Dark Star (52 page)

How else could it have been? In Jerry Garcia's life, the mythological underpinnings were there right from the start. Like one selected by the gods on high to be tested from birth, Jerry was first marked by his own brother. Off came half a digit from a hand Jerry would then use to make himself rich, famous, and powerful. From the grievous yet sacred wound, this guitar hero drew greater strength.

As a child, Jerry then watched his father drown before his eyes. Already marked, Jerry was now entirely cut loose from the strictures of ordinary family life. Hammered by an awful blow which might have permanently crippled someone made of weaker stuff, Jerry suffered and then persevered. In time, Jerry became not only a father to himself but to those who followed him because of the music he played. Seeing in him the transcendent power they did not recognize within themselves, they waited for Jerry to lead them. But he would not do so.

For in actual fact, their hero was crippled. A born leader, he did not want to lead. In truth, he did not even want to be a hero. Jerry was more at home in an entirely different incarnation. The trickster. The shape-shifter who in the course of his long and tangled journey through the mortal plane assumes many physical forms. In his wake, such a being often leaves confusion. None who encountered Jerry understood him fully. Those who knew him best still admit this plainly. At any given moment in time, it was impossible to know what he was really thinking or precisely which earthly goals beyond the playing of his music he wanted to pursue.

Formed by the tragic events of a traumatic childhood or perhaps by the kind of brain chemistry possessed by only a very few in any generation (to which Jerry added lysergic acid, DMT, THC, cocaine, amphetamines, and opiates in copious amounts previously unavailable to any man), his agenda remained always and forever strictly his own. When Jerry passed from this life, those left behind could only try to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together while knowing always that the bigger picture remained somewhat harder to see.

About him, we can safely say the following: As a person, Jerry Garcia sentimentalized the women and children in his life. He loved to love them when he loved them but as soon as the rigors of day-to-day life with them became too tedious, Jerry was out of there and goin' down the road feelin' sad. To some, he seemed guiltless. Yet again and again, guilt drove him back the way he had already come. Like many artists plugged more directly into the collective unconscious from which we all gather our dreams, Jerry dramatically embodied the yin and yang of the human condition.

A woman who knew Jerry very well suggested that perhaps at the center of his own particular maze, there was nothing much at all. A vacuum where the heart center was meant to be. More likely, both existed there, nestled side by side as it would seem they never could. With apologies to Kris Kristofferson, Jerry was “a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction.” The hippie embodiment of good vibes, he was so cynical and sardonic a survivor of the beatnik era that he could refer to the years he spent lost on junk at Hepburn Heights as his “vacation.” Wanting to be left alone, he attracted others to him like a magnet. By bringing people in close, Jerry also kept them at bay. Bright as the Leo sun that was his birth sign, he could be one very dark star indeed.

Like so much else about him, his drug use was extreme. “Is that the biggest line you can whack out, man? Is that the fattest joint you can roll?” Jerry would demand with a grin back in the days when he was still in control of what he was using rather than the other way round. Nearer the end of his life, he disappeared during one sound check only to reemerge on stage forty-five minutes later looking dazed with a disposable plastic hotel shower cap on his head. Sad as it may have been to see him so confused, Jerry was only wearing what had become his standard gear for keeping his hair away from the flame as he lit the pipe and/or chased the dragon on the road.

Extreme behavior? Most certainly so. But then the man always wanted more of everything. No matter what was on the plate, an extra portion was his primary need. For someone with lesser appetites and less ambition, what he already had might have been more than enough. Most likely, that person would have been someone other than Jerry Garcia.

At the end, when his body was shot and the drugs on which he had depended to blot out the pain were no longer those of his own choosing, he may have had the last joke on everyone by driving off by himself to Serenity Knolls (can that name be an accident?), lying himself down to sleep, and passing gently from this earth with a smile on his face, grateful to be dead at last and in a place where no one again could ever ask him for something he was not really certain he was qualified to give.

Perhaps he was smiling when he died because like the true cool beatnik he had always been, Jerry went off in style without having to explain what it was he meant. The act was the statement, man. The meaning was in the mix. Unlike Hugh Selwyn Mauberly, Ezra Pound's fictional poet who was woefully out of step with his era, Jerry Garcia was in fact precisely “what the age demanded.” For better and worse, he was perfectly made for these times. Satisfying this particular requirement brought him more fame than even he could have ever imagined possible. As always, in his life, that double-edged sword managed to cut deeply in all directions.

So many believed they knew what he wanted that even after his funeral, some went to the trouble of bringing into view his hand with the missing finger so it could be seen before he was cremated. Jerry's ashes were then scattered not once but twice. With the Grateful Dead having voted their full approval of a plan that came to Bobby Weir in a flash between waking and sleeping and with a film crew present to record the event, Weir and Jerry's widow scattered about half of Jerry's earthly remains in the Ganges River. Speaking for the rest of his immediate family, none of whom had been notified beforehand of this plan, Carolyn “Mountain Girl” Garcia noted that not only was India a country Jerry himself had never visited but the Ganges was also the most polluted river on the face of the earth.

The second time around, Heather, Annabelle, and Trixie Garcia, Sunshine Kesey, Bob Weir, Phil Lesh and his wife, Jill, and Steve Parish were all present as the last of Jerry's physical remains were scattered beneath the Golden Gate Bridge on the gleaming waters of the San Francisco Bay.

Concerning the screaming fight on the dock beforehand as to who would be permitted to go along on what was, after all was said and done, Jerry's last trip, the less said the better. So too for Jerry's grinning image on birthday cards that proclaim, “You're Having Another Birthday” on the outside and “Be Grateful” inside. Not to mention all the commercial exploitations of his likeness yet to come. Those twin scatterings notwithstanding, now that Jery is dust and ashes, he belongs once more (as he always did in life) to no one but himself.

