Editors comment: This post is by my brother, Kelly.<\/p>\n
It is December 31st, 1988, and still I have no ticket for tonight’s New
\nYear’s Eve Grateful Dead show, the final night of an abbreviated
\nthree-night run.<\/p>\n
Having figured that two shows are better than none, I hopped in the
\ncommunal Ford van and (after a detour to a hot tub in Eugene, Oregon) came
\ndown from Seattle for the festivities of the 28th and 29th. \u00c2\u00a0One of the
\nguys who came down with us (RIP, Daniel) had an extra New Year’s Eve
\nticket, but he seemed intent on bartering it in exchange for as much money
\nas possible. \u00c2\u00a0I had since relegated myself to the possibility of a New
\nYear’s Eve spent dancing outside while cleaning up bottles and cans in a
\nvast asphalt jungle.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Another of my friends, though, found me in the parking lot of the Oakland
\nColiseum on the afternoon of the 31st and told me that not only had she
\ngotten on the Bill Graham Presents list to work inside the show, and that
\nshe would be getting hourly pay for her services, but she was told they
\nstill needed more volunteer staff. \u00c2\u00a0I went next door to the baseball
\nstadium to call the BGP offices; the pay phone happened to be located
\nright next to an intense and very loud drum circle, so I was barely able
\nto hear that no one who could help me was left in the office — which I
\nshould’ve known, since after all it was just a few hours before showtime
\non the last day of the year.<\/p>\n
My friend and I decided I might as well go with her to where the staff
\nchecks in, just to see if someone there could, uh … help. \u00c2\u00a0My friend was
\nable to walk right in when her name was found on “the list,” while I
\nwaited outside to see what sort of talking she could do. \u00c2\u00a0More heads
\nwalked up, gave their name, walked in, while I stood there waiting for
\nsomething, I wasn’t sure exactly what. \u00c2\u00a0The wind seemed especially cold —
\nI felt that I was having my blood put on ice as punishment for even trying
\nsuch a dumb stunt.<\/p>\n
The woman with the list asked my name again, checked her walkie-talkie —
\nnothing came through. \u00c2\u00a0Which struck her as odd, since -something- should
\nhave come through on her radio. \u00c2\u00a0She found a co-worker with a radio that
\nworked, spoke my name into it, listened…walked over to me…and said I
\nshould go in through that door there, find this particular person, make
\nsure of what task I’d be doing so there would be no misunderstandings.<\/p>\n
And I walked into the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum Arena for New Year’s
\nEve with the Grateful Dead.<\/p>\n
I found the BGP staffer who had allowed me in. \u00c2\u00a0At this point years later,
\nI must admit I’m immune to the name-dropping bug since I truly and
\nunfortunately cannot remember her name. \u00c2\u00a0Her hair was decorated with a
\ncrown of Babys Breath, and she seemed to be directing a dozen people in
\nperson and another dozen over the radio while simply standing there. \u00c2\u00a0She
\nrepeated my name to me, I verified it, she looked directly at me and said:
\n“Listen: your name wasn’t on the list. \u00c2\u00a0But we could use some help
\ntonight, so we’re going to take the chance.” \u00c2\u00a0The responsibility delegated
\nfrom her eyes to mine was inescapable. \u00c2\u00a0I was handed a staff shirt and
\nseemed to mostly stand still watching the BGP regulars do their thing,
\nwhen we were summoned en masse for a pre-show pep talk from Bill Graham.<\/p>\n
He was wearing street clothes, just like the band and the thousands of
\nattendees usually do. \u00c2\u00a0No giveaway of any midnight stunt Father Time had
\nplanned for tonight. \u00c2\u00a0His fondness for this particular evening of all,
\nhowever, was obvious. \u00c2\u00a0New Year’s Eve meant that there would be a lot of
\npeople pushing themselves even further than they usually do, he said, and
\nthat meant they would occasionally need a little extra help from us.
