We went without tickets, since the venue sold out immediately, but we knew that the scalpers would be out in full force and we weren't worried. We all had plenty of cash and were prepared to spend well over $100 if necessary, which back then was a bit of cash. About a dozen of us went and we got there around 11am, which we thought would be plenty of time to find tickets.
We got some lunch and when we got to the venue a little after noon, there were already people selling and looking for tickets. The problem was that way more people were looking than selling. We were far from the only rabid King Crimson fans in the Southeast. The few people who had tickets for sale were immediately getting mobbed. They'd be gone in two seconds, in most cases for well over $100. It looked pretty bleak but we weren't about to give up, and showtime was almost eight hours away.
As it turned out I was the last to get a ticket, and O' was next-to-last. People would be milling about and then someone would shout "Tickets" and whomever was closest to them would snatch them up, and then you'd hear "OHHHhhh" from the rest of the people. Nobody was selling a dozen tickets at once so we split up into pairs, and O' and I teamed up.
One by one or two by two, everybody except O' and I found tickets over the next few hours. I don't think anyone paid less than a hunj. By 5pm the crowd had begun to thin out, and there were hardly any scalpers left. O' finally gave up and went to a nearby bar and started drinking fishbowl-sized martinis that were at least triples. I'd go check on him about every half-hour but I wasn't about to give up on trying to find tickets.
Over the next couple of hours O' got completely hammered, even for him. He also had a standing script for Demerol of all things, and those gave him energy to keep drinking. There was almost nobody else in the bar. Luckily the bartender was keeping an eye on him. He'd assured her that he wasn't driving, so she continued serving him. He wasn't unruly but he was completely wasted, and the bartender was glad I was checking in on him. "He's blasted" she said. "I know. I'll take care of him."
The third or fourth time I went to check on him he was gone. I asked the bartender where he was and she hadn't seen him leave. I went out to look for him, not knowing where to go, and I noticed a commotion and heard horns blaring in the middle of Peachtree Road. I looked over and there was O', in the turn lane in the middle of the road. He'd dressed all in white for the occasion, shirt, pants, shoes, jacket and hat. He'd taken off his jacket and was waving it at passing cars like a Matador. As concerned for his safety as I immediately became I had to laugh. It was one of the craziest things I'd ever seen.
I weaved my way through oncoming traffic, grabbed his jacket and put it on him. Luckily he didn't fight me and the traffic stopped so we could get back to the sidewalk. I didn't know what else to do so I sat him back down at the bar. "Keep an eye on him please" I said to the bartender. I went back to hunting tickets, having had an incredible diversion. I hoped O' would be okay, but he was a big boy, and certainly used to drinking. Man, you can't buy memories like that.
About 45 minutes before showtime I went around back of the venue and caught some of the soundcheck. There were stairs leading up to a door that opened up to the back of the stage, and there sat Bill Bruford. I sat there for about 15 minutes, and figured that at least I got to hear some music. Bill looked down and saw me checking him out, and he smiled and nodded. I nodded back.
That was the entirety of my interaction with one of my favorite drummers. I wanted to say "Hey man, I named my dog after you" but I didn't. I figured I'd watch the show from there, but then someone closed the door. Back to the ol' drawing board.
I guess it was about ten 'til, and there were only a few people outside. I was about to throw in the towel and join O' at the bar when I noticed a guy approaching me. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me...I'd been stressed for nearly eight hours and had had to save my buddy from becoming roadkill in the middle of Peachtree, but I swear the guy just materialized. I was looking in that direction and all of the sudden I noticed a guy walking toward me and looking me in the eye. It was like he wasn't there and then he was there.
Without saying a word he took two tickets from his pocket and held them up to me. My jaw dropped but I shut it long enough to ask "How much?" "List price" he replied. My jaw dropped again. "You need to see Crimson." "I know, but..." "It's cool man" he said. "List price." I gave him $60 or whatever it was. "Enjoy the show" he said, and disappeared around the corner. "Thanks!" I hollered. "You're welcome" he replied.
I ran back to the bar and peeled O' off his barstool, gave the bartender a generous tip and held up the tickets. "TICKETSCH? DAMN...HOW MUSCH YOU PAY?" he slurred. "List" I said. "LISCHT?" he asked. "Yep" I said "Let's go!" "SCHUUUURE!" said O'. "I LOVE YOU MAN!" "You too buddy" I replied. We stumbled into the venue and found our friends and started cheering, about five minutes before the house lights went down. Hey, better late than nev. The show was massive.
I still think about that guy and how he seemed to magically appear out of nowhere and headed straight for me as if it was meant to be. I think about how I'd have gladly given him an extra $200 but he didn't want a penny. The Good Book says to be careful how we treat others because we might be "entertaining angels unaware."
Was ticket guy an angel? He certainly was that night. Or was he a demon maybe? I don't think so but I've learned that I can't discount ANYTHING in this world just because I might not believe it's true. That was heavy. He did say that I needed to see Crimson. He was right. I'm still recovering from it. Thanks, ticket guy!
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