As Richard Nixon, a President who would never have welcomed Jerry to the White House but instead gave Elvis the FBI badge he wanted so badly, used to say, “Let me make one thing perfectly clear.” It was not LSD or the sixties that made Jerry Garcia who he was. Jerry was always Jerry. Seemingly, he came into this world not only fully formed but, as Bruce Springsteen once sang, “with the diamond hard look of a cobra.” That never changed. In his beginning may have well been his end. Yet both were always cloaked in mystery, perhaps even to him as well.

For those who wonder what all the fuss is about, I'd suggest sitting down again with any good live version of “Dark Star.” Anyone caring to note where the development of the electric guitar happened to be at a certain point in history could do no better than to listen to Jerry get out there on his instrument, pure and free as he could never truly be in life.

Thankfully, my job here is not to analyze, categorize, or summarize the man. To do so would only trivialize the life. Instead, I'd just like to join my voice with all the others who felt the need to send best wishes his way for safe passage on the long and stranger trip on which he may now be embarked. Good-bye, Jerry. Thanks for all the good stuff.

Author's Note:
Every effort was made to contact all the major figures in Jerry Garcia's life. Those who do not speak in their own voice in this book declined either directly or indirectly to participate. I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to all those who did find the time to do so. All interviews for this book were conducted by the author. Unless otherwise noted, the interviews were done in 1995
.

Peter Albin
—A founding member of Big Brother and the Holding Company, he now works in sales and advertising for an independent music distributor in Marin County.

Ken Babbs
(1989)—A former Merry Prankster, he lives in Oregon, where he continues to engage in a variety of literary pursuits.

Dr. Randy Baker
—Jerry Garcia's personal physician, he practices holistic medicine in Soquel, California.

Sonny Barger
—A longtime member of the Hell's Angels, he now runs a motorcycle repair shop in Oakland, California.

John Perry Barlow
—Having written the lyrics for many of the Grateful Dead's best known songs, he is the co-founder of the Electronic Frontier Foundation and a lecturer/consultant on cyberspace.

Bob Barsotti
(1988/1995)—The last house manager of Winterland, he is now a vice-president at Bill Graham Presents in San Francisco.

Peter Barsotti
(1988)—Along with his younger brother, Bob, he produced countless Grateful Dead shows. He is now a vice-president at Bill Graham Presents in San Francisco.

Jerilyn Lee Brandelius
—She is the author of the
Grateful Dead Family Album
.

Steve Brown
—Having spent five years working for Grateful Dead Records, he is now a film and video producer.

Yen Wei Choong
—He operates the Yellow Emperor Healing Center in San Anselmo, California.

Tom Constanten
—The first “sideman” to play piano for the Grateful Dead, he continues to perform and record today.

Tom Davis
—One of the original writers on
Saturday Night Live
and half of the comedy team of Franken and Davis, he is currently writing a screenplay with Dan Aykroyd and hosting a show on the Science Fiction cable channel.

John “Marmaduke” Dawson
—A founding member of the New Riders of the Purple Sage, he continues to perform with the band today.

Len Dell'amico
—Currently writing his first feature film, he spent eleven years with Jerry Garcia directing and producing award-winning long-form videos, pay-per-view broadcasts, and network television for the Grateful Dead.

Gloria Dibiase
—Married to Vince DiBiase, she was Keelin Garcia's nanny for the first five years of her life. She took care of Jerry Garcia on a daily basis for the last two and a half years of his life.

Vince Dibiase
—From mid-1992 until the end of 1994, he ran Jerry Garcia's art business. He was also his personal manager.

Rev. Matthew Fox
—A theologian who has written extensively about the role of the church in the modern world, he married Jerry Garcia and presided at his funeral.

David Freiberg
—A founding member of the Quicksilver Messenger Service, he lives in Marin County.

Carolyn “Mountain Girl” Garcia
—A former Merry Prankster, she spent twenty-eight years as Jerry Garcia's friend, wife, and companion. The mother of Sunshine Kesey and Annabelle and Trixie Garcia, she is an organic gardener, writer, painter, fiber artist, and avid environmentalist who lives on a farm in Oregon raising black sheep and jackasses.

Clifford “Tiff” Garcia
—Jerry's older brother, he works for Grateful Dead merchandising.

Jerry Garcia
(1988)—He was the former lead guitar player for the Grateful Dead.

Manasha Matheson Garcia
—The mother of Jerry Garcia's youngest daughter, Keelin, she currently runs Say Grace Music, a music production company, and is working to establish a holistic medical center.

Sara Ruppenthal Garcia
—A former member of the Anonymous Artists of America, she is about to begin a postdoctoral fellowship in clinical health psychology. She lives in San Francisco and is the mother of Heather Garcia.

Bill Graham
(1989)—The legendary rock promoter, he died in a helicopter crash in 1991.

David Graham
—The son of the late Bill Graham, he was Blues Traveller's first manager. Having recently published a book of his own poetry, he lives in Marin County.

Larid Grant
—A lifelong friend of Jerry Garcia, he was the Grateful Dead's first roadie.

David Grisman
—He continues to write, perform, and record music on Acoustic Disc, his own label.

Gary Gutierrez
—He continues to work as a director of television commercials, music videos, and visual effects for movies.

Dexter Johnson
—A guitar maker, he runs Carmel Music, a shop specializing in vintage instruments in Carmel, California.

Mickey Hart
(1988)—Formerly one of the drummers in the Grateful Dead, he continues to write, perform, and record his own music.

Hal Kant
—For the past twenty-five years, he has been the general counsel and head of business affairs for the Grateful Dead.