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Page 16 · column 1 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
By DAPHNE HUTCHINSON
Rappahannock News Staff Writer
“Hot” has new meaning.
“Hot" is what you get when you’re packed onto the field in D.C.’s RFK Stadium with 60,000 scantily clad, sweaty bodies — most of them young, most of them bouncing, twitching and writhing — with the sun high, the air still, the humidity at 90 percent and the thermometer at 97 degrees.
That is hot.
How did I get there? The story begins some weeks previous.
“Mom, Mom! The Dead are coming to D.C. for a concert with Dylan!" announced my son, the James Madison University senior.
For the uninitiated, the Dead are the Grateful Dead, phenomenon of the 1960s that has endured to the present. As a teenager, my husband listened to the band’s 30-minute drum solos at free concerts in San Francisco’s parks; my son discovered their endurance rock as a JMU freshman and has traveled up and down the East Coast since at every chance to hear his idols.
What makes a reasonably sensible, well-adjusted young man spend the night in the parking lots of Richmond, the Hampton Coliseum and Maryland’s Meriweather Post Pavilion to catch back-to-back performances? I couldn’t find the answer in the bootleg tapes he slips on the cassette player whenever my vigilance flags.
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