SPECIAL PERMISSION

HEAVEN HELP THE FOOL

excerpt

When I was in Bensalem College I wrote a play “In Search Of The Candlemaker” and played in live performances the part of The Court Jester, sometimes called “The Fool”.

Bob Weir once shared with me a desert story. Bob drove out to the flat sands desert. He said it was the only place where he could go and drive in the open, real fast. Bob´s stories about the desert are mesmerizing, like his story of walking with Jerry Garcia in the Egyptian desert at night.

I was in San Antone working for a month and was ready for my trip north to New York but I decided to do a detour west so I could visit The White Sands Desert in New Mexico. I drove my van onto the White Sands as far as I could go. These are sand dunes, not flat sand. I park my van and get out to enjoy the sunny hot desert day. All around me are sand dunes as far as the eye can see, the desert crystal white beautiful grains of sand. I decide to wander a bit and enjoy the outdoor view.

I start walking, forgetting my sense of direction is not very good, and when I turn around, I quickly discover I am lost because I cannot locate my van, and the wind has blown my tracks away. Mound after mound of sand in the growing heat, and after awhile of wandering alone in circles, I stop to think about my situation, wondering what Bob Weir would do. I can call for Help, I thought. There was no one in sight, no animal, no bird, plane, or anyone I could see in the sky. I write a message in the sand with my hand and carve big letters B-O-B W-E-I-R and draw big hearts. I look up towards the sun and say out loud, "God, you can read this!" I climb the mound of sand above the writing and look out, and there´s my van, what a relief and awesome sight!

I attended my first live Bob Dylan show at the Oakland Coliseum. I had contacted the Chief of Security who escorted me backstage after the show. Bob Dylan was nowhere in sight, but I did meet impresario, Bill Graham. Bill later put me in contact with Bob Dylan´s publicist, Paul Wasserman, and I flew to Los Angeles to talk to him about meeting Bob Dylan. Dylan, however, had left the agency. I found out there that The Bob Weir Band was playing at The Roxy Theatre that night. I attended the show, and Bob Weir said something interesting between songs. "Just because I need a miracle every day, doesn´t mean I get one!" Later that year the Grateful Dead released a new song "I Need A Miracle" written by John Barlow and Bob Weir, and played for the first time at Red Rocks Ampitheatre in Colorado. It introduced the word "Miracle" to the Deadhead culture, inspiring hope, faith and charity. Someone made a sign that says "I Need A Miracle" and held up the sign and a finger because they needed a ticket to a sold-out show. Many Deadheads followed and it grew to be an integral part of The Terrapin community. Those who couldn´t afford the show or couldn´t get in, would wait and ask for a miracle, and many of them were gifted tickets by people who had extras and could help.

After the show I went backstage. Bobby Cochran was sitting on the couch and Brent Mydland was there, though I did not know who he is because it is before he joined the Grateful Dead, and was providing keyboards for the Bob Weir Band. Weir comes in and walks up to me and says "You know I hardly have time to do my laundry." I say ´his picture and new album "Heaven Help The Fool" covers the windows and walls in all the local record stores. "Just where is heaven?" I ask him and he replies, "Ask Barlow!", and pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, and writes down John Barlow´s contact information. I thank him.

The following year I went to New York to pick up my step-children, Robert, almost nine, and Mikaela, seven, who were visiting their grandmother, and we travel across country to return to their mother in California. I call John Perry Barlow and tell him we will be passing through Wyoming and ask if we can we come visit him. He says yes. We arrive and I notice there are no gas stations or stores on the road and see he has his own gas pump on The Ranch. As soon as we arrive, Mikaela asks him if he´s the one who wrote "I Need A Miracle". "Yes, I am" he says. The kids go with his kids to play. Barlow shares with me some stories about some of their songs including "I Need A Miracle", "Estimated Prophet" "The Music Never Stopped", "Black Throated Wind", and how and where they wrote the songs to "Heaven Help The Fool". He talks about the prophets Elijah and Ezekiel, poets, and songwriting, musicians including Bob Weir, Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh and Bob Dylan. He had some surprising things to say too. We´re sitting on his porch and he invites me into his house to see his pyramid.

The Pyramid Room has an energy I never felt before, an amazing overwhelming feeling.

Later, we are sitting in his living room talking when there is an uproar, loud almost like thunder! John Perry jumps up, looks out the window and sees a stampede. "There´s a break in the fence" he says. He runs outside with his ranch help and go to their motorcycles and vehicles to chase the herd back in, as someone repairs the fence.

John returns and when I ask him the question I asked Bob about Heaven, he answers

"If you want to go for a ride, I'll show you as close as we can get."

Robert and Mikaela get in the back seat of John Barlow’s Cadillac and I ride up front with John. We take a tour of the ranch. John brings us riders onto the old horse trails sharing his many thoughts. We ride up and around a mountain with these magnanimous views of the ranch he grew up on. The views overlooking the Wind River Mountain range are spectacular and John points out we’re seeing about 7000 acres, less than half of Bar Cross Ranch. We’re in a remote paradise in the northern wilderness of Wyoming. “It’s a state”, John points out “last in the alphabet, and a lot of things, where you’ll find the last of the old west and best of the new.”

We talk about “Terrapin, the space between the dark of night and the dawn of day”.

We’re in thick cloudy fog now. John asks me if I have read any of William Blake’s poetry. I said yes, I know some of his poems. John Perry talks about the visionary and pastoral poet. He stops the car. We’re here in the fog, and when we get out of the car we’re able to stick our heads above the cloud. It reminds me of the time it was raining on one side of the street and dry on the other. He takes us to the river bluff, overlooking the Green River. It is different, peaceful, like the most beautiful place I’ve seen on earth it seems to feel at this moment. We're in the heavenly space where the music never stops in our lives, like the wind on the river, it whistles through the pines, an eternal sound, an immortal wind, forever writing in our hearts the memories that take hold, the run of light in the darkness of space, beyond where the great ones gather.

John asks if I want to come with him to the only store, the local liquor barn, and he pulls in to the takeout window there. "Black Jack!" he says with a smile.

"The Grateful Dead!" John Perry joyfully exclaims. "They really are Jehovah´s favorite choir."

GREEN RIVER, Cora, Wyoming