If I Had My Way
Joel Selvin ~ Author
Bill Graham put a billboard on the side of Winterland for New Year’s Eve 1978, the night the Grateful Dead closed the dilapidated old hall, which had an appointment with the wrecker’s ball. “They’re not the best at what they do,” it read, “they’re the only ones that do what they do.” On the sidewalk under the sign, a Deadhead waiting days in advance of the show held a sign of his own: “1535 Days Since Last S.F. Dark Star.”
Built in 1928 for what was then an astronomical cost of $1 million and originally named New Dreamland Auditorium, the building would soon be renamed Winterland.
The 5,400-capacity room played host to opera and boxing, and was home to Shipstad and Johnson Ice Follies. By the time Bill Graham started using the hall for crowds too large for the nearby Fillmore Auditorium to accommodate beginning with a Paul Butterfield Blues Band/Jefferson Airplane double-bill in September 1966, the ice shows were a thing of the past and Graham turned the rickety old building into the greatest home to rock music San Francisco has ever seen.
A tiny shoebox with sharply raked balconies on all four sides, Winterland was the smallest 5,400-capacity hall possible, even if Graham managed to stuff the place far beyond that modest number. During the day, when daylight was allowed in, the pockmarked ceiling missing large pieces of plaster could be easily seen, but a bank of black lights at night kept the dangerous ceiling out of sight.
Backstage had various dressing rooms and a large hospitality area with a ping pong table in the middle where Bill Graham and my old boss at The Chronicle, John L. Wasserman, used to stage epic matches. A backstage viewing area was directly behind the stage.
After Bill Graham made his annual appearance as Father Time, riding to the stage above the crowd from across the hall on a giant marijuana cigarette, the Dead kicked off the New Year at midnight with “Sugar Magnolia” under an avalanche of balloons. Weir started the second set with the never-more- appropriate “Samson and Delilah” (“If I had my way I would tear this old building down . . .”). Lee Oskar of War and Gregg Errico of Sly and the Family Stone joined the onstage throng during the drum solo. Ken Babbs of the Merry Pranksters rolled out the Thunder Machine, with Kesey banging away from inside, and then set off a small bomb, while wild-eyed Hart attacked the percussion contraption from the outside. Cipollina joined the band for the last two songs of the set.
- At the start of the third set, deep into the post-midnight hours, Jerry Garcia tickled opening notes out of his electric guitar and a shudder of recognition swept through the crowd. As the band lurched into “Dark Star,” the “1535 Days” sign came flying out of the balcony and fluttered to the floor below.
The band played until morning. Graham served champagne, ham and eggs to the entire crowd. With the house lights up full, the band members threw their arms around one another’s shoulders and took their final Winterland bow after “We Bid You Goodnight.”
The band had quite the history with the old room, playing 59 shows at the hall. They recorded some of their 1971 live album at the hall, took over the place for five nights in 1974 to film “The Grateful Dead Movie.” Another five-night run in 1978 celebrated the band’s return from Egypt, and they played three previous New Year’s Eves. A banner of the skull and roses flew from the rafters like a pennant for the home team. The band knew exactly how to command attention in this room. Winterland has always remained unsurpassed in my experience as a place where rock and roll lived and breathed. I liked to stand at the back of the hall in front of the sound booth. There was always room to mill around. You could see and hear everything. The music swam in that room.
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The entire last month of 1978 was booked. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band pulled into the hall for shows that stand among his best ever. The penultimate concert featured an astonishing performance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. That left it to the Dead to play one final New Year’s Eve the following night.
- The Dead first played New Year’s Eve at Winterland in 1968 on a bill with Quicksilver Messenger Service and newcomers Santana and It’s A Beautiful Day, a concert I well remember staggering out into the sunlight of New Year’s Day around six in the morning.
Everybody in the place – and on the bandstand – was blasted on LSD and when the band came back into the chorus on “Viola Lee Blues,” I thought the floor had dropped out of the hall.
Ten years later, everybody was on different drugs. That night Winterland was a cocaine speakeasy. Everybody had a little brown vial in their pocket. Even the janitor was holding. And if there hadn’t been enough around backstage during the show, the after-party hosted by Jefferson Starship at the Airplane Mansion for the support act, the Blues Brothers – who left stage long before midnight – more than made up.
In a news conference two weeks before the event, producer Graham speculated he could have sold 500,000 tickets. Radio advertising executive Jeff Nemerovski, sensing an opportunity, was able to persuade KQED-TV to broadcast the proceedings live, while KSAN-FM would simulcast a stereo soundtrack.
After Bill Graham made his annual appearance as Father Time, riding to the stage above the crowd from across the hall on a giant marijuana cigarette, the Dead kicked off the New Year at midnight with “Sugar Magnolia” under an avalanche of balloons. Weir started the second set with the never-more- appropriate “Samson and Delilah” (“If I had my way I would tear this old building down . . .”). Lee Oskar of War and Gregg Errico of Sly and the Family Stone joined the onstage throng during the drum solo. Ken Babbs of the Merry Pranksters rolled out the Thunder Machine, with Kesey banging away from inside, and then set off a small bomb, while wild-eyed Hart attacked the percussion contraption from the outside. Cipollina joined the band for the last two songs of the set.
- At the start of the third set, deep into the post-midnight hours, Jerry Garcia tickled opening notes out of his electric guitar and a shudder of recognition swept through the crowd. As the band lurched into “Dark Star,” the “1535 Days” sign came flying out of the balcony and fluttered to the floor below.
The band played until morning. Graham served champagne, ham and eggs to the entire crowd. With the house lights up full, the band members threw their arms around one another’s shoulders and took their final Winterland bow after “We Bid You Goodnight.”
The band had quite the history with the old room, playing 59 shows at the hall. They recorded some of their 1971 live album at the hall, took over the place for five nights in 1974 to film “The Grateful Dead Movie.” Another five-night run in 1978 celebrated the band’s return from Egypt, and they played three previous New Year’s Eves. A banner of the skull and roses flew from the rafters like a pennant for the home team. The band knew exactly how to command attention in this room. Winterland has always remained unsurpassed in my experience as a place where rock and roll lived and breathed. I liked to stand at the back of the hall in front of the sound booth. There was always room to mill around. You could see and hear everything. The music swam in that room.