"The Weight"

1967 is almost universally remembered as the "Summer of Love". According to lore, it touched the lives of most every conscious person between the ages of 14 and 24 years of age. The impact was profound for some, less so for others but most anyone who lived through it would agree; something happened.

Sue and I were 17 and 18 respectively. Far from true hippies, we were still in agreement with the principle of love as a plausible centre, or at least a starting point, in the movement away from ghastly hostilities such as Viet Nam and Grade 12 departmental examinations.

On a less cerebral note, in general terms we and our closer friends liked the music, the jeans, the pot, the longer hair, the slightly loosened morals (though they weren't anywhere near as loose as some might have you believe) and, uh, did I mention the pot?

Weekends that summer often brought something called "love-ins". More accurately, these gatherings usually morphed into smokin'-on-the-hillside concerts, complete with over-amplified, acid-fueled cover bands, 30 minute songs, 15 minute drum solos and hundreds of denim-clad, lurching, unbathed, acid/weed/wine-fueled overmedicated, eventually vomiting youths, posing as "flower children" or "hippies". In reality, I don't think we'd have recognized an actual hippie if one walked up and bit us.

Unbeknownst to our friends, Sue and I would occasionally take a clandestine departure from the "hippie entertainment" regime.

At the time Edmonton boasted a very chic, progressive nightclub, The Embers. This club was downtown, it didn't even open until 8:00 p.m. and catered to a more sophisticated crowd of twenty-something university students and junior executives. Their musical tastes swung from rhythm and blues to jazz and even country-rock. The genres of acid and hair rock were nowhere to be found and frankly, we appreciated the respite.

An adult club, the Embers did not serve underage patrons. With the drinking age set at 21, Sue and I went to great lengths to ensure we weren't "carded". This was the one time in my life I felt lucky to have a receding hairline. I would comb my hair straight back, wear a dark suit and shine my shoes until I could see my face in them. Sue would wear a dress, apply her makeup "grownup style" and wear her long red-blonde hair straight. We frequented the Embers twice that summer and escaped the dreaded "carding" both times.

Once inside, we were on our best behavior. We'd take a table out of the way, order simple drinks like rum and coke or rye and ginger and we'd be certain not to over-imbibe. By the time we'd nursed one or two drinks each and ordered the least expensive entree on the menu, we'd be looking at a week's salary each, but we knew it would be worth every cent.

Our last visit to the Embers was the final Saturday night of August, 1967. Rompin' Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks were the sole act on the bill. They blasted out a plethora of excellent rockabilly and we had a terrific time. Hawkins himself was something of a rock legend in North America. Like British blues man John Mayall who gave such guitar gods as Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page their start, Hawkins was known more for founding and expediting the careers of American and Canadian rock musicians than churning out hit records.

Just before 1 a.m. the Hawks finished their last set. Before leaving the stage, Hawkins addressed the 20 to 30 remaining patrons. He thanked us for our applause, briefly espoused the joys of playing in Edmonton and ended by asking us a favor.

"This'll be my last gig with this version of the Hawks. Startin' tomorrow, I'm takin' a few weeks off, then I'll put another group together and be back on tour next year. These boys here have decided to stay together and they've been workin' on some stuff of their own. I've heard their songs and I'll tell you what, they're pretty special. How about y'all stick around and give 'em a listen?"

With that Hawkins left the stage and a thin, handsome young man stepped up to the mike and rasped in a voice much older than his years, "Hello. My name is Robbie Robertson, we're The Band, and we'd like to start with a song called The Weight."

They played that song and two others, thanked us, then quietly started packing up their gear. We jumped from our chairs, applauded wildly, did everything but throw our undies at them, but they barely looked up.

Fast forward to a house party in Yellowknife, 2 or 3 years later. Our host Tony said, "Hey, you gotta hear these guys, The Band. They're amazing!"

As the lyric drifted through Tony's cozy, warm living room; "Pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' 'bout half past dead", I smiled at Sue and said, "You're right, Tony. I like these guys."