Bill at Fare Thee Well (Photo: Jay Blakesberg)

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The exuberance and spirit that Bill Walton brought to bear when experiencing live music was unparalleled. He preferred to be out there in the audience soaking in every nuance and apogee. At times he became a creative apex onto himself, with his 6’ 11” frame in harmony with the sounds flowing from the stage in the same way that he anticipated movement on a basketball court.

To mark his passing, I’ve collected three of the many occasions in which Bill shared his uplifting ethos. First is a piece that appeared in conjunction with a special video interview around the release of his book Back from the Dead. This is followed by an essay that he contributed (on time and at word count) for one of our Fare Thee Well programs in Chicago. Finally, I present a portion of a conversation about Phish that appeared in my podcast Long May They Run.

Bill Walton accomplished so much in his 71+ years, yet he remained gracious, graceful and, of course, grateful. In his memory, we should all aspire to do the same…

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A Relix Conversation with Bill Walton

Bill Walton is a member of the Basketball Hall of Fame, the Academic All-America Hall of Fame and the National High School Sports Hall of Fame, and he was selected as one of the 50 Greatest Players in NBA History. Yet, he considers his “highest” accolade to be when the Grateful Dead recognized his longtime enthusiasm for the group—as well as his stints as Father Time on New Year’s Eve, taking over for the late Bill Graham—by naming him to their Hall of Honor. Walton explains, “The Grateful Dead—they made me the basketball player that I used to be. They made me the person that I am today. They’re my best friends. They’re my heroes. They are my role models. It’s been a fantastic ride for me. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

In his memoir, Back from the Dead, Walton explores his deep connection to the Dead’s music, his athletic endeavors and a broadcasting career that required him to overcome a lifetime of stuttering—as well as the resilience and spirit that enabled him to bounce back from 37 orthopedic operations.

The final two years of your professional basketball career took place in Boston, where you brought the members of the Celtics to see the Grateful Dead.

It was fantastic. They had the time of their lives. It was a spectacular evening. Everybody on the team went, with the exception of Danny Ainge—his wife would not let him go.

We all met at Larry Bird’s house, who arranged for a fleet of limousines to take the whole team across town to go to the show. We pull in, drive right into the building, go backstage and I’m introducing everybody back and forth. We go up on the stage—they had built this incredibly nice private lounge just for the Celtics. They brought all these coolers full of our favorite drinks, milk and water. It was absolutely spectacular. The lights go down, Jerry steps up to the front, and he leans in and he looks over at Larry, who I was sitting right next to. Jerry is standing in that golden shaft of light that was just so perfect, and he’s fiddling with his foot pedals and he’s kissing his microphone to make sure it’s the perfect height. He looks over at Larry, and he winks at him and he mouths to him, “This is what we do.”

Then he turned back and just blew it out. Six or seven hours later, the lights came back up, and the band was all packed and gone. The Celtics’ eyes were kaleidoscopes, and they said, “Oh, my gosh. Can we come back tomorrow?” And they did come back and it was fantastic.

Unlike the great Coach Wooden [from Walton’s UCLA years], whom you could not convince to attend a show.

I tried, with everything that I had. We were very close one time. I was meeting my wife, Lori, in San Francisco for a show—we were on different travel schedules and different work schedules. She got there first and met me in a limo out front. When I got into the limo, Coach Wooden was sitting there. I said, “Oh, my gosh. He’s going to come to the show! Lori got him to come.” But, it turned out that Lori and Coach Wooden were just on the same flight coming to San Francisco from Southern California. He was on another project and didn’t come to the show. I was so mad. I worked that guy so hard.

When I was in college playing for Coach Wooden in ‘71-’74, the Grateful Dead would come to Pauley Pavilion every year, just at the start of the season. They christened Pauley Pavilion and just blew it out with a phenomenal all-night show. New Riders of the Purple Sage was there one year—so many spectacular moments and memories.

When the Grateful Dead would come to Pauley Pavilion, it would be a nighttime show. We’d practice in the daytime while they were setting up. Then we would leave and would come back for the concert, after having dinner back at the dorms. The Grateful Dead would use our locker rooms as their dressing rooms. When we would come into practice the next day, Coach Wooden would walk in to do his daily inspection while we were getting dressed in the locker room—to check whether we had shaved or if our hair was too long. He would walk in the locker room, and he would sniff around, “What is that smell?” And we’d say, “Coach, it’s nothing, it’s fine. We’ll see you out on the court. It’ll be OK.”

You’re in the Basketball Hall of Fame, the Academic All-America Hall of Fame, the Grateful Dead Hall of Honor…

My highest honor. It was fantastic—I had no idea. I was at the office one day and they all surprised me. It was the summer solstice, June 21, 2001, and they were so kind and they were so nice. My whole life, I’ve dreamt of being a part of something special. What could possibly be more special than being a part of the Grateful Dead? The relationship between the band and their fans and what both mean to each other—it’s so much like being on a great basketball team for a long time. You have fantastic fans who drive you. I’ve been lucky to be out there on the court, or to be on the stage, and the fans are just cheering and yelling and screaming and taking you places, as a performer, that you can’t get to by yourself. I’ve been both a performer and a fan. It’s fantastic to be a fan of the Grateful Dead because they play all the time, and they win all the time and they make you happy, so I keep coming back.

