The Last Waltz Remembered (for Catskill)

by Jeff Newsom

Many have heard the tale. This is for those who have not:

...traveling from Salt Lake to S.F. in Garths's Mercedes , piloted by the one and only David Boyle. I'm 18. Dave is in his 40's? late 30's? I'm sure he doesn't know what to make of me. I sure as hell don't know what to make of him.

Somewhere out in the Nevada desert he asks me if I've ever smoked pot. Not wanting to lie , but not wanting to confess to someone close to my fathers age(sort of) I suggest I may have tried it once or twice. "Good", he says, "reach into my coat pocket". I'm catatonic until we reach Mill Valley. I do recall at one point he pulled out some canned brown bread and sardines. They disappeared quickly!

Mill Valley appears thru the fog (yes both kinds!) We reach the home of a young damsel who is obviously very interested in David, but barely notices the young squire standing next to him. Off they go, somewhere into the domicile, me to the couch.

Make it into SF the next day, where I check into the Miyako Hotel(or is it Kyoto? Godfrey or Donabie wanna help me here?) I'm settling in chillin out, when an older guy comes in. What kind of people is my sister hangin out with I wonder? Jack Wingate is the fellows name, long time raconteur and pal to the Band. He's beginning to get the sense he may be in charge of baby sitting me, when a rather neandrathal-ish figure strolls in with a cowboy hat, and steals Jack away.I don't know who the guy is until I see him on stage the next day. Ronnie Hawkins.

Down to lunch with Garth, sis, and some other folks. Levon and Rick come strolling thru and steam is emanating from Levons head. We duck back into our lunches.

Lunch over,we help Garth prepare for the big gig, ie; a trip to the hardware store!!!! Now I'm sure musicians are total screwballs!!!!!!!

Back to the lobby of the hotel, sis and I take a breather and have a seat. In thru the front doors comes Gods messenger. Muddy Waters! With Pinetop Perkins close behind. They sit down no more than five feet from us, waiting for their bags to be brought in. At that point in my life (and to this day) there existed no greater a human being. I've since heard that when Muddy walked into a room, you could feel his presence, stateliness. To be sure, I sat stunned, mesmerized. I forever want to go back to that moment, and hold the conversation I didn't have the nerve to discuss then.

A few hrs later, I'm waiting for Bill Graham's son to bring the motor home around to the hotel to take guests down to the Winterland to check out rehearsals. I'm blown away when he shows up!! He can't be more than 12? 13? Should I get in? He can't even see over the wheel!!!!! Fuck it! I'm definitely on this bus!!! The floor of the Winterland is sparse compared to the onslaught the following evening. Scorcese and Bill Graham are getting into it... Joni Mitchell -- riveting, Clapton, cookin'. This is the rehearsal???

The day of the show, some photographer hands me the set list, and as a prank, tells me to call out the name of the songs before they happen. Yep, you can hear me hollerin before "Ophelia" and Robbie replying "You got it" on the recording. Fascinating, eh? Could the photographer have been Elliot Landy?

Get down to the Winterland early. 5:30ish -- Everybody gets fed the full on Thanksgiving dinner. Tables cover the entire floor. Dinner over, ballroom dancing. A boogie-woogie piano player either preceeded or followed this. Bill Graham introduces the show "Good Evening". You know the rest. Ahh, the good old days.

Garth picks up the newspaper the following morning, which announces that Robertson has led the Band thru the Last Waltz, or something to that effect. "Fuckin' guitar players get all the credit" he mumbles in mock disgust. Down the hall we go to breakfast, when we're cut off by a haggard looking Neil Young. "How 'bout a little O'Canada,Garth" he says brandishing a harmonica. We wander off, with the Canadian national anthem trailing in the distance,my last remebrance of a mind blowing event