I was in my work van, parked in the garage underneath a state government office building, ready to lug
my tools upstairs to repair some government employee's PC, when I heard the news on the local classic
rock station. "Jerry Garcia was found dead this morning..." -- I listened to the details, but
it didn't matter much.
My pager went off as took some parts off the van shelves and loaded them on my rickety
dolly. It was Lovey. The IBM brick I carried started beeping. More friends touching base. I fixed the computer and took another couple of calls that
day.
I went home and got a hug before she dashed off to work. "I'm so sorry," she
said. She kissed me and hugged me again, tighter. Then she left, and it was just me and
SweetFacedBoy, all of eight months old.
"Well," I said as I picked him up, walked over to the stereo and tuned it to the local NPR station
doing a rememberance of Jerry on Talk of the Nation. "I always figured that Jerry would be the first to
go. You know, the massive weight, that trouble with cocaine and heroin. Oh, and that diabetic coma he was in. Yep, that's no good."
"Bbblpppfffttttt."
It's just that I thought he had another good decade or so in him. I thought he was cleaning
up pretty well, the SCUBA diving and such.
We listened to the radio for a while, then I put the little guy down for a short nap
while I prepared dinner. After a while, I found myself sitting in front of the stereo,
listening to tapes, tears welling.
Anyhow, as I sit here 12 years later listening to MSG 1991-09-16, the night before that amazing night, I'm a little sad and a little glad. A part of me gently boxed away, visited often, but knowing those times will never return. I've gone to the Dead shows. Close, but no cigar.
But, man oh man! Those shows and the journeys to and from them! Pretty much who I am today was shaped by being a Deadhead, and they wouldn't have happened without Jerry.
So I'm going to drive home from work today and slip in a show from Alpine Valley (they're always smoking there), turn it up loud, and be grateful.
Thanks, old man.
Wildflower seed in the sand and wind
May the four winds blow you home again