Speaker 1: Blood on the Tracks is the production of I Heart
Speaker 1: Radio and Double Elvis. Bob Dylan was a musical genius
Speaker 1: and one of the greatest songwriters of all time. He
Speaker 1: didn't follow leaders. He chased that thin, wild mercury sound.
Speaker 1: He never looked back. Even as the times changed, and
Speaker 1: as the times changed, Bob Dylan changed. He tried on
Speaker 1: and discarded identities like they were mass. He transformed. He
Speaker 1: transfigured in somewhere along the way, the Bob Dylan that
Speaker 1: you thought you knew died. This is his story once again.
Speaker 1: This is Dr Ed Sailor here at my home in Middletown,
Speaker 1: New York, reporting on the patient Robert Zimmerman, a k a.
Speaker 1: Bob Dylan. It is August seventh, ninety six, day ten.
Speaker 1: As it were, Bob is finally going home today backwood Stock.
Speaker 1: I don't foresee any longstanding physical problems resulting from his crash,
Speaker 1: but I have requested that he seeks some help for
Speaker 1: what seems to be some mental distress. I shall continue
Speaker 1: to check in on Bob, but right now I'm happy
Speaker 1: he's in good health, and I don't see that changing
Speaker 1: anytime soon. Change. That's what we've been talking about all
Speaker 1: this time. That's all we've ever talked about. Trees grow tall,
Speaker 1: leaves fall, rivers dry up, and flowers die. New people
Speaker 1: are born every day. Life doesn't stop. Sometimes things can
Speaker 1: change in an instant, a gunshot to the head, a
Speaker 1: man losing control of a motorbike. But sometimes things can
Speaker 1: take years to change, even when there is no change
Speaker 1: that itself can bring about. Change, a lack of change
Speaker 1: in the world can change a person. It can make
Speaker 1: them bitter and disillusioned, it can ruin them. Transfiguration is change.
Speaker 1: As I've grown older, I've realized that as I've moved
Speaker 1: through these lives, I've taken a bit of each of them.
Speaker 1: They have informed me in some way. But you're never
Speaker 1: through with this. Change never stops the times they are changing,
Speaker 1: and all the rest of those so called voice of
Speaker 1: a generation words from so many generations ago. There's always
Speaker 1: another day, another sunrise, more ideas, more conversation, more blood
Speaker 1: on the tracks. Chapter ten, Bob Dylan's Restless Farewell. I
Speaker 1: have a confession to make. I've been I've been lying
Speaker 1: to you. I said some things that just aren't true,
Speaker 1: but I had my reasons. Little Richard, Dad, last week,
Speaker 1: I'm so aggrieved. He was my shining star, the guiding light,
Speaker 1: back when I was only a little boy. His was
Speaker 1: the original spirit that moved me to do everything I
Speaker 1: would do. So what am I supposed to do? Now?
Speaker 1: Trees grow, tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up, and flowers die.
Speaker 1: One of the first songs I ever wrote was about
Speaker 1: little Richard. Go and look for it and you'll find it.
Speaker 1: It was in high school with a buddy of mine.
Speaker 1: We recorded it in my old house at my mother's piano.
Speaker 1: That was so long ago, so long I wasn't even
Speaker 1: born yet. Now Little Richard is no longer here. It's
Speaker 1: like a part of my life has gone to transfiguration
Speaker 1: has change. Death is everywhere in this world right now.
Speaker 1: It lingers around the corner. It waits silently. I can
Speaker 1: feel it wherever I go. But you know, like I
Speaker 1: keep saying, death isn't always the end. There's always another day.
Speaker 1: Sometimes it's the start. Transfiguration can take many different forms.
Speaker 1: Sometimes something can happen and later you process it, you
Speaker 1: incorporated into a new life. If you don't understand that
Speaker 1: by now, then you haven't been listening closely enough. The
Speaker 1: way I feel about little Richard reminds me how I
Speaker 1: felt the nineteen sixty three when someone else passed. I
Speaker 1: remember running up the stairs of our old apartment building
Speaker 1: on Avenue B. I was shouting, shouting at the top
Speaker 1: of my lungs. Is it true? Is it true? Deep
Speaker 1: down I knew it was true, of course, I just
Speaker 1: didn't want to believe it never stops. I crashed into
Speaker 1: our apartment and saw Susie, my girlfriend at the time,
Speaker 1: sitting on our old rickety couch, with her sister Carla.
