War Story #13, Bob Dylan -- To Impress My Dad, I Assaulted Bob Dylan on the Stage at Wolf Trap, In VA. To Impress Myself, I got Away with-it Scott's Free. Yeah, And When You Get 4 of us Look OUT!

By Patrick Tyrrell for RockNRollConcerts.com (C) 2025. All Rights Reserved.

Bob Dylan who I believed was about 85 years old when I was 17, performing at Wolf Trap, in Vienna. Virginia on July 20th, 1992, when his show was quite rudely interrupted by a man in a red tye-die tee-shirt, and long brown hair who was never caught --but the man is believed to be -- Myself!

I was slightly bummed out. Guns N' Roses, who I had seen play a concert once before, in 1990, was playing that night, July 20th, 1992, at the Capital Center in Landover Maryland -- but I had tickets to Bob Dylan.

A bunch of my other friends were heading in a couple of trucks over to the Cap Center, but I was milling around the McDonalds Restaurant Parking Lot slightly mad that I had tickets to a lame concert that night compared to GNFKR.

A couple of my other friends had an half-keg in the trunk of their Pink Convertible Chevrolet Camero, there in the McDonalds Parking Lot, which I was drinking out of.

After a little while, a friend of mine who I have referred to in a previous War Story, as "El Dorado", pulled into the parking lot.

See War Story #12 Diplomatic Immunity -- The Pickup Truck and the Police Driven Volvo Cars. Falls Church Cops Weren't Always As Smart As Today And Stolen Diplomatic Papers Could, and Were, Used. War Story #12, Cool.

"Hey, did you see those homeslices? Where'd they go? Oh, they went to the Heavy Metal concert in Landover? Did they? Oh, OK," El Dorado was talking to me.

"Yeah, n' I got an extra ticket to Bob Dylan, in Vienna, in a few hours where those other homeslices of ours are at already, you want to use it?"

"Yeah, who're the other homeslices? Oh, you mean like Alicia n' them?"

"Yeah, those homeslices."

"OK let's go, we'll take your car because mine is a two-seater, n y'know," he said, locking his car.

We got in mine, a 1982 blue Chevy Malibu, and I drove there, to nearby Vienna, Virginia.

We parked in the grass parking lot at the Wolf Trap National Park, where the Filene Center is located where old rusty bagpipes Dylan would be playing in a short while. . .

We went inside; we knew a lot of people there, and like -- we knew every person there who was our age. It was pretty cool.

Eventually, old froggy-mouth came out.

He had a guitar but no voice, apparently his tour was called "the never-ending tour" or something like that -- because he had been on the tour since 1968, or something.

He sounded like a frog. (Bob Dylan did), and my friend, "El Dorado", had both of his index fingers in his ears the music was so bad.

"I know, he sucks bad bro, doesn't he!?" I agreed, "Hey watch this . . ."

I jumped a small fence, and I jumped up a few stairs onto the Wolf Trap stage. I got directly in front of Bob Dylan who was standing up playing a red guitar.

"Bugs! Insects! Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!" I shouted intensely right in Bob Dylan's face. His face was petrified with fear.

Wearing a red and white tie-dye tee-shirt with a marijuana leaf in the center of it, I jumped off the stage, and I darted for the side fence, and I jumped that little shoulder-high fence over it, and I ran into the young maple and oak mid-summer shady forest outside the venue.

A man was following me on foot, and he was a Fairfax County Police Officer.

"Why are you chasing me!?" I shouted back at him over my shoulder.

"What? You know why," the man said or something like that.

"No, I don't. Really," I said.

I ran through some more and jumped over a creek and kept running around the side of the back of The Wolf Trap Filene Center, putting more distance between me and the officer, and around the other side. I came where there was another of those waste-high wooden fences, which I vaulted over and literally tore my shirt off, throwing it in a trash can in tatters, and stepped back into the crowd at the stadium, where I knew everyone near my age.

So, I was standing around there, shirtless, wearing blue jeans. Lots of people were standing around talking with white cups of beer in their hands (even though we were all teenagers at the time).

Everybody was agreeing the music sucked.

Finally, a friend of mine named Rob Bernstein pointed me out, "Hey, Pat, you are wrong. They will recognize you. Just because you lost your bright red tee-shirt doesn't mean they won't find you, they are looking for you right now, and they will find you."

"Really?" I questioned him.

I didn't think they would find me. I thought all tall, long-haired, brown-haired teenagers probably looked the exact same to them, so they would focus on the bright red tie-dye and look for that.

I thought I was right. But Rob Bernstein could be right, so I agreed to leave. And I walked out the gate.

El Dorado watched me leaving and he hated the music anyway, so he soon joined me at my car, the blue Chevy Malibu.

And we left.

Later, I felt bad because I thought Bob Dylan was like 85 years old and I was 17 and I could have made him wet his pants or have a heart attack or something, but I later calculated he was how old in 1992 there? Only 51 years old, that's all, and then I didn't feel so bad.

I didn't even feel bad later, when my girlfriend, Victoria, The Sun and The Moon girl princess from Michigan, she told me she was friends with Bob Dylan's friends and so was her mom.

So what? I didn't care.

My other friends got in trouble at the Guns N' Roses Concert for ripping concertgoers off.

But not me. I did not get caught or get in trouble ever!!!!!! And I ripped my clothes off!!! We Tellin' War Stories!!!!!!!!!!!!

(C) 2025 Patrick Tyrrell, and RockNRollConcerts.com. All rights Reserved.