\nJust a nudge to get them going in the right direction is all that’s
\nneeded, he told us. \u00c2\u00a0Just a little nudge is all.<\/p>\n
He knew, and we knew, and they knew even in their altered state, that the
\nway to keep things running smoothly on a night like tonight was to just
\ngently point the way, no need to make a scene, keep it cool and it’ll be
\ncool. \u00c2\u00a0He mentioned that tonight of all nights was indeed something
\nspecial, requiring a special sort of attention from all of us, and his
\nfondness became our fondness. \u00c2\u00a0It was quite different from any other
\nexperience I’d had with him, and was exactly what I had long suspected was
\nunder the rough all-business exterior.<\/p>\n
I was then plopped down at the rear of the floor to be a perimeter guard
\nfor the volleyball game on the main floor behind the soundboard. \u00c2\u00a0This is
\nsurely what his speech must have been about, for after all this time there
\nstill were people coming to New Year’s Eve shows spaced out of their gourd
\nand not realizing they were actually walking into the middle of a
\nvolleyball tournament and about to get plonked on the head. \u00c2\u00a0My job was to
\nprevent them from getting plonked on the head, which I usually did by
\nrudely interrupting conversations from out of nowhere and reminding people
\nto look up. \u00c2\u00a0No need to push, just let them know to be aware and they’ll
\n(usually) take care of the rest for themselves \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n
Closer to show time, I was moved to a spot dead center on the floor just
\nto the left of the soundboard, and handed a straight pin for the purpose
\nof popping stray balloons that might land on the work area at the board.
\nBetween sets, a head in the crowd who was interviewing attendees spotted
\nmy staff shirt and asked me what Bill Graham had planned for the stroke of
\nmidnight. \u00c2\u00a0I could do nothing but smile and truthfully tell him I had
\nabsolutely no idea whatsoever.<\/p>\n
As the lights went down for the second set, a BGP staffer came rushing
\nthrough the crowd holding bottles of champagne and plastic cups. \u00c2\u00a0He
\nstopped in front of me, juggled a cup my way, aimed some champagne at it,
\nand continued on his way to hand a toast to the next volunteer worker he
\ncould find. \u00c2\u00a0Nice touch by the BGPers to just nudge things along. \u00c2\u00a0\ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n
As midnight arrived, I toasted Father Time, bearded and dressed in starry
\nblue, as he floated directly above me, standing atop a giant mirrored
\nball, throwing roses down to the crowd. \u00c2\u00a0Never had such a good time…<\/p>\n
After the show, I couldn’t resist wandering through the building (I love
\nme some staff shirt!) to see what could be seen. \u00c2\u00a0I found a small lounge
\nwith an afterparty in full swing, the “house band” not even starting their
\nset until 3 AM. \u00c2\u00a0I settled in at a table, and noticed that a couple of
\ntables away was seated Jerome John Garcia, with several lovely women
\nseated around him and a line of well-wishers streaming toward his table.
\nNot wanting to babble my way into stupidity, I refrained from hounding him
\nat his seat. \u00c2\u00a0As he got up to leave the room, however, I decided it
\nwouldn’t be so bad if I just happened to be at the exit at the same time
\nhe was.<\/p>\n
I headed for the door and encountered a group of heads who figured they at
\nleast didn’t have anything to lose. \u00c2\u00a0One of them pulled out a camera as
\nthe others surrounded Jerry and posed for the imminent photo. \u00c2\u00a0I stood off
\nto the side watching, and saw a goofy “aw, shucks” grin cover Jerry’s
\nface. He seemed to look my way, as if to ask “Why me?” \u00c2\u00a0I looked back as
\nif to say, “Because you’re Jerry, that’s why.” \u00c2\u00a0The bunch of them smiled.
