After a friend of mine who worked for Bill Graham got me in the venue, the Blues Brothers were just finishing up as we walked through the front doors. I was enveloped in a world I had no idea existed. Up to that point, being that the closing of Winterland was my first Dead concert, I didn’t get the whole Dead mania thing. I liked their music, but didn’t get why people swore by their live concerts.
But walking through the front doors of Winterland, I immediately got the connection; this wasn’t an audience, it was a tribe of like-minded individuals living in the moment, basking in a world of tie-dye filtered through a marijuana fog-like haze. The atmosphere and the music combined for a truly magical experience. The bottom skating area of the Winterland arena was packed with people in various states of sobriety trying to make it to the front of the stage, anticipating the Dead starting what turned out to be a nearly six-hour performance.
There were photos of previous Winterland performers, Janis Joplin, B.B. King, Bruce Springsteen, Freddie King and more, hanging on the lip of the balcony, some worse for wear from people trying to pry them off. People with faces made-up to look like skeletons were everywhere I looked; skeleton faces, tie-dye, crowns of thorns and red roses, Uncle Sam and skeleton regalia were everywhere to be seen.
But walking through the front doors of Winterland, I immediately got the connection; this wasn’t an audience, it was a tribe of like-minded individuals living in the moment, basking in a world of tie-dye filtered through a marijuana fog-like haze.
My friend left me in the middle of the crowd to go backstage and start his shift. When the music started, this old abandoned skating rink — “this old building” is what Bob Weir called it from the stage — turned into a magical sacred space, a place not unlike the stone monoliths in Scotland where pagans would sing and dance during full moons.
Of the performance, what I remember the most was the introduction of Johnny B. Goode. Guest guitarist John Cipollina of Quicksilver Messenger Service slid across the stage on his knees while playing the familiar intro. After the last encore was played I sat back in my chair in the balcony and watched as the auditorium began to empty, slowly revealing in its wake, passed out Deadheads on the skating rink floor as well as a few people hugging and crying.
After breakfast was served by Bill Graham and his crew, I sat on the backstage lawn as the sun came up. It was going to be a beautiful day. Presently I saw this tall red-headed man emerge from the back door; I immediately recognized him as Bill Walton, the famous basketball player and equally famous Deadhead.
Walking to the car with my friend I recalled what my mother had said when I told her I was going to the concert. “Hide your wallet, there will be all kinds of pick pockets there.” Well I followed her advice and left the wallet in the glovebox; sure enough, the car, along with dozens of others on the same street, had been broken into. Looking back with a nostalgic heart some 40 years later, my wallet being stolen did not sour the memories of a truly memorable night, one that I remember with great fondness.
~ J. Paul Dimagio