Grateful Dead

a story……….Well, maybe just one,….I call it “fire on the mountain”. This happened way back in 1979, we road-tripped out to Red Rocks on 8-12-79 for the Dead’s 3rd run at that venue. The show that night was magical and several spectacular musical and mystical (enough M-words yet?) happenings occurred, but I must stick with the post show story. This is just between us, right? My girlfriend (now wife) and I had met up (at Red Rocks) with Beano and his girlfriend Erin, who informed us that Erin’s folks had an A-frame cabin up the mountain behind Evergreen. Did we want a place to sleep after the show? Yes, that sounded fantastic and we started following them back to this cabin from the parking lot. The fog became very thick and soon we could barely see in front of the car. It seemed like hours as we traversed the short distance, going 10 to 15 mi per hour winding up this mountain until there we were a small A-frame cabin and the 8 of us (and our dogs) grabbed our sleeping bags and ran in out of the fog, giggling and yapping reviewing the Dead’s performance that night and the endless journey through that ‘thick air’, and our boundless luck at this great spot to rest our heads. The next morning we awoke early to the mountain chill and started a fire in the free-standing fireplace in the middle of the living room. My golden retriever Zoot and his retriever brother Garth looked at me in anticipation and I let them out to do their morning 'duty'. My buddy “Gasser” told me that Erin said we could take showers but we need to light the pilot light for the hot water heater. We looked around and outside we located two propane bottles on the side of the cabin and we turned them on full blast. The view was breathtaking for this boy that grew up on the plains. We stood overlooking Evergreen, nestled on the side of a mountain way up high..the air, the sky, the clouds...ahhh. I walked back into the living room and I stood there pontificating in my boxers (a regal sight I assure you) to all who were just waking up (my captive audience!) about what aural wonders the Dead might have in store for the next two shows. All of a sudden flame emptied out of the wall and across the floor toward us like a waterfall of fire. It was about 12 feet by 8 feet and advanced cascading along the floor. The room was filled with the smell of burning hair as Zoot and Garth (who now looked like seals, their hair ‘trimmed’ and their whiskers burnt off) ran across the room and right out the door. Everyone was screaming and it wasn’t the wild dance that I was performing that was exciting the crowd. All the hair on my ankles fried as the waves of flame were pulsating and hovering a couple inches off the floor and swept further into the room. Everyone started using their sleeping bags, clothes, blankets, pillows, whatever was handy to beat at the flames and I was relieved as the fire disappeared, almost as quickly as it had arrived. We looked at each other like the 3 stooges would do, and suddenly the waterfall of flame shot out across the floor again. And pandemonium returned as we all did a repeat of our flailing with whatever was handy to battle the flame back and then someone yelled “the fireplace, put out that fire in the fireplace!!” Someone quickly grabbed a canteen and began dumping the water to douse the fire in the fireplace as the flames rolled out once again from the bottom of the wall, right where the wall meets the floor. We were able to put out those flames again and it did not ignite now that we had extinguished the fireplace. Then I heard screaming again and Erin ran toward us yelling that "there is smoke upstairs!!" We all grabbed pots, canteens, coolers, anything that could hold water and ran upstairs to be confronted with an open closet door where smoke was billowing out and more flames were lapping up through the back of the closet wall of the A-frame. It was an insane Chinese fire drill, a frantic hallucinatory bucket brigade with everyone’s faces looking like they were drawn by Ralph Steadman as we dashed to fill small receptacles and then ran upstairs or passed them up the stairs to dump (and mildly dampen) the ever-growing fire and smoke beast that threatened to envelope the cabin. Suddenly Gasser and I had the same idea (10 watt bulb ON!) and we both dashed outside to the propane bottles. He ran in front of me and as I looked ahead to see a flame burning down the metal tube attached towards the propane bottle(s). In my minds eye, I saw Gasser and I flying, arms outstretched, airborne over Evergreen. But then I saw him turning the gas off. Gasser then took off down the hill to another cabin to call the fire department (this happened before cell phones, kids). The fireman/women quickly showed up, hooked the hoses up to the truck (the water had to be hauled on the rig, with no hydrants in the mountains), then they peeled the roof/walls back off the A-frame with their axes (what would Erin tell her folks?) and they shot water into the walls with the fire hoses. Those propane bottles were originally hooked to a kitchen stove (which was now an electric) and when we turned them on, the hollow wall was filled with the propane until it leaked out and was then ignited by the fireplace. Then we beat the fire (or a spark?) back into the wall. Thus the ‘wall of fire’. After all that we caravaned down to a tavern in Evergreen (the Black Bear Tavern?) and I had a drink of Wild Turkey 101 at 9:30 a.m. (a first for me) to try to reduce my adreneline. The Grateful Dead played the next two nights at McNichol’s Arena ( Red Rocks was rained out, and if I recall, a deadhead was killed when he fell, after climbing 'high' into the rocks that prior evening). The Dead didn’t play ‘Fire on the Mountain’ like I was sure they would. But they did play us a rolicking version of Althea “You know this space is getting hot….yes, the space is getting hot”. OK, who is next?

this site starts exactly how it should.Thank you for your breathtaking story great oroboros!!!May the Grateful dead give you lots of happiness.....and luck.Peace brother of the tribe :-)(-:

I was there also - the second two nights were rained out. I thought the 2nd night was best though, despite not having that incredible view. What a great place to see our band and a great story O. Glad you made it out alive, less ankle hair of course. Thanks! (I'll be back with one, don't worry). "If the forms of this world die, which is more real, the me that dies or the me that's infinite? Can I trust my habitual mind, or do I need to learn to look beneath those things?"

