The Greatest Story Ever Told

As the name suggests, The Sphere is a spherical entertainment complex. It is the most high-tech concert venue in the world.

          “Hey Pez, who you going to see tonight,” I ask my son as he heads out the door.

          “John Mayer.”

          “Cool.”

          “Pigpen got us seats.”

          “Why do they call him Pigpen. Is he sloppy or something.”

          “Nah. They just call him that. I don’t know.”

          “Have a good time.”

          Pez is named after the iconic compressed fruit flavored sugar tablet that comes out of the rubber head of a cartoon character. Very 60s. Very retro.

          When Pez arrives at The Sphere, his buddy tells him the name of the group John Mayer is playing with. The name doesn’t register with Pez. Nothing about it is familiar.

Pez has no idea what Pigpen is talking about. So, he smiles and says cool.

          Pez notices that most of the people in the crowd are older. Children of the sixties. The Woodstock generation.

          “Is this an AARP convention or a concert.”

          “You’re an asshole.” Pigpen tells hm. “Just wait. You’re in for a real treat.”

          There are men with receding hairlines everywhere. The place is packed. What little hair the men have, they pull back and tie in a ponytail. The women are dressed in tie-die. Looking out on the concert floor the crowd moves looks like rolling waves of tie-die.

          The smell of weed floats in the air. The Sphere smells likes a giant marijuana diffuser. Weed as aromatherapy. A costumed man and woman sit next to Pez and Pigpen. They are dressed as mushrooms. Psilocybe cyansescens. In other words, magic mushrooms. Shrooms are ingested orally. They can take you on a wonderful hallucinogenic trip. Or, on a psychotic rollercoaster ride to hell.

          John Mayer is singing.

          Red and white, blue suede shoes, I’m Uncle Sam how do you do.

          There are images from the Sixties and Seventies of the band projected all over the inside of The Sphere. Pez doesn’t recognize the musicians in the pictures or videos. The Sphere is like a giant IMAX movie theater with surround sound.

          Shake the hand that shook the hand of P.T. Barum and Charlie Chan.

          Shine your shoes, light your fuse. Can you use them ol’ U.S. Blues?

          There’s some old guy on the stage with scraggly hair and a long grey beard. He is singing with John Mayer and playing the hell out of a cherry red guitar.

On the floor of The Sphere, the crowd moves like a giant school of happy fish. They suddenly change direction and dance toward the opposite side of the building.

          “What the heck is going on,” Pez says. “I feel like I’m high. And I haven’t had any edibles.’

          “It’s the music man,” Pigpen says. “Look up at the ceiling. See that guy’s picture. My parents named me after that guy.”

          “What,” Pez says.

          The room starts spinning. Pez feels disoriented.

          “Do you feel it,” Pigpen says.

          “Yeah. What the ffff……,” Pez says. “My mouth feels very dry.”

          “Why are we outside. How’d we get here. Why are we standing in line with all these young people,” Pigpen says to Pez. “I’m confused.”

“This can’t be,” Pigpen says.

          “What can’t be,” Pez says.

          “Where are we, what is this place,” Pigpen asks a long haired freaky looking teen-ager standing behind him in line.

          “What are you stoned man,” the teenager answers. “This is the Fillmore West.”

          “That guy looks like my dad,” says Pez.

          Pigpen looks up at the marquee. The names of several bands are listed in thick black plastic letters.

          Santana, Quicksilver Messenger Service and a band called Creedence Clearwater Revival. Pez and Pigpen can’t believe what they’re seeing.

          “What day is it,” Pigpen asks the teenager. The teen has a blue bandanna wrapped around his head. He has a medallion in the shape of a peace sign around his neck. He’s wearing a short denim jacket with an upside-down American flag sewn on the back.

          “Hey buddy. What’s today’s date,” Pigpen asks the teen.

          “Hey man, whatever you’re taking, take half. It’s July 2nd. “

          “July 2nd. What year?”

          “Holy shit. You don’t know what the year is.”

          “No man. Tell me.”

          “It’s 1971.”

          “1971?”

          “Yeah 1971. Are you a narc man? You’re really weird.”

The ground starts rising. The city spins. The faces of the young people in line become more and more of a blur. San Francisco is a city known for earthquakes and hallucinogenic drugs.

