yesterday lunch time i went into the local bar for a drink
Some friends of mine were in the bar with 2 of their clients ( they run guided walking holidays in the mountains around here).
The clients were to ladies about my age. we were chatting and the conversation got to the Grateful Dead. I was wearing a GD tiedie. One of the women said she met them in 67 at a party in London. If rememeber correctly in the Rock Scully book, only he went to London the band didn't. They certainly didn't play.
The Lady, Ann,said she went to the party with a friend who later became a Dead Roadie
i replied Sam Cutler, Ann was astonised i knew him. After this Ann told more tales of Mr Cutler
Strange Occurences in The Mountains
The strangest thing was they had been here for week and we hadn't met, on their last day we met
happy 60th Bobby W
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At Telluride in '87, Bill Graham was everywhere --no surprise, as he had a home there and was both promoting the gigs and pretty much playing Head of the Travel and Tourism Bureau for the weekend --and also doing his very damnedest to keep the scene as clean as possible.
On the day of the first show, I saw him strolling around, eyes behind dark glasses, schnozz in the air and inspecting the general scene for the even the slightest hint of disarray. With deference of the kind that a kindergartner displays toward the school principal, I gave him a "G'moring, Mister Graham" as I walked past him on the main drag, to which he silently replied with a smug nod.
After the second show ended, he gave what was by then his familiar spiel thru the house mike from the stage ("...and r'membuh t'pick up yuh sh*t aftuh yoo..."), immediately after which he comes barrelling out onto the Town Park lawn with a big plastic trash bag in his hands (and a roll of several dozen others shoved into a pocket of his shorts), barking orders in every direction all the while.
So I start stuffing soiled paper napkins, discarded drink cups and cigarette butts into his trash bag until satisfied that the area within a fair-sized radius of where I had been seated was neat, tidy and free of debris, and then I scrammed on outta there back to the adjacent camping area with a vague sense of fear that he'd be dropping by before dark for a rigorous tent and campground inspection.
A week later, on the morning of the first show at the Calaveras County Fairgrounds, I was walking thru the parking/camping area at the venue, looking for a ticket for the second show. I happened upon a couple of high school kids wearing official-looking teeshirts and ID laminates who seemed to be selling tickets, and I started digging for my wallet as I approached them.
Out of nowhere, this noisy bundle of energy comes charging onto the scene, barking, "A'right, ah we sellin' tickets heah? Hah? Ah we sellin' tickets? A'right, [he roared,] who needs a ticket heah?" "One for tomorrow please, Mr. Graham --*tomorrow*."
Elsewhere in the family, I got to say hi ("Hey, Headster") to Bill Walton about eight years ago at some small, very informal sportsy corporate/promotional type thing (Roger Craig from the 'Niners was there, too). Based on what I saw and what I've heard, I'd describe him as a red-headed, seven-foot ("Pleeeeeeease...six-*eleven*") version of Bobby who plays basketball not guitar.
An erstwhile roommate of mine from a college town in Illinois moved to State College PA in mid-'80s and fronted a band that did GD covers (he's in Oregon now). He was at a GD show at Nassau, I think, somewhere around '89-'91, and from where he was seated, he could see this vaguely familiar-looking guy in an enclosed, restricted-access area near but not on the floor, like the penalty box or bench area used for hockey games.
It occurred, either to him or to someone seated with him, that the guy in the restricted area was none other than Rob Wasserman, and my guy managed to make his way over to where Rob was, make his acquaintance and hang out with him in the restricted area for the remainder of the gig. They ended up becoming quite chummy for a while beyond that one show, and for all I know they still are.
Lastly, I used to do apartment painting and light maintenance for a Bay Area native who's a property manager in the Illinois college town I mentioned earlier. In early September of '93, he went back to the Bay Area for Labor Day weekend, and upon his return, he calls me into his office and hands me this sheet of lined yellow letter pad with a personalized note scribbled in red felt-tip.
So he tells me that as he was on the plane returning to Chicago, he got to talking to the woman who was in the adjacent seat, and in response to the old familiar "so what do you do" inquiry, she says she's the lighting director for a professional touring rock band and is in transit to Ohio for the start of fall tour.