Hey Hey Hey! - That was quite a ride Oroboros...what a trip that must have been. This could be a cool thread as sharing these stories can help uncover memories of good times and the ensuing twists therein. A few of my braincells...I know that is all I have are a few...but they heve been awakened and there is a story or two appearing almost like an archeological dig into sand and space. I've just got to get the timing focused and I'll see what appears. Thanks again Oroboros...that was cinematic in my mind...and glad you all were OK!! "Fire!" ~ "Fire on the Mountain!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Flight of the seabirds Scattered like lost words Wheel to the storm and fly" John Perry Barlow ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was 1969... I was a Junior at LSU in New Orleans, living in Miami. It was just after Christmas break and me and two of my friends were driving back to NO from Miami. Me and one of my buddies decided it would cool out the drive to drop a little bit of acid. We just took a quarter each so's we could still take our turns at the wheel. Trouble was the shit was stronger than we expected (Orange Sunshine) and in awhile we were too loaded to drive. It was the middle of the night and the oncoming car lights were streaming into my head and the lines on the road were jumping up and seemed to be forming walls. The straighter dude took over and me and my other stoned buddy hopped into the back seat. It was December and even northern Florida and southern Mississippi get pretty cold that time of year. My car was a 1962 Mercury with a three speed stick transmission on the column with a groovy eight ball for a handle but no heater. Soon we began to freeze our asses off even with the windows closed. Since me and my psychedellic companion's brains were expanded, we decided on a brilliant idea to warm things up by grabbing a large aluminum cooking pot that we were bringing to our pad, filling it up with newspapers and magazines and lighting a cozy little fire to warm us up. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was... for a few minutes, until the fire burned as high as the roof of the car and smoke began to fill up the space. We grooved for awhile until it became hard to breathe and my other friend who was straight, except for some low grade Mexican grass and beer began to cough and not be able to see the road. In another flash of brilliance we screamed for him to open his driver side window and when he did the wind whooshed in swrilling adound the flame and into the large burning pot causing a beautiful light show. The red and yellow sparks filled the car like so many shooting stars and after the initial awe, the sparks started to land all over our clothes and faces causing stinging pain. Me and my cozmic pal thought this was funny as hell and began to laugh hysterically and the driver too was starting to get stung, but for some strange reason didn't see the humor of the situation. He pulled off the side of the road and we all tumbled into the cold Mississippi night air kicking the magic pot out of the door with us, rolling on the ground laughing our asses off as the flaming paper escaped into the night air. Luckily the car didn't get any real damage and we eventually made our way to NO without further incident. I learned a big lesson that day. Don't trip and drive unless the driver is tripping too or else he won't get any of the jokes.

Many of us have told stories about the Dead and Mother Nature's propensity for interplay and we have seen such wonders at outdoor shows where lightning, rain, rainbows, and all means of fun appear. Now let me tell you about an INDOOR occurrance. On 7-5-78 we drove up to Omaha Ne. where the Grateful Dead were playing at an indoor venue. I had made a plea 'upon high' earlier that year (on 2-4-78, see the 'encounters' thread for that story) on the morning after the Madison concert for the band to have a show close to home and was given a "who knows" by Garcia. But his chesire cat smile and demeanor gave me pause and that summer it was to be so. The Omaha Civic Auditorim was only half full (about 4,000) but everyone was really ready to hear the band since they hadn't been to Nebraska for about 5 years. My buddy even brought his 68 year old mother to the show. She sat up in the stands "It is just too loud down there!" Out in the hallway, the Hell's Angels wandered about sporting full colors and big grins. They must have been transporting 'party favors' and decided to take in a show. Or maybe the Angels were just roadtripping with the band (although I didn't see them at the next few shows). Anyway, I headed down to the floor with my Nak 550 to set up in front of the soundboard. And I started to set up and luckily a kind stranger let me patch out of his deck, as he had a great 8 ft. mike stand set-up I think he had a Sony deck and mikes as well but with that that it got the mic's well above the crowd noise. So Garcia treated us to a blistering Sugaree opener, the kind that drove the crowd wild. His leads mound into a wave that crests, receeds, regroups, and comes back in with such power and delight and we all become frenzied with his rolling/soaring guitar work. Then Beat In on Down the Line, TLEO and now it was Bob's turn in the spotlight with a Look's like Rain. About halfway through the song, I suddenly noticed shimmering in the air between the band and me. I thought "what a fantasitic lightshow! Or have I have shifted into fifth gear a little early?". I staggered towards that disturbance in front of me to investigate. People were dancing wildly in the middle of the floor as a waterfall played over them. It was about 25 feet in circumfrence. I put my hand in, water...I entered into pouring rain that was INSIDE the auditoirum! Then I stepped back and was out of it. I shook my head and jumped back into the deluge and danced through Rain & then Direwolf as well and then a delightful All Over now. Complete with Donna in perfect pitch! Then Candyman and Lazy>Supplication before Bobby informed us "We're going to take a short break". I staggered back to reload a new tape in my 550 and then I did look for some validation of my exerience. And asked my friends if I was not infact 'soaking wet.' They affirmed that, in fact I was "all wet". ;-] And then show continued, complete with rain/waterfall pouring inside the Omaha Civic Auditorium. It was a killer second set complete with a transportive Estimated>Eyes>drums>Wharf Rat>Truckin>Iko Iko>Around. And then after a lengthy absence the Dead returned to play 'Promised Land" as an encore. And so that was the show when the Dead played and it rained INSIDE. What were they going to do next? Would Phil rev up his reverse gravity machine so we could float at the next show? I HAD to follow them to those Red Rocks shows. And those shows were magic as well. Hey, this summer will be the 30 year aniversary of those shows. Anyway, I just had to retell that one.