\nThe camera flashed. \u00c2\u00a0The heads wandered off to wherever they were going,
\nand the man in black continued on to wherever he was going, which at that
\nmoment happened to be straight towards me.<\/p>\n
Surely I had rehearsed a moment like this in my mind a thousand times
\nbefore.<\/p>\n
But I could only keep smiling even more and, at 4:30 AM on New Years Day
\n1989, the only thing I could think of to say to Jerry Garcia, the only
\nother person around for a hundred feet, was:<\/p>\n
“Happy New Year!”<\/p>\n
“Same to you!” he shot back, still holding that smile, and he walked on
\npast me to whatever car or party or loved one awaited him next.<\/p>\n
Suddenly unable to think of any pressing reason to stay inside the
\nbuilding, I went back out to the parking lot, to a portal of the stadium,
\nwhere a small barrel fire was keeping happy heads warm and huddled in the
\nearliest pre-dawn hours of the new year.<\/p>\n
It’s one of those classic cases where I’ve come up with a better response
\nnow that I’ve had a few years to think about it. \u00c2\u00a0If I had the chance, I
\nmight say, “Hey, Jer, listen: I really want to thank you not only for what
\nyou do, but for your determination to enjoy doing it. \u00c2\u00a0I’ve loved taking
\npart in it too, and it’s good to see that you enjoy making it happen as
\nmuch as we do. \u00c2\u00a0The fact that you found something you like doing, and made
\nit into a way of living, helps inspire me and a bunch of other people to
\nrealize that we can find something of our own that we like doing, and to
\nmake a life for ourselves out of it as well.”<\/p>\n
I’ll never again have a chance to see him that close in person. \u00c2\u00a0So I
\ndon’t know how he’d respond, although even if it were 4:30 in the morning
\nI’m pretty sure he’d have more to say than “same to you!”<\/p>\n
Happy New Year, Jer. \u00c2\u00a0Miss ya.<\/p>\n
And Happy New Year to you, Uncle Bobo, wherever you are.<\/p>\n
Happy New Year, everybody.It is December 31st, 1988, and still I have no ticket for tonight’s New
\nYear’s Eve Grateful Dead show, the final night of an abbreviated
\nthree-night run.<\/p>\n
Having figured that two shows are better than none, I hopped in the
\ncommunal Ford van and (after a detour to a hot tub in Eugene, Oregon) came
\ndown from Seattle for the festivities of the 28th and 29th. \u00c2\u00a0One of the
\nguys who came down with us (RIP, Daniel) had an extra New Year’s Eve
\nticket, but he seemed intent on bartering it in exchange for as much money
\nas possible. \u00c2\u00a0I had since relegated myself to the possibility of a New
\nYear’s Eve spent dancing outside while cleaning up bottles and cans in a
\nvast asphalt jungle.<\/p>\n
Another of my friends, though, found me in the parking lot of the Oakland
\nColiseum on the afternoon of the 31st and told me that not only had she
\ngotten on the Bill Graham Presents list to work inside the show, and that
\nshe would be getting hourly pay for her services, but she was told they
\nstill needed more volunteer staff. \u00c2\u00a0I went next door to the baseball
\nstadium to call the BGP offices; the pay phone happened to be located
\nright next to an intense and very loud drum circle, so I was barely able
\nto hear that no one who could help me was left in the office — which I
\nshould’ve known, since after all it was just a few hours before showtime
\non the last day of the year.<\/p>\n
My friend and I decided I might as well go with her to where the staff
\nchecks in, just to see if someone there could, uh … help. \u00c2\u00a0My friend was
\nable to walk right in when her name was found on “the list,” while I
\nwaited outside to see what sort of talking she could do. \u00c2\u00a0More heads
\nwalked up, gave their name, walked in, while I stood there waiting for
\nsomething, I wasn’t sure exactly what. \u00c2\u00a0The wind seemed especially cold —
\nI felt that I was having my blood put on ice as punishment for even trying
\nsuch a dumb stunt.<\/p>\n
The woman with the list asked my name again, checked her walkie-talkie —
\nnothing came through. \u00c2\u00a0Which struck her as odd, since -something- should
\nhave come through on her radio. \u00c2\u00a0She found a co-worker with a radio that
\nworked, spoke my name into it, listened…walked over to me…and said I
\nshould go in through that door there, find this particular person, make
\nsure of what task I’d be doing so there would be no misunderstandings.<\/p>\n
And I walked into the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum Arena for New Year’s