Speaker 1: Carla lived with us, and usually we didn't get along,
Speaker 1: but that day it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I yelled
Speaker 1: at them to put the TV on. Carla clicked the
Speaker 1: old black and white box on nothing some crummy soap opera.
Speaker 1: What's wrong, she asked, But before I could answer, the
Speaker 1: soap opera fell silent, and old Cronkite's voice appeared. He
Speaker 1: didn't even have a camera on him, just his voice
Speaker 1: in the blackness of the screen. He said words that
Speaker 1: I'll never forget. In Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired
Speaker 1: at President Kennedy's motorcade. The first reports say the president
Speaker 1: had been seriously wounded. I froze up. We all did.
Speaker 1: The world outside seemed to stop too. For the first
Speaker 1: time in its history, New York City just ground to
Speaker 1: a halt. Moments later, Cronkite was back on the screen,
Speaker 1: showing us images, such awful images, the gunshot to the head.
Speaker 1: I've seen them a thousand times since, from different angles,
Speaker 1: different portrayals, with different opinions imprinted on them. But these days,
Speaker 1: when I look back, whenever I think about what happened
Speaker 1: that day, I see that little black and white TV screen.
Speaker 1: It's the image that resonates most. I can see it now,
Speaker 1: the shot going into his head, plume of red on
Speaker 1: the other side, flesh and bone on the back of
Speaker 1: the car, the way his wife crawled after it. Sometimes
Speaker 1: things can change in an instant. God, it was so shocking.
Speaker 1: If I had known what I was going to see
Speaker 1: that day, I would have walked out of there straight away.
Speaker 1: But then again, maybe not. I've never shied away from change,
Speaker 1: you know that, And for good or bad, this was change.
Speaker 1: I stuck to that TV for days. I didn't leave
Speaker 1: the apartment. Carla kept crying, Susie kept crying. I kept crying.
Speaker 1: It felt like any sense of hope we'd had, any
Speaker 1: sense of freedom, any sense of change was gone, gone
Speaker 1: in an instant. Fear seemed to rise out of it. All.
Speaker 1: Everything about it was endless speculation, the questions, the morning funeral,
Speaker 1: the whole country tree. No, the whole world was cast
Speaker 1: into purgatory. Trees grow tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up,
Speaker 1: and flowers die. It affected me, of course, how could
Speaker 1: it not. I felt the sense that I had to
Speaker 1: react to it. So I wrote. I wrote and wrote
Speaker 1: and wrote on that old couch. I wrote with the
Speaker 1: black and white TV flickering in front of me. It
Speaker 1: became my candle light. I tried to get my feelings
Speaker 1: down about it, but I couldn't. I just I couldn't
Speaker 1: make it right. I couldn't process it. All I could
Speaker 1: see was the blood, the flesh, Jackie, the gunshot to
Speaker 1: the head. It wasn't like real life. It was like
Speaker 1: a movie. It was melodramatic, tasteless, grotesque, A man losing control.
Speaker 1: After two days of trying to write and fail, I
Speaker 1: threw the pen down and cried as they replayed the
Speaker 1: whole bloody scene again on the TV. I didn't know
Speaker 1: where to go. It was like the world we knew
Speaker 1: had died and we were moving into something completely new.
Speaker 1: Life doesn't stop. I couldn't make sense of it. It's
Speaker 1: now fifty seven years later. I'm thinking about that day
Speaker 1: all over again as I walk up the stairs of
Speaker 1: Sound City Studio and Van Nuys. A new year is
Speaker 1: upon us, but it's under threat from a virus, or
Speaker 1: so they say. But I'm not thinking about that today. No,
Speaker 1: I'm concentrating on my music, one song in particular. I
Speaker 1: walked into the large performance room and sit in front
Speaker 1: of a microphone. Let battle commence, I muttered to myself.
Speaker 1: Change never stops. A call from the control booth asks
Speaker 1: if I'm ready. The whole band it is in front
Speaker 1: of me. There's tension in the air, but that's good
Speaker 1: when you're making a record. They asked me again from
Speaker 1: the booth if I'm ready for a take. I closed
Speaker 1: my eyes in reply, Just give me a minute. With
Speaker 1: my eyes closed, I can see it again, the black
Speaker 1: and white TV, old Cronkite, the car Jackie, the blood
Speaker 1: rivers dry up. That voice from the control booth asks
Speaker 1: again if I'm ready or if I need to take five.
Speaker 1: I'm okay, I'm ready to go, I tell him. I
Speaker 1: opened my eyes and look at the lyric page in
Speaker 1: front of me. It starts with A dark day in Dallas, November.
Speaker 1: The band starts, and instantly I feel like I'm singing
Speaker 1: for that other person, that little boy who had almost forgotten,
Speaker 1: sitting on that old sofa under the flicker of the
Speaker 1: TV in New York, trying to write down what he
Speaker 1: just witnessed right through with this. Seventeen minutes later, as
Speaker 1: the final notes of the song ring out, I feel
Speaker 1: like it's finally over, like I've processed it all. The
Speaker 1: song was Murder Most Foul. It would be my first
Speaker 1: number one single as a solo artist, my first number
Speaker 1: one ever at seventy nine years of age. I guess
Speaker 1: change is always possible, regardless of age or time. That's
Speaker 1: what we've been talking about all this time. Looking back now,
Speaker 1: it's hard to say what the world would be like
Speaker 1: without that murder. That day with JFK changed everything. But
Speaker 1: like I said, when there is no change, that's when
Speaker 1: things can get ugly, and things were about to get ugly.
Speaker 1: I only lied to protect myself to make a change.
Speaker 1: Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you now. Do you
Speaker 1: understand I'm pissed? You've seen the news. It's sickened me
Speaker 1: to tell you the truth. When I saw it, I
Speaker 1: don't know. It was beyond ugly. I pray that justice
Speaker 1: is swift. I've been singing about this stuff for so
Speaker 1: long now, the stuff in the news years, I've been
Speaker 1: singing about it, and it never changes. When there's no change,
Speaker 1: ugly things happen. How can I explain this to you?
Speaker 1: I guess to really understand what I'm trying to get at,
Speaker 1: we have to go back, but not to look at
Speaker 1: our past. We have to go back to our past
Speaker 1: to understand our future generations ago. What's past is prologue.
Speaker 1: You can thank Bill Shakespeare for that. If we keep
Speaker 1: making the same mistakes, well hell, we're all doomed and
Speaker 1: we might be. You know, any minute now. The world
Speaker 1: could explode because we never learned. Look. On February eight,
Speaker 1: William Zantzinger walks into the seventeen story Emerson Hotel in
Speaker 1: downtown Baltimore. Yeah, I got his name right this time.
Speaker 1: Zantzinger is the son of a Maryland state politician. He
Speaker 1: himself is a pretty successful guy too. He's a tobacco
Speaker 1: farmer by trade, but he's also one of those socialite
Speaker 1: types He moves with a cold, brutal confidence, a kind
Speaker 1: only the young and successful possess. He's dressed smartly for
Speaker 1: a ball, and despite being young, he is already rich.
Speaker 1: Heren's enough money to do whatever the hell he wants
Speaker 1: in life. Trees grow tall, His fingertips are yellowed and
Speaker 1: nicotine stained. His finger nails are full of dirt, completely
Speaker 1: out of place with his pristine suit. You can tell,
Speaker 1: despite his money, he doesn't quite fit in here. He
Speaker 1: walks through the large brass doors under the huge hotel
Speaker 1: canopy with a smile plastered all over his face. He
Speaker 1: checks his coat at the lobby, but he holds onto
Speaker 1: his cane. He twirls it around his fingers as he
Speaker 1: surveys the hotel's interior. By the time he leaves the
Speaker 1: hotel that day, he will have killed someone. Fifty seven
Speaker 1: years later in Minneapolis, in my home state of Minnesota,
Speaker 1: it's the evening of May. Officer Derek Chauvin's radio crackles
Speaker 1: to life. He answers it and heads to the intersection
Speaker 1: of Chicago Avenue in East Street. Chauvin is an officer
Speaker 1: who has been with the department for over eighteen years.
Speaker 1: He carries with him eighteen complaints from the Minnesota Police
Speaker 1: Department's internal affairs, there is no change. By the time
Speaker 1: he ends his shift, he will have killed someone. Back
Speaker 1: in nineteen sixty three, at the Emerson Hotel, Spinster's Ball
Speaker 1: is well underway. The famous Howard Lannon orchestra plays as
Speaker 1: Zantzinger drinks. Pretty soon he's pretty drunk. He's having the
Speaker 1: time of his life, hollering, laughing, throwing jokes around the usual.
Speaker 1: When a waitress comes to deliver him yet more whiskey,
Speaker 1: he taps her lightly on the back with his cane,
Speaker 1: grinning as he does. I guess it's his way of
Speaker 1: saying thanks. Que. Later, he moves to the dance floor,
Speaker 1: spinning his wife around, and as the music ramps up,
Speaker 1: the sweat pours off a zance singer faster faster as
Speaker 1: he goes. His wife tries to slow him down. I'm
Speaker 1: freda stare, he shouts. New people are born every day now.
Speaker 1: I don't know because I wasn't there, but I'm willing
Speaker 1: to bed. He wasn't moving like Freda Stare. After spinning around,
Speaker 1: he drops to the floor. Hard. Life doesn't stop. A
Speaker 1: bell hop runs over to help him up. But zan
Speaker 1: singer shoves him then hits him hard with his cane.
Speaker 1: After that, he jumps up and strolls to the side
Speaker 1: of the dance floor, looks over to the bar and
Speaker 1: decides to have another drink. Back in Minneapolis, May PM
Speaker 1: officer Derek Chauvin and his partner Too Thou arrive in
Speaker 1: their square vodka outside a grocery store called Cup Foods.
Speaker 1: They're informed by other police officers at the scene that
Speaker 1: a man has just purchased cigarettes, but a store employee
Speaker 1: believes he used a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. Chauvin is
Speaker 1: now the senior ranking official and he instantly takes control.
Speaker 1: He sees a fellow officer struggling to get the suspect
Speaker 1: into the police car, while someone behind them films the
Speaker 1: whole scene on their cell phone. Sometimes things can change
Speaker 1: in an instant. It's footage the entire world will end
Speaker 1: up scene. Chauvin joins the struggle. After a few minutes,
Speaker 1: the suspect is on the deck surrounded by blue shirts.
Speaker 1: He's faced down, struggling. He's clearly in distress, but they
Speaker 1: keep him down. He pulls his head up and shouts,
Speaker 1: I can't breathe that's what we've been talking about all
Speaker 1: the time. He says that another sixteen times in the
Speaker 1: next five minutes. In Baltimore, Zantzinger strides up to the
Speaker 1: bar and pounds on it, looking to be served. Standing
Speaker 1: across from him as a waitress just finishing up another
Speaker 1: order a whiskey, he says loudly. The waitress asks him
Speaker 1: to wait a moment. Zant Singer's eyes narrow and his
Speaker 1: lips curl up. Excuse me, he barks. Words then tumble
Speaker 1: from his mouth, ones that I wouldn't care to repeat now.
Speaker 1: Words that can scorn and shame a person, words that
Speaker 1: can ridicule and damage anyone. Things can change in an instant.
Speaker 1: But that's not enough for him. He leans over and
Speaker 1: raises his cane above his head. He brings it down hard,
Speaker 1: and it lands on the skin and bone of the waitress.
Speaker 1: When he connects with force. He draws the cane back
Speaker 1: and does it again and again and again. A man
Speaker 1: losing control. The waitress collapses once again. Zantzinger is sweating
Speaker 1: in Minneapolis outside cup Foods. Officer Chauvin has his knee
Speaker 1: over the suspect's neck. Another officer radios for a code
Speaker 1: to assistance for a non medical emergency, but when they
Speaker 1: see blood coming from the suspect's mouth, they upgrade it
Speaker 1: to a Code three. By the time the ambulance reaches
Speaker 1: the scene, the suspect is unresponsive. In Baltimore, Zantzinger isn't done.
