'Ah - those were the days'

Marc B. Zingarini

Philadelphia

The memories of the Spectrum which are most vividly etched in my mind are from the '70s. Concert-going was a much different experience back then, much more down and dirty. The air was always thick with pot smoke, the floor sticky with spilled beer (sold for the duration of the show, no matter how long into the evening), people held up matches for encores rather than cell phones, any band worth seeing showed up several hours late, and the concourse was usually littered with people who passed out before the first note was even played. And of course, who can forget the ability of Deadheads to be able to spin around in a circle for about three hours without getting dizzy? I usually spent most Dead shows out in the concourse watching the dancing rather than inside watching the band. Ah - those were the days.

Trip McClatchy

Havertown

The Spectrum and music can be summed up in two words . . . Bruce Springsteen. I've seen Springsteen and the E Street Band there 24 times, none more memorable than Dec. 9, 1980, the night after John Lennon died. After some show-must-go-on soul-searching, Springsteen opened with these remarks:

"It's a hard world that asks you to live with a lot of things that are unlivable. And it's hard to come out here and play tonight, but there's nothing else to do." He launched into a ferocious, life-affirming "Born to Run" and ended three hours later with a cathartic, joyous "Twist and Shout," a note-perfect Lennon tribute and the start of the healing process for a grief-stricken rock community.

In December 1975, I witnessed a pulverizing set by The Who, still the loudest show I've ever seen, and Townshend's windmill remains rock's most electrifying move. The next year featured a solo Cat Stevens and a goosebump-inducing Paul McCartney and his Wings Over America tour. My one and only brush with a Beatle!

Monique T. Mitchell

Steelton, Pa.

When I lived in Philly, on May 18, 1973, my Dad took me to see the Jackson 5. They sang all my favorite songs and Michael was spectacular. My favorite was Marlon Jackson, and he wore purple, my favorite color. I chose Marlon because everyone else was going to Michael and Jermaine and I would have Marlon all to myself. Couldn't take my eyes off them. It was a moment I will never forget.

John J. Edwards

Broomall

The show that stands out for me occurred Dec. 16, 1977. Kansas was/is my favorite band, and I was going to see them live and in color at the Spectrum.

I was a senior in high school and had the good fortune to have a friend whose mother was employed as a seasonal cashier at the old Sears store in St. Davids. His mother had access to the Sears Ticketron outlet, meaning she had the inside track on being the first person in line to score tickets at 10 a.m. [when they] went on sale.

Kansas was a hot ticket. Point of Know Return, in 1977, was a high point for not only the band, but also my progressive rock-loving, ice-hockey-playing high school senior friends from the Philly suburbs.

My memory flashes back to a cold late fall Saturday night in December 1977, riding with my friend to the show in his parents' Triumph TR7. His mom had succeeded beyond our wildest expectations, with floor seats, 8th row center.

The lights dimmed. The sparking of lighters signaled not only welcoming torchieres, but also [served] the practical function of lighting the "cigarettes" and pipes of many. The music started and I was immediately taken with the volume. I had never heard music as loud, before or since.

The image of long-haired violinist Robby Steinhardt standing at center stage at the conclusion of "Sparks of the Tempest" is a flashbulb memory that has stayed with me. As the rest of the band slipped off stage to the loop of the last power chords, Steinhardt lifted his arms and stretched them out with violin in one hand, bow in the other, head tilted, the perfect image of the crucifix bathed in green illumination.

If I am afforded the luxury of an afterlife, I would request that a reliving of this event be a part of a review of my earthly experiences.

Ted DeCerchio

Upper Darby

I go back to 1968, when Sinatra was in rare form performing for Hubert Humphrey's presidential campaign. I remember summer 1970, seeing Chicago perform the entire Side 2 from their second album ("Make Me Smile," "Color My World"), I saw Jefferson Airplane & John Mayall while the Vet was being built, Sly & the Family Stone . . . .

Patty Potter

Alexandria, Va.

My first concert at the Spectrum was Yes in 1972, when I was a high school student. As a kid living in the suburbs, I'll never forget the excitement of traveling to the city to witness my first "real" rock concert.

There were dozens of trips to the Spectrum after that. . . Bruce, Journey, Elvis, Fleetwood Mac, Queen, Billy Joel, Jefferson Starship, Hall and Oates, Foreigner, Electric Light Orchestra, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer . . . I count those nights at the Spectrum as some of the best of my life. They bring back memories of a time when life was carefree and the future held unlimited opportunities. We felt like we could conquer the world through our music, and in a way we did.

Michael A. Ginsberg

Philadelphia

I'm 44 and have been to the Spectrum more times than I can remember, seeing easily over 200 concerts there.

My all-time favorite memory is taking my then-3-year-old daughter to see Barney in February 2003. I'd always hated Barney. . . . Normally, I would have begged my lovely wife to go to the show but I'd already gotten her to agree to see George Strait with me that month and she told me that she would either see Barney or George, not both. So I bundled our daughter Maddie up on a cold winter afternoon, along with a bag full of diapers and headed to the Spectrum. . . . Five minutes into [the show], Maddie tugged my hand and said, "I wanna go home.". . . I'd paid good money for these tix, we were near the stage, and I was determined that this first major father-daughter outing of of our lives was not going to end prematurely. I convinced Mad to wait a few more minutes, during which time the purple dork sang, "If You're Happy and You Know It" at which point Mad decided she was there for the duration. The mass love directed towards Barney hit me like the Grinch discovering the joys of Whoville. . . .

I saw the Grateful Dead 21 times at the Spectrum, 18 of which were part of seeing them all of the shows of their three-night runs. The last time Jerry Garcia played at the Spectrum with the band [March 19, 1995] became part of Dead history. "Unbroken Chain" is an obscure song sung by Phil Lesh that had never been played live, despite years of begging from Deadheads. The Daily News noted that the boys were doing "Unbroken Chain" during their sound checks. . . . The first set was short, [and] just when you thought the set was over, the band continued to noodle around. The diehard heads began to roar when we recognized the beginning of "Unbroken Chain." I was screaming like a lunatic, jumping up and down, when a big hairy guy next to me tapped me on the shoulders and said, "Is this what I think it is?" and I shouted, "Yeah, it's 'Unbroken Chain'!!! " He smiled and held out his arms and we actually hugged, like old friends. My wife had no idea what the fuss was about until I hugged her too. . . .

A few years ago, I met Phil Lesh at a Red Cross blood drive. My wife told him this story and he could not believe it when I pulled the ticket stub from that show out of my wallet. He signed it and it is now in a frame in our living room next to a picture of Anne, Maddie and me with Phil.