\nEve with the Grateful Dead.<\/p>\n
I found the BGP staffer who had allowed me in. \u00c2\u00a0At this point years later,
\nI must admit I’m immune to the name-dropping bug since I truly and
\nunfortunately cannot remember her name. \u00c2\u00a0Her hair was decorated with a
\ncrown of Babys Breath, and she seemed to be directing a dozen people in
\nperson and another dozen over the radio while simply standing there. \u00c2\u00a0She
\nrepeated my name to me, I verified it, she looked directly at me and said:
\n“Listen: your name wasn’t on the list. \u00c2\u00a0But we could use some help
\ntonight, so we’re going to take the chance.” \u00c2\u00a0The responsibility delegated
\nfrom her eyes to mine was inescapable. \u00c2\u00a0I was handed a staff shirt and
\nseemed to mostly stand still watching the BGP regulars do their thing,
\nwhen we were summoned en masse for a pre-show pep talk from Bill Graham.<\/p>\n
He was wearing street clothes, just like the band and the thousands of
\nattendees usually do. \u00c2\u00a0No giveaway of any midnight stunt Father Time had
\nplanned for tonight. \u00c2\u00a0His fondness for this particular evening of all,
\nhowever, was obvious. \u00c2\u00a0New Year’s Eve meant that there would be a lot of
\npeople pushing themselves even further than they usually do, he said, and
\nthat meant they would occasionally need a little extra help from us.
\nJust a nudge to get them going in the right direction is all that’s
\nneeded, he told us. \u00c2\u00a0Just a little nudge is all.<\/p>\n
He knew, and we knew, and they knew even in their altered state, that the
\nway to keep things running smoothly on a night like tonight was to just
\ngently point the way, no need to make a scene, keep it cool and it’ll be
\ncool. \u00c2\u00a0He mentioned that tonight of all nights was indeed something
\nspecial, requiring a special sort of attention from all of us, and his
\nfondness became our fondness. \u00c2\u00a0It was quite different from any other
\nexperience I’d had with him, and was exactly what I had long suspected was
\nunder the rough all-business exterior.<\/p>\n
I was then plopped down at the rear of the floor to be a perimeter guard
\nfor the volleyball game on the main floor behind the soundboard. \u00c2\u00a0This is
\nsurely what his speech must have been about, for after all this time there
\nstill were people coming to New Year’s Eve shows spaced out of their gourd
\nand not realizing they were actually walking into the middle of a
\nvolleyball tournament and about to get plonked on the head. \u00c2\u00a0My job was to
\nprevent them from getting plonked on the head, which I usually did by
\nrudely interrupting conversations from out of nowhere and reminding people
\nto look up. \u00c2\u00a0No need to push, just let them know to be aware and they’ll
\n(usually) take care of the rest for themselves \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n
Closer to show time, I was moved to a spot dead center on the floor just
\nto the left of the soundboard, and handed a straight pin for the purpose
\nof popping stray balloons that might land on the work area at the board.
\nBetween sets, a head in the crowd who was interviewing attendees spotted
\nmy staff shirt and asked me what Bill Graham had planned for the stroke of
\nmidnight. \u00c2\u00a0I could do nothing but smile and truthfully tell him I had
\nabsolutely no idea whatsoever.<\/p>\n
As the lights went down for the second set, a BGP staffer came rushing
\nthrough the crowd holding bottles of champagne and plastic cups. \u00c2\u00a0He
\nstopped in front of me, juggled a cup my way, aimed some champagne at it,
\nand continued on his way to hand a toast to the next volunteer worker he
\ncould find. \u00c2\u00a0Nice touch by the BGPers to just nudge things along. \u00c2\u00a0\ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n
As midnight arrived, I toasted Father Time, bearded and dressed in starry
\nblue, as he floated directly above me, standing atop a giant mirrored
\nball, throwing roses down to the crowd. \u00c2\u00a0Never had such a good time…<\/p>\n
After the show, I couldn’t resist wandering through the building (I love
\nme some staff shirt!) to see what could be seen. \u00c2\u00a0I found a small lounge
\nwith an afterparty in full swing, the “house band” not even starting their
\nset until 3 AM. \u00c2\u00a0I settled in at a table, and noticed that a couple of
\ntables away was seated Jerome John Garcia, with several lovely women
\nseated around him and a line of well-wishers streaming toward his table.
