Writer’s Note: It has been four long years since the remaining members of the Grateful Dead reunited to serve up their diverse, intricate style of improvisational music that fueled a culture and ideology of life during the 1960s. While the world has changed drastically since the cultural revolution of the 60s. The spirit of the scene driven by the music of the counter-cultural rock n roll band can still be seen living on in the hearts of Dead Heads everywhere. This could best be seen in April, when the band, now known as The Dead, reunited for the first time since 2004. I had the good fortune to catch four shows during the band’s month-long reunion tour, and I hope that through my own experiences, people will be able to see why there is nothing like a Grateful Dead concert.
Preparations for me and a few friends to head down to the Big Apple to catch The Dead at Madison Square Garden are well underway, when I receive a surprise phone call from my old pal Hawaii a few days prior to the big show.
He sadly informs me that his father has passed away, and he is home on Long Island with his family. My excitement over our trip soon turns to concern over how my good friend is dealing with his loss. I tell him I will be down in the city on Saturday and would like to stop by if I have a chance to give my condolences to his family. I also mention to him that we would love to have him join us for the show at MSG. Hawaii informs me that he would like nothing more than to come, but that he has prior obligations that day to coach a lacrosse game for the college he works at in Ohio. He does, however, inform me that his cousin may be able to score tickets to the show for us. I tell him to try and score as many tickets as he can, because a number of Heads from home plan on attending the show, and none of us have tickets yet.
The next day, Hawaii calls back to inform me that the tickets for MSG are a no go. His cousin has already sold them to friends. I am a little disappointed, but then Hawaii says something that blows my mind. He informs me that while his cousin doesn’t have any more tickets to the MSG show, there is a good chance she can get us backstage passes to the show at the Nassau Coliseum in Long Island , TONIGHT!
“Remember the cousin I told you used to be Mickey’s [Hart] cook? Well now she is his assistant on the tour, and my sister says she can probably get us all backstage at tonight’s show,” Hawaii says with glee, “You want to go?”
At this point my mind is trapped in a deep trance. I start to dream up all the possibilities that could come along with being backstage at a Dead show. I eventually pull myself together realizing that Hawaii is still rapping away on the other end.
My excitement soon turns to hesitancy, though. I recognize that it is not going to be as easy as me jumping into my car and speeding down the highway to Long Island. First of all, I am at work. Second, my car has some problems that could hinder me from even making the trip. And third, I would have to leave immediately if I was going arrive in time for the show.
I tell Hawaii I will call him back with a definitive answer and hang up the phone. I continue to pace furiously around my office, trying to contemplate if it is even feasible to make such a journey. In the meantime, Hawaii calls me back to say there is a 90 percent chance it’s going to happen, and that his sister, Rosemary, can’t believe I would even consider passing up such an opportunity.
“So my sister basically said you are a pussy if you don’t come down for the show,” Hawaii says laughing at my uncertainty.
I think about what Hawaii had said, and I realize I am crazy for even considering not going to what would most definitely be something I would regret for the rest of my life, especially if Hawaii ends up meeting the boys. I would never hear the end of it. I tell the owner of my company, who is a former Dead Head, about the situation, and before I can even ask if I can leave, he is basically shoving me out the door while scolding me for even thinking about not going. I make a few quick stops before I hit the open road on my five hour ride to Hawaii’s house on Long Island.
“It’s a go!” Hawaii says, as my five hour trip, which includes an accidental detour through the South Bronx, rapidly winds down.
Upon arrival I quickly change into my hippie garb and give my condolences to Hawaii’s family, who are in Shiva, before we and four of his family members pack into two separate cars and head over to the Coliseum.
Anticipation builds as we make our way onto the lot, park the car, and head over to meet up with his cousin, Lucy, at the VIP gate. Rosemary calls Lucy when we arrive, and she informs us she will be there to meet us shortly.
About 15 minutes later a slender, middle-aged woman, who looks as though she has spent a good number of years on tour, appears out of know where hugging each of us and informing us that we will have to wait a little longer while someone brings our passes.