Speaker 1: When his wife tries to calm him down, she ends
Speaker 1: up on the floor. He screams and shouts as the
Speaker 1: orchestra Howard Lennon plays on the waitresses in the back room,
Speaker 1: her face flooded with tears. An ambulance is on its way,
Speaker 1: but it won't be able to help her. She will die.
Speaker 1: Just hours later. In Minneapolis, the susp act with the
Speaker 1: supposedly fake twenty dollar bill is pronounced dead in a
Speaker 1: hospital soon after he arrives there in an ambulance. His
Speaker 1: name was George Floyd. Her name was Hattie Carroll. What
Speaker 1: do they both have in common? The color of their skin?
Speaker 1: How long have I been singing about this ship? Bitter, disillusioned?
Speaker 1: How long has this been going on? For? Will this
Speaker 1: ever change? And never through with this? A large part
Speaker 1: of my work has revolved around this stuff and for
Speaker 1: what for there to be no change? And people wonder
Speaker 1: why I gave up my finger pointing songs. This is
Speaker 1: what happens when change doesn't occur. We'll be right back
Speaker 1: after this word were word, I have to confess. It's
Speaker 1: finally time for you to know what happened that day,
Speaker 1: how all of this began, Why all this began? This
Speaker 1: is the truth. Truth. It's a funny thing these days.
Speaker 1: You can take the truth and make it fluid. Mark
Speaker 1: Twain once said, a lie can travel around the world
Speaker 1: and back again while the truth is lacing up its boots.
Speaker 1: And sure, I've lied, I've lied to you before, but
Speaker 1: what are you gonna do? That's life. I talk out
Speaker 1: both sides of my mouth, and what you here depends
Speaker 1: on which side you're standing. Things can change in an instant.
Speaker 1: The only truth in the world is that there isn't
Speaker 1: any don't blame me for that. But I never changed
Speaker 1: the truth completely, never made it void of form, never
Speaker 1: distorted it beyond all recognition. I bent it, invented it.
Speaker 1: It still had truth at the core. I used truth.
Speaker 1: I used truth for change, and I used the truth
Speaker 1: to change. Change never stops. So listen up. This is
Speaker 1: the truth. Remember when I first started talking to you.
Speaker 1: The thing that brought this all on. That's all we've
Speaker 1: ever talked about. The crash I had on my bike.
Speaker 1: I told you about how I ended up at Dr
Speaker 1: Saylor's house, right. I was riding on my motorbike and
Speaker 1: I ended up flat on the pavement in Woodstock, Remember
Speaker 1: the crash that almost killed me. Transfiguration is changed. I
Speaker 1: told you I left my manager's house. I'd gone there
Speaker 1: to get my bike and take it home. Sarah, my
Speaker 1: wife at the time, she was with me. That's all true.
Speaker 1: I left on the bike and she followed me home
Speaker 1: in the are. When she found me minutes later, I
Speaker 1: was all beaten up on the road, left half dead
Speaker 1: by a crash, my neck in a state, my legs crooked,
Speaker 1: my head having taken a whack. New people are born
Speaker 1: every day. It was the sun that did it. That
Speaker 1: and the oil on the road and the breaks of
Speaker 1: the bike. They all put me on the pavement that day.
Speaker 1: But then again, maybe not. Let me tell you what
Speaker 1: really happened. Let me tell you what really happened on
Speaker 1: that day in Woodstock, the day that Bob Dylan died.
Speaker 1: And hey, don't just take my word for it, take
Speaker 1: the word of everyone you've met during our time together.
Speaker 1: Let me explain. Actually, let Lucky Wilbury explain. He's seen
Speaker 1: it all happen, he knows the score. Tell him, Lucky.
