The Author, age 18, dancing in the living room to Shakedown Street, 1978.

This is the 3rd installment of my Grateful Dead story, so you may wish to start with the first, for continuity. Thanks for reading, and please leave comments below, by the little heart icon. Cover art by Chris O’Leary, with permission from the artist.

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“So, where are you headed next fall?” has always been the refrain between high school seniors each spring in sweet anticipation of the start of their “real” lives, and it was no different in the late seventies in White Plains, New York.

While others may have had lofty goals about attending a prestigious university, I was laser focused only on getting out of Dodge. Shockingly, my uninspired grades had not attracted scholarships, nor the faith of my parents to help finance a private school education, so my grand escape would need to be limited to the parameters of a New York state school for at least the first two years.

When my high school pal Sue called, cheerfully suggesting, "So, I heard about a great party school about 7 hours upstate, called SUNY (State University of New York) College at Brockport,” that was all I needed to hear. I answered without hesitation, “Sounds about right to me!”

Sight unseen, we packed up our suitcases with the basic necessities: hair dryer, a tapestry, a hot pot, and a hefty supply of Ramen noodles, and made the 380 mile trip north on the New York State Thruway. While the college campus was not the idyllic ivy and green expanse I had always fantasized about, it was far away from everything I knew, and it glowed with the golden light of freedom. Oh yeah, baby was getting out!

SUNY@Brockport~ In the NW Corner of the state, Far, far, away from home!

Welcome to SUNY at Brockport!

Brockport’s reputation as a party school? Not sure about today, but in September 1978, there was no better description. Of course, as a 17-year-old girl with a prior curfew of eleven p.m living away from home for the first time, co-ed high-rise Bramley Hall offered the opportunity for a non-stop party. It was kind of like weird summer camp, only better, because there were boys, booze and cigarettes, and no curfew.

My suite mates were a random mismatched bunch: Barrie, a cheerful Deadhead from Queens; Maria, a raven-haired beauty in a conservative Italian family from Baldwin; Robin, a miniature butch biker chick, standing about 4’10” and 200 lbs, from nearby Rochester, and Vicky, a good-natured born-again Christian from Syracuse, who towered over all of us at 6’2 inches. Then there was me, a naive Jewish girl from the Westchester suburbs.

As our motley crew rambled around the campus, I raised my antenna for signs of other Deadheads. It was clear that everyone was looking for their tribe, advertising their musical preferences by blasting their music from the dorm windows. Every few feet, the competing sounds of the Stones, The Cars, and Springsteen battled it out with Donna Summer and the Bee Gees. Every now and then I’d hear the familiar strains of the Grateful Dead, which gave me hope that my people were out there. It turns out that they were— in droves—and many of them just happened to belong to a certain geographical area.

Long Island Deadheads: Let’s Pawty!

Long Island Deadheads deserve an honorable mention, since this particular demographic made up the majority of the folks I met and befriended over the 16 months I attended Brockport.

L.I. Deadheads were a breed of their own—and a force to be reckoned with— as they flooded the state university system. The “Island,” a massively populated region, contains 40% of New York State’s population. L.I. Residents are packed in super tightly—7.8 million residents in a tiny 118 mile stretch from New York City out into the Atlantic. With such close proximity to New York City, these kids were socially precocious, slick, and more often than not, outspoken. They had funny accents, and they had been partying since they were eleven years old. Bet you think I’m kidding. I’m not.

My first introduction to Long Island Deadheads were two new friends from Port Washington. Kristie and Ramsey expressed shock and indignation that I had never been drunk, and when I became legal on my 18th birthday, they announced that they meant to remedy that situation. They brought me to the Rathskeller in the basement of the Student Union (aka The Rat) and lined up shots of Jack Daniels on the bar. I don’t even know what to say about that night, other than to suggest there may or may not be a photo of yours truly worshiping the porcelain goddess at 2 am. Suffice it to say that while it has taken me over 40 years to be able to acquire a taste for whiskey, some of those L.I Deadheads are still my best friends.

As a bit of trivia, Long Island also seemed to churn out a disproportionate number of Jewish deadheads…and apparently I’m not alone in this impression. It is my personal opinion that the Jew-fro was born in Long Island. Again, not joking.

Deadhead radar

One minor detail I had apparently overlooked was that it seemed that I was expected to attend classes. This realization was quite inconvenient, as it seriously interfered with my ability to go to Grateful Dead nights at The Roxbury and Barge Inn, as well as plan for Fall Tour.

