A blanket of gray had covered the sky since morning, seasoned with occasional rainfall and faint rumbles of thunder throughout the day. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned this particular Tuesday to go. My hopes were set high for a memorable evening ahead with my father where we’d be heading to the historic Forest Hills Stadium to see one of my favorite artists, Bob Dylan, who’d first performed at the sacred grounds 61 years ago this summer.
Dylan’s initial performance in 1965 was met with some hostility from the local New York crowd as some disapproved of his new electric sound. Times were a-changin’ then, just like they continue today. I doubt any boos were expected this time.
For my dad and me, attending this concert was special; the kind of generational father-son experience that doesn’t come around too often. Although he was never a big fan of American popular music, Dylan’s music has orbited my father’s atmosphere ever since he arrived from India in 1976. That year, the single “Hurricane” from the new album Desire blared from nearby radios while Dad was exploring a new land.
When he wasn’t in school, my dad used his free time to explore Queens by foot. He’d take the subway to the Forest Hills-71st St. station and wander along Austin St., admiring the Tudor Revival and Gothic style designs of the area’s buildings in amazement and daydream about who lived inside.
As a budding tennis fan, he couldn’t afford to attend the U.S. Open at its original home of Forest Hills Stadium but he followed the matches along in the local newspapers. When the tournament left in 1977, he thought he missed his opportunity to ever visit the grounds.
When I saw that Bob Dylan was due to perform at Forest Hills Stadium on July 21, I realized this may be a golden opportunity for Dad to finally visit the venue, and for me, to see Dylan in concert.
With only an hour until the doors opened, Dad and I started our trek from Flushing only to be drenched to the bone by a sudden torrential downpour as we navigated the rapidly flooding streets. We didn’t lose hope and continued onward.
We headed across town to a dry Forest Hills where the rain hadn’t started yet. Making our way past the police and safety barricades, we arrived at the entrance to the stadium. Sporting a classic, seemingly untouched facade, the old building was a sight to behold for both of us.
“I haven’t been here in 50 years,” he said. “I can’t believe it all looks the same.”
“I guess some things don’t change,” I replied.
I bought Dad a beer just as the rain arrived. We found shelter underneath the stands, sipping our drinks and waiting for the lightning to pass overhead. After a half-hour delay, we were allowed to enter the stands. As we reached the top and met the hazy daylight, we both took deep breaths and stared out of the beautiful view. Jimmie Vaughan & The Tilt-A-Whirl Band kicked the evening off in style, followed by the legendary Lucinda Williams who earned a standing ovation. And then, it was time for the bard himself.
The clouds began to part as Dylan and his band took the stage. The night air became a little cooler. As Dad and I swayed and sang along to classics like “To Be Alone with You” and “When I Paint My Masterpiece,” along with newer tracks, including “Crossing the Rubicon” and “False Prophet,” there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
Tawney writes about race, identity, and culture.