I'll never forget the day I bought it. It was the third of three shows. It was sunny and hot and I was tripping balls. A guy walked up to me with a stack of t-shirts and held one up. I was mesmerized. It was a red shirt with black print and it had skeletons playing tympani and xylophone and other percussion instruments. Rhythm Devils was a side-project by the Dead's drummers BTW. I think he only wanted $3.50 for it. It was beyond a bargain.
So this guy is holding up a t-shirt and the second I looked at it, all traces of where I was or what I was doing vanished momentarily, and I was lost in space and jamming with the skeletons. They were dancing and playing their instruments right in front of my face, just like a cartoon, and for a few seconds all I could do was watch. Finally the dude snapped me out of it. He had a big grin on his face and he said "They're dancing, aren't they?" "Yep" I said. He laughed and said "Here, you need this" and tossed it to me and walked off. "Thanks man!" I said. He flashed a peace sign and disappeared.
One thing you learn at a Dead show is that if someone gives you something, whether it be a ticket, a hit of acid, a sheet of acid, a toke, a sandwich or whatever it might be, you don't hem and haw or scramble to find something to give them in return. You accept it graciously and thank them and then go on to extend a kindness to someone else, and the wheel turns. That's how things should be, and I hope and pray we'll return to that attitude one day.
I have to hand it to the Deadheads- they had the community thing down. They took care of each other, even total strangers. I saw it happen time and again and I was always so impressed. To me that whole scene was every bit as interesting, if not more so, than the band. Shhhhhhh...please don't tell any Deadheads I said that if you happen to run into one. Lots of truly amazing things happened during those shows but buying the t-shirt with the dancing skeletons was a highlight.
I probably only had that shirt 3 or 4 years because I wore it all the time. It got to travel the country a bit but mostly it hung out here in town. Even washing it by hand it started to get a bit threadbare after a couple of years. That was okay but I knew that one day it'd be destined for the rag bag...a distinguished member to be sure, but rag-bag material nonetheless. I couldn't put it on without thinking about the Dead shows and how much fun it was, and for a second I could see the skeletons dancing. That t-shirt had one hell of an energy signature. It was always a conversation-starter at gigs, as if someone with my sparkling personality needed it, ha-ha.
After about four years the shirt had become sort of like a gossamer doily. I'd have given it about six months tops. I was actually planning to retire it and get it framed, because it was that cool of a t-shirt, but as fate would have it it's life was cut short by one last, heroic act of courage and humanity, believe it or not.
One afternoon at around 4pm I was in front of a club in town. I'd just finished setting up for a gig that evening. As usual I had my Rhythm Devils shirt on. I was about to leave when a young lady asked if I could help her. I walked over and she pointed me to a kitten huddled underneath a car. She'd been trying to catch it for several days and thought she was close but it got spooked and ran underneath the car. It was near an intersection of two busy main roads and 5:00 traffic was starting up.
We tried to coax it out but the poor thing was scared to death. After repeated attempts failed I knew what I had to do. Reluctantly I took off my shirt and threw it over the kitten like a net. I reached in and grabbed it and gathered the ends around the squirming kitten as best I could. The girl's car was parked a space or two away. She went to open the door as I walked over holding out a hissing, scratching, wriggling kitten wrapped up in my Rhythm Devils shirt. I was standing in the middle of Southside, shirtless (luckily I was in half-decent shape) and holding a freaked-out kitten. It was shredding the shirt and I was hoping there would be enough left to salvage. The kitten then proceeded to empty its bowels.
It was acid-diarrhea too. The shirt had already faded to a pinkish-red but now it was mostly brown, with black oil spots for good measure. I was crestfallen but I carried the kitten to her car and put it into a carrier. I bet even with the carrier she had to get her car detailed the next day. The shirt was fucked. I knew there was no point in trying to wash it. The claws and the liquid cat shit had finished it. I held it up and saw the skeletons dance one last time. It was a sad yet remarkable moment.
The girl walked over and said "I'm so sorry about your shirt. If you tell me where you got it I'll get you another one." I grinned and told her she'd have to fly to Colorado whenever the next Dead shows were. I told her the story and I told her that if she wanted to she could name it Jerry if it was a boy or Scarlet if it was a girl. It was a red tabby so either name would fit. She laughed and said she liked those names and she'd choose whenever she found out if the kitten had a ribbed penis or not. She thought it was a girl so it was probably named Scarlet. At least I was able to pass along a little of the experience. That was nice.
I tossed my beloved Rhythm Devils t-shirt into a trash can. I wished I could've given it a proper burial or a 21-gun salute or something but it was done. It was an inglorious ending, but what it had done was amazing. It gave its life in one final act of kindness. You can't ask anything more of a t-shirt. How many times do you think you'll ever hear that statement? I saluted it. It was all I could think to do. I turned away dejected, but happy about the kitten, and drove off shirtless. That was appropriate really.
My girlfriend lived a couple of blocks away so I went by her place to grab another shirt. She asked where my shirt was and I told her I lost it rescuing a kitten. She cracked up at first but she could see by the look on my face that I was serious. She was intrigued and couldn't wait to hear the story, but she had a great sense of humor and she loved to fuck with me. She couldn't resist an opportunity or a story like that. "Uh-huh...I bet you were with a 'kitten.'" She got close and sniffed me, pretending to be checking for unfamiliar perfume, but all she got was a whiff of liquid-acid cat shit.
"Oh my" she said. "You weren't kidding." "Nope" I said. "I'm gonna take a shower, honey." "Sure" she replied. Whether or not she joined me is classified information. "Sorry about your shirt" she said. She knew I loved it but I doubted she was going to miss it like I was. Skeletons weren't really her thing. Still she was impressed by the altruistic act of an inanimate object.
Obviously I still think about that t-shirt. Not many t-shirts get to see the world, much less go out in a blaze of glory. I think shirt dude would be thrilled to know how one of the shirts he made got to be around more music, and died saving the life of a kitten. Deadheads love that shit. So do I. RIP t-shirt. You were loved.
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