What a show?!?! I don't think they'd let that slide these days. During Looks Like Rain, must have been some sort of sign. Very nice, keep 'em comin PEACE I get a perfect mental image when you mention Jerry & his chesire SMILE :-)

it was holloween nite 1980, i had made a few batches of tollhouse cookies with added Xtra ingredints for the show that evening, the dead were playing at radio city in new york and live feeding it across the country, i was headed for the aragon ballroom in chicago. i had just gotten a new mattress for my waterbed, didn't have time to fill it completely before i left so i shut off the water and left, picked up my buddy phil in my 67 green coupe de ville caddylac with deadsticker on back window(was that song about my car?) and headed east to the city, got pulled over, how else do you get across 4 lanes of road officer? thats my exit! would you like a cookie, sir? no, no no hurry, just on our way to a party, yes sir, thank you sir, good evening to you. pull up in front of ballroom to check out the line, lots o'heads swarming about when from outta nowhere a little hippie princess flies halfway thru my window gives me a hug and a kiss and lay a buttton on me that says"good ole grateful dead", she says this is for you and vanishes,(i still have the button,need to post it). into show, different, movie screen and open floorspace, the show begins, frankenn'davis are emceein, dead are playing,cookies get passed out to all around me,two 7/14s find way into my hand, sweet,here phil, gotta share, besides we're full of cookies. 3 set show, danced on my cruches all nite (motorcycle accident 3 days before) by third set didn't even realize it was a broadcast anymore. drop off phil after show, head home to finish filling bed up, add tunes and tv with no sound...passout asleep.CREEEAK...ERRRRKKK...EEEKK,what the hell is that, get up off couch and walk down hall to bedroom, pitchblack, what time is it? Where is the clock? IT was on the headboard! OH MY GOD!!! the bed is the size of elephant, can not even see the headboard anymore, get flashlight CREEEAAK...ERRRRRKKKK, shine light on frame to see it bowwing out,the screws are tearing outta the wood, must shut off water,CRRREEEEAAAAKKKK, shit i can hear water dripping, bend over,look to see small hole tear from a screw,don't have good feeling about this, turn and run down hall to pull hose off, CCCRRREEEEAAAKKKSMASSSSSSSSHCRASH.... turn to see a WALL OF WATER pouring out of the bedroom, smashes me agaist the front door of the apartment( i forgot to mention i lived in an apartment building) open arcadia door to let out water, survey the aftermass, neighbors are all in water too, laundry room is inbetween the 4 apartments,1 neighbor was up and said to pull hose off of washing machine(diversion tactic)cool dude), call the fatman, dude ,help me out i need your carpet cleaning machines! man it's not even 5am yet! Dude, i'm sorry,i know, but i got a z of redbud with your name on it.and some gold rolled... ok, be right over... wake up rest of my neigbors, fatman arrives 10 minutes later, little prep, cookies and coffee, two machines sucking and all was cleaned up by noon, office figured it was pranksters flooding the building.:)));)

Funny shit grdaed73 those Qualudes and kind cookies will get you every time..LOL!

Good thing your feathers repelled that water. Ha Ha! Did you give up on the Water Bed after that fiasco? I guess you had to leave your crutches in the dust, unless you were hobbling down the hall! What a sight! Does anyone know why they stopped marketing qualudes? Heard some mighty strange stories about them.

" Tha's Ok, another Qualude, she'll love me in the morning" ~ Al Pacino ~ Scarface

not quite, my feathers had not yet molted! dust? the cruches were in the wake of the flood, i was hoppin' on my right foot like a pogo stick, yes i still have a waterbed, takes more than a little water to ruin my slumberspace. and they took them off the market because the FDA figured out they were the cause of many unexplainable pregnancies:) take two and call me in the morning:)) PEACE tc

What a hoot! Greaaat story! Sidesplitting! And I agree with marye, those waterbeds...uh,, huh woweeee... Good one, tc! Loved it!

My stomach churns thinking about it. Once the heater went out in our waterbed. We were too broke to buy a new one and it was summer anyway. When we moved we pulled up the mattress, saw that the heater had shorted, burned all the way through the plywood, and the carpet and the floor. It had also melted the waterbed material and then it was so hot it sealed itself up again with no leaks or damage. Only thing worse than a waterbed and qualudes is 4 people on a waterbed and qualudes. If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. William Blake

come on mary,this is exactly the place where to discuss it in all its depths,so that younger deadheads get to know the dangers of combining certain substances with a special kind of furniture:-)(-:

Very Interesting, the water bed almost did you in, but didn't let you down in the end (well, besides a bit of fire damage).Sealed itself up! Ha We too had a water bed sans heater, so we used an Electric Blanket under the sheets. Looking back I guess that was not too bright. Dammit I hated those sheets! What a pain!

Waterbed with electric blankets,Rider,is there something that you are afraid of.....?:-)(-:

i took the elephant skin back to the waterbed store(evening tides i think)told them what had happened, haliarity ensued, and they gave me a new mattress:) as it was garranteed;)

well,well thats how buisness is done,dude..:-)(-:

http://www.grosvenorprints.com/stock.php?pageNum_rs_stock=9&totalRows_r… possible subject of Peggy O buried in the church cemetary in my home town of Brighton. She died at 108 years old after fighting in the Napoleonic War "Women disguised as men have often served as soldiers. The following is on a tombstone in Brighton: "In memory of Phoebe Hassel 1713-1821 died age 108. She served for many years as a private soldier in many parts of Europe and at the battle of Fontenoy, fighting bravely, she received a bayonet wound in the left arm." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Spanish Jam

please go ahead and give me some shit for this one, but hell, life on the road... I bring it up, because a few folks was rapping in the chat room, and somebody mentioned how they got robbed, tapes stolen, something like that. talking about heads stealing from heads, shit stolen at shows... anyways, this story dates back to the 70's; and on tour, the bus was un-locked, and we had walked away or something. there were a bunch of biker heads in our crowd, and they were parked pretty near our bus, and they saw some freak nobody recognized, walk into the bus. one of the harley heads strolled over real casual like, and saw him throguh the window ran-sacking, looking for whatever was there, loading his pockets with stuff. I was just accross the way, and I hear "yo, CC!" I turn and look, and one of my biker buddies had this guy. he asks me, "you know him?" I saw no, don't think so. "he was in your bus, going through shit, putting shit in his pockets." dude, you was stealing? the freak was just trying to wrestle out of the biker's grip. a few more of the bikers came over, and they all started making noises like they was going to stomp his ass. ever the pacifist, I said, no. just tie him to the bumper for a while. so they roped him to the bumper, and I got out some string and a piece of paper and put a sign round his neck with the word "THIEF" on it. kiind of like the stocks in pilgim village Plymouth plantation or Salem or wherever, and he got shammed for a few hours. people walking by, hearing what happend, after that, somebody had the idear of giving him a piece of chalk and made him write "I will never steal again. I am sorry" about 200 times on the ground. When he was done with that, he did come up to me and say "sorry dude, I'm hungry and got no money" We fed him and sent him on his way never to see him again. peace.

