01/13/2026
I’ve had spots reserved on my wall for and since well before either was inducted into The Charcoal Club.
It was the 4th of July 2024. I’d had the pleasure of bringing a friend to see at . It was his first time ever seeing the . The show was phenomenal in every facet.
On the way out, we were treated to a drone light show over the parking lot, in lieu of actual fireworks. It was a nice touch to a night featuring 3 hours of the Dead inside the world’s most eye-popping planetarium.
While we were walking, a security guard me asked if I’d dropped a poster. I told him I hadn’t. He asked me again. I didn’t get what he was hinting at…
The security guard walked away, presumably to give the abandoned poster to his supervisor. A couple minutes later, the guard came back.
“My supervisor says it’s yours.”
And really, who was I to refuse his supervisor?
It wasn’t long before I’d framed and hung the poster: a numbered edition by .trammel. But I didn’t have anything else of the Dead to hang alongside it.
So I drew Phil. Then I drew Bobby.
Sadly, both have passed since their places were picked out: Phil in October 2024 (on my birthday), Bobby just last week.
It’s been a rough period for the Deadhead community. Two more of the band’s founding members, now jamming with Jerry in the afterlife. Two more reminders of the very mortality that underpins so much of what The Grateful Dead means.
There is a sadness that comes with seeing them on my wall — especially Bobby these past few days. More than anything, though. they bring me joy. They’re reminders of the lives that these musicians have touched (and continue to touch) with their music.
That part, at least, never stops. And it never will.
