It had the feeling of a rite.
A final pilgrimage.
A living memorial wrapped in incense smoke, tie-dye, and bittersweet joy.
This weekend, Dead & Company brought their farewell tour to Golden Gate Park — hallowed ground for the Grateful Dead and their eternal flock — for what many called the last real Dead show in San Francisco.
The Grateful Dead has all the elements of a genuine culture. The motifs and artifacts, customs and lore, icons and martyrs are all interwoven into a living, breathing community that extends far beyond the music itself.
That culture was on full, glorious display all weekend.
Each day saw 60,000 fans fill the Polo Fields. They came from across the globe, barefoot and glittered and graying. There were tears and twirls, deep hugs and long gazes.
There were winners: fans who scored rail positions, the lucky attendees who found a groundscore, and every aging Deadhead who made it to one more show.
And there were losers. Just ask Thomas Siderio, 32, of Philadelphia — arrested Saturday with alleged possession of approximately 100 nitrous tanks in a trailer near the park. His was not the only bust but perhaps the most dramatic.
Each day, a new set of fans bore witness to not just a concert but a cultural communion decades in the making. And while the concerts were technically the main event, any true Deadhead will tell you the journey is the destination, and the real party started far from Polo Fields.
As much as a week before the music began, the faithful were arriving. The streets circumscribing Golden Gate Park transformed into a sprawling urban campsite — an unzoned, peace-and-love-flavored Burning Man annex where cookouts, impromptu jam sessions, and other, more illicit extracurriculars took place.
By Friday, it was a veritable encampment of converted school buses, painted vans, RVs, tents, and tarps. Vendors sold grilled cheese, crystals, and bootleg T-shirts from truck beds. Children danced barefoot. Elders told stories. Strangers embraced like kin.
“All the damn parking is taken up in front of my house!” yelled a woman who lived in a Victorian along the panhandle.
As the weekend approached, Haight Street became the unofficial arterial freeway of chaos. People spilled into the streets and climbed vans, setting off nitrous oxide balloons and howling into the sky. Crowds made their way to 710 Ashbury St., where the band members lived for several years. For the past five decades, the home has belonged to 82-year-old Francine Filices, who has cherished the legacy of the band and its fans ever since.
When the concerts started, even those without a ticket had plenty to do. Beyond the renegade market in Golden Gate Park known as Shakedown Street, there were dozens of cover bands, parties, and bar crawls happening around the city.
Onstage, the weekend swelled with special guests. Billy Strings lent his fire to a bluegrass-tinged “Wharf Rat”; Sturgill Simpson brought drawl and depth to “Morning Dew”; Grahame Lesh, son of bassist Phil, filled his father’s shoes for a set-closing “Box of Rain”; and by Pier 48, Zane Kesey, son of author Ken Kesey, made it to town, though without his father’s iconic Further Bus.
Mayor Daniel Lurie played emcee, appearing Saturday night to rally the crowd with his signature “Let’s go!” before yielding to the true kings of the city.
On the third and final day of the residency, the sun finally started to shine, and on the flats of Polo Field, the mood was the highest of all three days by far.
As the sun set behind the stage, the band played its rendition of “Shakedown Street” before signing off, when 60,000 arms shot up in unison — waving goodbye, or holding on for one last groove.