My excitement hits new levels, as I realize IT is really happening. Even the rest of Hawaii’s four family members, who are not very familiar with the band and their music, can hardly contain themselves. While we wait for our tickets, Lucy’s bubbly spirit keeps us all entertained. She raps about the tour, drugs, and what the scene used to be like when Jerry was alive. It’s great to take in the old stories about how the scene was and is today from someone who has lived it for a good portion of their life.
She eventually pauses, pulls her cell phone out of her pocket, and answers it.
“You want what?” she says to the person on the other end, “Your blue jeans? Why the hell do you want your blue jeans? ...Alright I’ll be there in a minute.”
While Lucy was on the phone, I realize that Mickey is the person on the other end. I uncontrollably start to smack Hawaii on the arm in order to get his attention, as Lucy continues her conversation with the legendary drummer.
“Well I guess he wants his blue jeans,” Lucy says hanging up the phone. “Come on, I will see if I can bring you down to the bus with me, and then I can get your passes, too.”
The seven of us make our way over to a security gate at the base of a long ramp that leads under the arena. We swiftly make our way past the security guards. Lucy flashes her badge and informs them that we are all her cousins. The guards give us a funny look. None of us even remotely resemble the other, but they let us through without question.
We make our way down a steep ramp eventually reaching a cluster of buses parked below. Lucy disappears into one of the buses. We stand patiently waiting outside.
“Can you believe this shit dude?” I whisper to Hawaii, “Your cousin was just talking to fucking Mickey, and now we are standing outside his bus! This is crazy!”
While I know Hawaii is as excited as I am, at this point he is showing hardly any emotion. I figure he is either in shock or the magnitude of what we are about to experience hasn’t yet set in.
“Well, no blue jeans but at least I found these,” Lucy says as she returns from the bus with a fistful of backstage passes, handing one to each of us, “Oh shit, do you guys want to go check out the bus?”
Hawaii and I turn to each other and now there is no hiding the twinkle in his eye. We follow Lucy onto the bus. The front section is a living space with lush couches, a flat screen TV, and an array of other amenities. Then, there is the hallway that hosts a few beds, where his cousin sleeps, and eventually it leads into a master bedroom complete with a queen size bed, shower, and bathroom.
Hawaii and I start to make our way back toward the front of the bus, while the rest of his family talks with Lucy about how nice the furnishings aboard the bus are. When we reach the front, Hawaii points to a pair of Mickey’s drum sticks resting on a small table.
“I should take a picture of you pointing at one of Mickey’s drum sticks,” he says.
I squeeze myself onto a small bench beside the table, and before Hawaii can snap the picture, I find myself holding one of the drum sticks magically in my hand. Hawaii becomes nervous at the sight of me, and just before he is about to take the picture, his cousin walks into the room throwing him into such a panic that he cuts off half the drum stick in the process of taking the picture.
Afterwards, Hawaii can’t believe that I actually touched the drum stick due to Mickey’s reputation for being extremely meticulous about his equipment. He’s also a little paranoid, because he believes that his cousin had given me a foul look over my bold action.
While I am not convinced of her disapproval over me holding the drum stick, I must admit that I felt as if I might have broken some unwritten rule not to touch anything on the bus. But then I realize that it is most likely the only chance I would ever get to have such an experience, and I am glad to have taken full advantage of the situation.
“I told you just to point at it not pick it up,” Hawaii whispers as we exit the bus. “It is like a museum, you can look but you never touch.”
After our tour of the bus we finally make our way backstage. I can hear music echoing through the hallways. We arrive at the entrance to the arena. After a brief hassle from a security guard on a power trip, we are allowed to pass through thanks to a few choice words from Lucy. We finally emerge from the depths of the backstage to find the band beside us onstage ripping through the show’s opener, “Jack Straw”.
We pass through a small security gate that leads to a row of seats just to the right of the stage. We spend the first set dancing furiously along to Dead classics spanning the band’s 30 year career. Hawaii and I also find time to see how far our passes will get us. We go around to different check points, flashing our badges to security guards who can’t deny us access, even if they want to. At one point we find ourselves backstage seeing what kind of trouble we might find. While poking around I see a tall, gangly figure wobbling toward us. As he nears I realize it is a fellow Head, named Charlie, from back home. He is strung out as he approaches us acknowledging my presence and demanding a cigarette. I hand him one and he proceeds to light it, mumbles some farewell, and stumbles on his way down the hall.
