In the summer of 1967, the Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead were on tour. Yes, Dearly Beloved, the Grateful Dead was the opening act.
In Toronto, they did two concerts on successive days. I had a boyfriend whose name I can't even remember now. He was very pushy and narcissistic, and had the bad habit of reciting pages and pages of his own poetry in a husky, fake-Dylan voice. Damn, he was annoying!
He attended the first concert, and showed up at my place during the night, all excited. He had met the band, and said that the lead vocalist, Grace Slick, wanted to see some of his poetry. I was appalled. I thought, "Oh, my God! You didn't read her that stuff, did you?" No, he hadn't. He was saving that for concert #2. I really only half-believed this entire story...truth was not his strong suit, either.
Turns out he was being honest. We went to the venue and made our way around the back. He said to the security guard at the door, "The Airplane is expecting us." We were waved through. This was, of course, long before bar codes and badges. Boyfriend had his dog-eared notebook of poems.
We were shown into Grace's dressing room. While I sat on a couch, all tongue-tied, he proceeded to try to sell his poetry. Even his colossal nerve failed him, and rather than reading the stuff aloud, (to my immense relief) he just handed the notebook to Grace and let her peruse it.
"Oh, I like this line," she said. "And this one."
Boyfriend began to visibly quiver with excitement. He decided to be magnanimous. "You don't have to pay me anything," quoth he, "just make sure my name appears on the album cover..."
From somewhere in the cleavage of the beautiful psychedelic caftan she was wearing, Ms Slick produced a $2 bill, which she handed to him without a word.
There could have been no better set-down. I shall remember it always.
We watched the concert from the wings. It was awesome!