No matter the fame, fortune, the trappings and awards, there is one element in the world of show business that carries as much punch as Muhammad Ali – The Fan. When I say “fan” I mean that die hard, go to any lengths Bradley tank in the form of a music lover following a particular artist that rang their bell hard at some point in their life. There are many unreal stories of “dead heads” following the Grateful Dead across the country seeing as many as 80 to 120 concerts over the decades. They used to be called “bobbysockers” in the days of Frank Sinatra and later Elvis Presley.
The Fan took on an entirely new face when the Beatles hit America via the Ed Sullivan Show and their sold out show at Yankee Stadium in 1964. Millions of young women literally lost all their senses for an hour or a few minutes on television of the boys from Liverpool who would bridge the gap between rock and roll and blues to create something totally new for which there is still no label.
The real fan is the one that shows up – in person – not just the mass of humanity who buys or downloads music, DVDs and ringtones. They show up no matter miles of traffic, lines around the venue, pushing and WWIII at the concession stands. They can barely afford a ticket but they wouldn’t trade that ticket for anything on earth which brings me to the subject of our first John Prine concert at the Paramount in 1976. I remember that day quite clearly for three reasons. I’ll tell you the first two but the third will have to wait.
First Memory – Austin got pounded by a huge thunderstorm all day long. At that time in downtown Austin’s history, water flowed from the Capitol to the Town Lake Bridge like a raging river in the Grand Canyon. I’m dead serious. There was a wall of water that had to be a least 4 feet high absolutely roaring down Congress Avenue from north to south right under, over and around cars and anything else that got in the way. It was literally a flash flood in the very heart of the Capitol of Texas.
Second Memory – As this was still very early in our move to save the Paramount, we had our old friend “zero money” to make any repairs. The theatre leaked. The gods were kind to us though. It didn’t leak on the audience – just John Prine or very near him on stage. Oh, there was a wall in the upper balcony that where the plaster was cracked wide open through which water flowed quiet effortlessly. A little brook meandered its way down the three aisles from the second lobby to the orchestra pit ending their triumphant journey in – you guessed it – the pit and the pendulum in the basement. Our own lovely dressing rooms! The water was so high on Congress Avenue that it actually flooded the first lobby going uphill to even get to the second lobby. And this was before we enlarged the first lobby by moving the entrance doors out about 15 feet closer to Congress Avenue to gain room for our thirsty and hungry patrons on a mission from God to get to the bars.
Late that afternoon, as we waited to float away on the day of a sold out concert by a major recording star, I saw something almost indescribable. No one will believe what I saw. As the roaring river of rainwater was racing down Congress 4 feet high (no exaggeration), I saw a solitary figure on our side of Congress on the sidewalk about 50 yards away. The water was up to his chest pummeling him with his every step. I actually feared for his safety – it was that hairy. Then, I realized he was using the parking meters to steady him. But there was something odd as if that wasn’t odd enough. He began pulling himself from parking meter to parking meter towards the theatre. Finally, he was even with the box office. He let go the last parking meter and lurched to the box office grabbing on to a small ledge through which money moved from the public to the theatre on a good day. This guy had just pulled himself through a wall of water to get to the Paramount to go to the box office to buy a ticket to see John Prine that very night. I could have kissed him but I was afraid of being swept down the sidewalk to some ignominious end so I stayed in the lobby where the water was only up to my ankles. As amazed as I was, it never occurred to me to give him a comp ticket. Times were hard. Besides, he was a “fan”.
No one in the audience actually knew we had been partially flooded that day. The little “drip, drip, drip” from the stage house roof to the stage floor near John was invisible in the low theatrical lighting and the din of the audience. For those of you who are not familiar with John Prine let me say he is an incredible song writer and story teller. He was compared, in the beginning of his career, to having a style and voice similar to Bob Dylan. There was a slight similarity but they were distinct artists in every way. John would get very, very quiet with his lyrics which everyone in the theatre could hear with minimal amplification so good were the natural acoustics of the theatre.
When he launched in to these lyrics – “There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes…” – the hair on the back of your neck stood up. He didn’t make any big deal about it. It was just himself, an acoustic guitar and a lone microphone stand and that was it. He might as well have been singing to 20 people in the Cactus Cafe at UT. We would have John back almost every year – everyone a sellout. And, we did the biggest bar gross of any event on John Prine night. We grossed more in bar sales that we did in ticket sales. Lots more profit margins in concessions believe me. Besides, who needed Noah when we had “The Fan” and John Prine bringing ‘em in 2 by 2 thank you?
A few years later, a massive storm sewer was installed below Congress Avenue to end the flooding of businesses and traffic snarls. That project took two years and almost put every business out of business on Congress due to construction and the total elimination of parking spaces. At least the Paramount stopped flooding downstairs including our now infamous changing rooms of the stars. Our little waterfall running down the balcony wall would enjoy a longer run of show until 1979.
