Another Side of Bob Dylan by Victor Maymudes

Author:Victor Maymudes
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466858435
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER 7

I Need a Job

Bob Dylan posturing for Victor, behind the lens of the camera. (Courtesy: Victor Maymudes)

Tape Seven

In 1987, I found myself in dire straits financially.

I lost the commercial building I owned to the bank. Some of the most respected rock-carving artists in New Mexico were tenants of mine. As I handed the keys over, it was heartbreaking. I had secured the building with a variable-rate loan and that year the local housing market crashed, dropping the value of my property. At the same time interest rates were rising, which was the final nail in the coffin. After I missed several mortgage payments, the bank foreclosed on the property, leaving me distraught and on my way to being homeless.

I was running out of money rapidly and needed income. I gave Bob a call in my desperation. He answered and I simply said, “Bob, I need a job.” He instantly replied, “You’re hired! Come out next week, and we’ll talk about money.” His willingness to help me and his no-questions-asked approach was a blessing. I don’t think he ever really knew how much he saved me from complete ruin.

I drove out to Los Angeles a week later and met Bob on the coast in Malibu. He told me, “I’m going on tour, but I’ve got everybody I need already and I don’t really have a place for you. But I’ll pay you and you’ll come with us and we’ll see what happens.” I was thinking, Great. I’ve got nothing, so this is the best deal in town.

The day before we were supposed to be flying to Athens, Bob called me up and told me to drive out to the house and we would ride to the airport together. I said okay, assuming he had someone picking us up—like a limousine, car or a friend. I arrived at Bob’s place, parked and walked inside. The people there told me he was walking around the property and he would be ready shortly. I sat down and started hanging out. The time just kept rolling by and I was still sitting there, reading books, taking a moment to smoke a joint. With less than an hour to go till the flight, Bob was nowhere to be found. Bob’s estate was about forty miles away from the airport, so it would take an hour driving fast to make it there. It was now forty minutes until departure, already an impossible feat.

He finally came casually walking through the door. He looked at me and, without even so much as a hello, said, “Victor, we’ll go in your car. Suzy Pullen will drive your car back here.” I didn’t know Suzy Pullen, it was the first time I ever saw her. He told me she was his wardrobe lady from Australia. I was thinking to myself, I’m going to give this lady my van? I don’t even know her! I introduced myself. She spoke with such a thick Australian accent I could barely understand her. “Well,” I said, “okay, let’s go.

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