Speaker 1: The Willberry people are not liar, so I'll be straight
Speaker 1: with you. Like I said, I'd gone to Albert's house
Speaker 1: to get my motorbike and a j S five hundred
Speaker 1: that previously belonged to Rambling Jack Elliott. That's wrong. There
Speaker 1: was a triumph. I don't think it was. Are you
Speaker 1: questioning me? I'm a help. We know, ad Bice. Okay, okay, sorry,
Speaker 1: it was a triumph to one hundred. Yes, a triumph
Speaker 1: T one hundred. Thanks. I got onto the bike that
Speaker 1: day with Sarah just behind me in the car. I
Speaker 1: gave her a nod, and then I set off as
Speaker 1: fast as I could man the road. I remember what
Speaker 1: it was like to be free. It was like drinking
Speaker 1: and fine glass of whiskey. It was pure joy. It
Speaker 1: felt like anything could happen in that moment. I remind
Speaker 1: myself of that these days. It helps me remember how
Speaker 1: you can feel. I shot down the hill, the wind
Speaker 1: billowing around me. I was like an arrow cutting through it.
Speaker 1: It felt like the spirit of the Lord was with me,
Speaker 1: looking back now. It was the very same feeling I
Speaker 1: had in that hotel room in Tucson when Jesus had
Speaker 1: appeared in front of me. Faster and faster I went.
Speaker 1: It felt like the first time I met Woody got Frey.
Speaker 1: It was a thrill. I've been toring and working for
Speaker 1: so long at that time, I had almost forgotten what
Speaker 1: it was like to be free. The thrill of actually
Speaker 1: having a feeling you've been searching for so long, having
Speaker 1: that watch over you was exhilarating. I suddenly thought to myself,
Speaker 1: this is what I've been missing. This freedom. Freedom, Yes, freedom,
Speaker 1: There's no freedom like the freedom of riding the beast.
Speaker 1: I felt so lost, though I knew that after this ride,
Speaker 1: this single little ride, I'd be back to it, back
Speaker 1: to the tours, back to the sessions, back to the
Speaker 1: less goddamn questions, back to the grind bless of the
Speaker 1: goddamn please. I felt like this was the only slice
Speaker 1: of freedom might get for a long time. Then it
Speaker 1: suddenly hit me, out of nowhere, I realized I could change.
Speaker 1: It suddenly occurred to me what transfiguration could offer me.
Speaker 1: This is your way out, I thought, this is your escape.
Speaker 1: There was no oils. Slip oil slicks can't tumble a
Speaker 1: triumph anyway. I wasn't drunk, and it wasn't the black springs.
Speaker 1: There was no sun in my eyes either. It was
Speaker 1: just me, me making a decision to get out, to
Speaker 1: end it all. Two transfigure. The universe gave me an
Speaker 1: opportunity on that road, and I took it. Anyone who
Speaker 1: has died has been freed from sin. Christ was raised
Speaker 1: from the dead. He cannot die again. Death no longer
Speaker 1: has mastery over him dead. I saw the road stretching
Speaker 1: out ahead, and I pushed down hard on the accelerator,
Speaker 1: and then I steered hard to the right. I knew
Speaker 1: if I made it feel like it was real, then
Speaker 1: it would be real. There's always another day. The bike's getted.
Speaker 1: Dropping to the side, I heard metal crunch against the asphalt.
Speaker 1: Spark flashed past my eyes, and smoke rose up from
Speaker 1: the tires. There was this awful screeching sound. Then it happened,
Speaker 1: another sunrise. I was thrown off up into the air.
Speaker 1: I went, the bike spinning out in front of me
Speaker 1: down the road. I felt like I hung there for
Speaker 1: a second, and then I dropped. I could feel my
Speaker 1: stomach churn. It danced like a cart wheel. As I
Speaker 1: hit the ground with a thud, leaves fall, rivers dry up.
Speaker 1: I landed on my side and I felt pain course
Speaker 1: through me, but on my face there was a smile.
Speaker 1: To be honest, the fall wasn't bad. Sure it was painful,
Speaker 1: but not too bad. I lay there on the road
Speaker 1: looking up at the sky. It looked so vast, I
Speaker 1: felt so small. I felt part of something bigger, bigger
Speaker 1: than myself, bigger than just one man. Change never stops.
