The SFB

Random musings from a Gen X life lived on the edge… of nothing except Lake Erie. 70s and 80s pop culture and music.

The Grateful Dead and Long Lost Friends

Feeling a little nostalgic and sentimental. And wondering where the hell thirty years have gone?

As usual, I am late.  I have to work very hard to undo a decades old habit that I inherited from my lovely mother of always running late.  I am getting better….. so…

Thirty years ago on June 30, 1995, I attended my last Grateful Dead concert at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh.  Jerry Garcia died about five weeks later that August.  When I heard the news of his death I was floored.  I mean we all knew that Jerry struggled.  That he had been in and out of rehab.  But he was the mighty Jerry Garcia- he would always be there when we needed him.  And I guess he still is. Jerry was a prophet, a storyteller, a mystic and mythic.   If you don’t love the Grateful Dead, or at least appreciate them, then I can’t even really explain that to you.

1995 was a pivotal year for me.  I had been in a relationship for about five years in 1995 with someone  I loved, who was interesting, intelligent and fun. Whose family I adored.  But for having been together for five years at that point, and not being kids by any means, our relationship had no real definitive plan for a future. Relationships have to move forward.  Ours hadn’t changed much in five years. It wasn’t necessarily marriage I was thinking of, but more a commitment of some sort of a grown-up adult future.   I had tried to bring this up, attempted to have several discussions about what we were doing, about a general plan and it never went anywhere.  So eventually, feeling  like I was in a new and different place in my life, having just finished my first year teaching at a new school, I needed something different. I needed to move into a different vibration or plane or direction or whatever.  So I broke up with him, probably not as kindly as I should have. I don’t mean to sound callous, but sometimes when you get out of a relationship you feel lighter.  Freer. There’s a sense of self and independence that you had forgotten about. But that usually only happens for the break-er, not the break-ee.  I was the latter.  And I hope all is forgiven but if not, I completely understand.

I juggled a few “things” that summer. I was tanned and thin and just felt light and fun and sexy. And one of the highlights was going to that Dead show.  My best friend at the time lived in Pittsburgh. This is a person with whom I had been best friends for a good twelve or thirteen years at that point- through high school and college and young adulthood.  We had so much in common, from being in the school band, liking the same music, having a sarcastic sense of humor, enjoying the same shenanigans.  Our families were like mirror images of each other; fathers who were local Italian boys who married Irish gals from out of town, three kids, all the same ages.  She and I had a similar world view and we called ourselves 

“Two Fun Mod Girls.”  I miss her. I miss that.  We are no longer friends and have zero communication anymore and that makes me sad.  But- people change and grow apart.  But I thought she and I would always be soul sisters.  And that’s part of what makes the memory of this Dead Show so special.  It was one of the last times we spent together in our old lives.  As our old selves. So that summer, and the memory of this show, is all wrapped up in memories of love and loss and change and sadness and excitement at the same time.  All of those experiences and emotions that make up the human condition.  I was being selfish, but also needed to be selfish.  I needed affirmation and adventure.  I needed to shed old skin and make new memories.  I needed gal-pal girl friendship.  I needed confirmation that I was ok and what I was doing was ok.  I needed a pal in those adventures.  And I am grateful that I had that and mourn that I do not anymore.  But, hey, c’est la vie, right?

I had been on summer vacation for about two weeks at that point and drove to Pittsburgh the day before the show.  The weather that early summer was glorious.  I remember some things about that experience vividly while at the same time there are complete parts of the weekend I don’t remember at all.  I can remember the sunshine in my car as I was driving south on I-79. I remember passing the Meadville exit. At one point my friend had previously lived in Meadville and I visited her there a few times, most notably on New Year’s Eve 1989/1990 when she was calling the new era the decade of marriage and children- anticipating that that’s what would transpire for us and our friends in the 90s. Funny enough, most of us were not married with children until very late in that decade or early into the new millennium.  

