Bob Weir tribute hit all the notes

Some losses you can’t take sitting down. 

A few weeks after Bob Weir died Jan. 10, I went to “A Grateful Gathering" at the Montana Tap House to pay my respects, alongside many others. We would celebrate one of the last founding members of the Grateful Dead, who had notched decades playing in the band.  

He had joined up at 16, a high school dropout who couldn’t conquer dyslexia or his love of playing the guitar. In music, Weir chased and found the American dream.  

I came to the Grateful Dead late, at first put off by the rabidity of the band’s fans when I read their letters to the editor in my brother’s copies of Rolling Stone. Then I listened to the music, so folksy as to be like lullabies compared with the metal I often listened to, and full of allusions to visions, kooky characters and sunshine daydreams. 

Finally, I went to a show. At Irvine Meadows that day in 1986, happiness flowed among the hangouts, the hippies, the vendors and the ticket chasers. Any day is a great day when your favorite band is about to play. The fans added plenty of fun, and the atmosphere spilled into glee. 

Inside the venue, notes rang out and sparkled as I took in the thick forest of mics in the taping section, the women with the bells on, and dudes with the joints loosened for dancing. After that first show, I saw more. I even took my mom to one in Maryland. I can’t say she became a Deadhead but she appreciated the experience, which started with sharing excitement and delight with kindred souls on the subway to the venue from Washington, D.C. 

You could feel it at the Tap House, too. It seemed that every time I looked up from the Flathead cover band Engine 99 there was Weir on the screen behind, which had been programmed to play muted live Dead performances. I pointed this out to a couple of nearby fans.  

One of them smiled and said, “He’s every-Weir.” 

Engine 99 swung through “Franklin’s Tower,” “Ripple,” “Deal,” “Jack Straw,” “Scarlet Begonias” and many more. The atmosphere as casual and accepting as at a Dead show, an audience member once joined in to sing, and the between-song banter was of our time:  

“Was anybody up on the mountain today?” the singer said, noting how warm it was.  

“I love spring skiing,” she said. “In the spring!” 

And many shouted, more than once, “Thank you, Bobby!” 

At the three-hour mark, the singer had to go — it was her husband’s birthday after all — but the music would play on. 

I went home buzzing from the camaraderie. I watched the Weir family’s public celebration of Bobby’s life on YouTube. He was remembered as a guy who read hard and widely, and who would unfailingly refer to “our friends the Repubs” — “Every single time,” daughter Monet said. 

Midway through Engine 99’s show, my friend Laura showed up in colorful garb. I asked her, “Did you see the Grateful Dead?”  

She shook her head, “I turned 13 just after Jerry died.”  

Just like that, I felt old — but lucky. 

Margaret E. Davis, executive director of the Northwest Montana History Museum, can be reached at mdavis@dailyinterlake.com.