14:3 Lost Footage: Karoline Rosenda



You have to remember that these were the days when record companies, even small ones like Celestial, literally had money to burn. Z had set me up with a car and driver in order to shuttle Devon around with the all-important caveat that he make all three of the Winterland gigs. He didn’t care what else we got ourselves up to, which, in hindsight, perhaps he should have.

There were a couple of tense moments going through customs with Devon’s bags in which I witnessed Devon’s charisma in full effect—let me explain here, I never thought I’d see a man with the personal power to dissuade Federal agents from rifling through his bags without once mentioning a thing about it. He could have told the agents to take their clothes off and do a jig, and they would have done it. It was the craziest thing I ever saw … up to then.

After we left customs, we were as free as anyone has ever been; completely let loose on the City and with an expense account to boot.

“All right then, Karo-line, our first stop is go see the president!” I can still see Devon standing up through the open sunroof chanting, “LBJ! JBJ!” Little did I know that Lyndon Baines Johnson’s initials also stood for an ill-advised combination of heroin and LSD.

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