Been so far away, I only learned the other day that Bob Weir has passed
So here is my open letter to Bob Weir, for what it’s worth (not much)…
Wow, what an intense realization that as I “listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul” in my bed by the waterside, one of my favorite musicians has passed into the Great Beyond. Bobby, I know you know all from your perch in the purely spiritual realm, but I just wanted to say:
Thank you!
Quite literally, some of the very best days of my life were spent in beautiful places with beautiful people following the Grateful Dead and — much later — Dead and Company. At Dead shows, I met some of my best friends and even a couple of my best lovers… well, at least one of my best lovers and maybe a notable mention.
There was nothing — NOTHING — like a Grateful Dead show, and I love how we are everywhere. I love the glint in the eyes of fellow Deadheads as we connect in the weirdest places. “Oh, you were at that show too? Best ‘Box of Rain’ I ever experienced.” I loved how I could chat (in 2023 as an old head) with some freshly initiated 23-year-old kid on the LIRR about last night’s show and know that kid tapped into the same vibe I tapped into all those decades ago, know it by the enthusiasm with which he described the experience. There’s an exclusive universe that only us Deadheads will ever know, and I thank you so very much for your part in generating that, Bobby.
You may not remember, but we met in person. You probably forgot the last show at McNichols Sports Arena in Denver. I was the dude in the Robin Hood cap with the long feather. We chatted during Drums while you were on break. By happenstance, you guys flagged me down a block from the Brown Palace (where I assume you were staying) from your limo. I was in the same hat but on my bicycle on the way home from the show.
That show was the last I ever saw Jerry perform but not the last I saw you perform. My whole face was wet with tears as the lights came up after it was over, and I only realized why years later after Jerry went to the big Dead Show in the Sky — it was the last time I would experience the original Grateful Dead.
I want to thank you for keeping the torch burning right up until your body couldn’t do it anymore. The Dead and Company shows were great, not quite the same as the original, but great. You gave that 23-year-old kid the experience, and you didn’t need to do that. You already had millions of fans and dollars.
I love how you guys never sold out, really, stayed above the fray, apolitical and very much not “celebrities” parroting the latest cause. In a sense, you were the last true “celebrities.” We celebrated and celebrate you for the singular experience you provided, not because the media told us to; in fact, the media were snooty assholes when it came to you, owned as they were by the same parasitical record companies at which you thumbed your noses for all those decades. You did it on your own merit, without the bullshit celebrity-making media machine.
I’ll end this with a couple of videos. To me, “Minglewood” is the ultimate “Bobby song.” (“Throwing Stones” would be a close second or maybe “Sugar Magnolia” or even “Hell In a Bucket” if I’m in a certain mood — heck, does it matter?) You were the sacral chakra of the Dead, the sexy one, but I also happen to know that you were the penultimate gentleman (we’re zero degrees of separation — I know one of your groupies); how could you have been anything else as a high-vibing Libra?
Finally, as I listen at this very moment to the river sing sweet songs, I just want to leave you with this from Citi Field, near the end of your career. I was there in the chorus of 50,000, not far from the cameraman in this video. Thank you from the bottom of my soul, Bobby. We are indeed grateful and will remain so long after we’re dead.
Peace and boundless gratitude,
Chuck