I met Phil sometime in the early to middle 1960s when I was a student with Ronny Davis’ San Francisco Mime Troupe at 16th and Capp in the Mission. While we were discovering improvisational theater, Phil, then, a trumpet player, was experimenting with jazz. Throughout the ‘60s and ‘70s, we would run into each other. I was a student at the Committee in North Beach and a member of what was called “The Artist’s Liberation Front”. The ALF would set up on Sundays in neighborhoods and parks in the City. There would be food and music and activities for the kids and the original Grateful Dead Blues Band with Pig Pen played when their schedule allowed.
Fast forward. If I remember correctly, the bus picked us up in Fairfax. Probably up behind the ball field. We were a diverse and eclectic bunch, to be sure. The closing of Winterland had been in the wind for months and we were ready for it. The headliners were the Dead and the Blues Brothers. It was to be a night to be remembered. On the way to the City, Phil entertained us with stories. He was always the gracious host. And of course, joints were being passed around.
When we reached Winterland, the bus parked by the stage door, we were handed our backstage passes and ushered inside. I decided to take a tour. The doors had just opened, the pre-show music was playing and the folks were streaming in. Very exciting. It was the same old Winterland where as a youngster, my grandmother would take me to see the Ice Follies, with Frick and Frack; and where I saw the likes of Van the man, the Rolling Stones, Stevie Wonder and, well, the list goes on. The place was filling up fast, so I decided to go backstage. I was pretty high by then; and I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that the security team was all dressed as guards in from let’s say, a Hope and Crosby buddy movie, “Road to Morocco,” maybe.
The doors had just opened, the pre-show music was playing and the folks were streaming in. Very exciting. It was the same old Winterland where as a youngster, my grandmother would take me to see the Ice Follies.
In any event, my pass allowed me to head up stairs to the backstage area. The Blues Brothers and the Saturday night live crew were on their way, and the Dead were in their dressing room prepping. Ken Kesey had brought along some members of his Northwest crew. He was tuning his Mystic Harp, a giant one of a kind instrument only he could play. I remember someone saying my name. It was Herb Greene, a guy who had photographed every original S.F. rock band. I hadn’t talked with Herb in years. Rock Scully, dressed in a velvet suit, hanky stuffed into his sleeve, was greeting his friends. And Bill Graham, always on the move, checked the details. And then the buzz started. “The Blues Brothers are here”.
I found a spot at the top of the stairs. The stage doors opened, and in true New York/Chicago style, in they came, in costume, and in character. First through the door were Belushi and Aykroyd. Or, should I say, Jake and Elwood. Aykroyd with his harmonica case chained to his wrist, Belushi clearing the way. They were followed by the band. As a musician, this was what I was waiting for. There they were the best R&B backup band in the business: Cropper, Dunn, Murphy, Hall, Marini. What a night. Bringing up the rear was the SNL support team and Bill Murray.
KQED had set up a live feed backstage to do interviews. Bill Murray was beyond high and having fun. He spotted the TV camera and the stool and stumbled over and asked the cameraman what was up. He was told that KQED was doing interviews. Bill thought that the interviews were being recorded. He made his way over the rope and sat down. The on air talent from KQED started asking questions and Murray, probably figuring that any stupid stuff could be edited out, started to give an interview that a drunk and high Bill Murray would give. Then he noticed the red light was on and stopped talking. His face changed from that of a jovial drunk to fear itself. “Is this live?”, he asked. “Sure is”, answered the cameraman. “Ohhh shit!,’’ exclaimed Murray as he stumbled back over the rope. Turns out that KQED, in their wisdom were running a delay. I doubt that their viewers saw much of what went on.
I must admit, most of the night was a blur. The performances were spot on and the folks out front had a fine time. I remember sharing a joint with Phil and Mr. Belushi. I remember trying to start a conversation with a couple of inner circle Deadheads and being rudely snubbed. I remember standing in the wings next to Mr. Aykroyd as the band was being introduced. He looked really nervous. I said something like “break a leg”, and he said “Yeah, I hear these Dead audiences are tough”. Before I could say anything else, Bill Graham appeared out of nowhere and put his arm around Dan’s shoulder and told him not to worry. The intro music started and the show began.
When the last note was played and the recorded classical music started, the audience was served breakfast and that was that. We climbed back on to the bus and headed north, each of us happily satiated and very tired.
~ Buck Lacey