The Shirt Stays
April 3rd, 2010 § 6 Comments
When I heard the news that Jerry Garcia had died, I was in West LA driving east towards another workday in Hollywood. I let the announcement on the radio pass and then as if in an impression of a 25 year-old career woman (the woman I thought I was) I sighed, “Finally. The inevitable.” Within minutes, I left my car with the valet, took the elevator up, and surprised myself by getting off one floor short of my office.
My breath must have accelerated as I rushed to the ladies’ room where the sobs came before I could even hide in a stall. Suddenly, the brightest happiest days and nights of my youth, my first love, periods of family crisis and healing, nearly every significant part of my existence on another coast felt gone. Cut off. Ripped away. The five-day scenic drive across country a year prior had not separated me from my old life the way that one moment did. Jerry was gone, and I could never go back.
I used the phone in the restroom to call upstairs to my supervisor. “Julie?” was all I could get out through my crying. Her phone showed where I was calling from, “Ruthie? I’ll be right there,” she said. The way I explained it to her – once I could talk – was that I never joined a sorority, I followed The Dead. I didn’t have a sisterhood, I had a tribe. I had been to 27 shows from 1986 to 1990. Attending Grateful Dead concerts wasn’t something we did; it defined who we were.
Since Jerry’s death, it’s been easy to let the past stay swirled in dye folded neatly in the bottom of my armoire. Facebook has rekindled friendships with the people who meant the most to me, but the majority of those old tour buddies are beyond reach. Google doesn’t help when all you have is a paper photograph with nicknames written on the back. That’s okay. The memories are enough: more durable than 20 year old cotton and every bit as soft. . . . . Bill, “Sierra,” Chris, “Razor,” Linda, Matt, Cindy, Murph and “Skippy,” if you’re out there: Thank you.
Bought at my first show in 1986 . . .
. . . worn again by my little sister, Halloween 2005.
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This is an entry in Genie Alisa’s Living Out Loud project. You can read this month’s prompt here: Living Out Loud Volume 15: prêt-à-porter’.
:) you haven’t aged, and that little sis of yours has a fantastic smile on her face.
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Thanks, Disa! My Little Sis is a beauty.
[...] The Shirt Stays I was never a Grateful Dead kind of person, but I completely understand belonging to a tribe and [...]
I was never a Dead fan but my brother is, and he used to bring me shirts from the shows he attended. Actually, it was about the same time period. They were beautiful, and though no longer my style I wish I still had them. They went to the thrift store in a fit of gothic moodiness in college, but I bet they were snatched up by some lucky person.
Also, I remember comforting friends when Jerry died, sitting up overnight with them while they played music and talked about their shows they’d attended.
I was never a Grateful Dead follower but my daughter and her husband follow Wide Spread Panic like that. I’m sure there are a lot of memories. Enjoyed your post.
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Thanks! I haven’t heard of Wide Spread Panic … isn’t it amazing how many subcultures exist?
Ruth, you’re such a beautiful writer. I can feel your words when I read them.
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Michelle, thanks so much. :) I wish I were as prolific as you; where do you find the energy?
I had no idea you were a member of my tribe…
I got a phone call the morning Jerry died, was working in Laarkspur at the time and when my boss heard, he just said, “Go… go, on.” He didn’t get it, but he kind of did.
The Grateful Dead were a constant in my life, a child of SF parents and a Sonoma-Marin kid where the entourage all eventually landed. But they changed my life when I started going to shows… also in ’89 – Frost. It was my first of what ended up being hundreds. My last was Vegas ’95, and as they played “This may be the last time…” my friend leaned over and said, “You know, it might be…”
I also never joined a sorority, and like you I found so much more.
The shirt stays.
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{hug}