sounds like you did the right thing man ,,I`m a (Harley Head) my temptation would have been to stomp the theif ,, probobley wouldnt have ,, but the temptation would have been there ,, sorry thats how i used to be .. "they say it`s a living we all got to eat" peace .....

no need to apologize for temptations, man. those bikers were folks I hung out with for years, so I know they was a bit protective, nothing wrong with that. anyways, stealing from me would have (almost literally) taken food out of the biker's mouths since I was the cook sharing/trading with the people in our crowd, but thats another story... "Anyone who sweats that hard must be all right No one wants a fight No black eye Just another cat beneath the stars tonight" -- Hunter peace.

I wish to Inform the Deadhead community that my Best Friend in the entire world as passed and any fellow heads that would know him (and there were many, many heads)should know that this happened, particularily Tony in Portland that i do not know how to contact but I saw at the 2004 show there with the Dead. Andy was a model deadhead in his belief system or principals. Jerry would of have been proud to call him friend , he never wanted to be a typical fan or hassle anyone at anytime. He was my music partner we went to so many shows together , the ones on my profile is a small sampling. His knowledge of the music and the Dead plus numerous other band community was like a library of knowledge , The vault people could of used Andy. The following is his Obit and the DEADHEADS worldwide weather you knew him or not, should heed to his passing. His story is 30 years plus and amazing. It would take more space than I'm provided to tell the story from beginning to end. I have been given his music collection , which is quite extensive in tapes as well as CD's , Probably more than 3000 pieces or more. I will be cataloging this collection of live shows and all. The following is the OBIT , My Tears have flown for three days now since I found out. Yesterday was the big day for the furneral and being with his family. I have known Andy since we were 15 years old. John Andrew "Andy" Vojtko John Andrew "Andy" Vojtko of Libertyville Visitation for John Andrew "Andy" Vojtko, 45, will be from 1 p.m. until the time of the services at 2 p.m. Saturday, June 28, at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, 29700 N. St. Mary's Road, Libertyville, with Pastor Robert Davis officiating. Born Aug. 18, 1962, in Libertyville, he passed away Wednesday, June 25, 2008. Andy had lived in the Libertyville-Mundelein area all his life. He was a 1980 graduate of Libertyville High School, received an associates degree from the College of Lake County and attended Illinois State University. He was a charter member of Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Libertyville and was employed as a cook at Winchester House for many years. Andy enjoyed music, model trains, the outdoors, various pets and cooking. Surviving are his parents, Gerald and Delores Vojtko of Libertyville; two sisters, Jane (Charles) Binning of Cornville, Ariz. and Lynne (Darren) Rogers of Wauconda; and his favorite nephew and niece, Ethan and Brianna Rogers. Memorial contributions can be made to your favorite charity. Arrangements were made by Burnett-Dane Funeral Home, Libertyville, 847-362-3009. Published in the Chicago Suburban Daily Herald on 6/27/2008.

