I was hanging with my friend Andrew when news came through that Bob Weir had gone off to that great gig in the sky, joining bandmates Jerry, Phil & Pigpen. Though neither Andy or myself were ever dedicated Deadheads, we’d both seen the Grateful Dead numerous times, and continue to listen to their music.
Bobby’s passing got us waxing nostalgic about how much the Dead and their music mean to us.
Being middle aged guys living in Pendleton, our conversation naturally turned to the connections between Pendleton and the Grateful Dead.
That various tendrils of lives and energy connected the Grateful Dead to Oregon is known. The Dead formed in San Francisco, and their inclination to roam was the stuff of legend.
That many of their members would ramble the wild and green lands ‘twixt the Bay Area and our own state is well documented.
Of course, there’s the Ken Kesey connection. Chief prankster of The Merry Pranksters (if a group like the Pranksters even had a hierarchy), Kesey was Oregonian through and through. His final novel, the aptly-titled Last Go Round, takes place in Pendleton and features fictionalized versions of historical figures from Pendleton’s history.
But the deepest connection between Pendleton and the Grateful Dead came in the person of Pendleton’s own Johnny Hagen, AKA Ramrod.
An OG Merry Prankster, Hagen became the Dead’s chief roadie, one of the people responsible for setting up and breaking down the towering equipment that created the band’s distinctive Wall of Sound on stages around the globe.
Hagen would later recruit other Umatilla county notables like Rex Jackson and Joe Winslow to the crew, doing their part to make sure that the music never stopped and creating a sonic bridge between Eastern Oregon and the Grateful Dead.
Speaking of bridges, it’s hardly far-fetched to suggest that the music of the Grateful Dead is a connective thread bridging various aspects of American culture. While generally considered hippie music, the Dead also appealed to folks who might consider themselves cowboys, even rednecks.
Which makes sense. All three groups share an outlaw streak.
Even a brief toe-dip into the Grateful Dead’s vast musical catalog reveals endless songs and stories celebrating outlaws.
Friend of the Devil tells the tale of a man on the run from the sheriff, a paternity suit – and quite possibly Satan himself.
Dupree’s Diamond Blues is a cautionary tale whose protagonist winds up on death row after robbing & killing a jewelry man in the name of love – or at least lust.
And Me and My Uncle is about a pair of gamblers hustling cowboys at poker (spoiler alert: It doesn’t end well, at least not for the uncle).
The Dead’s most radio-played tracks – songs so ingrained in American culture that even folks who couldn’t spot Jerry Garcia in a police lineup could probably sing along have distinct outlaw themes.
Casey Jones is about a train conductor with a cocaine habit, and while Truckin’ covers themes ranging from travel to love, the song is based on a real-life drug bust. Before it’s over, the narrator winds up, like Jerry Garcia in 1970, “busted, down on Bourbon Street / Set up like a bowling pin.”
While the Grateful Dead never wrote a song about Pendleton legend Hank Vaughn – a talented horseman whose exploits included dramatic escapes from the law, out-badassing robbers during an attempted train robbery, and pistol-whipping a newspaper editor into issuing a public apology – It isn’t far fetched to imagine his adventures providing fine lyrical fodder for the band.
Not long after hearing the news of Bob Weir’s passing I mourned the way most folks do these days – by posting a few words on a local Facebook Page. While the post didn’t reveal mind-blowing revelations along the lines of:
Jerry stopped into Great Pacific for pizza and played a few songs on his mandolin!
or
Pigpen spent a few hours knocking back shots at the Rainbow in ‘72 when the band’s tour bus broke down on I-84.
It did garner a steady outpouring of memories ranging from plausible:
To apocryphal:
To sentimental:
Whether or not any members of the Grateful Dead spent more than a few hours in Pendleton, we’re a silver shining town on the edge of the empty highway. It’s safe to assume that after three decades on the road they passed by more times than even they would remember.
Speaking of memories, my own youthful recollections of the Grateful Dead are packed away somewhere in the attics of my life, full of cloudy dreams unreal (I’ll leave it to you, dear reader, to decipher that one).
But I’m lucky enough to have a grown-up memory of spending a couple of days hanging with Bill Kreutzmann in Belize.
Bill, if you ever stumble across this story, consider yourself welcome in Pendleton. Come for Rodeo week – You and Aimee can stay in our beautiful house overlooking the Pendleton Round Up grounds!
Thanks for reading this article. Hope you enjoyed the lyrical easter eggs. If you’ve read this far and are so inclined, please share this article with your friends & fellow Deadheads.
