I miss you Ron

This is not a fishing report, I'm sorry my General, but that's that, ain't it? Just listenin' to some of the 26 Megs that comprise the Complete Europe '72 package from the Dead. For those of not Dead inclined, my condolences. The early 70's was one of their high points and it sure is a pleasure to listen to the courage and sincerity with which they played at that time. A strange group of guys who at one time I knew and saw regularly. When I was in my sub double digit years I played the trumpet. I took lessons at Dana Morgans' music store in Palo Alto. Every Tuesday Betty would take me down to PA, at a little before 7 for my lesson with Dana Jr. She would sit in the car and read while I rendered inspiring compositions such as Greensleeves and Bolero. Every week we would pass a fairly hirsute young man, walking along our route, carrying a banjo case. After a few weeks of that Betty said, "You know, that young man must teach at Danas', I see him get there in the middle of your lesson. Maybe we should give him a ride?" "Jeez Mom," I said in my best Jerry Mathers' voice, "He looks a little weird." "Well, I'm sure that he's a nice man, let's offer him a ride." One of the thing that I always respected about my Mom and Dad is that they never judged a book by the cover. Well when that swarthy gentleman got into the car Betty introduced herself and me, and he replied, "My name is Jerry." Well, it ain't never been the same since, and I couldn't be happier with that. The band, not yet formed, sorta hung out at the store. Dana Jr. was playin' bass (because he Dad had all the equipment I think), Bobby was barely a high school punk at time, and then there was the Pig. Ron "Pig Pen" McKernan was the janitor. If you thought Jerry was swarthy, then Ron was the swarthiest. His Dad had been a disc jockey, KDIA "The Lucky 13" I believe, spinnin' wax in East Palo Alto, the blues and some of that new MoTown stuff. If I thought that Jerry was "a little weird" then Ron was downright scary. A truculent seeming man, of few words, who carried a big broom. The trumpet, Dana, and I drifted apart 'til one night a few years later at Magoos' Pizza in Menlo Park I saw them again. Ron had traded in his broom for a microphone and harmonica, and was fronting a band that was loud. Jerry had traded his banjo for a big Guild electric guitar, and Bobby still didn't play very well (he later took care of that). Ron was the counterpoint to the whole thing, not the undead, but the antiDead, not into the new drugs, he exclusively indulged in drinking the old stand by drugs, Ranier Ale and Southern Comfort. While the others worked hard at exploring the inner Cosmos, Ron just got it done. We crossed paths a lot in the ensuing years, usually with me the audience, and as the band grew in skill, confidence, and celebrity, there was always Pig Pen. When he got in front, singing "Good Lovin'" or "Too Hard To Handle" he was the ground strap that connected those striving spacemen to earth. With long, funny, often obscene rant/raps in the middle of songs he charmed and amazed. Even though exceedingly politically incorrect, particularly when it came to the matter of inter gender relationships, he got it done. And the women in the audience seemed to enjoy and participate as much as the men. Lo and behold these intellectually based masters of improvisation and space, would eagerly fall in line and back that boy up. The band would flow and crest behind and underneath Pig Pen, following his lead, and clearly enjoying his talent and charisma. I'm pretty sure they weren't exactly sure what would come out his mouth next either, but they were just as eager to find out. I'm afraid that for those of you who never got Pigged, this explanation falls sadly short, but those of you who know, know. He was old school before anyone ever said that, barely tolerating the voyages beyond which the rest of the band were so fond taking. "Get yourself a shotgun, a pocket full of shells, and we can while away the time". As I come to the point where there is clearly more road behind than ahead, I'm very grateful that he was there, doing that which he uniquely did. I remember him fondly, and wouldn't have wanted a world, even my little one, without him. Without the correct seasoning, it just don't taste right. david