In the fall of 1970, when Kathy Hurley entered her second year at Newtown, Pa.’s Bucks County Community College, the avid live-music enthusiast joined the Student Activities Committee. In this role, she helped plan an October 25 concert with local quintet Stockyard, followed by The Allman Brothers Band and then Spirit. The event became a two band affair when Spirit cancelled their appearance due to illness; however, the ensuing evening of music has reverberated in her life ever since.

“I remember being in the audience when the Allmans ‘hit the note’ and just grinning from ear to ear,” Hurley has written of that night. “It was like no music I’d ever heard. It made me feel alive like I’d never felt before. Raw, joyful, righteous, ‘get up and move’ kind of music. I looked around and everyone else had that same look. There was no turning back!”

Her connection with the ABB continued well after the show. As she recalls, “Most of us in the Committee hung out with the band for the next three days at the Holiday Inn in New Hope. The ABB had just played Stony Brook, N.Y., on October 24 and were next headed to Boston Garden on October 30. They were ready for a little break. It was October 1970, and they were relatively new to stardom. They were unassuming, polite and upbeat—a bit rowdy, but lots of fun.”

Hurley struck up friendships with the musicians, and perhaps just as importantly, with the band’s crew. She notes, “I was not trying to make points or get a rock star boyfriend. Somehow being low-key was the best approach as I kept getting invited back.”

She would often bring a camera, taking photos that captured the group on stage and in more casual settings as well.

“Each time I would see them, I had pictures from the last gig I had been at,” Hurley recollects. “They knew I had two sets, and they would all rally round and go through the pack and take what they wanted. This is how so many of my pictures got out into the public domain before I made them public.”

Hurley did not aspire to be a concert photographer—rather she was snapping images of her friends. These photos became iconic because Hurley experienced an intense 18-month period that included the band’s epic nights at the closing of the Fillmore East, the final show before the death of Duane Allman and some of the group’s initial performances following his passing.

One of the gigs she photographed was a free afternoon appearance at Skidmore College on May 15, 1971. Over 50 years later, ABB fan and Skidmore alum Davis Martin reached out to her, hoping to locate additional images and info from that day. Eventually, she agreed to send him her entire catalog of over 500 negatives, photos and contact sheets. 

Martin explains, “After over 50 years in storage, much of the footage had been compromised, so we worked to have a good  portion of her most important photographs digitally retouched and restored to their original condition. While some have circulated on social media and otherwise over the years, there are others that have never been unveiled to the public.”

Hurley recently created a book of her images and stories, which she made available for sale through the Big House Museum in Macon, Ga., to help raise funds for the organization. She also donated a jacket to the Big House that Duane Allman had acquired from her in exchange for three of his own shirts, which Duane’s girlfriend, Dixie Meadows, later returned at his memorial service. Hurley acknowledges, “It was impossible to say no to him. He was sweet, kind and thoughtful. I never did see any bad side to him. So, of course, I said, ‘Sure.’ Actually, I was bowled over that he wanted it.”

Thinking back on that era, since typically there weren’t photo pits or photo passes, how challenging was it for you to shoot?

You’re right, there were neither of those. It was just hanging out. If it was outdoors, like the show at Skidmore, I would be wandering around through the crowds and getting shots. If it was indoors, I was able to go up and down the aisles of whatever venue they were at.

Photo pits and passes came along later. Pretty much, I just tried to stay out of the way and not block people’s views. Everybody kind of just left me alone.

You became friendly with Duane. As you think back, how would you describe him to somebody who never met him?

He was an incredibly spiritual person. He was kind and he was also well read—he always had his nose in a book. He turned me on to J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis.

When I first met him and we were hanging out, he taught me about the Delta blues and he helped me discover all sorts of musicians, like Howlin’ Wolf, Little Milton, Muddy Waters and Bobby “Blue” Bland.

He was a genuine person. There was no bullshit with Duane, but he also would not suffer fools gladly. He was who he was. He was always quiet in conversation but sure of his beliefs—no pretension, no game, no bullshit.

