As we get older, we can remember things we did decades ago, but can't remember what we did an hour ago. I remember July 6th, 1974 very clearly. My friends Don Weekes, Tom Lonis, Peter Salmon and I piled into Don's Dad's car, and departed Brantingham, NY for Buffalo to see Eric Clapton in concert. Tom bailed. Something to do with a woman. On the way, we were introduced to Elton John's new single, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on me" on the AM car radio (We heard "Rock the Boat" by Hues Corporation what seemed like 50 times on the round trip). 5 hours later, we arrived at Rich Stadium (Now Ralph Wilson). As we walked to the gate, a con man fleeced us out of $8.00 each for some stupid book & a stick of incense. We clearly had "country come to town" written all over us. The first act was a band I've never heard of. Then came The Band. I was disappointed they didn't play longer. What was supposed to be a 30 minute wait for EC turned into nearly 2 hours. He was really drunk, dropped a lot of "F-bombs", and put on a disappointing show. As we were leaving the parking lot, Donnie turned too tight, putting a big gash in the car door. The next time I attended an Eric Clapton concert was 14 years later. He'd been to rehab. The experience was MUCH more satisfying.

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