Homecoming: A Tribute to Bobby Weir in San Francisco (and Everywhere)

PHOTOGRAPHER Sean S. Reiter | Chloe Weir, Natascha Weir, and Monet Weir

I only met Bob Weir once. And really, it’s a stretch to say I even “met” him. I was sharing a joint with a friend in a hallway backstage at the Sweetwater Music Hall in Mill Valley, and Bob (who was one of the investors in the famous club when it relocated a few blocks away from the original venue) walked towards us.

“It’s his birthday,” my friend said to Bob. (It was indeed my birthday.) Bob said, “Happy birthday, man.” I offered him a hit off our joint, and he said “No thanks.” That was it.

Several years earlier, I was staying at the Biltmore Hotel in Providence RI during a run of Grateful Dead shows. I saw Bob wheeling his bicycle through the lobby, clearly heading out for a ride. “Hey Bobby,” I said, “Wanna join us for breakfast?” He took a moment to read my T-shirt, which had a cartoon drawing of Jerry Garcia and Fred Flintstone. It read, “Let’s put Fred and Jerry together, see which one is smarter.”

“Uh, no thanks, man.” He wheeled his bike out to the street and pedaled down the street. I wouldn’t call that “meeting Bob” either.

So no, I can’t say I really knew the guy. But after 250 Grateful Dead shows and countless other experiences with Bobby up on stage, I’ve sure spent a lot of time with him. For several years in the 1980s in particular, I built my life around Dead tour. And heck, I even met my wife of 35 years at a Dead show.

For me, Bobby’s death (and yes, I do feel entitled to be on a first name basis with the guy) is poignant for so many reasons. I feel compassion and sympathy for his family – wife Natasha and children Chloe and Monet – and for his close friends and fellow musicians. I feel the loss in my greater community, the hundreds of people I know largely (and in many cases, only) because we share a love for the Grateful Dead and the “lifestyle” that gives us our shared identity as Deadheads. And I feel the enormity of the loss in our quadrant of the universe of someone whose songs and performances touched literally millions of lives.

We will all miss Bob.

And we will all keep singing his songs — perhaps (I think surely) for 300 years, as Bob himself predicted.

I was sad to miss Saturday’s celebration of Bob Weir in San Francisco’s Civic Center Plaza, officially dubbed “Homecoming: Celebrating the life of Bobby Weir.” My wife and I are on the East Coast this weekend, although we were at home in the Bay Area when Bob died last week and joined a smaller but memorable day-after gathering on Haight Street before flying off. A few shows by Joe Russo’s Almost Dead (JRAD) at the Capitol Theatre in Port Chester NY helped (a lot) to lessen the FOMO. But not being in our hometown for this auspicious gathering still seemed … Weir’d.

The least I could do, being an intrepid member of the Grateful Web community, was to tap into our amazing, beautiful community to help share the love and light with others who, like me, could not be there in person. So on Saturday morning, even as people were beginning to gather on the plaza in front of San Francisco’s city hall, I messaged a half dozen or so friends I knew would be at the event with cameras. My fellow photogs came through, and this gallery is the result of their efforts capturing the magic. (Huge thanks to Sean, Glenn, Shaggy and Michael!)

I did get to listen to most of the livestream of the event, some live while it unfolded and some after midnight after the Saturday JRAD show ended. It’s still up on YouTube as of now to hear the beautiful thoughts expressed by Bob’s family, his bandmates and other musicians, even a few politicians of note. I won’t describe it in detail, but it’s worth the time in particular to listen to remembrances and homages by Joan Baez, John Mayer, Mickey Hart, Bill Kreutzmann, and Bobby’s family. (I will admit to appreciating Nancy Pelosi’s on-brand jab at the current White House resident renaming the Kennedy Center after himself, making the Grateful Dead among the last ever recipients of Kennedy Center Honors.)

But most of all, when we celebrate Bob Weir, we also celebrate ourselves. And we have Bob to thank for that.

There was always a moment when the Grateful Dead stepped on stage, and as they tuned their instruments, you could feel anything was possible. What would they play tonight? What would happen next? Now, as each of them leaves the stage in turn — first Pigpen, then Keith and Brent and of course Jerry so many years ago; Phil and Donna and Bobby in just the past two years — we have a moment to pause and think once again: what will happen next?

The band keeps playing on. And if you ever feel lost or lonesome, just remember Weir’s Wise Words of Wisdom, applicable in just about any situation:

“Take a giant step back. And another step.”

And then keep moving forward.

Maybe Bobby never “met” us. But he knew us. He was one of us. And he will always be with us.