02-14-86: Henry J. Kaiser Convention Center
Set 1: Feel Like a Stranger> Cold Rain & Snow, Mama Tried> Big River, West LA Fadaway, Looks Like Rain> Brown Eyed Women> Let It Grow
Set 2: Keep on Growing> Lost Sailor> Saint of Circumstance> Terrapin Station> Drums> Space> Wharf Rat> Throwing Stones> Lovelight
*Enc: *Brokedown Palace
“Let it Keep on Growing”
By the time December rolls around, I find myself craving more live Dead. There isn’t much I can do about it though, unless I make plans for New Year’s and that’s just not in the cards for me this year. So, with the circus not due back in town before spring, I begin to hunker down for a long, cold winter. I’ll work hard on my studies at St. Thomas Aquinas College, while renting VHS tapes to strangers at West Coast Video in Closter. Montclair State has become the best place for me to be if I want to socialize, but I’m spending way too much time there. And while the dance clubs in Manhattan are still going strong, I rarely, if ever make the effort to go since my style change. In spite of that, knowing Christina’s off for winter break from her freshman year of college, I inevitably ask her out for a night on the town. She happily agrees to go, and once again, I think I’m on the right path to the promised land. I do my research and discover the new, in place to go these days is “Limelight” … advertised as a church turned disco sin castle. I give Christina a call back to get her excited about the club. During our conversation, she asks me about bringing her best friend Elise along. I say, “I don’t mind” and it’s all set. Elise is lots of fun and like the second prettiest senior that went to Northern Valley Old Tappan High School last year, right behind Christina of course. After the call, I get Beamen on the line to ask him to be Elise’s date. Naturally, he’s down for a shot at making it to the promised land as well.
It’s Saturday night December 21st, 1985 and the girls are all dolled up and looking phenomenal in short skirts, pantyhose and pumps when we pick them up in my mom’s 78’ Mercedes 300D. Kevin helps keep the conversation light and airy for the quick ride over to Manhattan. Once in the vicinity of W. 20th, I find a spot and parallel park the diesel, then get ready to jump out. Chris and Elise are eager to bolt as well, and do, as Kevin lunges over from the backseat to check out his hairy mug in my rearview mirror. I wait. No big deal. We’re only a couple dozen steps behind them. After Kevin’s primping, we gradually walk up to the corner, discussing strategy.
As we turn the corner I see at least a hundred and fifty people outside wanting to get in. Blue police barricades are creating a pathway to the entrance for guests pulling up in limos who get to go directly inside. It’s a scene right out of the Studio 54 days, with one guy pointing and choosing who’s getting in and who’s not. There was a time, not long ago, when I would’ve thought this was keen, but now it’s just pissing me off. I start looking around for our dates, but they’re nowhere to be found. I walk up and ask the main bouncer at the door if he’s seen two blonds in the last five minutes and sure enough, he says yes, I let them right in. Then he tells me to go back to the group waiting to get inside. What the hell was I thinking? I should have walked in with my friend Christina. After at least forty-five minutes of freezing my ass off alongside the other so-called losers, in cloths more suited for an Eagles concert than a disco, I turn to Kevin and loudly say, “Fuck this shit! Let’s go!” I then walk swiftly to the car with Kevin on my tail, jump in and take off, never to look back. My clubbing days in the same rearview mirror that got me into this mess in the first place.
The girls somehow made it home in one piece, thank God, but my relationship with Christina is severely damaged. After years of being just friends, my heart gave out and she just didn’t get it. I was no longer a high school virgin in puppy love. I needed something real with her. I thought about mustering up the courage to talk it out, but instead I let whatever we had just fade away.
With the holidays around the corner, Kevin Cunningham is talking New Years at the Oakland Coliseum. He reconsiders in a hurry though when he finds out it’s going to be on pay per view and Tom’s throwing a bash. Kevin has completely entrenched himself in getting ready for the spring tour, transforming Mrs. C’s basement into a bustling tie-dyed shirt factory. He’s completely dedicated and becoming a real pro at it with hundreds of quality dies ready to move. Terence’s taper friend Ron will make the journey west for the four-night run and capture the tunes for us. I felt covered for New Year’s without even going. A few days after the PPV NYE GD concert party blowout, I receive a call from Terence. He starts out by saying, “George you’re not going to believe this, Ron is in Bergen Pines Mental Institution.”