In honor of the "reunion" I finished enough of this story to get started here. It's a beautiful night for a campfire. There will be at least two parts, posted as I deem appropriate (OK, when I get around to finishing the damn thing). Robert Hunter impressed me so much with his short stories, I was inspired and thought it might be fun for everyone to do a project with "cliff hangers" and such. I hope everyone has a GRATE time at the reunion concert. "... when you find you're there, remember me, my only love, my only love, my only love." Prelude ~ Meet the Beast   Terror is the first emotion; at least until we make visual contact with the creature, first hand, putting it into context of the world we associate with reality. It could be a vulture, rabid bat or butterfly but until we make the contextual identification, without doubt, it is surely the wings of Hell itself that stalks us. HST surely understood this as he navigated the Nevada desert on his way to cover the motocross event sidelined in his "novel", Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The present day archetype of the apocalypse is making it's return, personally shedding it's own light on objects that cast shadows of doom these days; skyscrapers, airplanes, bridges and billboards. How could we have missed the meaning so easily spelled out in the hindsight of time? What next, TV's and computer monitors, as they are hurled out the windows of modernized life, onto the street corner named, Desire & Main or perhaps Madison & Wall? Poor bastards, wait 'till they see the bats...             Fungus and synthesized chemicals are something of their own dilemma. The beautiful spectacle of galaxies colliding will eventually draw too close to view in full, like our own Milky Way is now. Only the black of nothingness will shroud our view of eternity. The fad that was flavored in Kool-aid is merely evidence of grace, not of the compulsion to succeed. The horse, the water but not necessarily the drink. But what fun it was when combined with ignorance and youth! While no stone is tossed the ripple is viewed by some, as a tsunami. Sometimes they're bats the size of 747's, or high flying butterflies, I can't be sure anymore... terror is a hallucinogenic drug too, it turns out. The fractals of time and space as seen from the oblivion that frees the slave from the shackles of perspective are as delicate as the scales of such creatures. Drawn to the light of self-awareness, they fear neither bat nor bird of prey. Their wings, a delicious poison of truth and beauty like a dart frog on the leaf of a primitive fern basking in the glow of white light, spectrums hiding from view but not purpose. Here there is no Time or Space but all the same it exists in unlimited quantities. The need to monopolize quantity has no mind; therefore there is no hunger because there exists no processes. Here is “Now” and the tank never runs dry because there is no need for a tank in the first place. No parades to dogma equal the psychedelic backdrop to the scene here, man. Just allow the thing to let you go and you're gone, once and for all. No shadow here only perfectly dispersed light to read the book. The first pages turn lightly and contain only a few words but we know and dread the weight of our mistakes, as they mount with weight on every page we read. These words blare the burden of our ego which we were duped by, like the three-card Monte game that caught our eye. An easy buck, to be sure, until all was lost. A walk to the park turned into a mugging we solicited. What a fool I was to believe in such lies, but that’s the burden of being doomed, after all. Again, the shadows return and cover must be found. The creature has returned to claim its quarry.             The alarm screeched ceaselessly from the area that had, only moments ago, contained the delicate fern gully with a small steam of crystal clear water babbling over small smooth stones the color of auto body putty. It wasn’t possible that the time for work had arrived again. “Gonna’ have to invent something that cures poverty, and soon”, I thought as I twisted the alarm setting to “OFF”. Being dragged back from the brink of doom for this drab facsimile of reality, over and over again was becoming tiresome. I prefer the damn bats, quite frankly. I could take ‘em too, if I only had the time. Oh well, no time to lament, just one more night shift then off to NYC with No. 1 to take in some real culture. The Lyric Opera House show was tremendous and only God knew for how long this “second wind” would last. Lucky I’m still here to witness, much less with an adult offspring that wants to accompany me to such occasions. As I entered the great room of our home to finish dressing I over heard the audio portion of one of our “house movies” playing on the TV. “There’s nothing more pathetic than an aging hipster, “ Dr. Evil said on the TV as the “kids” watched Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. Laugh as I did, it was becoming a poignant commentary of my life, at least from my perspective. Nothing was physically working as in the past. All physical activity now caused the need for several days of rehabilitation. My allergies were the only thing that had reclaimed their youthful edge. In fact, the last several years these disturbing developments were also causing anxiety the likes of which I had never experienced. I suppose all that crap about spirituality and faith was only so relevant and supportive so long as there remained no physical sign of personal decay and death. All that teenage tripping had made the veil of time as transparent as the cold, clear night sky that greeted me as I walked outside to warm the car and load my junk for another shift at “the mine”.             I still remember the day “it” happened. The day I had my life put in perspective. No it wasn’t the day we all think of post September 2001, it was some years prior. No. 1 came home and informed me he was working on a project at school and he needed to ask some various people a question, the same question: “How would you spend your last time on Earth if you were told missiles were on their way here from a nuclear armed country?” I was caught flatfooted by a question I had, myself, been asked to think about when I was about No. 1’s age. I’ll never forget what raced through my mind as he asked the question, bristling with confidence. Terror, pure terror, was the only emotion I could feel. For more than 16 years, almost half my entire life, I had belied reality by staying busy, working full time, coaching, going to community college at nights and weekends and taking whatever side jobs I could get to pay bills and yet we were flat broke, tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, in fact. Nearly $7,000.00 per year alone to send No. 1 to private high school and all I could muster was terror, oh and rage (plenty of rage). It wasn’t supposed to be this way, I thought. I could almost see the shadows from the “creatures” as they circled overhead. My pulse pounded my skull in rhythms of laughing thunder, mocking my defenseless state of being. How could this happen to me? I intended to be a doctor of journalism like my hero, Hunter S. Thompson and instead I was just another cog in the wheel of capitalism, a wallet with legs and now my own offspring would surely turn against me when I failed to offer an alternative to the stark, dull, parasitic reality that I inhabited. Worst of all, I feared for No. 1, as well my other children. If I had nothing better to offer, if all my efforts in life were merely measured in futility, what could the young expect from life? According to Albert Einstein, as I interpret his General Relativity Theory, a moment in time can last forever, since time is nothing more than a perception. Good timing for a person caught in the confluences of the preverbal “web” we weave in the haymaking, oat sowing days of youth, mine at least. The entertainment portion of life was now finished. It was time to “pay the piper”, as my old man used to say. “What a drag it is getting old…”   A Time Trip Backwards ~ GRTUD's Front Row Odyssey               “Hey man!”, the voice behind me said as my friend Moe, his wife and my wife handed over their tickets to the man at the top of the long flight of stairs. We were standing inside the Capital Centre, entering through one of the “portals” to descend to the floor for a Grateful Dead concert. I had never had tickets this good before, in my life. “Hey man, can I use your ticket to get down on the floor to get my gear from my friend?” I turned to look as a white “kid” bounded up to me with dirty dreadlocks and filthy khaki cargo pants and no shirt. “You want to use my ticket?” I asked, holding it up. The acid Moe and I “found” in the parking lot was taking effect. Voices seemed to take forever to get to my ear, almost like a nitrous balloon high that just kept getting stronger and stronger. The “kid's” dreadlocks were morphing into a thicket of snakes, like a male version of Medusa. I was the sucker of the group, believing the money a person asked for in concert parking lots was really needed for a bus ride home. I rarely had money to give but I always brought lots of food to share. I believed in Southern Hospitality and although Maryland doesn’t really qualify as “The South” I had always identified with the ideals represented by the notion of bringing enough supplies for myself, as well several others. Sharing was part of the fun for me. Moe was a DC cop and he had heard all the stories before and no one blamed him for becoming callous to all the sob stories that were popping up around the Dead’s scene these days. What I did blame on everyone in our group that day was having me “bring up the rear” of the group. I suppose the point man had the most risk in a situation like this one, but I could be distracted so easily, on acid. I had lagged behind the group. “You want to use this ticket… my FRONT ROW TICKET?”, I mumbled. At that moment everyone turned to look, as if they wanted to see how I would deal with this quandary. Would it be a Billy Kilmer to Charlie Taylor touchdown in the fading sunlight of an early winter’s NFL Championship game "moment" or would it be another triple overtime NHL loss to either the Flyers or Islanders? We all seemed frozen in time, looking into each other’s eyes, terrified. The Shadow of Wings melted across our faces… Don't touch that dial and stay tuned for more! "The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer." - Ken Kesey

