Grateful Dead House

What a long strange trip it’s been. A tourist sees a house and a number. A deadhead sees history.

When the Grateful Dead lived here, their landlord’s name was…(drumroll please)…Ellis Dee!!!
Serious.
I will leave you to ponder that karmic happenstance.
If they ever let me in there, I’m licking the walls.

I have longed to visit The Haight and this house for over 30 years and I was thrilled to finally be standing in front of 710 Ashbury St. Oh the history of this location and the movement that inspired a generation. The house is easily accessible but it is definitely in a residential area with very limited on street parking. Since it is a private residence I could only see the front of the house, which is really all I needed anyway though tours of this lovely Edwardian, purple manse would be wonderful.

Can you imagine the music that flooded this house, these streets?
There’s no parking, and someone lives here, be careful you don’t turn into a loiterer.

August 1, 1942. Jerome John Garcia born in San Francisco. The world will never be quite the same.
He sings to us still:
Fare you well my honey
Fare you well my only true one
All the birds that were singing
Have flown except you alone
Going to leave this broke-​down palace
On my hands and my knees I will roll roll roll
Make myself a bed by the waterside
In my time, in my time, I will roll roll roll
In a bed, in a bed
By the waterside I will lay my head
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul
River gonna take me
Sing me sweet and sleepy
Sing me sweet and sleepy
All the way back back home
It’s a far gone lullaby
Sung many years ago
Mama, Mama, many worlds I’ve come
Since I first left home
Going home, going home
By the waterside I will rest my bones
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul
Going to plant a weeping willow
On the banks green edge it will grow grow grow
Sing a lullaby beside the water
Lovers come and go, the river roll roll roll
Fare you well, fare you well
I love you more than words can tell
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul
Happy birthday, Jerry. Thanks for all the fuzzy memories. We love you still.
Trust.

I have been a fan of the band since i was a teenager, so this was a must visit. I took the bus from Union Square and that in itself was an experience. I pictured this area much different that it is.
The house is very well kept and standing there looking at it, you can almost image what it was like back in the day.
Worth the trip.

Like standing in the Abby Road, so is being at the Grateful Dead House. No, we didnt take a picture. Photoshop will work. :D

I wanted to see it, but really it is simply a house. Being a fan of the Dead it is cool to imagine the jam sessions that went on here, but your better off strolling down Haight Street to get that vibe.

It is a house. The Grateful Dead once lived here. What more do you want? That is all this Unilocal listing purports to be, and it does a quietly fabulous job.
For the curious, in case you’re considering dropping by and/​or making a pilgrimage: it is a lovely purple Edwardian (Victorian?) home that is kept up on par with the Painted Ladies. It’s totally unobtrusive — I dated a guy who live up the hill a few blocks, and we walked by it several dozen times before he casually mentioned its former inhabitants. Rumor has it that real people who have nothing to do with the Grateful Dead live here, but I have never seen them. Maybe they have some sort of tunnel for entering and exiting?
If you’re in the Haight and doing the hippie tourist-​y thing, why not wander by? Feel the love.

Life is good. Make it happen folks. My favorite GD song.
Jack Straw==
We can share the women, we can share the wine.
We can share what we got of yours ’cause we done shared all of mine.
Keep on rollin’, just a mile to go;
Keep on rollin’ my old buddy, you’re movin’ much too slow.
I just jumped the watchman, right outside the fence.
Took his rings, four bucks in change, ain’t that Heaven sent?
Hurts my ears to listen, Shannon, burns my eyes to see;
Cut down a man in cold blood, Shannon, might as well been me.
We used to play for silver, now we play for life;
And one’s for sport and one’s for blood at the point of a knife.
And now the die is shaken, now the die must fall.
There ain’t a winner in the game, he don’t go home with all.
Not with all.
Leavin’ Texas, fourth day of July,
Sun so hot, the clouds so low, the eagles filled the sky.
Catch the Detroit Lightnin’ out of Sante Fe,
The Great Northern out of Cheyenne, from sea to shining sea.
Gotta go to Tulsa, first train we can ride.
Gotta settle one old score, one small point of pride.
There ain’t a place a man can hide, Shannon will keep him from the sun
Ain’t a bed can give us rest now, you keep us on the run.
Jack Straw from Wichita cut his buddy down,
And dug for him a shallow grave and laid his body down.
Half a mile from Tucson, by the morning light,
One man gone and another to go, my old buddy you’re moving much too slow.
We can share the women, we can share the wine.

Want to know what was worse than exploring the Haight? Do you really? Well I’m going to tell you… looking for that damn Grateful Dead House. My un-​trusty tour book had it listed as one of the must sees while visiting the Haight so GBF#1 and I made a point in looking for it. Well we found it and what a huge disappointment because it’s nothing more than just another Victorian house in San Francisco. It was pretty and well kept but it showed no signs of ever having any deadheads living there. The funniest part is I’m not even a fan of the Grateful Dead or Jerry Garcia or even Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia Ice Cream, the only reason we looked for it because the book made it sound like a wonderful thing. It’s not a wonderful thing it’s just another pretty house.

I used to live around the block and i’d love watching all of the old hippe yuppies with fanny packs snapping their digitals all day at this pretty little purple pill of a vic.

The place the Grateful Dead famously resided during the Summer of Love, 1967. It isn’t a business. People live there. But fans of the band visit almost daily, just to stand outside the gate, look at the large, inscrutable, purple Victorian, and snap a few photos. Hands down the best place to see hippies at heart. But the house won’t tell you any of its stories. You’ll have to look those up elsewhere, or ask someone you bump into out front. They will know them all.