The parking lot of a Grateful Dead
show is like a carnival, and as such, it has the elements of any
carnival. It's a place that either overtly or covertly caters to all
manners of lusts and vices. Sometimes this dynamic is innocent: the
Rube has his fun, the purveyor adds a coin to his pile. The Rube
isn't the only face in the crowd however, and the Carnie isn't the
only person looking to take advantage. There are carnivores at a
carnival, and sometimes there is more at stake than coin.
“I have come for the Carnival,
The freedom and the peace.
Who could be among us?
Do you know their ways?
I made the acquaintance
of a sister fair and fine.
She said 'My friend, don't eat their
bread
or drink from opened wine”.
-TSB (from “An Outing at the Fair”)
I walked the traffic jam coming into
the lot, looking for a ticket and digging on the humanity. A school
bus with a VW bus welded on the top approached. It was festooned with
a dozen young topless women. I heard the phrase “Temple Whores”,
murmured from the crowd around me. I'm unfamiliar with that term as
it was used. I once had a hooker proposition me while dancing on the
lawn at a show in Indy. After a couple of hours with no luck on the
search, I headed to the stadium, hoping to find my miracle there.
I saw a crowd gathering at one corner
of the lot and went to see what the draw was. There was a guy selling
balloons: Hippie Crack, Nitrous Oxide. The line was long and the girl
in front put down a hundred dollar bill and ordered twenty which she
passed down the line. I had just inhaled mine when a cop pushed his
way through the crowd.
He ordered the vender to open the
valve and empty his tank. While the tank was wooshing all that
nitrous into the air, the cop was writing out a ticket. A hippie
stole up and bent to the tank, inhaling the gas as it discharged. The
cop turned and, seeing this, clouted the hippie guy on the ear. Just
then one of those big Huey choppers rose over the lot at an altitude
of about fifty feet. As it flew over, I saw a man with a bog old VHS
camera and another with an automatic rifle standing in the big, open,
doorway. The choppers ran up and down the lot all night like it was
Apocalypse Now. I scattered.
A woman approached me and asked if I
had seen anybody vending prepackaged food. She was afraid of the
grilled cheese and burritos, and lectured me on the dangers of
getting slipped something. When she asked if I had a relationship
with Jesus, I slipped away from her and through the tunnel under the
highway.
Usually, on the lot, there are people
selling doses and buds. Not at this show. Three different people in
the tunnel approached me selling crack. What kind of dead show was
this? Vietnam war choppers, crack dealers, congressmen, I was out of
my element.
I found myself on the lawn outside the
stadium and continued my quest. I had no luck and eventually gave up
and headed back to the tunnel, hoping maybe somebody back at the van
had found an extra ticket. At the entrance to the tunnel, I met the
Man in Black. He was a black man with a black ball cap, black jeans,
and black tee shirt. There was no logo on any of his clothing,
including the cap. He asked if I was looking for a ticket and I lit
up. Turns out he didn't have one either, but promised if I met him at
that light pole over there at 4pm, he could get me in for twenty
dollars. Keeping this in mind, I returned to the van.
Dave said he had scored a ticket for
me, but traded it for some mushrooms. Bill had a similar story. The
hitch hikers had switched the cast again and were working the crowd
about twenty yards from the van. I told Dave how I hadn't seen
anybody selling anything but Cocaine, and what a weird scene it was.
Nobody was smiling. Nobody was looking anybody in the eye. I
wondered aloud if I just wasn't looking in the right place. I set out
again, looking for family, who were more and more conspicuous in
their absence. It was almost four so I walked under the highway to
meet the Man in Black.
I found 4 people, but no Man in Black
at the assigned location. There were three clean cut looking guys and
a girl. Wary, I stood a little ways off, but the young lady spotted
me and asked if I was waiting to meet the guy who was going to let us
in. I joined their group and a little while later our dark friend
strolled up.
He looked furtively around and then
requested our money. We each gave him twenty dollars and he stuffed
all of the bills into his pocket but one. He then instructed us on
how to fold a second twenty, and how to hold it. He informed us he
was going to lead us to a gate where a friend of his was taking
tickets. We were to approach him and pass the twenties in the manner
we were shown. I didn't like it, but I was already in for twenty
bucks. Nobody else liked it either and I was voted to enter first. We
got to the correct line and the Man in Black disappeared into the
crowd.
I considered some lyrics from “Friend
of the Devil”. “Took my twenty dollar bill and vanished in the
air”.