I had attended freshman year of college in Pittsburgh so I was familiar with the city.  I can’t remember what we did when I got into town, but I think I bought a pair of gold shoes at Ross for Less, but that could have been when I visited another time. LOL!

Anyway, the morning of the show the weather was hot, steamy and sunny.  We made our way to Three Rivers and parked in the immense parking lot.  This was back in the time when you had to have actual paper tickets so we made our way through all the revelers to get to Will Call. We had gone for lunch before heading to the show and we wrapped leftover rolls in the restaurant’s cloth napkins in case we needed something to eat later.  Also back in the olden times you could bring bags and purses into stadiums so I carried my hippie,funky cloth string bag with rolls and napkins along with my bra that for some reason I took off.  When I was young I always took off my bra when I was feeling adventurous and frisky and wanted to be free.  Ha Ha!  I was ridiculous.  But FYI- it’s always a relief to take off a bra for those of you who might be wondering. I also wore my brown suede Birks and a free flowing short crinkled cotton summer hippie dress.   I told you I have a bizarre sense of some things in great detail. 

 Pittsburgh’s own Rusted Root opened- they were riding high on the release of their album When I Woke that was playing non-stop on Alt music radios stations and in Alt music lovers’ cars’  tape or CD players. They’d enjoyed regional fame since about 1990 and were now playing larger arenas. The weather held out and the first of the two Dead sets was great.  We had seats on the floor of the stadium which was covered by a gigantic tarp so we were standing on plastic.  At one point we looked down on the floor and saw a bill- not sure if it was a ten-ner or a twenty but I do remember that it was exactly enough money for us to buy two beers.  Iron City, Pittsburgh’s famous! 

Then the second set began. It got dark.  And windy.  And it rained.  And then it poured.  The plastic tarp became a cesspool of water, beer and other things I don’t even want to think about.  The suede Birks were soaked.  We were soaked.  It was fucking glorious!  And of course the band changed their set from whatever they had planned and played all the best rain songs:

A cover of The Beatles Rain.

Box of Rain

Samba in the Rain

Looks Like Rain

Here’s the entire setlist:

If I recall correctly the weather improved somewhat by the end of the show and the crowd was wild for the encore.  Everyone was  standing on chairs, completely drenched but singing along to every word. I remember nothing about the end of the show,  about getting out of the stadium or the parking lot.  I do remember that we were starving and we went to a 24 hour Wendy’s and got chicken sandwiches.  We might also have made a stop for some Ben 

And Jerry’s. Cherry Garcia is of course my favorite. And that chicken sandwich was one of the best fucking things I ever ate.  

I am so damn thankful that I went to that show. And it was kind of a metaphor for that pivotal summer in my life.  High and low.  Joy and sadness.  Extreme fun and a little guilt.  Looking forward to the future, but wrestling with the past.  

I have another fun Grateful Dead memory with that once best friend. July 4, 1986. Rich Stadium. That was my first show.  And I will remember it forever.  I had absolutely no idea what to expect but I had developed an intense love of the GD that year at college.  By that time I had transferred from college in Pittsburgh to a liberal arts college in the Finger Lakes and the Grateful Dead was extremely popular among a contingent of hippie hacky-sack loving students.  One of the fraternities had a hugely popular Dead cover band perform at their Rites of Spring party every May.  And HWS was famous for its Folk Fest held on the quad every spring. Thus my initiation into Dead culture.  This was when I got on the bus. Central New York is surprisingly a bastion of Dead Cover bands and Deadheads.  So of course when I had the chance to see them that summer I jumped.  I actually think my parents bought my ticket for me because I was still in school when they went on sale.  Remember when you could buy concert tickets at department stores?  Mine was purchased at Kaufmann’s.  I was supposed to meet up with a friend who was coming to Buffalo from Syracuse so I had her ticket.  We never found each other that day- of course no cell phones so connecting wasn’t as easy as it is today.  I can’t remember what she ended up doing but I think she found a miracle and was able to get into the show.

The morning of the show was again brilliant with sunshine and anticipation. There were I think five of us going to the show.  The plan was for my friend to drive us all in her VW van- in true Dead-Head style.  But that plan was thwarted when on the way to pick everyone up the van died in the middle of the road going uphill on the south end of town.  One of my parents’ friends happened to be driving by, and witnessing our distress, helped get the van out of traffic.  We were disappointed to say the least.  We ended up taking someone’s station wagon to Rich Stadium, lol! For some reason instead of listening to Dead tunes on the way up we listened to Bob Marley.  I don’t know why but that memory sticks with me. 

This was my first show and I had zero idea of what to expect.  I remember feeling blown away by the vibe, by people watching, which is still one of my favorite things to do at any concert, and by being center field in Rich Stadium. Rich Stadium back in the late 1900s was home to many concerts and music festivals.  Our seats were on the floor of the field so we brought a large blanket to sit on.  It was hot.  Really hot. Blazing hot. We were fried by the end of the day, that’s for sure.  The people sitting in front of us were smoking and we desperately wanted them to offer us a toke.  When they finally did offer some to us goofball newbies, we realized it was hash and not pot so we were too afraid to partake.  Again, the memories are hazy but I think someone else offered us a couple blotters of what was supposed to be acid, which we eagerly took. Not sure why we were more afraid of some hash than some supposed acid, but whatever.   Did we trip? Can’t remember.  I suspect we thought we were tripping.  I doubt it was actually pure acid anyway.  If any of the people I was there with are reading this, please clarify. I have gaps in my memory.  Maybe from dropping that acid?!?! Tom Petty and Bob Dylan were also on that bill.  I vaguely remember Petty playing.  I wasn’t there for them so I didn’t really pay much attention.  I kind of regret that now. 

Here’s the Dead’s setlist:

  • Jack Straw
    Dupree’s Diamond Blues
    C.C. Rider
    Tennessee Jed
    My Brother Esau
    Touch of Grey

    Cold Rain and Snow
    Fire on the Mountain
    Samson and Delilah
    The Wheel
    I Need a Miracle
    Uncle John’s Band
    Drums
    Gimme Some Lovin’
    Goin’ Down the Road Feelin’ Bad
    Turn on Your Love Light

    Encore: U.S. Blues

How did we get home? Don’t remember. How did we get out of the stadium and through the parking lot? No clue.  I just remember getting home and being bone tired, thinking I had just partaken in a body and soul shaking experience and thinking that I was 1: so very fucking cool and 2: my life would never be the same again.  Kind of like losing your virginity.  Once it happens you can’t go back.  And who would want to anyway, right?  

My love of the Grateful Dead continues to this day- and only grew deeper after that first show.  Inexplicably I had a Dead drought for about twenty years -never saw Rat Dog or Further.  It wasn’t until Dead and Company that I felt time was slipping away and if I wanted to experience Bobby and Mickey and Billy I better not waste any time.  Friends and I tried to get tickets through the lottery for Dead 50 in Chicago but we were unsuccessful.  If we had been really serious we should have just gone to the show and found tickets on the street.  I have no doubt we could have.  That was another reason  I made a concerted effort to see as many Dead & Co. shows as possible.  I also regret not going to their final shows in San Francisco two years ago but I did set up a huge screen on my back porch, got a nice high and watched via Nugs.  It was not a bad setup.

If you made it through my silly little piece here, thanks. I’ll leave you with some lyrics to take along your way.  Dead heads will understand.  

The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down,

You can’t let go and you can’t hold on,

You can’t go back and you can’t stand still,

If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will.

And from one of my hardcore faves:

Almost ablaze, still you don’t feel the heat

It takes all you got just to stay on the beat

You say it’s a livin’, we all gotta eat

But you’re here alone, there’s no one to compete

If Mercy’s a business, I wish it for you

More than just ashes when your dreams come true

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