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wolfpangsThis is a letter to Jerry Garcia, who died on this day in 1995.
On August 9th, 1995, I woke up with a terrible stomachache. It was just before 6:30 central time, 4:30 on the left coast. I had spent the night at my friend's house and after I left her house that day, I went to lunch with my mom and my sister. When we got back to our house, there was a message on the answering machine. "I think something happened to Jerry."
The world you left in 1995 is a lot different today. In some ways, I think of it like it says in Middlesex--that you got out before many of "the common tragedies of American life" and good for you. But then I think, bad for us. I've wondered a lot, especially this weekend at the Jerry Garcia Birthday Bash, where you obviously loomed large over the proceedings, what you would make of the world today. I've wondered what you would say. I wondered if you would have voted in the last election.
A lot of times I wonder what it's like to live like you had to live. You have enough humility to stay in hotels under your real name but you end up leaving your phone off the hook because you can't answer all the calls you get. People think you're God. Or a god, at least. People ascribe all sorts of powers and beliefs to you and in the end, you're a regular man. Just a regular guy, who is as dangerously flawed as any other human. Your good friend Bobby Weir once said that everyone needed a little of the mystery and awe that surrounded you all to make life interesting--the only difference, as he put it, was that "ours leaked into the press."
He's a good man, you know. Has his faults, of course. He looks like a sheepdog now, for one thing. But I think you'd be proud of him. That kid you met on New Years' Eve in 1963 has evolved into the leader of the band. I worry occasionally about the "vultures and thieves at your back" finding him but so far, so good.
You're free. You're always missed. You're still here in a lot of ways. I could write a lot of things but I think I'll just stick to the simplest thing--you changed my life. Because of you, I've had unbelievably magical adventures. Thanks.
On August 9th, 1995, I woke up with a terrible stomachache. It was just before 6:30 central time, 4:30 on the left coast. I had spent the night at my friend's house and after I left her house that day, I went to lunch with my mom and my sister. When we got back to our house, there was a message on the answering machine. "I think something happened to Jerry."
The world you left in 1995 is a lot different today. In some ways, I think of it like it says in Middlesex--that you got out before many of "the common tragedies of American life" and good for you. But then I think, bad for us. I've wondered a lot, especially this weekend at the Jerry Garcia Birthday Bash, where you obviously loomed large over the proceedings, what you would make of the world today. I've wondered what you would say. I wondered if you would have voted in the last election.
A lot of times I wonder what it's like to live like you had to live. You have enough humility to stay in hotels under your real name but you end up leaving your phone off the hook because you can't answer all the calls you get. People think you're God. Or a god, at least. People ascribe all sorts of powers and beliefs to you and in the end, you're a regular man. Just a regular guy, who is as dangerously flawed as any other human. Your good friend Bobby Weir once said that everyone needed a little of the mystery and awe that surrounded you all to make life interesting--the only difference, as he put it, was that "ours leaked into the press."
He's a good man, you know. Has his faults, of course. He looks like a sheepdog now, for one thing. But I think you'd be proud of him. That kid you met on New Years' Eve in 1963 has evolved into the leader of the band. I worry occasionally about the "vultures and thieves at your back" finding him but so far, so good.
You're free. You're always missed. You're still here in a lot of ways. I could write a lot of things but I think I'll just stick to the simplest thing--you changed my life. Because of you, I've had unbelievably magical adventures. Thanks.
