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Dylan’s mood and cigarette smoke swirls about him and us like ropes pulling us in together even tighter. We are seated in a small, drab, pale yellow room high above the concert stage from which Dylan has just left (41 years ago, come October 28, 2005) immediately following his first concert ever in the town of Sacramento. From the high balcony, not far from the room in which we now sit, I had only minutes before looked down to watch Dylan, spot lit upon the stage below—standing along, on spindly legs, and doing his songs. Though he seemed as fragile as an insect caught in that circle of light, Dylan’s songs were etched with power: a voice of conviction and urgent words echoing out over the darkened empty seats and into the black recesses of the cavernous Memorial Auditorium.Dylan’s mood and cigarette smoke swirls about him and us like ropes pulling us in together even tighter. We are seated in a small, drab, pale yellow room high above the concert stage from which Dylan has just left (41 years ago, come October 28, 2005) immediately following his first concert ever in the town of Sacramento. From the high balcony, not far from the room in which we now sit, I had only minutes before looked down to watch Dylan, spot lit upon the stage below—standing along, on spindly legs, and doing his songs. Though he seemed as fragile as an insect caught in that circle of light, Dylan’s songs were etched with power: a voice of conviction and urgent words echoing out over the darkened empty seats and into the black recesses of the cavernous Memorial Auditorium.

THE SACRAMENTO BEE’s art critic Bill Glackin had written two days later: “Something around 1,000 showed up.”

A most generous estimate since my recollection has Dylan singing his heart out to a very tiny crowd of no more than 300 standing fans, circled in and bellied-up to the stage-----a one night stand in a not-yet-so-hip for Dylan—town; next stop San Mateo; after that, going on up to Fort Bragg; Dylan’s first sojourn into the sticks of California.

But the starkness of an empty house had obviously held no power to dismay, for Dylan along with his body guard Bobby Neuwirth, arrived from the concert below charged with energy and humor, greeting the setting up of lights, mikes and film camera etc. for the planned local KXTV television interview with jokes and laughter; remaining at ease and in good spirits throughout the entire interview and its barrage of: “We’re here with BOB DYLAAAN,” America’s New Voice For Freedom and Individuality in Folk Music, of Woody Guthrie questions, Barry Goldwater jokes, concerns over income taxes “a la” Joan Baez, etc.

And though Dylan characteristically and deftly fielded all these questions, one answer did in fact break the surface. The question pertained to Dylan’s own song writing, and asked: “Do you consider the music you do or the lyrics that are in the music, the most important? What do you concentrate on the most?”

Dylan answered with a chuckle: “Well, I concentrate on really----really somewhere between those two things. The lyrics----the lyrics, they are just a vehicle. The guitar is just a vehicle for the lyrics, I would think. A lot of lyrics can’t be driven anywhere so they just don’t ever get in the car to be driven. That’s about all I can think of…

(Interviewer): What do you think about commercialism of folk music? Do you think it’s a good thin, or do you think…

(Dylan): I think it’s wonderful. I’m one hundred percent in favor of commercialism!

(Interviewer): Do you think that this has helped folk music by bringing it to the public eye so they can buy it then, and that therefore folk music has become a stronger art form----or do you think that it has been hurt by commercialism in any way at all?

(Dylan): Uh, I don’t think anything is really hurt by anything, you know, if people…

(Bobby Neuwirth): It can’t be hurt!

(Dylan): It can’t be hurt, right. It can be uh, (chuckle)----It can be slapped (chuckle). But you know, it can be uh, well you know, it can be dragged around a little bit, but I don’t see how it (commercialism) could possibly hurt it.

(Here the interviewer {Dick Cruiser, an accomplished folk singer himself who plays the twelve string guitar} mentions Dylan’s songs as controversial social commentary, Dylan taking a liberal stand in his belief that human rights and civil liberties----asking Dylan: “Don’t you try to define these things in your lyrics?”)

(Dylan): I believe in liberalizing and human rights (chuckle), whatever they are. No, I don’t think I try to define it.

(Interviewer): You just comment in other words, on what you feel perhaps is wrong or unfair or---

(Dylan): Well, I just make a picture, you know, of what’s there. If it’s there, you know, if you want to call it human rights, well you can call it human rights I guess. But, I just comment on what’s there.

(Interviewer): In other words then----you’re telling a story and this is the essence of folk music to you, or----do you think you can create any good by telling in the story that people should be equalized for instance, just in human rights?

(Bobby Neuwirth): People gotta make up their own mind!

(Dylan): Yea.

(Interviewer): You wouldn’t try to make up their own mind for them, you just talk about it.

(Bobby Neuwirth): No—no.

(Dylan): For me to make up their minds---- I couldn’t do that; I would have to live their life. If I were to make up their mind, and you know, I would have to lead them somewhere----which I can’t. The world is small enough as it is, you know. I can’t uh,-------BARBARA SAILS!

A commotion at the door. A young woman bursts into the room brandishing white chrysanthemums clutched in her hand----a local girl from Davis.

“Come in!---sit down----you’re on Television!” calls out Dylan, seemingly pleased with the interruption.

Momentary confusion and shifting of position.

(Interviewer): Hello Barbara, I think we’ve met in Davis. What is your name?

(Girl): Barbara. Barbara Madell.

(Interviewer): You said it was Sails.

(Girl): Well, Barbara Sails-Madell----hyphenated.

(Interviewer): Did you ever write a song about Barbara, Bob?

(Dylan): Huh?

(Interviewer): Did you ever write a song about Barbara?

(Dylan): Barbara? Lot’a Barbaras-----she was uh-----

Barbara’s hurricane entrance had hit shore and come inland. The interview stalls, flounders and fades to its inevitable end. And suddenly, Dylan with his small and happy entourage in tow, takes flight from the tiny yellow room-----leaving us behind as he had come in, laughing, on his way to immortality.