The painting is from Jacek Malczewski a Polish Impressionist that has been dead (unfortunately) for over 70 years, thus his work is pubic domain. I'll be right back... "The task is, not so much to see what no one has yet seen; but to think what nobody has yet thought, about that which everybody sees. ." - Erwin Schrödinger

of my seat, GRTUD, please do continue a.s.a.p!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Was you ages and ages ago with that great cliff-hanging bat story, wasn´t it??********************************** Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live. Samuel Clemens

I had been on tour for about three years when this happened. The show was Orlando spring 94. The night before had been canceled do to billy's father passing on. The night was filled with a lot of energy the police were being quit aggressive and the kids were playing right back with them. I was staying out of all that just hanging on a lawn. When night fell the hole place when nuts teargas was flying and kids were getting dragged off. The police had put up barriers so no one could get close to the doors. My friend dave and I were waiting for something to happen because we figured no matter whether we agreed with gate rushing in the show was better than out. The right moment came and I ran for the door before I could get there the doors were wide open mostly because I was carrying a full backpack and others got there first. I got to the top closed my eyes,prayed and jumped into the chaos. The next thing I new I was inside the inner doors were shut. I ran for one. As soon as I opened it I saw friend Carrie with arms open for me. And I heard " THE BOTTLE WAS DUSTY BUT THE LIQUOR WAS CLEAN " The most amazing and powerful moment I ever felt on tour. The rest of that year was filled with miracles. Tell more later I have to go do laundry. I NEED A MIRACLE EVERYDAY

Simply stellar synapses snapping scintillating surrealistic snapshots. If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. William Blake

Cant wait for the next installment "A cap of good Acid costs five dollars and for that you can hear the Universal Sypmhony with God singing solo, and the Holy Ghost on Drums" HTS

HST PEACE

At Miami the next show after Orlando I had one of the most beautiful days ever. The weather was perfect and the lot was calm. I was still soaking in all that had happened the days before. That day my friends from Vermont (3 girls) had found out that one of them had cancer so needless to say they were drinking. My best friend on the lot had broken his leg and another got a ticket for selling t-shirts. I had such great energy following me that I set out on a quest to get everyone into the show. I got on the right attire for the mission shorts and a peacock feather. First I chased a scalper around harassing him until he gave me a ticket. Next I stayed on miracle alley until I got 5 miracles I then went and gave all to my kin. When I got back to miracle alley I saw a kid with a Metallica shirt on and a sign saying "It's My 18th Birthday My First Show And My Friend's Left Me" so I had to give him my ticket of course. The show was about to start and I had no ticket. At Miami the entrance was raised above the lot with an outdoor gate area. Out of the blue I heard someone yelling from above. "I have been watching you all day and if anyone tries to catch this ticket I will come down and kick there ass" The ticket fell right into my hands. It was a mail order. Iran for the gates. When I got inside I saw some friends huddled in a circle, my one friend had ground scored a five pack of paper lsd. He was ripping large chunks off and handing them to all of us. Well now everything was different. When I got to my seat somewhere in the first section of the balcony when I got there no seat existed for my ticket. The usher took me to an office where a manager was. I was pretty well freakin by this point. She took a good look at my ticket and new it wasn't fake just a misprint. She then wrote out a ticket for my and the usher took me there. 3rd ROW CENTER "Row Jimmy"

I remember at the first show I ever saw, someone was listening to that "symphony" and took a flying leap off the top of Giants Stadium. Trouble was, they didn't fly. Another time at Irvine,CA. In the 80's two girls bought some A in the parking lot and then decided to go out driving around and ran over a mother with her baby in a stroller and killed them both.. Not all trips turn out good so be careful!

To happy trails Maybe you should think about what you are saying. Drunk drivers kill every night. The amount of people that have this effect with A as you call it are probably equal. I have allways been careful. The last time I had any A was about a month before Jerry died. LSD has effected many people in a positive way including myself, not saying I needed it. So all in all Life has it's outcomes. We all need to live with that. ALL IS PERCEPTION

I was just sending out a Hunter S. Thompson Quote after reading GRTUD's excellent story. Havent been on a Trip of that nature in over a decade(maybe I will again for retirement) & I was surely not advocating driving impaired, but " As your attorney, I advise you to take a hit out of the little brown flask in my shaving kit." ~ Again, a quote from Dr. Gonzo! (Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas) PEACE

there are kids on this web site and I would hate to see any of them get hurt after reading about the glories of acid without knowing there can also be serious consequences. peace-ht

y dont u just scare the bjeeez outa them and tell them that if u do this u will jump off a roof thinking u can fly?????or tell them if they cross the street they will get hit buy a car??scare tactics dont work to well.instead y dont u say some thing like if u gonna try it doit it wih some one with xperince with it and have fun??

you just did, so, did you hear that all you kids out there? Do it with someone with experience and have fun!

Thank you sooo much to TigerLilly, marye, iknowurider, Hal and anyone else that either commented on the incomplete story or read same. Although I thought I ended the story quite nicely (hahahahaha - Bob Weir can telly you more about what this might mean), fear not, I'm working on getting these memories into word form but in the meantime (if you haven't already), please, please read marye's interview with Jer... it really was inspiring to me as I wrote Pt. 1 and as I read over my first post, I see I left out that fact. I can't remember the exact location of her link so I'm posting my bookmark which happened about the time my brain entered "The Twilight Zone" in terms of jarring this memory loose in the first place. http://www.yoyow.com/marye/garcia2.html As for the next installment, I have two written versions and I'm going bonkers trying to get the verbage to the point I think everyone will understand what happened, that incredible night. As for the concern about glorifying drug use, I attempted to make some framework out of the fact that these drugs (hallucinogens) change your life... hardly the typical recreational drugs, to be sure. I'm an artifact of grace... make no mistake about that notion. Perhaps that effort was lost in the fuzzy (and sometimes funny) context of the story. That said, I also think that these drugs/substances are very much demonized by our society because they are misunderstood, as well other reasons... more on this topic later. Stay with me everyone, I'm working as hard as I can to get this completed. "The task is, not so much to see what no one has yet seen; but to think what nobody has yet thought, about that which everybody sees. ." - Erwin Schrödinger

