In 1983, David Bowie announced the amibitous schedule for his Serious Moonlight Tour: 50 American cities, one show in each except for New York (two) and Philadelphia (three). Bowie loved Philadelphia, and we loved Bowie.
Guido and I had been doing our own serious moonlight touring for less than a year. She scored two tickets for us for the third night’s show. My very good friend and former girlfriend Rag also got her hands on tickets, and she and I went on the second night. (This is something I never mentioned to either one until about ten years ago. I may look dumb, but I’m ugly.)
At the time, Rag lived in an apartment at the Warwick Hotel. We learned that Bowie was staying there. It wasn’t hard to figure out: his gigantic tour bus (“Major Tom”) was parked behind the building, occupying a third of the block.
Rag penned a short note, enclosing this antique leather postcard she liked, and asked Bowie if he’d be kind enough to autograph it and dedicate it to her friend (me). She handed it to the concierge, who told her he could get it to Bowie’s room, but make no further promises.
Pictured here is the postcard. Hard to make out, but it’s addressed to me, “With all my best wishes,” signed, and dated ’83. I’m not a sentimentalist or the groupie type, but this little token has always meant a lot to me.
After the second show, Bowie announced there would be a fourth show. We really loved him in Philadelphia, where he’ll be mourned and terribly missed.