We find our seats, and Hawaii inquires to Lucy’s son, Johnny, about walking behind the stage.
“Of course,” he says as if it is common place, “Come on.”
We quickly make our way to the security gate, flashing our passes, and around the back of the stage just as the band launches into a raunchy, “Alabama Getaway”. As I turn to look at Hawaii, I see for the first time that his excitement to be backstage has gotten the better of him. His eyes are gleaming, his swagger has this weak bounce to it, and his smile is as wide as a Cheshire cat’s. We find ourselves on the other end of the stage in a blocked off area peering up in astonishment of how close we really are.
“You think we can actually go up on stage?” I remark to Hawaii.
“I think we can,” he replies, “But I don’t think they want us to.”
“Fair enough,” I think.
Johnny, who had disappeared on a mission to find some rolling papers, appears, and we make our way back to our seats. We rejoin Hawaii’s family, which now includes two of his cousins who have joined us. We dance, laugh, and enjoy each others company during the remainder of the second set that includes such classics as, “Dark Star”, “Knocking on Heavens Door”, “Goin’ Down the Road Feelin’ Bad”, and an encore of the band’s only major hit, “Touch of Grey”.
After the show we are denied access backstage by some uptight security guard, who says he has orders not to allow anyone to pass through. We wait patiently until finally Lucy starts to get irritated.
“What the fuck! I am Mickey’s fucking assistant!” She stammers, “All I want to do is show my cousins out the back and get my lap-top off the bus.”
Her plight, however, is of no concern to the guard. He informs us that there is no way we are getting backstage at the moment.
Somewhere along the line, Lucy says the hell with it and tells us to follow her. We rush to keep up as she quickly makes her way to an exit at the back of the arena that leads us into a narrow corridor where I can sense something crazy is about to happen. My intuition is correct as we turn one of the corners to find Warren Haynes slouched up against a wall. Hawaii turns and gives me a look.
“Damn it! I told you this was going to happen,” I say.
Rosemary, sensing our excitement, asks us who the large man is.
“Oh, that’s Warren Haynes,” Hawaii replies, “I guess you could say he is Jerry’s replacement. But it’s funny,
because Jimmy and I were joking earlier about how we would probably get to meet Warren and not any of the other members of the band.”
Rosemary rushes over introducing herself to Warren and telling him what a wonderful show the band had performed. She asks him if he would mind taking a picture with the three of us, which Warren accepts. He thrusts his large body in between me and Hawaii, throwing his meaty arms around the two of us. Hawaii’s brother-in-law snaps the photo. Afterwards, we thank Warren and start to walk away, but before we can, he stops us to ask our names. We exchange pleasantries and start to rap with him about the show, which I am not really paying attention to because I am more concerned about who else may stumble upon us. Just then, I spot Bill Kretzman out of the corner of my eye. He is walking quickly down the corridor surrounded by a group of people. Upon first sight, I begin slapping Hawaii furiously on the arm to get his attention, and he looks up just in time to catch Billy strolling by. In the meantime, something must catch Billy’s attention as well because afterwards when we finally made our way out the back, Hawaii tells me that he gave Billy the thumbs up and mouthed, “You’re awesome.” Billy, either having been confused by his action or wondering who this freak is, responded to Hawaii by shooting a dirty look his way.
“It was so cool,” Hawaii says, “I was just happy to get a reaction.”
We eventually find ourselves back under the arena surrounded by the cluster of buses, where I can assume the boys are resting aboard. I start to think that this is when we finally get to meet Mickey, or somebody, anybody, but instead we are forced to wait outside, while Lucy takes back our passes and returns them to the bus. When she returns, we all walk back up the same steep ramp we had come in on. The whole situation reminds me of the scene in, Almost Famous, when William Miller first meets Penny Lane’s character at the top of the ramp after he is denied entrance backstage.
Mickey’s bus powers past us on our way up and stops at the top of the ramp. The doors swing open, and Lucy gives us all one last hug before she disappears into the bus as it drives out of site.
Hawaii and I say our goodbyes to the rest of his family and head over to Shakedown to see what kind of trouble we can get into. While we have now been reduced to just another face in the crowd, we couldn’t help but think about how even if it was just for a few hours, we could say we were with the band.
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