Bob Dylan and Victor at “The Castle” in LA before the 1965 world tour. (Credit: Lisa Law/The Archive Agency) The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. For my sister. I know how much you miss him. CONTENTS Title Page Copyright Notice Dedication Acknowledgments Epigraph Introduction: On the River’s Edge 1 A Brief History 2 Tapes One and Two 3 On the Road 4 Bob and I Make Some New Friends 5 Rock ’n’ Roll Royalty 6 Taos, New Mexico 7 I Need a Job 8 The Journey of the Invisible Bus 9 The Never-Ending Tour, 1992–93 10 Uncovering the Past 11 Stalemate 12 Tsumego Photographs About the Author Copyright ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This memoir came to be through a series of unfortunate events that rocked me to my core. It was not a book I felt I could write—too painful a task, too emotionally jarring. My love and admiration for my father pulled me through the process. After the fire I was convinced that he was deserving of his moment in the spotlight, that his voice and all that was left was worthy of finally being heard. Throughout my journey I was inspired, loved, critiqued and encouraged by a few wonderful people—mavens to their industries, lifelong friends and family members: my mother, Linda Wylie; George Witte; Adam Gauntlett; Emily Schriber; Andy Greene; and Aaron Ungerleider and his family. With much love and respect, I thank you. It felt like we were on the point of the arrow that was going to pierce the dust. — Victor Maymudes INTRODUCTION On the River’s Edge by Jacob Maymudes My dad’s ashes in the rubble of my mother’s burned stone house, January 2013. (Courtesy: Jacob Maymudes) I’m standing at the edge of the cliff looking down into the canyon. I can see the winding river that was home to my childhood. Snow covers the pine and cedar trees lining the river, as it snakes around the New Mexican red clay and brown dirt that is abundant in this part of the world. The dozen or so frozen square miles before me were once my playground; some of my fondest memories were found under rocks, in trees and splashing in the river of this magical place. “The Land of Enchantment” is the state motto and I believe it’s solely because of this place—this secret place that only a small community of a hundred or so knows
Description: