Happy Birthday, Jer

I recently watched an old “Mad Men” episode that involved the death of Marilyn Monroe and the intense emotional reaction of the women at Sterling Cooper. Roger Sterling expresses his befuddlement over the fact that the women are reacting very strongly about someone they didn’t know. He clearly doesn’t understand the way that people attach themselves to their popular culture icons. This particular episode came to mind as I sat down to write this.

Ol’ Jer would’ve been 70 years old today. Later this week is the 17^th anniversary of his death. I’ll admit that I cried when I heard the news. At that time there was a lot of drama in my life. I think that the occasion of Garcia’s death was the catalyst I needed to release a torrent of stress and misery that had been building up for me. Over the subsequent years since Jerry left us, we’ve learned how his drug use destroyed him slowly. As someone said around the time he died, what he really needed was his own Grateful Dead type of escape where he could find the joy that he brought to many of us. I’ve often wondered what would’ve been if, as expressed in his last Rolling Stone interview, he was able to take a year or two off to get out of the hamster wheel and recharge his spirit. By that point in time, the band became such a huge enterprise that the livelihoods of dozens of people would’ve dried up and I suspect that Jerry had a very hard time accepting all of that.

Of course, I have no idea what Jerry thought about anything. As with many people who are fans of the Dead (or Springsteen or Dylan or any number of musicians), we assume that we have deep insights into a person we’ve never met merely because we can recite lyrics perfectly or walk around with an internal encyclopedia of the person's body of work. In Garcia’s case, I’ve thought about what it must’ve been like to drive around and see your face on other people’s bumper stickers and t-shirts. Jerry was very clear about the fact that he was not interested in being a hero. In fact, he expressed some disappointment over the fact that many people were unable to find anything in America more adventurous than following his band around. All he really wanted was to play music and may have been content if the Grateful Dead never happened and he was forced to hustle coffeehouse gigs and give guitar lessons to pay the rent.

So do I miss him? Not in the way I might miss an old friend who died but there is still a feeling of loss and yearning for what once existed.  Garcia’s passing was, for me, symbolic of the end of a certain period of my life that was full of highway adventures, roaring laughter, and even a life-threatening experience or two. When I listen to his music, there’s a part of me that celebrates those episodes from years past. The other part is all about embracing the joy and the passion in his playing that is stirred up in me even after listening to the same shows dozens of times. I'm grateful tonight for all of the people who took it upon themselves to record as much of the journey as possible so that people like me could revel in it. I feel lucky that I was able to make a connection to the music of a relative stranger and find a little pocket of peace and joy whenever I need it.

Wherever you are tonight, Ol' Jer, a lot of us are thinking of you and saying “thanks”.

Letting Go

     In a few more days, the stack of boxes dominating my living room will make their way to a new home. I'm making way too big a deal of things especially since I'm moving a grand total of 14 blocks. Hell, I'm still in the same zip code. But in New York City terms, it's as if I'm moving to a different state. Most people in this city tend to live the majority of their existences within a radius of several blocks of where they live expect perhaps for work purposes. Some people in Manhattan never go above 14^th St. while others never go below 14^th St. Manhattan is a small isle but there's a whole lotta life in each neighborhood that allows one to be quite provincial in a tiny area.

Although I've been in my place for barely 6 years, I've created a nice little sanctuary for myself that I will no longer have as I will be living with someone else for the first time in a while. (There's a whole other story behind that which can be told another time.) I will have to modify my sense of freedom and be respectful of the fact that, for example, the other person may not want to hear my mediocre guitar playing at 9:30 PM. Along with that comes the fact that I've had to shed a good chunk of my personal belongings in order to fit them into my new abode. Much of that has been a good thing.

As hard as it is for me to motivate myself to relinquish my personal items, I love the way a good spring cleaning feels once the discarded items are gone. I've learned that I can get by without a mountain of books to hide behind and without clothes that haven't been worn in years. (One shirt I gave to Goodwill still had the tags on it). Even getting rid of cherished CDs was not as tough as I had imagined once I realized how much more likely it is that I will listen to certain things if they are easily accessible via iTunes as many of the CDs in my closet have not been touched since I stored them there a few years ago. Harder was the task of giving up books that I've carried around, in some cases for close to 20 years. Of course, some of those books haven't been read in 20 years but the idea of having them is all about security and the need to show other people that I have great taste in literature. The paradox, of course, is in the fact that I don't regularly have guests over who would behold these great works. In this case, the reality of life in cramped NYC has once again trumped the luxury of holding onto many things. I have to admit that having fewer things feels like freedom.

There is one item, however, that I know needs to go but I can't bring myself to get rid of it. Since around 1989 or or so, I've traveled with a picture of ol' Jerry Garcia from one living situation to the other on both coasts. The pic was taken (I believe) at the Philadelphia Spectrum on 9/8/88 during “Turn On Your Lovelight”. That song and I have immense history together, making me feel great whenever I need a boost of positive energy. A few years after I bought the picture, I added to one corner a printout of a quote from the last interview Garcia did with Rolling Stone:

Q: Does anyone in the Dead still take psychedelics?

A: Oh, yeah. We all touch on them here and there. Mushrooms, things like that. It's one of those things where every once in a while you want to blow out the pipes. For me, I just like to know they're available, just because I don't think there's anything else in life apart from a near-death experience that shows you how extensive the mind is.

At the time the interview came out, it seemed like a really cool thing to hear but history has added a layer of sadness given what happened just a few years after this interview occurred. Still, I've carted this picture around because the years of going to those shows and listening to that music have become a part of my DNA through the memories of the people I met and the adventures I undertook. Even today, 16 years after the end of the Grateful Dead, it's safe to say that I haven't gone more than a few days without listening to something Dead-related and I never fail to smile at least a little bit. Earlier today, I was ready to put the picture into a bag with a bunch of other stuff that went to Goodwill but at the last minute, I relented and left it on top of some boxes.

This picture is a memory that refuses to go away quietly. Ideally, I would give the thing away to some person who would cherish it as much as I have. I like the idea of passing the karma onward. Somehow, dumping it off at Goodwill seems inappropriate because I'll never know who the new owner is or if he/she will give the picture the respect it deserves. For now, the picture remains in my possession and as I think about it, I have a feeling it's not going away so quickly.