Speaker 1: Then there was silence. I felt at peace for the
Speaker 1: first time in years. Look, I was burnt out. If
Speaker 1: I had continued like that, If I had continued as
Speaker 1: that Bob Dylan, so called Voice of a Generation, mh
Speaker 1: the one everyone knew, I would have died. And I
Speaker 1: don't mean I would have died and then been reborn,
Speaker 1: I mean dead in the cold, hard ground routing. Instead,
Speaker 1: I became something new and kept applying that every step
Speaker 1: of the way, life isn't about finding yourself, It's about
Speaker 1: inventing yourself. That woodstock asphalt witnessed the end of a life,
Speaker 1: but the beginning of a new one. And that is
Speaker 1: the truth. Well that's my story. And I'm sticking to
Speaker 1: it for now anyway. Officer Christie Bubble stands on Second
Speaker 1: Avenue in Long Branch, New Jersey. The rain pommels against
Speaker 1: the road as she walks. The water drips off her hat,
Speaker 1: causing a mini waterfall right before her eyes. The sky
Speaker 1: above her is gray. Even though it's daytime, it feels
Speaker 1: like the dead of night. Officer Bubble is alone and
Speaker 1: can already feel the familiar mixed feeling of fear and
Speaker 1: adrenaline rising in her body. It always feels like this
Speaker 1: when she's working alone in this job. You never know
Speaker 1: what it's about to happen or who you're about to
Speaker 1: come across. She moves slowly, walking around the deserted residential neighborhood,
Speaker 1: scanning the streets as she does. Her eyes fall on
Speaker 1: an alley between two houses. The Atlantic Ocean looms in
Speaker 1: the background. She sees a hooded figure. She knows it's him.
Speaker 1: It's the man operator had received a call about only
Speaker 1: twenty minutes ago, the man that had been walking around
Speaker 1: this neighborhood acting suspiciously. He fits the description. Older male,
Speaker 1: possibly homeless, stressed in a hooded coat. He stands with
Speaker 1: his back to her unconcerned by the rain, she advances slowly.
Speaker 1: In one hand she carries her flashlight while the other
Speaker 1: lingers just off her hip. Through the rain and gray light.
Speaker 1: She calls out, sir, and there's no reply in her
Speaker 1: hand moves closer to her hip as she calls again, sir.
Speaker 1: The hooded man's back is turned to her and he's
Speaker 1: not moving. Her flashlight darts to both of his hands,
Speaker 1: and she asked the man to turn around. Slowly, she
Speaker 1: grits her teeth. And this is the bit she hates
Speaker 1: the most, the bit where you don't know what it
Speaker 1: is it's going to happen. Despite being twenty two years
Speaker 1: old and a relatively new officer, she's seen this moment
Speaker 1: what seems to be a thousand times before. She begins
Speaker 1: to once again ask the man to turn around, when
Speaker 1: suddenly starts to slowly turn. Her hand now touches the
Speaker 1: butt of her gun, and the rain is soaking her through,
Speaker 1: but she still remains stoic in her approach. The figure
Speaker 1: turns around and she finally relaxes under arrest. Yes, the
Speaker 1: rain nearly drowning out his words. No, She tells him
Speaker 1: it's fine. She just has a few questions and the
Speaker 1: man is silent. She tells them they received a report
Speaker 1: of a man looking into some houses, moving suspiciously. She
Speaker 1: asked the man his name, shining her torch on his face.
Speaker 1: She always asked her names straight away, helps get people
Speaker 1: on her side as quickly as possible to build a relationship.
Speaker 1: For the first time, the man's eyes meet her eyes
Speaker 1: and she can see them clearly through the rain. Blue,
Speaker 1: tired but full of wisdom, he wipes the rain off
Speaker 1: his face. I'm Bob Dylan. Five minutes later, the man
Speaker 1: calling him off. Bob Dylan sits in the back of
Speaker 1: Officer bubbles squad car. Her training is kicked in and
Speaker 1: she is questioning him from the front seat. She asked
Speaker 1: if Bob Dylan is his real name or if he
Speaker 1: has another. In her mind races maybe he's playing a character.
Speaker 1: Maybe he thinks he's actually Bob Dylan. Her train of
Speaker 1: thought is interrupted by the man in the back seat.
Speaker 1: There's a lot of other names, lots of things have
Speaker 1: been called, too many to mention and many to remember,
Speaker 1: and all honesty. Officer Bubble sticks with Bob. She asked
Speaker 1: him why he was wandering around rain. He tells Bubble
Speaker 1: that today is a day off from his tour and
Speaker 1: that he wanted to use that day to walk through
Speaker 1: a different neighborhood. It's become a hobby of his, escaping
Speaker 1: the grind of the road and experiencing normal life. Bubble
Speaker 1: now convinced he's not a threat to anyone, and again
Speaker 1: remembering her training, No, she has to get the man
Speaker 1: back to the house or facility that he came from.
