Some selections from Dead Flames, August 1995. ------------------------------- Nonheads are acknowledging that something which they don't understand is real, and important to others. Yeah, I found this to be really cool. The one thing that really sticks with me right now is my mom's reaction. She used to really hate the Dead and everything about them. We used to get into arguments about them all the time. Over the years, she learned to accept them, but she still never really "got it". But she called me at work the other morning. She just kept saying how really, really sorry she was, that she knew how much Jer meant to me, I must feel like I lost one of the family, how it was such a shame that Jerry's not around anymore, because he made so many people so happy, that it's a great loss for the world, etc. She sounded like she was about to cry. Maybe she actually "got it" a little more than I give her credit for. Thanks, Mom. :-) Jim McVey ---------------------------------------------------------------- There are people who "write poetry," and there are Poets. People who write poetry can work to make two lines rhyme, but a real Poet performs his craft so that people of his _age_ can rhyme with those of ancient times, and rise to acts of heroism worthy of a classical epic in the world as it is. Likewise, there are people who play music, and Musicians. Jerry Garcia's guitar never lied to you. Where he was at, he played - straight up what's happening, and different every time. There was no bombast, no pose, no "effects": if he felt like hell, he played Hell, or a Heaven so appropriate to just that moment, that when you got there, you felt welcomed, like you'd earned it, and all that road dust just fell off you. Garcia's lifelong commitment to musical scholarship - to hearing clearly the voices that sounded before his own - gave his playing humility, which allowed that rarest of gifts, in Poets or Musicians: the ability to say, in each and every moment, exactly what needs to be said. - written for Guitar Player magazine by Steve Silberman ------------------------------------------------------------------ Some of the biggest groups, and some of the greatest reaching together that I have experienced have been at Grateful Dead concerts. There, and in a few other places, we construct a little corner of Paradise and hold it together for a few hours. No need for political revolution, nor for religious doctrine; just a spiritual awareness of each other, a loose-fitting easy-going love, kindness, and tolerance which we all reach together, and imagine what a Paradise our world would be! Thanks, Jerry, for seeing it, for singing it, for living it as long as you did. I'll miss you more than I can know. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Is it possible for a guitar solo to smile?? If so, I know what it sounds like. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Later that night, after watching a beautiful sunset above the fog with a group of young deadheads on Mount Tam, I drove to Serenity Knolls again with a friend and some simple flowers we had picked. Shining their flashlights into the car, the police stopped us, asking, "Can we help you?". "Is it okay to leave some flowers for Jerry?" "Absolutely", the officer replied and we added ours to the few bouquets near an old fir tree at the entrance road. Another officer said "thank you" and we drove away into the moonlit night. ---------------------------------------------------------------- I think what gets me about Jerry is that he was never hungry for the spotlight, he wanted to make things happen for everybody else. The biggest impression I got from my first show was how low key the band was, and how much energy was in the crowd. He didn't jump around on stage because that was *our* part, and he was there to help *us* celebrate. ---------------------------------------------------------------- From: alms@cambridge.apple.com (Andrew LM Shalit) When I think of the Dead, I don't think about the sixties. I think about overwhelmingly beautiful music. I think about shaking hands with 18,000 people simultaneously. I think about surfing that edge where the future becomes the present, and watching as the boys pull the music through that edge. I think about climbing the mountain, with Jerry in the lead, and glimpsing that other mountain's other side. I think the crystals of a Playin' jam floating all around me. I think about hugging friends after a show that defies all words. I think about the joy of hooting at the top of my lungs when I'm standing at my seat in a venue and a shows about to start. I think about sweetly rocking to "We Bid You Goodnight" or "Brokedown Palace" with every nerve cell in my body pleasently sore. I think about those opening notes to Dark Star, when the whole crowd just opens up with joy. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Subject: Re: Favorite Jerry memory At the Filmore East 1970, Jerry asking the crowd if we'd seen any alligators wandering around the hall. I was paying so much attention to him that I actually checked. With that they broke into Alligator. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Forever Young Jerry's death as a relatively young man means that in our minds he'll age no more. We'll not have to witness his descent into increasingly poor health and fragility. We'll always remember him as the vibrant man that he still was. ---------------------------------------------------------------- THE SILVER LINING There was that secret clearing, The one those who have not walked its paths cannot understand, In that clearing I first saw the bear. I had heard the bear, many times, but I had never seen him. Until one spring day when the sun found him a little grey and I caught a glimpse... what I saw was freedom. He was a bear. He revelled in being a bear. I became familiar with the idea that I should be what I was, what I am. I began to sneak away to this clearing, where freedom was easy, To meet my friends and family, those who knew the bear and knew the paths. And we danced an ancient dance, as old as tribes, as old as the heartbeat. Then one day the bear appeared before us, and he was old, not with time, really, but with experience. We worried, but every spring he returned, Like a force of nature. But no bear, no matter the strength of youth, lives beyond his time, and one day the bear was gone. And we mourned. But the clearing is still there; the paths will still reveal their secrets if you walk them. And should you look down, you will see the old bear's tracks. It's strange, because if you look up you see those old tracks still winding their way through clouds of grey, clouds line with silver. --David Durham 8/10/95 ---------------------------------------------------------------- Subject: Jerry smiled at me :) :) My mind keeps rolling back to 1976, the Paramount Theater in Portland, Oregon. I boogied down the aisle of that old theater, weaving my way between bodies, and as I approached the front with a big grin on my face I looked up at Jerry. He looked my way and caught my eye and broke into a big smile of his own. We and the Music and the World were One. Whenever I tell this tale to non-Deadheads, I get patronizing smiles of disbelief. But, Brothers and Sisters, you all know it's true. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Sitting at my desk at a Merrill Lynch office in CA. We have a "squawk box" that stock analyst rattle off information on companies earnings. Suddenly, the little box says, "we just found out that Jerry Garcia died this morning." Then there was a pause. Then, an official minute of silence. Some sixty seconds later, they went back to talking about stocks. I was stunned. There was no one there that could relate. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Grieve not... nor speak of me with tears... but laugh and talk of me ... as though I were beside you. I loved you so... 'twas Heaven here with you. Isla Richardson ------------------------------------------------------------------