Today is the eighth of July, two-thousand and fifteen. We arrived home this afternoon from a whirlwind trip to Chicago to attend the very last performance of the entity known as The Grateful Dead. It was - in many more ways than one - a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Just one more time; all of those who made this magic possible have our undying thanks. The love and kindness you expressed are beyond words and have affected us both profoundly. That effect is a big part of what made the depth of appreciation for this event as meaningful as it became.

We were both pretty excited and filled with anticipation when we loaded up the car and hit the road last Friday. Our smiles and joy increased with each passing mile on the journey. In order to spare as much energy as possible for the show our first day of travel was longish - to Springfield, Illinois - so that the second day could be very short. We arrived at P’s sister’s place in time for lunch at Portillo’s; a favorite of ours. That first evening was spent on her sister’s deck under their wonderful old ash tree among family and a few friends. Her sister sprung for pay-per-view of the Saturday night show! That really got us in the mood.

On the day of the show we traveled to The Congress Plaza Hotel on Michigan Avenue with P’s brother, who was to attend the show with us. We had reserved a lakeview room for ourselves and a smoker for her brother. After checking in we went for a bite and then repaired to our rooms to prepare for the show. The Congress was filled with Deadheads from top to bottom. Despite the fact that only one floor has smoking rooms, the entire building smelled of weed. All part of the experience.

The limo showed up on time and delivered us as close to Soldier Field as the driver could get. We discussed pick up arrangements and timing with the driver and all seemed well in that regard - more about the limo experience later.

Tee shirts were purchased for ourselves and some others who had requested them and we made our way over to the entrance to the arena. At this point we met some ladies - one in particular - who imparted some fantastic energy to P, but I’ll let her tell that story as she wishes. Suffice to say that little aside before the show even began made it a very, very special event.

If you’ve never been to a GD show you cannot imagine the vibe generated by thousands (in this particular case, over 71,000!) of hippies who share not only the whole hippie ethos but also a deep and abiding love of the musicians they’re about to dance to with an abandon fierce and uncommon. It is palpable and energizing in a thoroughly indescribable way. Granted not everyone there was a dedicated Deadhead - many weren’t even born when Jerry moved on - but there were indeed many, many who were deserving of the title. They danced, they laughed, they wore flowers in their curls and bells on their shoes. I saw guys older than myself with lightning skull  and terrapin tats so old and faded they were barely discernable.

Something else that was glaringly obvious in its almost complete absence was police presence. We saw two whole Chicago police officers the entire time we were on the grounds. Security seemed to be handled almost entirely by un-armed arena security personnel. The one cop that I saw (P and her brother saw another on horseback that I missed) was standing not ten feet from a kid with a full-size bottle of whiskey spiking people’s smoothies - and apparently didn’t give a damn. I guess they may have been instructed to respond only to actual violence; something pretty much non-existent in a crowd of Deadheads. To my knowledge the only incident that occurred during the three-night stand was a kid falling from one of the terraces. Haven’t heard, but I hope he’s okay.

Anyway… once inside we found our seats. We were in section 126, about 120 yards from the stage in the north end zone. Thanks to the giant jumbotrons, that wasn’t really a problem. (I still don’t like them in a baseball park, but that’s another discussion) Everyone nearby introduced themselves and exchanged their stories of where they came from, how many shows they’d been to, etc. Deadheads are in many - real - ways, family. They share a common love and history, a common set of adventures and follies. They converse in a common tongue of lyric and song title quotes. They connect pretty much instantly.

The band walked on stage and the place went nuts. The cheering was the loudest I’ve ever heard, the sudden rush of energy amazing. As is their wont, the boys started noodling and tuning before getting started. Longtime Deadheads (P and her brother among them) pride themselves on their ability to predict the song about to be played by listening carefully to this musical communication between the boys. P looked at us and guessed China Cat Sunflower - she nailed it. She was pretty successful at doing this for the rest of the show as well.

The band was in fine form, to put it modestly. The “core four” have been playing together for almost fifty years and know each other as well as any human can know another. Trey, the stand-in for the late, great Captain Trips had spent a lot of time learning the material inside and out. To his credit, he did not try to mimic Jerry, but played the songs himself. It worked, it worked very well. They rocked the house. The setlist is easy to find online, so I won’t put it here. The band’s material is so vast tho, that I don’t think they repeated a song in all five of their final shows. The final encore song, Attics Of My Life was as unexpected as it was emotionally wrenching. Attics is a Jerry song and one with very special meaning to P and me. On top of that it was the knowledge that it was the very last song the entity known as The Grateful Dead would ever perform was overwhelming. The tears flowed freely for pretty much everyone.

When it was over, seventy thousand Deadheads shuffled out of the arena awash in love and beautiful energy. As we trundled through the pedestrian tunnel under Lakeshore Drive everyone was clapping the rhythm and singing Not Fade Away; it was fantastic. Shortly thereafter we reached the rendezvous point for the limo, which was nowhere in sight. I phoned our driver and left her a message, she did not call back. We rested a bit and then I texted her, no reply. After waiting a little more we agreed there was nothing for it but to start walking. P was floating on Dead energy and held up very well - thankfully.

Amazingly the City of Chicago let the Deadheads have Michigan Avenue for the night. We were four floors up on the lake side and there was a party down on the sidewalk all night long. Finally at about 5:30 a cop drove slowly down the street hitting the siren and telling everyone to clear off before the Monday rush hour began. They did. Deadheads are truly a very well-behaved bunch of folks.