I remember being in the parking lot with Moe, sometime after consuming our ill-gotten booty. There was a helium balloon that had escaped the grasp of someone’s hand and it was making its way toward the heavens and I wondered if the balloon was obeying the laws of gravity or not… perhaps both. Maybe Deadheads are Schrödinger’s Cat in a very real sense but then again, I can say that because I can look back in time and remember, but I’m getting “ahead” of myself, again… you all probably want to know what happened to that ticket. Well I’ll tell you… ole’ “Medusa” was good, he was very good but he hadn’t ever tangled with someone like myself. I looked the part of a suburban Deadhead and yes, I was married with three kids, drove to the concert in a mini van but my background was a bit different than most of the folks that looked like me on tour. I didn’t turn to stone but time did and I took my “time” coming up with a suitable answer to his query. I knew in some ways, he deserved the ticket as much as I did, what with me falling backwards into this trick, as I did. But I was no slouch in terms of hard knocks in life and the Golden Road. I thought of ways to “politely” excuse myself from the deal. I had known a guy from Carlisle, PA that went west to find “The Answer” and had met Bob Weir on the street somewhere. Long story short, Bob told him, after talking for a moment or two, that he’d be “right back…I think I know what you’re saying.” Touché! I could go one better though, 'cause after all like HST said, "when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro!" “Fucking bats… there in here too, damn it!” I muttered as I fleetingly glanced in several directions toward the arena’s ceiling, which was a tapestry of house lights dotting the flimsy acoustic tiles that poorly hid the buildings inter workings of tressels, duct work and cat walks. I waved my hands in the air, using the ticket like some kind of magical fly swatter. “You’d better cover your head, they’ll get in there and nest for fuck sake!” My eyes were wide and dilated as I took hold of his shoulders, “Sorry, dude.” With that final remark I skipped to the usher like a kid playing Hopscotch and handed the poor man my ticket, “You’ll be fine….”, I said to the usher as I looked down on his hairless head. We proceeded down the stairs as the realization sunk into my nemesis’ brain stem. “What the fuck are you talking about? Let me use your ticket…FUCKING ASSHOLE!” As we entered the floor seating area, I could hear him let out a scream that was one part agony and two parts admiration. The show was “on” already but there remained several “surprises” that had yet to reveal themselves. The thing about this story is... it was my LAST Dead show in that realm, if you know what I mean. The last part of this story is an emotional train wreck for me to put into words, I almost dread telling it. But the fun had just begun! I'll be right back... "The task is, not so much to see what no one has yet seen; but to think what nobody has yet thought, about that which everybody sees. ." - Erwin Schrödinger