So back and forth they go, and it leads inevitably to, "Y'know, I got this fella on my work crew who absolutely loves those guys, and I haven't done anything like this since I was a kid at Candlestick Park with Willie Mays and Willie McCovey --but d'ya think I could get your autograph for him?"
So she wrote me a nice little note (still have it), did Candace Brightman, the pride of Winnetka, Illinois ("Hi...I'm the Grateful Dead's lighting director..." --as if she needed to tell me!), and she told my boss to be sure to tell me not to come hitting her up for tickets to shows on the fall tour --LOL!
One of my friends had an extra ticket for the 6/29/90 "Creating Our Future w/Jerry and Bob" at the Palace of Fine Arts in SF and asked if I wanted to go. I drove there and luckily I got the last legal parking spot in the row. I stood outside and waited for her to show up with my ticket. As I waited a friggin BMW pulls up and parks illegally blocking me in. Well, I decided that I was going to let this guy know that I knew he was blocking me. I walked up to my car, opened the door and got an extra pack of smokes out. Out of the corner of my eye I see the guy getting out and shutting his door. I shut my door and am prepared to give him the "I know your blocking me in look" as I turned to face the guy who was walking up to me I realized it was Bobby. I was thrown. My jaw dropped as Bobby walked up to me and asked if it was okay that he parked there. I stuttered uh, uh, ya, it's cool (now feeling like the total a$$ I had just made of myself). I shook his hand and walked away.
Inside the venue both Jerry and Bobby just hung out in the lobby talking with everyone. We stopped by and said hi to Jerry, my friend complimenting him on his new haircut which he thanked her for. We then went over to chat a little with Bobby; everything was copacetic. He signed an autograph for me and we shook hands again.
After the show (neither of them ended playing that night-they let some of the kids borrow their quitars to play) I was ready to leave. Bobby still had me blocked in. I waited and waited. The problem was that there were too many people hanging around Bobby's car and I overheard that he did not want to come out until the crowd thinned. I sat on the hood of my car. Finally after a long wait Bobby emerged with a woman carrying his guitar for him. As she walked by me she turns and says, "Nice parking job" to me insinuating that I squeezed in behind Bobby. I smiled and thought about how things come around.
It was 9/25/88.
My girlfriend and I had flown back east to visit family. My mother had offered to drive us to the airport to fly back to the Bay area. My mother as always had to get there WAY too early. I think it was about 6am when we were shuffling through JFK airport in NY on the way to our gate. Barely awake, my girlfriend says to me, "Hey, there is Jerry". Sure enough I look to my right and Jerry was sitting there relaxing. I kept walking. My mother screamed, "JERRY, JERRY"! I looked in horror at my girlfriend. My mother was going to make a scene. She started yelling at me, "Go get his autograph". I shook my head as I knew she was not going to let this go. My mother marched straight up to Jerry and said, "You don't have any idea what my son goes through to see you." Here I was thinking, yes mom, he does and as a matter of fact as much as I tried to see them as much as possible regrettably I had never quit my day job to go on tour. She then asked Jerry if he would sign an autograph for me. He smiled and said sure. I had my boarding pass in hand and handed it over to him. He asked my name and signed, "Marc, Hiya, Jerry Garcia". As he handed back to me he says that we would probably see other members of the band in the terminal but they had just done 9 shows at the Garden and they were all pretty tired if we could please leave the other members alone. I thanked him and then apologized profusely and walked off seeing Brent and Phil making sure my mom had no idea they were there.
As it turns out we were on the same flight to SF. On the flight I remembered I had my camera with me. Jerry, being in 1st class had got off the plane before me. When we finally got off the plane we ran by my buddy who was picking us up and told him Jerry was on our flight and wanted to get a picture of him. We ran through the terminal. We then saw Jerry on a people mover and ran to the other end. I stood off to the side and snapped a quick picture as discreetly as I could just before he got off. He gave me a big smile and a nod.
