the story behind the photos: iggy pop 1977

In 1977, there was only one other person in my dorm at UCLA who was into punk rock, and when Iggy Pop went on tour and David Bowie was in his band, we decided we would see as many shows as we could get to. We drove up to San Francisco from Los Angeles on Interstate 5, the route favored by truck drivers as it is the fastest land route between the two cities.

In 1977, there was nothing but cows and gas stations along most of the route. Take a certain exit, and you'll end up where James Dean wrecked his Porsche… that kind of empty, deserted road… the only other traffic was semi trucks and local good ole boys in pick-up trucks.

Half way up the state, in the literal cow-town of Button Willow, the clutch cable in my roommate's VW Beetle snapped. In a time before the existence and ubiquity of cel phones, we somehow got someone to call a tow truck to our rescue. The tow truck hitched up the car, but then the tow truck broke down before it moved even a foot. Another tow truck was radio'd and saved the day.

How many tow trucks does it take to move The People's Car?

The second tow truck driver gave us a ride to the service station that dispatched him, and there we learned that no mechanic in California's Central Valley really knew how to fix "that Commie car," or even had the parts to do so. But from there, we were able to convince a local good ole boy to give us a ride to a nearby municipal airport where I happily whipped out my Dad's credit card and we hopped on the next tiny plane bound for San Francisco.

At the show, we were both pretty wiped out from our travels and related snafu, but we tried hard to have a good time. Our seats were in the back half of the auditorium, and I was happy that I brought a telephoto lens with me.

Standing on a folding theatre seat is never a good idea, but standing on a folding theatre seat during an Iggy Pop show and trying to handle a camera is a worse idea. Half way through the show, the focusing ring on my lens just refused to function. Since I couldn't take any more photos, I took it as a sign to enjoy the show.

We had to fly home, so the return trip would be a little faster, meaning we could sleep in. I slept like a rock, then the next morning, still somewhat groggy, with Dad's credit card in hand, I went to buy another telephoto lens. After all, it was my birthday.