New Orleans via rail from Philly. Down to Birmingham Alabama, where the bar car was dropped and if you wanted alcohol, you got off with money in hand and ran down that rail yard to a local black bar and bought all you could carry. You thanked them for not ripping you off entirely and bought a few drinks for the old timers. Then you ran back and went on to the pursuit of ice for the next leg. And that year was 1974. And Glenn Campbell was king of the Krewe of Bacchus. Me and a few of my close friends made that trip. No Pullman car for us, we rented 50 cent pillows…slept in our seats. Nothing fancy but Old Turkey and Jack.
Slept in Tulane Stadium one night. Slept in roach hotels, had to roll the drunks away from the door to get in. The Superdome was just being built. You could see it from where I was, and I was all over. French Quarter. Spanish Quarter. Jackson Square, the street Hurricane stalls, Pat O’Briens and the famous flaming fountains. Home of the Hurricane. We got in town on a Wednesday before the show. The bouncer was 6’7” and had a cane and a legal set of silver knuckles, his rings. We hit it off, and he told us his stories and showed us his scars. Amazing dude. We somehow got free drinks for two nights….they liked us.
And today Glen Campbell went home.
I always said I was going to go back to NO and throw dollar bills down to the street and watch the mayhem from my fancy veranda,,,
Zulu was another trip…