“Bergen Pines?!” “What the hell happened?” I reply. Terence continues, “He took too much fucking acid on New Year’s Eve and freaked out during the flight home the next day.” “Holy shit, not good”, I say. I knew Ron well enough to know he shouldn’t be in there. He’s a nice, quiet guy and certainly not crazy. I’m sure he must have stood out to business travelers though with his long hair and Guatemalan get up, but he’s thin and harmless. It’s a damn shame. This incident takes Ron and his great tapes out of the picture for a very long time.
Let’s switch gears. I just found out my father George has saved up enough frequent flyer miles to take the whole family on a February winter vacation. Yahoo! We could have picked anywhere in the continental United States, but choose Heavenly Valley in Lake Tahoe because the family loves to ski. With only a week to go before we fly into San Francisco, I place a call to Cunningham and ask if by chance there were any shows coming up. He promptly says yes, they are doing the Mardi-Gras run that week and playing on Friday night the 14th. “You’re going to be there!” “You have to go!” He exclaims, as if I need to represent New Jersey or something. I’d like to try, but how am I going to approach the subject with my parents. I leave it as an open-ended idea to start, but as the day comes closer I’m leaning towards going. And on the morning of the flight, I’m determined to make it in.
I’m preoccupied and super tense flying over to the golden state, wondering how I’ll wind up dropping the bomb. We touchdown at noon on Valentine’s Day, rent a station wagon, then find our way over to the Fisherman’s Wharf. We check into two rooms at the Holiday Inn on the waterside. Soon after, we take a walk around to check out the shops. My dad pulls out a twenty and hands it to me with instructions to take my brothers out for a late lunch. Colin and Kevin follow me to a restaurant just past the famous ship wheel.
My relationship with my younger brother Colin is solid. He’s thirteen years old, with thin orange hair and freckles, but he doesn’t have the same facial mold as Kevin or me. I was the first family member to be able to understand Colin, a full year before anyone else could. It was amazing because he was barely speaking words, but we were communicating. We’ve been on the same sort of wavelength ever since. Colin’s not about to become a young republican like my brother Kevin and he seems to favors my lifestyle over his, even if he doesn’t know what it’s all about.
After ordering, I start in with my dead babble and eventually spill the beans to Colin in a bid to get his support. Kevin overhears and instantly puts on his war-face. “What do you mean, you can’t go anywhere, you’re on a family trip”, he roars, “Why not?” I express back calmly. We exchange less than kind remarks until it becomes very heated. The arguing continues back to the hotel lobby where my parents are waiting. Kevin immediately comes out with it and the battle is on. My mother Maureen and Kevin join forces, hitting with insult after insult about my past failures. They go on to tell me how they hate the mere the sound of the words “GRATEFUL DEAD”. My father is upset too, which hurts. I sit down on a ledge and become quiet, deep in thought. Kevin and my mother simmer down as well. That’s when my father, just like Mr. Brady from the Brady Bunch would have done, comes out with this: “Son, you’re twenty years old.” “We can’t keep you from going anyplace.” “We would like for you to stay with us, but if you have to go, we’ll understand.” “Just please be careful, they are expecting cold rain and hurricane force winds tonight.” I think about it for a few moments and timidly say, “I’m sorry, but I need to go, I’ll be safe and promise to call later.” Kevin flips his lid, but my parents know nothing’s going to stop me and stay silent.
