R.I.P. - Lawrence "Ramrod" Shurtliff (1945-2006)
LAWRENCE "RAMROD" SHURTLIFF: 1945-2006 / Mainstay of Grateful Dead crew dies -- 'he was our rock'(courtesy of the
San Francisco Chronicle)
Yesterday, May 18, a man died in a California hospital. His name, or at least as far as I knew, was Ramrod. Normally a guy like me would have never heard of a man like him, except of who he worked for. You see. Ramrod was Jerry Garcia's main roadie, guitar tech and long time friend.
From the San Francisco Chronicles's obituary:
He was a psychedelic cowboy who rode the bus with Ken Kesey and took virtually every step of the long, strange trip with the Grateful Dead. Known to one and all solely as Ramrod, he died yesterday of lung cancer at Petaluma Valley Hospital. He was 61.
My Uncle Vinnie (may he also rest in peace) used to be a sound guy with the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna and a number of other San Francisco bands belonging to time. He used to tell me stories about the backstage scene at Grateful Dead shows, stories that can't be repeated here. Ramrod was definitely mentioned more than once.
The following passage is from
Living With the Dead (pg 241) by Rock Scully, a former manager of the group. Many Grateful Dead scholars (if a greater oxymoron every existed, please let me know, but alas, they do exist) deride the book as exaggerations and fictionalizations, but the story is pretty funny, regardless of whether or not it was true.
Ramrod takes out his stash and empties it on the stage, and after that I guess everyone is too embarrassed to on to theirs (besides, they probably have some back at the hotel). It starts out as a trickle, but ends up the Mississippi River of cocaine. The stuff pours out, baggies full...When it is all piled up, it has to be at least a few ounces. Rex [Jackson; head Grateful Dead roadie at the time, as well as the namesake for the band's charitable arm, the
Rex Foundation] sweeps it all together and then Ramrod puts lighter fluid on it and sets it on fire...No sooner have we finished burning the coke
onstage [emphasis his] than the GLS (Greater London Council) shows up with the fire department...The fire department isn't going to allow us to play.
The Grateful Dead was always more than just the guys who got on stage and played music. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why they ended up the way they did, touring endlessly to pay the salaries of dozens of vital employees and a seeming even number of wannabees, hangers-on and coke and heroin dealers (depending on the musician and day of the week),
Ramrod was a vital member of the Grateful Dead, a long time member of the Grateful Dead. Without him, the thing that I know and love as the Grateful Dead could have very well been something completely different. And even though that thing--at least musically, if not financially or based on copyright and trademark--ceased to be the day that Jerry died. But as long as the people involved and the people that care still care, there will be a Grateful Dead.
Ramrod was a huge part of that.
After Jerry died, one of the most touching things I read afterwards was the
elegy written for him by
Robert Hunter, his longtime friend and lyricist, as well as a phenomenal poet and scholar in his own right. The opening and closing lines are still burned in my mind; I can recite them today as if I wrote myself just minutes ago and was reading them off the page.
Hunter wrote an elegy for Ramrod, and though not as eloquent or poingant as his memoriam for the late guitarist, there a few lines that ring true.
He came down from Oregon,
Prankster sidekick of Cassady,
Kesey and the merry crew,
a silent stoic in a vocable milieu
his heart was stolen by the Grateful Dead.
A country boy, not given to complexity,
his crowning gift was loyalty
for which he was loved more than
the common run of men by friends.
Ramrod was, more than anything, a good friend, someone who could be counted on when he was need ed in any way. He will be missed.
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