Duane was a magician. He was one of those guys that people just wanted to listen to. He was obviously the leader, but that was more due to the strength of his personality than any effort he made to take charge. Everyone looked to him for direction.

You were there for the final three nights of the Fillmore East. I’d always heard from Butch Trucks that the best show was the middle one. It sounds like you agree.

Absolutely. They were just much more together on the second to last one. It went all freaking night and when we finally came out of the Fillmore, it was daylight. People were crying from joy and exhaustion. It was kind of amazing.

On the last night, there was some mayhem because The Beach Boys had thought that they would be closing but Bill Graham told them otherwise. There were a lot of bands that night. [Albert King, J. Geils Band, Edgar Winter’s White Trash, Mountain, The Beach Boys and Country Joe McDonald all performed.]

The Allmans played a fine show, but they were exhausted. They often fed off the energy of their fans and that show was invitation-only, mostly for industry insiders, so it probably felt different to them. As a fan myself, I appreciated that they played better when it was for us.

You write that Jaimoe hosted a few of you during that run.

There wasn’t any other place for us to stay, so he let us crash in his room. We ended up taking a limo to the shows with him, which was unexpected and fun.

Jaimoe was a drummer and that was his focus, but he was also a very nice gentleman. Butch was the same way, although we only talked here and there. They were both nice guys. I mean, they were all nice guys. Dickey was maybe a little aloof, but everybody was really easy to get along with and low maintenance.

What are your memories of the Steel Pier, where the band played from July 5-10?

There were three shows daily, which meant that we’d be walking back and forth on the boardwalk. The Cowsills were also on the bill, although I never saw them. Each band had maybe half an hour or 45 minutes for their set. Then they’d reset for the other band, and this kept going most of the day. It was kind of weird, but that’s the way it was.

I also remember that it was really hot out there. It was an open-air venue, but the stage didn’t face the beach, so there were no breezes to cool off the band.

In describing the Stony Brook show on Sept. 19, 1971, you note that when you woke up in your hotel room, Duane and Gregg were playing “Little Martha” on acoustic guitars. What prompted them to serenade you?

It wasn’t quite like that. They had to go someplace to play. They needed a room to jam in and somehow found their way into mine. [Laughs.]

Nearly a month later, you were on hand for Duane’s final performance at the Painters Mill Music Fair.

I had just been down in Mason visiting with Red Dog [Joseph Campbell, one of the band’s original roadies], Duane and Dixie. From there, before I went back to Pennsylvania, I went to that show, which was somewhere near Baltimore.

It was an awesome show. By that time, everybody had honed their skills, and they were making fabulous music. They had a reputation, but they could deliver on it.

I also remember sharing some great moments backstage with the crew and everyone. I’m just so glad I got some photos.

As you think back on Duane’s memorial service, what comes to mind?

Dixie was so kind and gracious. Despite everything she was going through, she allowed us to stay with her.

I remember a lot of people were walking around in a daze. There were a lot of questions. What had just happened? What’s going to happen to the band? Is this going to be it? Nobody had an answer.

As for the service itself, I remember tears. The watershed moment was Delaney Bramlett leading everyone through “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” The tears flowed.

Three weeks after the funeral, the band returned to the stage for a show at CW Post College. You were there, although you don’t appear to have taken any photos. What do you recall from that night?

I don’t remember taking photos and I haven’t been able to find any.

Again, there were so many questions. Was it too soon? Not soon enough? Would the magic return? Would the band be able to reinvent themselves?

What I remember is that, through all that sadness, the band did what they could to make us feel better.

Then there was Carnegie Hall a few days later.

The rest of the band knew that Duane had always wanted to play Carnegie Hall. So they were there for him in a special way. They were somber and struggling but feeling some form of therapy through their music.

The last images from this batch are from the Academy of Music in April 1972, a few months after you’d last seen them. What were your impressions of those shows?

It had probably been four months. Red Dog invited me. He told me that I needed to come out. They played there for three nights and did three really long sets. It was powerful, although it was strange not to see Duane. I played his parts in my head.

I do remember that Berry was not the same. There was a great sadness to him, even though the band as a whole played really well. They had really stepped it up and made a claim to keep the music going.