Thank You, For a Real Good Time

It's hard to believe it's been almost 15 years since Jerry Garcia died.  A friend of mine past along an obituary that I wrote for our high school newspaper, Sub Rosa (circulation 85).  In case you missed it or thought that my writing had improved drastically since then, I've added it here

Sub Rosa
Portsmouth, RI
Edition 2, Issue 1
October 1995
Page 2
 
Thank you for a Real Good Time
 
On August 9, 1995 America saw one of its saddest days in recent history. It lost its final icon in Jerome John Garcia. Most were quick to criticize one of the most peaceful institutions they had had ever seen. Others like MTV took the opportunity to dust off those Grateful Dead CDs and videos to capture an audience of thousands of DeadHeads who all seemed lost.
 
Most could see it coming, with a diabetic coma in 1986 and his collapse in 1991 in conjunction with erractic playing over the last two years. It was obvious that Gracia was once again fighting the dragon of a heroine addiction. But how the end came so fast and hard shocked almost everyone. As the flag in front of San Francisco flew at half mast, much of America mourned the loss of a legend, a genius and great American, the majority looked on wondering what all the fuss was about over this "Reverend Pot-head" (a truly asinine title given by Time Magazine.)
 
Mainstream America never truly understood the Dead phenomenon, most dismissed it as a cult with its followers being patchouli-scented long-haired nostalgia mongers. They feared the DeadHeads, their peacefulness, their generosity, their kindness. Parents prayed their children would never become DeadHeads out of their fear they would become peace-loving retro-hippies who drop out of school and use hard-core drugs.
 
Anyone though who has experienced a Grateful Dead show or been there when "the music played the band" realizes that Garcia's death leaves a huge void. There has been an emptiness in my body since that day. Empty in knowing that I could never return to the safest place in the world, that I could never again hear his bittersweet voice which so often relieved so much pain. The void grows bigger each day when I realize that generations ahead will only hear stories about "the band beyond description."
 
The final verse ever sung at a Grateful Dead concert reads , " Such a long long time to be gone, such a short time to be here." It seems fitting for a man who brought so much joy in his short fifty-three years.  A man who spent his life pleasing so many. It seems a shame that his final day was overshadowed by such irrelevant items as the O.J. case and Whitewater hearings, for on that day many Americans lost a good friend that most had never met. All of them just wanted to say, thank you, and assure him that the music will never stop.