I had been into the Dead for only a year, and had gone to just one show, mere weeks earlier at the Meadowlands, but I was committed. Once I witnessed that magic feedback loop created by the band and the fans together at a live show, I knew I needed to find other people who felt the same excitement and curiosity about the Grateful Dead. We all somehow (Dead t-shirts, tapes, friends of friends) began to find our people, and alliances were formed, just as the exciting news of Fall Tour began to circulate.

The Dead had just returned from a gig in Giza, Egypt, where they had played at the Son Et Lumiere Theater with the world-renowned Nubian Oud player Hamza El-Din (whose album Mickey Hart had produced). El Din also was instrumental in helping arrange for the band to perform at the Great Pyramids.

While we obviously hadn’t been able to make the Egypt show, we were delighted to hear that the Dead were going to be playing less than an hour away, at the Rochester War Memorial right before Thanksgiving, on 11/21/78. After a run in Boston, Chicago and Cleveland, the band finally arrived to our freezing corner of upstate New York.

Rochester War Memorial: First College Show

I’ll be honest— I don’t remember diddly about the specifics of my second Dead show, other than it was fantastic. Bobby led the boys in playing verses from the turn-of-the-century Neapolitan tune, “Finiculi Finicula” as he repeatedly implored the crowd to “Take a step back… now another step back”, so the poor folks in the front could breathe. The show was Bobby heavy, and plays like the greatest hits, at least from the vantage point of 2019. Drums/space had no electronics; no beam, no gizmos—just percussion—and the crowd ate it up.

Taper’s notes from Live Archive include, “Jerry's voice is showing signs of the damage that would force the cancellation of the final shows from this tour, although he does manage to squeeze out about 45 final choruses in Deal!” Author’s suggestion: Que up this Truckin’ starting at about minute six, if you want to hear Jerry wailing on his guitar to end the second set, or better yet, take a listen to the whole Rochester show.

Many thanks and appreciation to David Davis and his wonderful blog Grateful Seconds, for the news archives below.

The Beat Goes On

Still running high from the Rochester show, I found myself back in suburbia for Thanksgiving break. Like countless college students, I found solace in our beloved local Dead cover band, “The Lost Highway Ramblers,” who played weekly at the Fore-N-Aft in White Plains, featuring, among others, lead guitarist Roger Romeo and bassist Don Pasewark, and vocalist Susie Creamcheese.

don and roger.JPG — Roger Romeo and Don Pasewark

Back at school but for a month after Thanksgiving, we were home again for winter break when I heard the Dead were back in town for the re-scheduled Madison Square Garden shows, on 1/7/79 and 1/8/79, followed by the Nassau Coliseum shows on 1/10/79 and 1/11/79. Worth noting is the revival of Dark Star on 1/10, which had not been played since Winterland 1974, and thrilled scores of Deadheads. In hindsight, also noteworthy, is St. Stephen, which would not be heard again until 1983.

I often wonder if younger Deadheads realize that songs like Dark Star, St. Stephen, Aiko and Morning Dew, which have had widespread exposure with the more recent Grateful Dead iterations, were very rare treats back in the day, creating true ‘Steal Your Face’ moments among the lucky attendees.

Truckin Up To Buffalo

I just barely made it back to Brockport in time for the start of the next semester before heading off to see the band again, this time about an hour away, in Buffalo, at the beautiful historic Shea's Theater on Saturday night, 1/20/79. This show marked the departure of vocalist Donna Godchaux, although Keith remained with the band for a short time longer. Jerry was an hour late, which some speculated was a result of fallout with Donna. Gratefuldeadoftheday.com features an excellent piece about the show, including a link to Jerry Moore/Charlie Miller’s beautiful recording.

Next Up: Binghamton, May 9, 1979

Somewhere in between seeing Dead shows I did manage to attend some classes, but darn, if I can figure out how I did it. In between finals, on an unseasonably hot day, with temps somewhere in the high 90’s, we piled into a friend’s Dodge Dart and headed to the Broome County Arena, a hockey shed near Suny@Binghamton. The Dodge overheated, and we were hours late, flying inside just as the first few notes of Truckin’ began, which, as you can imagine, was just exactly perfect. The place was packed, as many of us struggled to remain upright in the heat, but the music was sublime. Case in point is the very funny text exchange between blogger David Davis and a fan:

After the steamy Binghamton show, the academic year ended, and needless to say, I did not make the honor roll. My meager savings were depleted, so back home to work double-shifts for the summer at Rye Playland. I didn’t know that dead ahead were some of the most wonderful adventures I could imagine: all I knew was that I was enjoying the ride.