Bob DylanWe remember Dylan 

1976

I wrote this piece because I lived in Dinkytown in Minneapolis and kept hearing people say they had been Bob Dylan's friends. It was like Woodstock -- you were the the only perspon in the 70s not to be there -- to hear them tell the tales. Here are their stories, as verbatim as I can make them. Each of these remarks is from a different person. I myself have never met Bob Dylan. Honest! -Mike Finley  

 

Yeah, I knew him. We used to hang around a lot. He lived just upstairs from me, used to say hi in the laundry room.

You know. We did things.

Dylan. When I knew him he was Zimmerman. We lived in this fraternity on University Avenue. Never pledged. He wasn't Deke material if you ask me. You saw him on the streets from time to time.

Hands in his pockets, tough act. I used to think,

he could really benefit from relaxation therapy.

I won't lie. Him and me and two, three other guys

lived on Nicollet Island, down by the peanut butter warehouse.

We were all slobs but he was the worst.

One morning stumbling around I kicked his guitar halfway across the room.

Said he'd get me for that but so far I can't

say that he has.

What a guy. Rips off his friends, hits the jackpot,

total amnesia. What a pal.

He'll always be Bobby to me. Used to gig at The Scholar. Had to set out a hat

for spare change, and bang the urns when one would clog.

A semi-regular. He got the sack but he

might have changed. I've got the tapes at home.

Roots stuff, way early. Give me a call, I'll let you hear 'em. Any time. Say, I'll bet that stuff mightbe worth a few bucks

Amazon Honor System Click Here to Pay Learn More Bob Dylan the folksinger or Bob Dylan the dickhead?

One of them stole my best licks. "Don't Think Twice It's All Right" -- did he ever write another song remotely like that one? Think about it.

He told me, Jane, you're special, you're royal, you're a queen.

And he laughed in that boyish way I'll never forget. He was like that, real sweet.

We rode together. We'd bike up to Hinckley, pop some wheelies, blow some minds.

That's his home town, you know. We'd pick up chicks, down some brew.

Partying with Bob, man!

We broke in at the paper together.

He couldn't type for shit. Hunt here, peck there.

Had to cover Greek days so he quit. He was his own sort of person, if you know what I mean.

I lent him money, said he had to go see Woody.

I said, Woody who?

Who told you we were tight? You think I go around

dropping his name like some kind of asshole?

I wouldn't do that to Bob. Some other asshole, maybe.

Not me.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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