I approached the turnstile with the
quartet behind me and made the appropriate supplications, half
expecting to have been ripped off. The large man received my second
twenty without looking at me and allowed me through the turnstile. I
was in.
I made a beeline for the restroom with
the male part of our contingent. We decided to hang there for a while
and let the stadium fill up a little before blending with the crowd.
Of course, there was a cop in the john, so I did my best to pee and
split. Curiously, the others stayed behind.
I left the hallway for the arena and
bounded down the steps two at a time, headed for the stage. My floor
length dashiki was billowing behind me; my long hair blowing in the
breeze. I hadn't gotten far when a security guard behind me requested
my ticket. I pretended I didn't hear him. “Hey Hardhead!” he
shouted, “Stop right there”. I began sidling down a row of seats
in an attempt to elude him. A second guard came down the next aisle
and they nabbed me. Guard #1 asked for my ticket again and I told him
I must have dropped it in all my excitement. He didn't buy it. The
hauled me back up the steps with their fingertips dug hard into my
armpits. My feet barely touched the ground. They took me to a cinder
block room and locked me in.
Alone, I pondered whether or not to
eat the dope. I had three hits of acid and about as many grams of
skunk. I didn't know if there were cameras, so I remained calm and
left the drugs in my pockets. I figured they were just going to make
me sweat a while, maybe the duration of the show, then turn me loose
with a citation. They only left me there for a few minutes before
they returned and grilled me as to who let me in without a ticket.
After several threats, they gave up, photographed me, wrote down
whatever silly alias I had given, and escorted me out of Robert F.
Kennedy Stadium. I was banned for one year.
The tunnel to the lot now held a crap
game, as well as the surge of the crowd coming for the show, two
crack dealers, and a cop at each end (facing out). I felt like a
salmon swimming upstream. I was disappointed to miss the show, but
even more disappointed in myself for #1: my breach of ethics while
sneaking in, and #2: getting caught leaping down the steps like an
idiot.
At least I still had the drugs.
There were a few hours to kill, so I
decided to find somebody to smoke this grass with. I wasn't sure if I
was going to even eat the acid. It was pretty good stuff though, and
I really wanted to. I had fasted in preparation and waited thirty
days in order to have the best trip I could. I walked all the way
back to the bus and couldn't find anybody who would look me in the
eye, or even return a smile. Oh, how different than the Midwest
shows!
I passed a girl along the way who was
promising to “Bare anything for a crystal”, or maybe she was
saying “Bear anything for a crystal”. In this group there was no
telling. Was she hoping to trade a crystal for a grilled cheese, or
maybe continue to swap up and score her drug of choice? Was she an
exhibitionist? Was she a masochist? Maybe a little of both? To this
day I often ponder her syntax. Back at the van, I sat on the ground
and watched the carnival walk past on the way to the show. I had
never spent an entire show in the lot. Perhaps the Universe was
guiding me toward a valuable experience. As I sat there considering
the events of the day and debating whether or not to eat the acid,
the “Bare Anything” girl sat against a truck across from me. Her
legs were splayed and I could see right up her panty-less skirt.
I wondered if I owed her a crystal.
In the end, I decided I would leave it
to fate and walk along the Potomac to the other end of the lot, If I
couldn't see a friendly face or find the people with the love in
their eyes, I wouldn't eat the LSD. If I did find my people, I would
dose up and smoke them out.
The Potomac was fetid, the populace:
unfriendly. I reached the far (and I do mean far) end of the lot and
stood there forlornly looking at the rusty fence. I was discouraged.
I had some of the best paper I had seen, blue with gold stars, plus a
chunk of mop up. Fate had spoken. I turned, preparing to trudge back
to the bus and hotbox the skunk in my pocket.
I heard my name and looked to find
that friendly face I was looking for. It was Jody, and I didn't even
know she was in D.C. We smiled and hugged and she told me she had to
hurry off to the show. After she left I put three squares of paper on
my tongue and began my journey.
A while later, Little Red Riding Hood
came skipping toward me. “Cold Rain and Snow” was coming from the
Stadium. Her eyes never left mine as she skipped right up to me. She
was wearing a frilly dress, red cape with hood, and had a picnic
basket draped over one arm. She was blond and healthy and wholesome
looking. She said she had to look in my eyes, and then she asked if I
would like a “Very kind veggie burrito”. I said yes, I sure
would, and inquired of the price. “No charge for the Mad Hatter”
she said with a giggle, handed me her wares, and skipped along. I
thought maybe my day was getting better.