I eventually stand up, say a peaceful good-bye and make my way out the glass doors of the hotel and up onto the street. I make a left and proceed past the ship wheel. The cold rain and wind is drastically picking up. I cross the street to look for a bus, any bus to get me out of here before I change my mind. Moments later a bus comes by and I get on. Cowboy Neal is not at the wheel but I’m off to never-ever land. We continue on passed Chinatown until I see a sign for the BART subway system. I jump off at the next stop and hit the rails in search of heads that can help me find my way. I instantly spot a couple of veterans that would have intimidated me a year ago. I walk up to the two portly men and ask if they’re going to the Kaiser. One says yes. I briefly explain how I’m a lost dude from Jersey and ask about the previous shows. The same guy who answered says Tuesday night’s China>Rider was the best thing so far. I ask if the China Cat was strong because of my last experience with the song in Philly when JG was sick. He answers with a quick “Yes it was”, as if I’m some out of town newbie. I move over and wait on their next move onto a train heading towards Oakland. On the ride my focus moves from getting out of San Francisco, to getting inside the venue formally known as the Oakland Aud.
A few stops later, deadheads start filling the cars, which puts me at ease. An Italian looking kid with a dark afro, wearing a black shirt, leather vest and jeans sits down next to me and introduces himself as simply Zappa. Turns out he goes to high school with Justin Kreutzmann, Bill’s son. He doesn’t have a ticket to the completely sold out Friday night show either, but expects to score one from Justin. I tell him my story during the twenty-minute ride. He’s amused and says he’ll ask for an extra for me. I think it’s really nice of him to say, but I’m not about to believe it until it happens. I follow Zappa and the rest of the fans off the train at the 12th street station, then over to the exit turnstiles. Like everyone else I precede through, but for some reason these three-inch thick orange spheres come flying down like a lobster’s claw from both sides of the turnstile, clinching my hips and rendering me motionless, stuck in place. People start laughing out loud and my face turns bright red. The laugher continues with more joining in until I’m finally let go and I have to go back to put money on the card. By the time I put it all together Zappa has vanished.
I walk up to street level where I’m met with even stronger winds and it’s completely dark out now. I make it over to the Kaiser and begin walking along the sidewalk next to the building. A dark black man in the shadows behind some shrubs asks me if I want to buy some marijuana. I say yes, purchase a twenty bag, stuff it in my pocket and continue on. Seconds later I spot Zappa on the stairs of a side door. I tap him on his shoulder to say I’m back just as Justin emerges. The three of us walk down the steps and make a left. Zappa asks if he can get me in too. Justin turns behind his right shoulder to look me over then
asks if I’m cool. To which Zappa replies, “Yeah he’s cool.” Without a yes or no we continue around to the front of the building. We pass that African American ticket taker guy from the “Grateful Dead Movie”. I’m starting to get happy. When we arrive at the entrance doors Justin turns and hands me a complimentary ticket. I say, “Thanks a lot and by the way your father is a great drummer.” He looks up at me, smiles, then walks away. I’ve been accepted!
Pumped, the two of us cruise passed the doors and into a gothic style lobby seemingly made for this kind of thing. This is cool! We continue onto a gymnasium type floor, stopping right in the center directly underneath a mirrored disco ball. There’s a big red heart dangling up there too. This is the smallest place I’ve ever been to for a GD concert, with capacity somewhere around eight thousand. The sound is going to be awesome. I wasn’t planning on taking anything tonight, but reconsider after Zappa friends appear, a mix of three girls and three dudes. After I’m introduced, the boys head out to score ecstasy, leaving me alone with the girls. They’re very cute and interested in my tales of New York City nightlife, where the bars are open till 4:00AM. I want to fall in love with at least two of them and move here. When the guys return, Zappa hands me a clear gel hit and says its X. Not thinking its ecstasy, I put in on my tongue and keep quiet about the fact that were all taking acid. We then sit down Indian style on the polished wood floor and settle in for some wild music. I take out the bag of weed I bought and ask the group for a paper. I open the bag up and an overpowering skunky aroma overcomes me. Its Indicia all right, the supreme king of the buds. “Yahoo!” I spark a fat one when the lights come down and pass it all around.