          Pez and Pigpen don’t know if someone slipped something in their bottled water when they weren’t looking or if they are in the middle of a nasty temblor.

          The sidewalk starts to crack. When Pez and Pigpen look down, they feel spirits rise from their bodies. It’s as if they are looking down on themselves from the air. They look up and are back in The Sphere.

          “What the fuck,” Pez says. “I need to sit down.”

          “What the fuck indeed,” Pigpen answers. “We were just in San Francisco July 1971 outside The Fillmore West. How trippy is that?”

          “I think we were imagining it,” Pez says. “There’s a lot of marijuana smoke in here. The music is pumping. There are all these images on the ceiling and on the screen behind the stage from back in the day. Who knows maybe they pumped a bunch of drugs through the ventilation system.”

          “Maybe, but I doubt it. I think the music took us there,” Pigpen says. “My dad always told me the music from his era was like magic.”

John Mayer breaks into another song.

          Truckin’, got my chips cashed in

          Keep truckin’, like the doo-dah man

          Together, more or less in line

          Just keep truckin’ on  

          “There’s that old guy with the band,” Pez says.

          Arrows of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street

          Chicago, New York, Detroit and it’s all on the same street

          Your typical city involved in a typical daydream

          Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings.

          “He’s so old and his voice sounds so young. This is the greatest song I’ve ever heard. What’s it called,” Pez asks.

          “Truckin.”

          “Wow.”

          “Shit,” says Pigpen. “I think it’s happening again.”

          “What’s happening,” Pez asks.

          The wind is blowing. Dust fills the air. A camel smokes a filter less cigarette.

Pez and Pigpen look up. They are standing next to Bill Walton, the famous basketball player. All six feet 11 inches of him. Walton is pumping his arms in the air. He high fives Pigpen. He high fives Pez.

          “This can’t be,” Pez says to Pigpen. “Bill Walton is dead. He died this year.”

          Pez turns to Walton.

          “Are you Bill Walton the great basketball player.”

          “Yeah man. But don’t tell anybody. I’m here strictly to enjoy the music. The music speaks to my soul.”

          Pez and Pigpen turn to the stage. They have great seats. The band is breaking into a song called “Playing In The Band.”

          The band is playing in front of the Great Pyramid of Giza.

          “Am I tripping or is The Great Sphinx smiling at us,” Pez says. “How did we end up in Egypt.”

“You musta flown man,” Walton tells Pez.

          “What year is it,” Pez asks Walton.

          “September 1978. Does it get any better than this.”

          “Wow,” Pez says.

          “Trippy,” says Pigpen.

          “Wow,” says Walton.

          The wind starts blowing. Sand obscures the stage. Pez and Pigpen have no idea how they got here. But they realize they’ve just made a connection with ancient humans.

          When the wind stops howling and the sand ceases to blow, they are back at The Sphere. The band whose name Pez still doesn’t know, is going through another amazing song.

          John Mayer belts it out with a hurricane force vocal.

Driving that train

          High on cocaine

          Casey Jones you better

          Watch your speed

          Trouble ahead

          Trouble behind

And you know that notion

Just crossed my mind

The concert ends and Pez makes his way home.

How was the concert. How was John Mayer, I ask him.

“It was the most amazing concert I’ve ever seen. I ended up in San Francisco. I was in Egypt. I mean I really went to those places. I really did.

“And the people in the crowds at those places kept chanting this guy’s name. Hs name was weird. His name was Cherry.  He was a guitar God or something. Cherry! Cherry! I can still hear them chanting his name. But I still don’t know the name of the band John Mayer was playing with.

“When we were in line outside this place called The Fillmore West I spoke to this kid in front of us and he looked like you dad. It was you. Only you were a teenager and it was 1971. It was crazy. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real.

“Cherry Garcia. It’s cherry ice cream with cherries and chocolate flakes. And the old guy with the scraggly hair and grey beard at the concert you saw was Jerry Garcia’s bandmate. His name is Bob Weir.”

“I swear dad, you were there too. You were the kid in line in front of me at that place called The Fillmore. Just ask Pigpen. He’ll tell you.”

“Sure I was son. Are you sure you didn’t eat some shrooms at the concert. Get some rest. Good night.

“And son, your friend Pigpen is named after Ron “Pigpen” McKernan, one of the founding members of the

Grateful Dead.”

“Oh wow. Goodnight Dad.”