One April, Tom Calk and I barely made air, cab and bus connections to New Orleans JazzFest’s UNO Arena to see the Allman Brothers.
Stunned to find ticket booths closed and the arena locked tight, we banged on a door, pled our case that we’d come all the way from Atlanta and waited. Finally a big guy swung the door open, asking, “You the boys from Atlanta? Here are the two best seats in the house – on me.”
Dumbfounded, we found our seats just as lights dimmed and the band started. We’ve been trying to top that night ever since.