Speaker 1: Are you staying anywhere, Bob? She askes? House, hospital, hotel,
Speaker 1: and the man stares out the window. A hotel, a
Speaker 1: hotel by the ocean. Bubble drives while the man in
Speaker 1: the back seat directs her. He talks and talks and talks.
Speaker 1: He mentioned songs, people and houses. He talks of homes
Speaker 1: he has in London, California, in New York. Bubble asks
Speaker 1: if he has a house in this neighborhood. Shakes his head.
Speaker 1: I saw a house of the for sale sign, he says,
Speaker 1: I don't know, I just wanted to check it out.
Speaker 1: Bubble feels a sudden sadness for the man in the
Speaker 1: back of the car. He soaked, he's exhausted, he looks
Speaker 1: like he's lived a thousand lies. But it's still searching
Speaker 1: for something. He reminds her of her grandfather. It's just here,
Speaker 1: he says, pointing to a large hotel. As Bubble drives
Speaker 1: into the Spring Lake Hotel parking lot, fully expecting this
Speaker 1: to not be the place the man is staying, she
Speaker 1: radios for assistance. She requests a six eighteen a check
Speaker 1: on all the local hospitals and facilities to see if
Speaker 1: any patient is missing. She pulls her car around to
Speaker 1: the front of the building, and as she does catches
Speaker 1: sight of four huge tour buses parked to the left
Speaker 1: of the entrance. She stops the car in silence. The
Speaker 1: man in the back seat ruffles his stringy, curly mop
Speaker 1: of hair, and she realizes what has happened. She takes
Speaker 1: a beat before picking up her radio again. Cancel last requests,
Speaker 1: she says. Bob Dylan steps out of the cop car.
Speaker 1: His manager, looking sick with worry, is already arguing with
Speaker 1: the police officer. Bob Dylan, however, is uninterested. He strolls
Speaker 1: to the edge of the sidewalk, noticing that the rain
Speaker 1: is stopped and the sun peeks out from behind the clouds,
Speaker 1: and for the first time that day, he feels it
Speaker 1: on his face. It's a feeling he's felt somewhere else,
Speaker 1: a feeling he's felt as someone else. A sense of freedom,
Speaker 1: a sense of getting out of a place that confined him,
Speaker 1: that strangled him. He closes his eyes and then remembers
Speaker 1: it's the same feeling he had all those years ago
Speaker 1: after that crash, the same feeling he had when he
Speaker 1: left the house of Dr. Ed Taylor in Middletown, New York.
Speaker 1: The same sense of freedom. That feeling he had as
Speaker 1: he walked down the path leaving the doctor's house after
Speaker 1: spending what felt like years recovering there. That same feeling
Speaker 1: was back here as he stood outside this hotel. Bob
Speaker 1: Dylan pushes his head up towards the sun and once
Speaker 1: again feels reborn. Bids farewell and does not give a
Speaker 1: damn behind him. He's left multiple lives, many souls, and
Speaker 1: so much blood on the Tracks. Blood on the Tracks
Speaker 1: produced by Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Speaker 1: It's hosted an executive produced by me Jake Brennan. Also
Speaker 1: executive used by Brady sath Zeth Lundie is lead editor
Speaker 1: and producer. This episode was written by Ben Burrow, story
Speaker 1: and copy editing by Pat Healey, Mixing and sound designed
Speaker 1: by Colin Fleming. Additional music and score elements by Ryan Spraaker.
Speaker 1: This episode featured Chris Anzeloni is Bob Dylan. Sources for
Speaker 1: this episode are available at double Elvis dot com on
Speaker 1: the Blood in the Tracks series page, follow Double Elvis
Speaker 1: on Instagram at double Elvis and on Twitch at s
Speaker 1: Graceland Talks, and you can talk to me per Usual
Speaker 1: on Instagram and Twitter at disgrace Land Pod, rock and Roll,
Speaker 1: or Dead