The burrito, delicious and fresh as it
was, made me thirsty. Way the hell out this end of the lot, there
weren’t a lot of vendors. I went looking for a cold drink, and
found a guy selling lemonade out of the back of an old truck. His
sign read “Lemonade $6”. He was dispensing it in ten ounce cups.
I was livid. I had guilt from not telling Dave what I thought of his
WAY overpriced Sunny D, and wasn't going to let this guy go without
an earful.
I told him just what I thought of
people coming to the show and taking advantage of the poor, thirsty
hippies by charging exorbitant prices. I told him he should be
ashamed of himself and that he was behaving just like the capitalist
“Babylonians” we eschewed. He told me if I thought his portions
were unfair, to give him six bucks and drink all I want.
God help me, I did. I had about six
glasses. It was days before I realized what I had done.
It wasn't long after that when I met
the Grilled Cheese Guy. I thought the Grilled Cheese Guy was where it
all went wrong. I wasn't thinking about the two hits of gold stars on
blue paper, or the mop up, or the burrito, or the six glasses of
lemonade. Nope, it was Grilled Cheese Guy. He reached into my head
with his greasy grilled cheese finger and did something to me. It
sounds funny now, but it wasn't at the time.
I started hearing his pitch from about
twenty cars back. “Grilled cheese! Getcher Grilled Cheese! KIND
Grilled
cheese!” The later had a leering quality to the word “Kind” as
if it were somehow satirical and I tried not to look when I passed
him. The next time he hollered “Grilled” I had drawn up even and
was looking right ahead of me at a drummer some distance off. With
the word “CHEESE!” he leaned in front of me and tapped me solidly
between the eyes with his finger. I didn't notice which one; finger
that is.
Freaked
me right out. That grilled cheese guy reached right into my psyche
and was poking around in there for god knows what reason. I felt
mystically violated. I wasn't going to hang around and try to toss
fireballs with some evil wizard. I headed toward the masses around
the drummer.
He
was shirtless with dreadlocks, and I was halfway from the grilled
cheese attack when I noticed I was dancing to the rhythm and the
drummer was staring intently at me, drawing into him. I wondered if
he was in collusion with the Grilled Cheese Guy. Lucky for me I was
carrying a three inch ovate brass bell that was hand made by Buddhist
Monks (at least that's what Jody's friend told me when he traded it
to me for some gold stars back in Muncie).
I
dug out that bell and found a whole different beat and broke free of
the hold that drummer had on me and his grilled cheese friend too. I
turned right at the next corner and danced away. I thought I heard
whispers of “Mad Hatter, look!”. Two girls: plain, with straight
brown hair, sat in the middle of the path. They were moving as if
dancing, but weren't in step with “Franklin's Tower”, which was
pouring out of the Stadium and further freaking me out. “In
Franklin's Tower there hangs a bell. Might have one good ring baby,
who can tell?”
One
turned to the other when I drew closer, and whispered to her “Don't
get in his shadow!” I did my best to remain calm and continue to
the relative safety of the bus. “Franklin's Tower” turned to
“Estimated Prophet” and I chilled a little. Then I saw those same
girls again, coming toward me, and didn't know how they could be
there. When I walked past, the one looked at the other and whispered
“Don't look in his eyes!”
I
was almost in a complete panic. I stopped and cast about looking for
Grilled Cheesemen and evil wizards or at the very least, Dave's bus.
The Vietnam choppers continued to threaten the skies. A friendly
voice called out, “Hey bro! Come over here for a while, the
helicopters can't see you under here.” I looked. There were two
split window buses parked next to each other with a tarp stretched
between. They had built a bunker, front and back, with bedrolls and
gear and duffle and such. It was incredibly comfortable. Over at the
stadium, we could hear “Dark Star.” A bowl went around.
By
time it came to me, it was empty. I reached for my stash to refill it
and the girl who had invited me in said not to worry. I handed it to
her and she told me to watch carefully. She stuck the tip of the
little finger from her right hand into her mouth and sucked on it a
minute. Then she inserted it into the pipe and twisted it. With each
twist her finger rose a bit more in the bowl. When she was done and
handed it back to me, it was nearly full.
It
went around again and a new girl joined us, sitting to my right. The
bowl was empty by time it got to her. I told her not to worry and
reached for the wooden pipe. I told her to watch carefully as I
sucked on my right pinkie and then twisted it in the bowl. I imagined
our hostess's eyes sparkled a little. I felt a small kernel rising in
the pipe, I twisted. The pipe refilled itself again and before I, or
the new girl could express our amazement, our hostess stood and
commanded us all to hush. A neighboring jam box was playing a
different version of Dark Star and they were synching up here and
there. She told me I was safe to go back out now. I noticed Dave's
bus a few rows over and excused myself. I was refreshed. I thought
the worst of the evening had passed, but those brown haired girls
would have none of that.