Today is the eighth of July, two-thousand and fifteen. We arrived home this afternoon from a whirlwind trip to Chicago to attend the very last performance of the entity known as The Grateful Dead. It was - in many more ways than one - a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Just one more time; all of those who made this magic possible have our undying thanks. The love and kindness you expressed are beyond words and have affected us both profoundly. That effect is a big part of what made the depth of appreciation for this event as meaningful as it became.

We were both pretty excited and filled with anticipation when we loaded up the car and hit the road last Friday. Our smiles and joy increased with each passing mile on the journey. In order to spare as much energy as possible for the show our first day of travel was longish - to Springfield, Illinois - so that the second day could be very short. We arrived at P’s sister’s place in time for lunch at Portillo’s; a favorite of ours. That first evening was spent on her sister’s deck under their wonderful old ash tree among family and a few friends. Her sister sprung for pay-per-view of the Saturday night show! That really got us in the mood.

On the day of the show we traveled to The Congress Plaza Hotel on Michigan Avenue with P’s brother, who was to attend the show with us. We had reserved a lakeview room for ourselves and a smoker for her brother. After checking in we went for a bite and then repaired to our rooms to prepare for the show. The Congress was filled with Deadheads from top to bottom. Despite the fact that only one floor has smoking rooms, the entire building smelled of weed. All part of the experience.

The limo showed up on time and delivered us as close to Soldier Field as the driver could get. We discussed pick up arrangements and timing with the driver and all seemed well in that regard - more about the limo experience later.

Tee shirts were purchased for ourselves and some others who had requested them and we made our way over to the entrance to the arena. At this point we met some ladies - one in particular - who imparted some fantastic energy to P, but I’ll let her tell that story as she wishes. Suffice to say that little aside before the show even began made it a very, very special event.

If you’ve never been to a GD show you cannot imagine the vibe generated by thousands (in this particular case, over 71,000!) of hippies who share not only the whole hippie ethos but also a deep and abiding love of the musicians they’re about to dance to with an abandon fierce and uncommon. It is palpable and energizing in a thoroughly indescribable way. Granted not everyone there was a dedicated Deadhead - many weren’t even born when Jerry moved on - but there were indeed many, many who were deserving of the title. They danced, they laughed, they wore flowers in their curls and bells on their shoes. I saw guys older than myself with lightning skull  and terrapin tats so old and faded they were barely discernable.

Something else that was glaringly obvious in its almost complete absence was police presence. We saw two whole Chicago police officers the entire time we were on the grounds. Security seemed to be handled almost entirely by un-armed arena security personnel. The one cop that I saw (P and her brother saw another on horseback that I missed) was standing not ten feet from a kid with a full-size bottle of whiskey spiking people’s smoothies - and apparently didn’t give a damn. I guess they may have been instructed to respond only to actual violence; something pretty much non-existent in a crowd of Deadheads. To my knowledge the only incident that occurred during the three-night stand was a kid falling from one of the terraces. Haven’t heard, but I hope he’s okay.

Anyway… once inside we found our seats. We were in section 126, about 120 yards from the stage in the north end zone. Thanks to the giant jumbotrons, that wasn’t really a problem. (I still don’t like them in a baseball park, but that’s another discussion) Everyone nearby introduced themselves and exchanged their stories of where they came from, how many shows they’d been to, etc. Deadheads are in many - real - ways, family. They share a common love and history, a common set of adventures and follies. They converse in a common tongue of lyric and song title quotes. They connect pretty much instantly.

The band walked on stage and the place went nuts. The cheering was the loudest I’ve ever heard, the sudden rush of energy amazing. As is their wont, the boys started noodling and tuning before getting started. Longtime Deadheads (P and her brother among them) pride themselves on their ability to predict the song about to be played by listening carefully to this musical communication between the boys. P looked at us and guessed China Cat Sunflower - she nailed it. She was pretty successful at doing this for the rest of the show as well.

The band was in fine form, to put it modestly. The “core four” have been playing together for almost fifty years and know each other as well as any human can know another. Trey, the stand-in for the late, great Captain Trips had spent a lot of time learning the material inside and out. To his credit, he did not try to mimic Jerry, but played the songs himself. It worked, it worked very well. They rocked the house. The setlist is easy to find online, so I won’t put it here. The band’s material is so vast tho, that I don’t think they repeated a song in all five of their final shows. The final encore song, Attics Of My Life was as unexpected as it was emotionally wrenching. Attics is a Jerry song and one with very special meaning to P and me. On top of that it was the knowledge that it was the very last song the entity known as The Grateful Dead would ever perform was overwhelming. The tears flowed freely for pretty much everyone.

When it was over, seventy thousand Deadheads shuffled out of the arena awash in love and beautiful energy. As we trundled through the pedestrian tunnel under Lakeshore Drive everyone was clapping the rhythm and singing Not Fade Away; it was fantastic. Shortly thereafter we reached the rendezvous point for the limo, which was nowhere in sight. I phoned our driver and left her a message, she did not call back. We rested a bit and then I texted her, no reply. After waiting a little more we agreed there was nothing for it but to start walking. P was floating on Dead energy and held up very well - thankfully.

Amazingly the City of Chicago let the Deadheads have Michigan Avenue for the night. We were four floors up on the lake side and there was a party down on the sidewalk all night long. Finally at about 5:30 a cop drove slowly down the street hitting the siren and telling everyone to clear off before the Monday rush hour began. They did. Deadheads are truly a very well-behaved bunch of folks.