the crowd rioting at the 8/1/73 show. Having been there, I knew no such events occurred. Now, after reading your memoir, I assume Scully just got the year wrong.

I also once owned a 1969 Opel GT. ... How in the heck did you ever fit four guys in an Opel GT???!!! Lol
I'm sure I've cleared up your mystery and that Scully was indeed referring to '74.

And you've helped my accuracy, too. I got the car wrong. It wasn't a GT. It was a Kadett (like the one below)! :oops: I'm making the correction now. :P

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 #168996  by lbpesq
 
A Kadett, that makes more sense! I had a ‘70 Kadett Wagon. I used to argue with the other guitar player in my band which car could hold more, my Kadett or his VW Squareback. We got the answer when we started playing with a keyboardist with a modded Hammond M-3 and a Leslie, and no car. The Hammond fit in my Opel, taking up all the room, but was too big for the VW. The Leslie took up 2/3 of the VW, and all the rest of our gear squeezed into the last 1/3 of the Squareback.

As for my Opel GT, I think I once fit a friend in the back. A very small friend. For a very short ride. He wasn’t happy. The GT was smaller than a Miata! The pic below isn’t me, just a person next to an Opel GT to show perspective. Not a lot of room for camping equipment, let alone four guys!

Bill, tgo
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 #169008  by Jon S.
 
Another correction!

Who would have thought there would be Roosevelt Stadiums in BOTH Jersey City https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roosevelt_Stadium AND next door Union. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roosevelt ... ew_Jersey)

The funny thing is I, too, originally remembered the Stadium as being in Jersey City. But then I searched for it and my first hit was the Union stadium so I figured - incorrectly, I see now - it was the one in Jersey City.

More corrections made!