I’m feeling really good when I first see the band members walk out on stage. Jerry starts warming up with some wawa notes that I identify right off as “Feel Like a Stranger”. I tell the crew around me and sure enough it comes to be. Everybody begins moving fast when “Cold Rain and Snow” kicks in. This killer version confirms to me that weather can play a roll in set list development. The windowpane is doing its thing on me. “Mama Tried” encourages me to think they’re telling the story of my day. “Big River” stops that thinking, then into a trippy “West LA Fadaway”. Weir continues with his most romantic song, “Looks Like Rain”, which starts to make me sad I’m by myself. That is until Garcia’s fluid lead at the end picks me back up to the point of weightlessness. “Brown Eyed Women” is next and has an awesome bite. Then onto a bright and clean “Let it Grow” to end the first set.
They come out for the second set and do a quick unfamiliar tune up then launch into “Keep on Growing”. The song is intense. Obviously, they’re trying to put together more interesting set lists, but most of us are looking for “Box of Rain” or “Cosmic Charlie”, not another cover. Weir slows things down next with a clear as glass “Lost Sailor”. Brent’s jingly keyboard rides the song along nicely into “Saint of Circumstance”, which electrifies the crowd. I leave the group at the top of “Terrapin Station” to get closer. I’m amazed at how easy it is to walk right up to what would be considered the 3rd row center in a seated arena. I have feet of room on either side of me and I’m close enough to see Bob’s spit flying freely from his mouth as he sings. I get through Terrapin giggling myself mad, thinking how wonderful tonight’s been. I stay for drums and tune in bigtime to Bill. After space they go back to my storyline with a heartfelt “Wharf Rat” that gets my arms flapping in an attempt to get up and fly away. “Throwing Stones” is next, then it’s time for “Turn on your Lovelight” featuring that spinning disco ball that lights up the whole place with tiny white spots. It’s a really neat effect with a fitting tune to match the occasion.
After the encore that keeps following me, “Brokedown Palace”, I walk back to my original location to see if the group is still around and sure enough, they’re waiting for me. Everyone’s thrilled, including me. Being in no rush, we mill about for bit. I focus in on the soundboard. That’s where I notice this cool looking hippie go up to the dead’s sound engineer Dan Healy and open his backpack. In goes what must have been the night’s soundboard cassette tapes, which turns out to be a very well mixed tapes. A short time later my new buddy Zappa comes over and asks me if I’m interested in going to one of the girl’s house’s in San Francisco to party some more. Not wanting to face my parents, I respond with a quick yes and we head outside. The high winds and rain have subsided and I find myself mystified by this swaying palm tree that sits next to Zappa’s friend’s car, which is parked near a pond. With no Shakedown Street in site, we leave a short time later. When we arrive at the house, I ask to use a phone and call dad to say I’m staying with friends for the night. He’s relieved that I’m safe and sound. After the call I join the conversation in the kitchen and learn that girl’s mom who owns the house is a well-known television local news anchor. The house is nice too, four stories right on the bay near the Golden Gate Bridge. I have a nutty time with them there for the next few of hours, until I’m escorted to an upstairs office room where I’ll sleep on the floor for the night. But before I close my eyes, I pick up the office phone and dial Christina’s number at her dorm room in southern Jersey to wish her a happy Valentine’s Day and to apologize again for leaving her stranded in New York City. She replied with an “I’m sorry for ditching you”, and we go on to have our best talk in months. At the end she tells me she wants to go to another Dead concert with me when they come to Philadelphia. To which I say, great! They’re at the Spectrum in March on a Sunday night, we’ll go. My heart is once again filled with hope, even though, I know, I should know better than to think we’re ever going to be a couple. Yet the heart wants what the heart wants, so I persist.
The next morning, I thank Zappa and his friends for a very memorable night, before being picked up by the family. When I get in the car my mom Maureen, who sells real estate can’t help but comment on the impressive location. Colin gives me a smile and Kevin just an up and down nod. I’m then asked by my father, “Where should we go?” I’ve come down considerably and have that peaceful internal buzz going, so I suggest nearby Muir Woods, on the other side of Golden Gate Bridge to see the redwoods, and we’re off. The ski trip becomes a bust though because of a foggy mountain bottom with avalanche conditions on top. We ultimately check out three days early because the hotel casino that we’re staying at only has limited power. My mom’s comment about the vacation whenever it comes up is, “George Michael was the only one that had any fun on that trip.” I sure did Mom, I sure did…
