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Ana men n enaea. uespite tnousands of lighters held into the air, despite thousands of hands clapping and feet stomping, despite thousands of voices begging for more.
For those of you out there who can’t sleep for worry when your children are at a rock and roll concert, I have good news. There was no cloud of marijuana smoke hanging over RFK Stadium. The Washington Post’s reviewer pointed to the smiles on young faces and the shouted accompaniment to Dylan’s “everybody must get stoned” as evidence of widespread drug use. Certainly, there were a few joints and a few pipes passed around. But most kids were singing and grinning just because they were having a good time. And most were drinking ice water, not beer or liquor.
Even as a mob, these kids were . good kids. “Excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s” provided a background to the music. One fire cracker was tossed and sparked a resounding chorus of “boo.” There wasn’t a second. As the thousands headed for the exits, there was an astonishing absence of pushing and shoving.
Now 1 understand why the JMU senior spends the night in parking lots. Would I go again? You betcha! We just bought tickets for Bob Seeger and his Silver Bullet Band, for Joan Armentrading and for the Eurythmics.
I came back alive from the Dead, and I’ve learned you’re never too old to rock ‘n’ roll.
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