I didn’t meet the Grateful Dead until 1974 after I graduated and moved to Oregon to join the NBA. I had had a number of opportunities to meet the band before ‘74, but I was too shy. I couldn’t speak. I just never spoke to anybody because of my speech impediment. People would come up and say, “Bill, why don’t you come meet the band? Let me introduce you.” I said no. I just lived in a very narrow and tight world. Basketball was my religion and the gym was my church. That was the way that I could express myself.

Then things started to change, and did they ever change when I met the Grateful Dead. They’ve never been the same since. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Do you see a direct comparison between the Grateful Dead and basketball?

It’s very similar, particularly with a big band like the Grateful Dead that often has six players and a basketball team, which has five players. The game starts, the music starts, and everybody has a goal, a dream, a thought and a hope of how it’s going to play out. But everybody is going in their own direction and thinking about what their own little deal is. You have to have sacrifice, discipline, leadership and all the aspects that come into a group dynamic. Sometimes you have to pull it right back in—the mind grooves, the mind games and the mental stimulation. There is the physical aspect—you’re being bombarded with all of this energy from the crowd, and it’s driving you and pushing you—and you think you’re tired, and they never let you stop and thank goodness they don’t.

It seemed like you were ubiquitous during the Fare Thee Well shows.

Santa Clara [Calif.] was better than perfect. I named the foreword [in Jay Blakesberg’s Fare Thee Well photo book] “Nine Days That Changed the World.” There [were] the first two days in Santa Clara, the four days to get to Chicago and then the three days in Chicago. What Peter [Shapiro] did to make this happen—to put it all together, to put it on the stage, to have that rainbow appear at the perfect time, to have the sprinkles of heaven coming down from Jerry’s cheeks and to have all this stuff going on—was amazing. Then we get to Soldier Field in Chicago, where so much of our lives have played out. Obama wrote the foreword for the program that Relix put out. It was absolutely incredible. You get there and on the side of The Field Museum, the whole side of the building said, “Everything is Dead.” Everybody was so happy and there were tears of joy and pride and gratitude…I got to be in the pit, 12 people deep, right in front of Bruce Hornsby, with his perfect posture and perfect form. I will never forget it, and I feel terribly sorry for the person behind me. I can hear the little angels speaking as I’m walking through the crowd trying to elbow my way up there, “Please don’t stop here. Please don’t stop in front of me. Oh, my gosh.”

I try my best, but I love being in the pit. It’s so fun and you meet the most interesting people. You get the most fascinating stories—stories of life, stories of dreams, stories of hope. I get so tired and so beaten down by people who sell fear and death. I believe in life and that’s why I’m a Deadhead. I’m back from the dead, and I’m back to life, right now. Here we go…

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We Are Here, We Were There, We Are Everywhere

Welcome to Chicago, and thank you for coming to this intergalactic celebration of peace, freedom, love, independence and the first 50 years of the Grateful Dead.

It is most appropriate that we are here in Chicago now, a city and community that epitomizes everything that the Grateful Dead has come to be over this half-century.

Chicago is our history, our evolution, our core. So much has transpired—right here, within sight and reach. And now it serves as our launching pad to what is next.

It is with incredible anticipation and hope that I land gently on this burning shore at Grant Park, on the edge of The Lake, fully aware to what this sacred ground has meant to all who have been in this game for so long.

I am coming to gather strength and to be healed. You will have your own reasons.

I have been coming for 48 of these 50 years, and while I’m always excited to come on tour and to the show, I can’t remember ever being this ready, or more in need.

From the very beginning, the Grateful Dead have always made me proud, confident and bold. They give purpose and meaning to my life. And they give me a reason to believe in the essential beauty, humanity, courtesy and goodness in and of this world.

The Grateful Dead have provided me with a living, thriving, breathing, surging culture of curiosity, exploration and experimentation that has led to the spirit of generosity that I know will engulf all of us while we’re here, and beyond.

I am privileged, honored and humbled to have gone to the shows last weekend at Levi’s in the Bay Area—no tuxedos there. It was all better than perfect. From the jammed airports and planes—nobody was willing to give up their seat in the oversold situation—to the hotels, restaurants and clubs swarming with Deadheads. From the standing room only light rail Valley Transit System to people riding their bikes and walking in. I’m sure spaceships were involved too. From the awesome crowd—80,000 each day—to the flags waving high and wide. On one end, California…The United States…Our Rainbow Flag of inclusiveness…On the other, The Grateful Dead.