There
they were, standing across from the bus. They were right where I had
last seen the Bare/Bear Anything girl. The one looked at the other
and whispered into her ear “They're taking his soul!” There's
only so much a fellow can take. I dove right into the surprisingly
unlocked van and hid under some blankets. The band was covering “It's
All Over Now Baby Blue” Maybe the Grilled Cheese Guy did get me? I
tried to meditate, but the only mantra I could hold was one of
repeated panic. After an eternity, I heard a voice.
The
voice said hey man, its okay. You know what to do. “Do I think
about all the love in my life?” I asked. The voice chuckled.
“You'll be alright.”
I
smoked a joint. I was alright. No Grilled Cheese Guy was going to
take my soul. I shouldn't listen to strange brown haired girls. After
a while I got out of the bus. The show was over, the fireworks had
started. I walked away from the lights a bit, but kept the van in
sight. The first firework turned to smoke. The smoke turned into Tom
Sawyer. I walked farther from the lights. The second firework turned
into the woodcut of the skeleton with roses. Then it turned into just
a skeleton. Then it brutally sodomized Tom Sawyer. I ran for the van.
It
was locked. I stood at the van and tried not to look at the smoke. I
also tried not to look at the truck across the way, lest there be two
very mean brown haired girls or at the very least, one brown haired
vagina looking back at me. I focused on a spot halfway from the bus
to the path and up stepped The Man in Black. He was looking the other
way, watching concert goers as the came out and walked along the path
to their cars. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't him. It was.
The
Man in Black reached into his left pants pocket and bowed deeply
toward the truck across the way. Suddenly, he pivoted on his heels,
and came up facing me with a huge stack of hundred dollar bills
fanned out like a hand of euchre. There must have been thousands of
dollars there. He looked up and smiled and pivoted back toward the
path with his hands in his pockets. I was stricken. Then he glanced
at a spot on his left and looked over his shoulder at me. Then to his
left/ Then back at the path. He was inviting me. I dove back in the
bus, which was unlocked.
No
matter how hard I listened, I couldn't find that reassuring voice
again. I lay on the floor and smoked another joint. After a bit I
crept up and looked out the window. The Man in Black was gone. I
crawled back out of the van.
Dave
and Bill showed up, and eventually the hitch hikers. Neither wore the
cast, they were carrying it. We all got in the back and smoked
another one. Dave and Bill informed me that they were too high on
mushrooms to drive. I told them about my night. They said if I didn't
drive then we were staying right there. That sounded okay to me until
the third time the cop came by and told us if we didn't leave we'd be
towed and/or arrested. God help me, I drove out of that lot, and down
the road to Dave's aunt's place in Virginia.
Every
exit ramp had five or six cop cars waiting, with lights flashing, to
bust the Deadheads. The helicopters were swooping and the buildings
were glaring at me malevolently. I'll never go back to that damned
town. The hitch hikers dropped a hundred and a half on Dave for gas
and got out at the exit for Dave's aunt. I think Autumn was wearing
the cast this time. Somehow we made it back to Dave's Aunt's. I don't
know if Dave's aunt even really exists. I didn't see her. Bill and I
had to sleep in the back yard and weren't allowed to use the toilet.
Dave
and Bill ate mushrooms and so they slept like babies. I had done god
knows how much acid (I still hadn't put two and two together about
the burrito and the lemonade). I was up for the duration in a
backyard where I wasn't particularly welcome in Virginia, damn close
to the most evil city on the east coast and the grilled cheese
sorcerer bastards it harbors. I decided to go for a coke. My soul
seemed safe for the moment.
“Winding
his way among goblins.
The
dancing man ringing his bell.
Did
it indeed occur as he's seen?
As
he sees? Or somewhere in between?
In
and out of the temple
betrayed
by his leaps toward the floor.
Pipes
were all dry, no love in their eyes
Heard
a voice, swallowed stars, still denied.
Hunger
drove him to that smiling maid.
Then
he argued with a merchant on the price of lemonade.
The
man shouted “Fine my friend! Take you two times three!”
How
sore I erred.
In
truth I fared
The
price of gluttony.
Foolish
and dumb,
The
fruit had come
From
a magic lemon tree.”
-TSB
(from “An Outing at the Fair”)
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