\nNot wanting to babble my way into stupidity, I refrained from hounding him
\nat his seat. \u00c2\u00a0As he got up to leave the room, however, I decided it
\nwouldn’t be so bad if I just happened to be at the exit at the same time
\nhe was.<\/p>\n
I headed for the door and encountered a group of heads who figured they at
\nleast didn’t have anything to lose. \u00c2\u00a0One of them pulled out a camera as
\nthe others surrounded Jerry and posed for the imminent photo. \u00c2\u00a0I stood off
\nto the side watching, and saw a goofy “aw, shucks” grin cover Jerry’s
\nface. He seemed to look my way, as if to ask “Why me?” \u00c2\u00a0I looked back as
\nif to say, “Because you’re Jerry, that’s why.” \u00c2\u00a0The bunch of them smiled.
\nThe camera flashed. \u00c2\u00a0The heads wandered off to wherever they were going,
\nand the man in black continued on to wherever he was going, which at that
\nmoment happened to be straight towards me.<\/p>\n
Surely I had rehearsed a moment like this in my mind a thousand times
\nbefore.<\/p>\n
But I could only keep smiling even more and, at 4:30 AM on New Years Day
\n1989, the only thing I could think of to say to Jerry Garcia, the only
\nother person around for a hundred feet, was:<\/p>\n
“Happy New Year!”<\/p>\n
“Same to you!” he shot back, still holding that smile, and he walked on
\npast me to whatever car or party or loved one awaited him next.<\/p>\n
Suddenly unable to think of any pressing reason to stay inside the
\nbuilding, I went back out to the parking lot, to a portal of the stadium,
\nwhere a small barrel fire was keeping happy heads warm and huddled in the
\nearliest pre-dawn hours of the new year.<\/p>\n
It’s one of those classic cases where I’ve come up with a better response
\nnow that I’ve had a few years to think about it. \u00c2\u00a0If I had the chance, I
\nmight say, “Hey, Jer, listen: I really want to thank you not only for what
\nyou do, but for your determination to enjoy doing it. \u00c2\u00a0I’ve loved taking
\npart in it too, and it’s good to see that you enjoy making it happen as
\nmuch as we do. \u00c2\u00a0The fact that you found something you like doing, and made
\nit into a way of living, helps inspire me and a bunch of other people to
\nrealize that we can find something of our own that we like doing, and to
\nmake a life for ourselves out of it as well.”<\/p>\n
I’ll never again have a chance to see him that close in person. \u00c2\u00a0So I
\ndon’t know how he’d respond, although even if it were 4:30 in the morning
\nI’m pretty sure he’d have more to say than “same to you!”<\/p>\n
Happy New Year, Jer. \u00c2\u00a0Miss ya.<\/p>\n
And Happy New Year to you, Uncle Bobo, wherever you are.<\/p>\n
Happy New Year, everybody.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Editors comment: This post is by my brother, Kelly. It is December 31st, 1988, and still I have no ticket for tonight’s New Year’s Eve Grateful Dead show, the final night of an abbreviated three-night run. Having figured that two shows are better than none, I hopped in the communal Ford van and (after a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-507","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-kids-family"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/507","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=507"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/507\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":509,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/507\/revisions\/509"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=507"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=507"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/famille.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=507"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}