Only slightly more grand in scope than the one time I saw him (Jazz Showcase, Chicago, 1981). He was only an hour-and-a-half late, there were no false starts by the band, and he didn't give us an explanation (now I feel cheated!). But you're right - that presence, that charisma, was damn near overpowering from the second that he walked into the room.
If he'd have played even half as fucked up as he looked and acted (and probably was), I'd have felt cheated and been pissed. But he didn't - he was on, playing long, hard, never coasting. It was one of the most uplifiting gigs I've ever had the blessing of experiencing. And I wasn't the only one - damn near the entire room left out of there on a high.
Dex's lifestyle was definitely not one I'd recommend to amateurs (and to none but the most trained professionals, if you know what I mean...), but he was who he was and he did what he did. When he did it like he did it that night, it's all the proof that I need that sometimes gettting what you want, need, even, doesn't always come on your terms. If it's good enough (and that night it was more than good enough), you put up with whatever it is that you gotta put up with to get it. Those who ain't willing to do that are well within their rights, but when the night is over, what matters is where you end up, not what you had to go through to get there.