by Roger LaMay, General Manager, XPN

I would have bet any money that it was the winter of 1972 but my research says it was January 11 & 12, 1974. But we’ll get to that.

In the Fall of 1973, I was hitchhiking from Hampshire College in the Berkshires of Massachussetts to my school, Skidmore, in Saratoga Springs New York. I had a long ride with an antique dealer from Montreal and shared quite a pleasant afternoon. He shared with me that he was totally hooked up in Montreal and that if I ever came to town, he could get me tickets to any rock show. I kept his card and promised to take him up on it.

A few months later, in December, I noted that Dylan and the Band would be touring in the new year and that Montreal was one of the venues. I fantasized about going to the show. The next night, I was talking to a woman in a bar who I had been secretly admiring for some time. Not only was she smart, funny and gorgeous, but she owned a light blue mustang convertible. Looking for a grand gesture, I boasted of my connection in Montreal and invited her to drive us to Montreal to see Bob Dylan and the Band in january. She immediately said yes. Now all I had to do was get the tickets.

Over the next few weeks, I left several messages on the phone of the antique dealer saying I was coming and needed some tickets. But I never got a call back. However, I was determined not to lose this opportunity to go away for the weekend with my new friend. So I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t nailed down the tickets. That little detail added a certain personal tension to the trip. Otherwise, the journey up was idyllic. Swirling snow and Roberta Flack on the radio singing, “He’s the kind of guy who says hey let’s get away.”

We arrived in Montreal a couple hours before the show at the Forum (where the Montreal Canadiens used to play) and checked into a nearby B&B. I went out to a payphone (no cell phones in those days) and called again. A little desperation was creeping in. My fallback plan was to go try to scalp some tix while I was out.

“Bonjour,” a woman answered the phone and said that the antique dealer had left for dinner and then the concert. My heart and every other part of me sank. I explained to her who I was. She said, “Oh you’re the hitchhiker Jean was talking about, he got you tickets for tomorrow night, good ones too!”

“Tomorrow? I thought the show was tonight,” I stammered.

“Both! ” she replied, “They are playing here for two nights, he said that to come pick up the billets tomorrow.”

Oh my! In a moment, I was running over to the Forum and within a few minutes I had bought two tickets for that night from a concert goer at face value (Canadien dollars were a good deal at that time). I returned to the B&B triumphantly, saying that there was a change in plans and that we would be going both nights.

The rest of the trip was magic in every way. The Dylan/Band show was terrific both nights. (The tour had been in Philadelphia a week earlier.) The Band (Canadien homeboys) played a set first and then brought Dylan on with a raucous “Stage Fright.”

The Dylan part of the show was in three parts, an opening set with the Band kicked off by “Most likely you go your way, I’ll go mine,” a middle acoustic set and then the Band back again for a few songs ending with “Like a Rolling Stone” and a reprise of “Most likely you go your way.”

Along with hearing “most likely” four times over the weekend, each time rocking a little more, the highlight the first night, as I recall was an acoustic “It’s alright Ma. I’m only bleeding” and the second night a collaboration on “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” and the Band’s rendition of “This Wheel’s on Fire.”

If I could pick just a few days to re-live, this weekend would certainly be among them. The relationship lasted until June and the end of school.