Well, Jerry, you would have been 80 today. I can’t put into words the feeling of wishing you were still alive. I think all I can do is wish.
I wish you were still here, playing music for the hippies, the deadbeats, the outcasts, the lonely. I wish you were still here, sharing your wisdom for a happy life. I wish you could regale us with stories from the road.
Sometimes, I wonder if the universe made a mistake in taking you when it did. Did you have to return to the celestial stardust so soon?
Your lyrics, your music, and your playing didn’t just move me. It inspired me. It still inspires me. Whenever I play music, one of your songs always finds its way in. A lyric, a note change, a motif; they all find their way in.
I remember when I was 14. I was in the car with my father when he said, “put this in.” He handed me a copy of American Beauty, and from the first notes, I was hooked. Once I heard your voice on Ripple, I knew that my views on music would forever change.
You died on August 9, 1995. I was born on August 1, 1996; your birthday. It didn’t dawn on my father until weeks after that you and I shared the same birthday. Now that I think back, I can feel your influence through my father.
I remember being 5 and hearing “Monkey and the Engineer” from Reckoning, playing in our apartment in New Bedford. I remember being a little older and my dad finding Truckin’ Up to Buffalo in a Wal-Mart on a road trip. I remember hearing “Cold Rain and Snow” and belting it out with my dad in the car.
I remember the first Dark Star Orchestra show I took my dad to. They recreated one of your shows from the 1980s. What capped off an already amazing show was hearing my father turn to me and say “I was at this show.”
I wish I could say that I had more memories with you, but sadly, I was never alive when you were around. I’m glad to say that I still have my dad to listen to and celebrate your music. Just last night, we listened to and watched your show from 1989 in Philadelphia. There was something in the air for those ‘89 shows. There was this renewed vigor in the stance, a renewed sense of happiness within you. Seeing you laugh with Brent, pushing up your glasses, and dialing in at the right time and place really hit me in a way that didn’t hit before.
Thank you, Jerry, for being a part of my life, even though you weren’t alive for it. Thank you for inspiring me to be a musician and write my own music. Thank you for everything.
Thank you, Jerry.
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