At the time I could not believe what my mom had done. I now cherish my note from Jerry and will post it along with the 1 picture here.
was that Fred Lieberman's class? If so, I'm giggling at the "not a Deadhead" characterization; hell, he coauthored a book with Mickey!
We need to get him in here, come to think of it...
I was a sophmore at UC Santa Cruz, I think it must have been 1989-90. My friend was taking a music appreciation class. The teacher was a very straight guy, not a deadhead in the least. On one of the first classes, he played touch of grey as an example of a perfectly composed song. I heard through the grapevine that the professor was friends with Jerry. There was a very vague rumor that Jerry was going to come to class at some point in time. UC Santa Cruz in the late 80's had alot of hardcaore deadhead kids, so this rumor made us all nuts! So I went to that class every single session, even though I was not enrolled in that class. I think it was probably the only class I went to consistently during college. Anyways after many many many weeks, Mickey showed up! It was awesome. I think he lectured to us, but I can't remember for sure. After the class, I went up to introduce myself. He was very gracious. I remember asking him if he could PLEASE play shakedown street at the next california show. Then spent alot of time anticipating if they would..... They didn't but it was awesome meeting Mickey.
My sister , who is not a deadhead, claims she met Bobby in a casino in Nevada. She got me a signed cocktail napkin from him. Im not sure if that really happened or if she was just pulling my leg.
I think you win. Say more about Bob at the Grove--or would they have to kill you?
I met Bob Weir in the Bohemian Grove back in the 1990s. He played some fantastic music including "West L.A. Fadeaway" & "Misty". I may have been the first Dead Head to dance in the streets of the Grove! He was backed by the great band "Marley's Ghost". See them if you get the chance!
"The experiment continues..."
I took my then 3 year old son to a Mets game in the summer of 1996, one of those mid-week day games (Businessman's Special). Because the crowd was so sparse, we ended up moving to seats right behind home plate. I was looking around and there was a guy with 2 or 3 really BIG guys sitting there a few rows behind me. I heard him talking, bragging that this rookie named Jeter was going to be a big star with the Yankees. I chatted him up, saying the Mets rookie shortstop was going to be even better (Um...I was SO wrong...and he couldn't have been anymore right!!!). We laughed, and it just hit me that I was "Talkin' Baseball" with the one and only Branford Marsalis.
I didn't want to let on and we just kept BS'ing about the Mets and Yankees. Finally I said "Man, you look an awful lot like Branford Marsalis." He and his boys laughed like hell, and he said he was. I told him that I was at the Coliseum shows in 90 when he played with the Boys. He replied that he "Had a LOT of fun playin' with those guys." We kept on chatting and I asked him to sign my program. He smiled and asked what my son's name was. I told him John and he signed it..."To John, Your Dad is a bigger baseball freak than me..." and signed his name. I shook his hand, thanked him and left. A GREAT memory...
I love breaking that out and looking at it once in awhile.
I heard the Dead for the first time in Santa Rosa, about 50 miles north of San Francisco in the summer of '66. I had just turned 18. I heard Dylan play in the city in December of '65 and had been to the Fillmore once before but had never heard the Dead. It was an empty house but they played great---Dancin in the Streets, Good Morning Little School Girl, perhaps The Midnight Hour. The Jaywalkers, who played with them were really good too. I never heard of them again.
We met some people with The Dead and were invited down to 710 Ashbury, whenever. We visited for the first time about a week later. Phil answered the door and told us our friend wasn't there but to come in. He took us to a really nice room on the same floor and told us we could wait there. We waited. It was a beautiful room, very, very cool and full of personal things. One thing kind of worrisome----what looked like a leather biker jacket with an Angels logo on the back. We waited a long time. Phil returned once, said nothing,but picked up a glass jar and shook it at us and gave us one of those "what"s doin" looks and left. About 20 minutes later, Pigpen walked in and said "Who the Hell are you people?" You should have seen three little hippy chicks come to attention fast. It's all an upward swirling after that. We spent the afternoon on the top floor with Jerry, Phil, our friends, whoever, listening to some albums we had brought along and ended up down at Fosters or Mannings on Market Street, downtown, eating piece after piece of blackberry pie and laughing our asses off. "Just a little light".