In the mid-1970s, I was a member of a fledgling band, and we were invited to play a set at a festival in an amphitheater atop a mountain. Speakers from various organizations were also scheduled to appear. I was only interested in playing some music for a live audience.
At the concert, after we had performed a couple of songs, to my surprise the music was interrupted by one of the organizers of the concert. She walked onstage to begin a ceremony whereby we, the group, were to be inducted into an apparently important role in an organization my bandmates had joined. Hand-embroidered cloaks were draped over our shoulders, and a short speech was given. The organization advocated things I don’t believe in, so I wasn’t happy about any of this and was very upset that I hadn’t been asked if I wanted to participate.
In front of the crowd, I shrugged the cloak off, and it fell to the floor. I then walked off the stage. There was a lot of noise from upset people both in the audience and around the stage area. I couldn’t stick around with all this going on, so I took off and went for a drive along the back roads.
