The Last Dispatch

One of the best experiences of my life included 110,00 people on the banks of the Charles River overflowing the Hatch Shell in Boston. July 31, 2004 was the Last Dispatch. The Last Dispatch was the "largest independent music event in history." My friend Hannah and I slept over our friend Haley's house. We were 14 at the time, and up at 7 a.m. shaking Haley's dad awake. We were out the door by 8, but not before we wrote all over Haley's dads green 80's hatchback "hatch shell or bust!" We drove a bit outside Boston and hopped on the T, arriving in the city a little after ten. On the way we met other die-hard fans (or so we thought) and swapped stories.

Unfortunately, showing up 10a.m. for a 5 p.m. concert wasn't early enough, the hardcore fans had already arrived. Open-mouthed in awe of the already settled in crowd, we parked our blanket a little further back than the middle of the field because that was as close as we could get. It was already wall-to-wall people, some who had been there overnight and others since dawn. Later, in the documentary, one fan said “last night we brought a tent and we slept on the island over there so we could get here really early and get a really good spot.” Others “came here without a place to sleep, pretty much just looked around- we did it for Dispatch.” We thought we were the hardcore fans, but we found out others had beaten us by nearly a whole day. Disappointed about the our minimal view of the stage, but not discouraged, we spent the day fighting our way through sweaty crowds (it was a hot, humid 85 degree day), meeting other crazy fans and having the time of our lives. We stood in a line for t-shirts that wound for nearly four blocks through the growing crowd for hours. After we each got our prized t-shirt, we made our way back to the field. We sat and sang our favorite songs with dozens of groups of hippies who had brought their own guitars and drums to pass the time. Everyone was friendly all day long- we were there for the same reason and with many of the same beliefs. I have never experienced such a sense of community among perfect strangers.

The whole day we watched as the crowd swelled. The crowd filled up the entire highway, was all over the bridges, and went for miles. Boston police were baffled at the turnout. They brought 15 men to control the crowd of 70,000 kids (at the start of the day). The band expected a turnout of around 30-50 thousand. Just by talking to everyone around us, we gathered that this crowd was from across the country. Later we found out that not only was that true, but there were people there from Canada, Mexico, South Africa, Spain, Portugal, Costa Rica, Italy, and many other countries.

Perople were on the islands on the Charles, in bumper-to-bumper boats, shoulder-to-shoulder across Storrow Drive (which was closed in the early afternoon to accommodate the exponentially growing crowd), back-to-back on footbridges, and in any trees that would afford a decent view of the stage. Band member Brad Corrigan summed it up best “There was so much energy, so much momentum, so much speed, we were just holding on for dear life.”

It was one of the most memorable and crazy experiences of my life. Several times throughout the concert, people started chucking full water bottles, beer cans, milk jugs, and any other container of liquid in the air. It was as disgusting as it was beautiful. Body surfers littered the crowd, and beach balls flew through the air without end. After the final song, everyone picked up armloads of trash to throw away and waded through the rest. We moved as one to the subway station and packed inside even more tightly than we had been all day. The crowd began to disburse with each stop, but even as we got to our car we were still sharing stories with fellow fans. We left that night sad that it was a farewell concert, but exhilarated from the sheer experience of the day.