Very well gentlemen- for your edification and in keeping with the latest Winterland 77 vine, the story of roadtripping summer of 1977: Bake and I had decided to visit the northwest and visit one of my oldest friends Dave, in Oregon. I had turned him onto the Dead years before in Lincoln and he was as rabid as I was to take in some shows. Dave was working in a Creamery in Springfield at the time (anyone heard of that place?) and his employers were very receptive to his ‘jumping on the bus” to chase music and especially the Grateful Dead (who were returning from a historic tour). We caught Tom Waits playing in the Oregon student union accompanied by a piano and drums. Jazzy and entertaining. Then we headed down the coast to San Fran and caught Little Feat at Winterland. A tremendous show, and Lowell George was cooking with his slide guitar (wearing his trademark white painter’s overalls) and he kicked his foot in joy and his shoe flew off right out into the audience! I don’t know if he got it back. Headed further south to find Tom in Santa Barbara. He had accompanied me to my first Dead show and informed us that the Dead we going to be at the Fabulous Forum in LA on 6-4-77 and then for 3 day run at Winterland. We were beside ourselves but continued with the serious business of music with Bonnie Raitt at the Santa Monica Civic bowl, and her opening band was the David Grisman Quintet. I was floored with the musicianship of that show (Tony Rice!) and the little outdoor venue was perfect. Bonnie Raitt asked the band members for a show of hands of the guys whose face she hadn’t sat on. Bonnie???? Little Feat again played in a little hacienda style indoor place that looked like it was a southwestern stucco town, complete with the sparkling stars in the indoor sky. Feats was ON that night and it was a delightful event and when Jackson Browne dropped in to sit in to sing Willin’ with Lowell I thought could this get better? We had written back to Lincoln, NE. to tell a couple of buddies that the Dead were going to be in Winterland and they should trek out and we would meet them in the Wharf Rat bar at 1 clock the day before the 1st show. Now to get to the 6-4-77 show. I was beside myself with anticipation and it was truly a case of too many party favors. We all imbibed and then went to the airport to pick up friend Greg who flew in from Lincoln, fresh from the ’77 Minneapolis show and he was toting MORE party favors, which of course we gobbled down, not stopping to consider the doubling and synergistic effect of all this. We then zipped to the Forum and went through the routine. They had ticket takers and then as you entered there was one guy sitting on a milk crate searching your ‘lower half’ and another person searching your ‘upper’. And everything they took, they tossed into garbage cans at the entrance and as I walked by it was ¾ full of everything under the sun, booze, smoke, pipes, pills, powders, etc. That was some expensive refuse! We hustled into our seats and I had never been in a venue this huge before. But my oh my the boys did play that night. They were late for some reason and the anticipation was hanging in the air (along with many of our minds). That was my first glimpse of the new ‘Terrapin Station’ and all that went along with it. The Dead charged headlong into their new material and also played us tasty and welcome treats from the past. At the beginning of the second half I noticed that the Forum had started to rotate, like the Tilt o’ Whirl at the Fair, and the centrifugal force was accelerating with the song list and I swear one of the fastest Not Fade Aways known to modern man only added to ‘the ride’. By this time, all in attendance had acquired wings and were perched on the back of their seats in the forum. We were like gargoyles waiting to take flight from the grip of gravity. Must wait for the right moment, once the floor gives way and we are in the air. There is more to this but I don't think I can do the story justice in writing (If I could just write like GRTUD. Maybe when I grow up). After that show we drove up what is called Highway 1 (I believe) and stopped on a spot that took us down by the ocean. We all got out of the car to a thundering sound of the water colliding with an embankment affixed to the side of the bluff overlooking the ocean. Tom and I stood on the little rock barrier as the ocean waves slammed into the wall/shore and shot the salty water 100 feet into the air and then it would rain down on us as we giggled pointed and pontificated on what delights the Dead might have in store in that magical Winterland. Unfortunately, Tom had to go back to work in Santa Barbara, and Greg back on the plane to the Midwest, then time to race to San Francisco. Dave,,Bake, and I had an inkling what was in store, but this road trip was moving to its natural peak at a pace we were unfamiliar with.We arrived at the appointed time at the Wharf Rat bar, walking in from the bay side entrance and as we did, coming in from the side door were Mike and Jeff who ran right into us like the 3 Stooges (hey there was 5 of us!) Boom. Whoop whoop, hey Mo, hey Larry. Unbelievably they had jumped a train in Nebraska and ridden under automobiles that were on flatbed train cars as the locomotive traversed through the high Rockies, though lengthy tunnels, across the ‘cool Colorado range’ and Mike and Jeff had gotten in across the bay and then jumped on the ‘tube’ (is that what it is called) to meet us. They would have to tell that part. It is incredible and quite 'hairy'. We laughed at the sight of them covered with soot and road wear and went to clean up and then off to an animation festival. The next day was the first show. We drove up to the area where Winterland was, a lot of crumbling and unused buildings, and Mike headed to the liquor store to make a purchase for the show. We stood in a line that wrapped the sidewalk outside Winterland and talked with the wide variety of people that were set to welcome the Dead home. Jokes, smokes, food, stories, songs, and the ever present tapes of prior shows from weeks before filled the air. Oh, the line is moving, let’s get going. As we went in the search that was conducted was only half as serious as in LA and I didn’t see the garbage cans filled with ‘contraband’. Mike held his arms up as the attendant, searched his pants and pulled out a half pint of cheap whiskey. “You can’t take this in, Man” and the attendant pocketed the bottle. All the time not noticing in Mike’s hand raised high above his head, a pint bottle of Jack Daniels. Mike was a boy scout, you see, always be prepared. And I guess he earned his misdirection badge. We went into the old skating arena, and I was enthralled. It had a great big floor area, chairs around the outer ring and back under the balconies, and that great balcony that wrapped the whole place. There was a bar inside the Winterland, where of course you could purchase your favorite intoxicants, but the delight was one of the first ‘big screens’ I had seen. But more significant was that Jimi Hendrix was the one playing on the screen and as I watched I realized that all the music that I was watching had taken place at Winterland. Bill had the foresight to tape many of the bands. I think now it is known as Wolfgang’s Vault. Back then it was the entertainment in the bar. Quite a treat. But outside the bar the electricity began to intensify and then Dead came out to start. First Bertha, then Jack Straw, yes, those are tears on my cheeks, the sound permeated this venue. It was if the dead were breathing life into the bricks and mortar and animating the old girl to start her own dance. Animating this abode into our own Mars Hotel. She began to sway in time as we began our dance. Anticipation mixed with delight and longing, and the walls started to shimmer and breath. And then it was time to hear my Scarlet Begonias, but wait what is this next song? And that undulating underwater guitar? Garcia!! (my first Fire!!) Long distance runner is what I wrote when I heard that phrase and then could write no more until Fire had segued into a ripping Good Lovin’. The treats continued with old and new tunes and when they played Estimated Prophet, I of course wrote “California… Like an angel’… and into He’s Gone and then Samson & Delilah. I wrote “Tear this old building down”. The band was grinning ear to ear as they played and I swear I kept hearing Jerry noodling the notes from “Encounters of a 4th Kind”. But my huge reward was to come. An epic Terrapin (my second, they played it in LA) BUT when it segued into Morning Dew, my mouth dropped to my chest. Phil cranked up his philbombs and the very air was being pushed out of my lungs. It felt much like gravity was now a lateral sensation as opposed to drawing you downward. I leaned into the band as Garcia told the tale and Phil continued the gale of bass notes propelling me backward. But I had to lean forward as I was drawn by Jerry’s sweet refrain and compelling guitar-work. Garcia and the caressed us as the music built and then suddenly was very quiet, and then crescendo. Bliss. Abruptly the gear shifted and Bobby threw us mercilessly into a double speed Around & Around. Back to reality. I had to catch my breath and then later they gave us encores of UJB and US Blues to send us out into that cool bay evening. So many smiling faces, giggling, and the serenity that is inherent in coming home after a wonderful exciting adventure. And as I walked out, I thought to myself, shit, that was the first night! We have two more shows to go ;0}!!!

What a journey oroboros! Had to put a couple more logs on the fire. Now sitting in front of it in awe. Your story is proof once again, magic happens at Winterland!Thanks oroboros for the grate story, one for the archives. peace, and magic,pk

You all get free passes to Heaven... just tell 'em you know my name (kinda like an anti "Sugaree"). I'm not sure if I'll make it but the fact that you've all put up with me so well will be the trick for all you grate people. I may have to borrow one of your tickets or jump over the fence when no one's looking but that'll be part of the fun. "The task is, not so much to see what no one has yet seen; but to think what nobody has yet thought, about that which everybody sees. ." - Erwin Schrödinger

GRTUD : The Ultimate Gate Crasher PEACE