by Patrick, Lakewood, NJ

It was The Grateful Dead’s spring tour. Must have been 1983 or 1984. They played a run of shows at Nassau Coliseum in Long Island. For some reason, the concerts were general admission seating. The floor of the Coliseum was emptied of its chairs. Just a sea of sweaty people united in bliss. My father happened to be good friends with the captain of the guards at the venue, so (taking me through a service entrance) I was allowed in around 3:00 for the 8:30 show. I watched the sound check and mingled with the road crew. By show time I was pressed directly against the stage, a mere 6 inches from Jerry Garcia’s foot. I could count the hairs in his beard as he played standing over me. At one point he looked directly at me and smiled (I’m sure that is a common story for many Deadheads…but he really did).

My father picked me up after the show (I didn’t have a car yet). It turns out that he and his guard friend had seen the entire show as well from the comfort of one of the corporate luxury boxes in the upper tier. My father had one of the best seats in the house. “I was surprised,” he said on the ride home, “they play country music. I was expecting violent rock and roll.”

My father: conservative, Republican, local politician, government accountant…Dead Head. Now 6 years after his passing I imagine him talking about music with Jerry in Heaven.

RIP Dad, RIP Jer.