I am grateful that Candace came out of retirement to do the lights. That Derek continues to do the sound like no other—where every instrument and note is as clear as the desert night sky. That John and Helen Meyer and their team at Meyer Sound are still there at every show dazzling us with their quality, clarity, innovation and professionalism. That the long time crew that still includes Robbie Taylor, Mike Fisher, AJ, Charucki, Matt Busch and Howard Cohen always make sure that there are never any problems. And that the master match-and-deal-maker, Peter Shapiro is able to pull everything seamlessly together.

As with every Grateful Dead show ever, at Levi’s there were incalculable numbers of remarkable happenings. From the artistic displays of our culture and new merchandise to the phenomenal outpouring of love to the natural manifestation of the glory of our Golden State—it was the totality of everything Grateful Dead. The rainbow smiling down, the multi-colored sunset, the ascending moon while we waited in the dark, and the sprinkle of raindrops—which sure seemed like tears of joy, happiness and pride from the heavens above.

The guys who actually play in the band even had something to say. Phil—awed and overwhelmed by the fantastic display of love and support—effusive in his appreciation, gratitude and respect. Bob—asking for, and getting, a powerful moment of silence for those who are no longer here, and could not make it. Bill—pointing out for all to see how cosmically synergistic this magnificent harmonic convergence was turning out. And then Mickey—with a final call to action– to take this love and do something good with it—with an ultimate admonition to be kind along the way.

The next day brought the mass exodus—the exact reversal of our confluence. Were we ever there at all? But we were better now, changed, emboldened and healed—once again. Hotels, roads, airports and planes—all full of happy, satiated and fulfilled souls.

When our jam-packed, oversold Southwest Airlines jet touched down in our hometown of San Diego, the flight crew blasted “Truckin” over the PA during the entire deplaning process. Reminding us of our good fortune, and that it was time to get going again.

Which brings us all back home, one more time. And as we get ready for blastoff, after immersing ourselves in all that will be going on here, and there will be a lot, please—do it all. Turn on your light. Let it shine. It’s the 4^th of July weekend. We’re in Chicago. And we’re with the Grateful Dead.

Please take a reflective moment to thank all the people who keep the dream alive. With particular homage paid to Sirius XM Satellite Radio. But never forget that this is really all about you and this most special tribe. We are all in this together. And nobody makes it here, or leaves, alone.

Remember and learn from the past. Celebrate today. Anticipate the future.

How lucky we are. We get some more—of everything.

Enjoy the ride. Roll on forever.

And let’s make sure that the next 50 years are even better.

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Long May They Run

I love Phish. Trey, Mike, Jon, Page—their level of creativity, their level of respect, their level of giving joy to other people—is there any greater purpose in life?

When you think of the great human values—passion, enthusiasm, industriousness, friendship, loyalty, cooperation, poise, confidence, competitive greatness, faith, patience, all these things that go into making a life—that’s what Phish brings you all the time.

I think my very first concert was back in 1967. It was Carlos Santana. We got in free—it was at UC San Diego up in the bluffs there above Black’s Beach, and it was just staggering. We had heard of Carlos on the radio, and I do not believe he had released an album by that time. It was so incredibly inspirational, and it was driving us, making us better than what we could ever become on our own.

Over the years, I have learned what it is that I’m looking for in a live concert. I’m looking to be healed. I’m looking to be inspired. I’m looking to be empowered. I’m looking to be enabled—so that when I am there, the slot machine that is my mind is racing with all kinds of new ideas.

When I see Phish I’m filled with love and peace and happiness and joy and the exhilaration of being part of something. Being in the arena, you can feel the collective sense of effort and purpose. They come with a message to deliver—a message of hope, a message of we’re in this together and we can do this, so let’s get it going. They come with a respect for the audience, they come for a respect for the venue, for the community, for the music, for the culture, for all the things that I believe in.  

I am the luckiest guy in the world because I get to go to live music concerts. I am so grateful, so appreciative for the lifelong relationship that I had with Bill Graham and all the guys who have taken over for him, including Peter Shapiro.  One of the great things about our world of rock-and-roll, which Relix documents, which Peter creates on a regular basis, is that there are no rules in terms of what it is you like, what it is you want and what it is you’re there for.

I spent part of my life on stage myself, on the basketball court. We always played better in front of the crowd because they would come with this crazed, dazed look in their eyes, and you could just feel it. We lived it. They wanted us to perform at a level of perfection and excellence that we could never reach in the sterile environment of a practice gym.

I’ve been to tons of Phish shows and it’s the same way with them. They come out there and they’re ready.  I love the improvisational aspect of live music and they have the ability to create something new every single time.

Their lives are based on creativity, imagination, innovation, sacrifice, discipline, honor and willingness to risk going too far. For those who aren’t willing to do that, they’ll never know how far they can go. But the willingness to accept that this might not work, that this might be a mistake, but to keep going—all of this with the bond they have—is similar to a basketball team.

When I’m not working, I am on my way to a show, at a show, or on my way to the next show.

When you have this magic opportunity in life when you’re at one with the music, it’s the greatest feeling on earth.

I’m looking for somebody who can take nothing and create a dream for all of us. That’s what happens at a Phish show.