Today is the 51st Anniversary...

...of my first Grateful Dead show.

I had grown up mostly in the Boston area. It was my freshman (and only) year at Reed College, but I was home for winter break. I was into the Beatles, Airplane, CSN, Country Joe, the Butterfield Band with Bloomfield, and a few other bands at the time, but I had never heard a note of GD music - even WBCN in Boston didn't play much Dead.

Just before I left Portland a friend told me I should listen to the Dead because Garcia played like Bloomfield. Well, he doesn't, obviously, as I found out, but they were two of the very few guitar players of the time to play in modes other then major, or minor/blues from time to time.

I didn't have time to take his suggestion before getting on the plane, but when I got to MA I discovered that the boys were playing at the new Boston Tea Party (previously the Ark) on 12/29. Actually, they were also playing 12/30 and 31 but those were already sold out.

I went down there to get in line and found myself near the front. It was quite cold and windy so I was glad to be wearing my long wool Air Force surplus coat and to be in the lee of the entrance zone. Burned a few fatties while waiting - think it was three bucks to get in. 

The venue was once some sort of parking garage or loading dock, with concrete ramps and floor. Capacity seemed to be about 300. The stage was only about a foot off the floor. Around the perimeter of the main room were a bunch of small alcoves, each with a different decor and lighting - furry, cushiony, hard, black light, strobe, light show, et cetera.

We filed in and sat on the floor in front of the stage. The band came on and fiddled about for a while. Then they started playing. I was intrigued and a bit confused by all the different musical styles they played in - rock, country, folk, blues, psychedelic, whatever. In retrospect it was a mediocre show - the first of three in a strange city ( they had played in Boston before but this was the only time the boys played a NY run at somewhere other than the Bay area) and at the end of a long hard year (Lenny Hart, Woodstock, Altamont).

In the middle of Good Lovin' - hey, I know that song! -  a huge bearded guy stood up a few rows ahead of me and started screaming at the band. Then he hopped up on stage and approached Bobby, who took off his guitar and prepared to defend himself. The dude then grabbed Weir's mic stand and threw it into the crowd. It landed about 10 feet in front of me. Then Parrish and another roadie  grabbed the dude and frog marched him out to the back door, where they chucked him out onto the RR tracks. Meanwhile the rest of the band played on as though nothing was amiss. At the end of the song Bob said he hoped nobody got hurt, but he guessed we could see it coming.

I walked out of the show scratching my head, wondering what it all meant. I wasn't a Deadhead yet - that didn't happen until I first heard Uncle John's Band on the radio a few months later.