Rick Danko: With Dylan at Ondine, 1965, Photographed by Jerry Schatzberg

Among Rick's many interesting--and fascinating--qualities was his genuinely blithe yet enigmatic nature. It always struck me as uncanny that he could seamlessly--and compellingly--converse with artists and poets and intellectuals without ever pretending (or even wanting) to be part of their scene--or any scene, for that matter. I saw him engage amateur musicians in spontaneous jams so that, by the time the session was over, the other guys were assured and self-confident knowing that they'd jammed with Rick Danko. I watched with a combination of disbelief and almost parental pride as he charmed Allen Ginsberg to the point of near giddiness without ever uttering a word about poetry. I witnessed this over and over, as Rick melded effortlessly with people from all walks of life, but never fit into any niche. None of it was fake or contrived or planned. It was just part of Rick's charisma.

It was also part of his M.O. He could not--would not--be pinned down--not musically, emotionally, physically, or any other way. He was sprightly yet mysterious--and sometimes, very frustrating. You never knew which way he was gonna veer--or if he was going to veer at all. Sometimes he'd swim against the tide, sometimes he'd go with the flow--and he knew instinctively which course to take. Regardless, he always just lived in the moment.

One night, in the middle of some Rick drama--he'd promised to "try" to make it to a friend's gig then never showed up, leaving me to deal with it--Eric Andersen wisely advised me to chalk it up to "Rick being Rick." Don't be frustrated, and stop trying to figure him out. Stop trying to solve this puzzle disguised as a street urchin. "He's a troubadour," Eric said with a half-smile and a slightly helpless shrug.

We talked a lot about Rick that night and Eric shared another observation with me: Of all the scores and scores of musicians and artists he'd known or encountered, Rick, he told me, without question straddled more "scenes" than any of them, yet was part of none of them. He used the example of how Rick and Lou Reed, both dear friends of his, were contemporaries who'd crossed paths and whose friends and colleagues crossed paths, yet never quite "met." And, while Lou was identified with a certain genre, a certain scene, a certain fan base--Rick never really was. He basically just dipped a toe in to test the water.

I thought about this conversation while looking at the picture below, one of my very favorites of Rick. It's atmospheric, a time capsule. And it speaks volumes about Rick "straddling scenes."  This photo was taken by the great photographer and filmmaker, Jerry Schatzberg (who shot the cover photo of Dylan's Blonde on Blonde and many other iconic photos--of Dylan and others) at Ondine in New York City. Ondine, located at 308 E. 59th Street and co-owned by Schatzberg, was one of New York's hippest and most exclusive discotheques and the happening place for rock's elite and the art world's avant garde in the mid-60s. It's where Andy Warhol and his Factory crowd--including his tragic and beautiful "superstar," Edie Sedgwick--came to see and be seen. It's where the Doors played their first New York gig. It's where Jackie Gleason rubbed elbows with Faye Dunaway and where Sonny & Cher came to hang out and chill.


(L to R): Rick Danko, Bob Dylan, Bob Neuwirth, David Blue, Venetia Cunningham at Ondine in NYC, October 1965
And it was at Ondine that a still-wet-behind-the-ears farm boy whose only school after 8th grade had been The Road drank cognac and smoked cigarettes and partied with Dylan, already the "Voice of His Generation," and on his way to becoming arguably the most significant cultural icon of the century.

Mr. Schatzberg's photo shows Rick (still known to many as "Ricky"), not yet 22, suave and clean-shaven, holding a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger in that unassuming, unaffected way country boys sometimes do, at a table with Dylan, Bobby Neuwirth, David Blue, and a young woman (you may have to click on the photo to see it entirely) who has been erroneously identified as Sara Dylan.

Mr. Schatzberg personally confirmed to me yesterday that the woman is not Sara Dylan--and he should know, since it was Sara who introduced him to Dylan in the first place. "To the best of my memory," Mr. Shatzberg told me, the name of the woman, who was a friend of his, "is Venetia Cunningham." 

Stay tuned for a a full interview with Mr. Jerry Schatzberg...coming very soon.