I'll add just a little bit more on detail about the Springfield and Roosevelt (rainout) shows.
So, Springfield was a civic center layout, and we were friends coming together from several locations, 4 of us, and we had made it clear where we would be, and to look for each other outside on the steps. It was funny, but back then if you kept your eyes open chances were good you would see other friends at Dead shows, just because Dead Heads always showed up at Dead shows.
The layout of the civic center was like a hockey rink "open floor" and assigned seats in the stands. With your assigned seat ticket, you could enter into one of the portal doors and then walk horizontally around at that level. You could do a full 360 around the place.
I remember when I first went into the portal door, none of the band were on stage, and maybe a few "hands" were making minor adjustments to various things. The house-lights were on and no one was really seated yet. Just groups of people here and there. There was music coming from the WoS, maybe at 1/3 volume, and it was Stevie Wonder singing, "I'm too high, too high, …" and it sort of captured my state of mind. All of us were looking around, and we identified where our seats would be come show time.
I was walking with one friend, who owned an electric guitar, and he was the guy who got me interested in playing to begin with. (I'm much better than him, now, btw; he can't play much of anything, really.) So as we walked near where Garcia would stand, he pointed out to me, "Look at Garcia's Macintosh Amps." I knew nothing about gear, but from a distance the blue glow from the glass windows of those amps looked really cool. We kept walking around and the view from behind the stage was a terrible place to be. But even from there I could hear Stevie's "I'm too high, too high…" just fine. The reason my friend knew about the Macintosh amps was because the bunch of us had all gone to the same boarding school, and at boarding school, if you were cool, you owned a"stereo." Well, my future to be brother-in-law had somehow fried my "electric guitar" friend's "stereo" Macintosh amp with a wrong speaker connection hook up, and so that "stereo" never worked right, if at all, after that. But his Macintosh amp "stereo" had that dual "blue window" look, and I guess that's how he knew from a distance about Garcia's amps.
For the Roosevelt Stadium rainout, I remember that when it began raining, it wasn't a little rain, it was sheets of rain, and windy. Take cover under the stadium overhang over the seats. So, it was only when it had cleared a lot that Weir was able to come out and address everybody. We were all thinking, good, we're going to see a show after all! I don't remember Weir getting hit with a bottle or can, and I don't remember Hell's Angels kicking anybody in the crowd, but it may have happened. Generally speaking, this would have been a John Sher produced event, and his security, maybe Roosevelt stadium security, too, would be keeping order, and with cops from Jersey City. Hell's Angels, they get a bad rap a lot, but you'd be surprised how many of them also know how to wear a suit and tie, work a regular job, pay bills, raise a family.
Because I had hitchhiked to the concert with my later-to-be brother-in-law, when the concert got rained out, we were unable to find the guy who picked us up on Route 3. (he was also going to the concert) So, we had to hitchhike back home to my parent's place, and everything was flooded. Underpasses, that normally allowed easy access in and out, were underwater. And because I was in such a confused state of mind at the time, I couldn't figure out how to get home. My BiL to-be asked me questions like, "You don't even know the roads around your own home?"
Yup… I was a dope back then, all of seventeen years old, no steady job, and just wanted to see the Grateful Dead as much as possible.
When we finally got home that night, I couldn't sleep, and I remember going into the basement and playing my $88 Degas nylon string guitar at the bottom of the stairs, trying to be quiet. At one point, really late, my father opened the basement stairs door, and said something about how he was wondering what the noise was. (he was being kind, probably concerned about me) I said I'd only be a little longer. The next morning he drove me and my BiL to be to the Garden State Parkway to hitchhike to Canada. I was so fried by then. My father said something about how smoking a little pot now and then isn't too much, but don't do heavy drugs. He was so kind… how he ever endured me and the rest of his kids back in the '70s, I'll never know.