by Catherine Costanzo, Fort Wahington, PA

I remember having a crush on him for being so cute, so cool and a JV basketball player and during that fall of 1980, I stood on the sidelines with only the slimmest of hopes that he would notice the skinny cheerleader with the dark rimmed glasses and mousy brown hair. After an away game, while we were gathered in a narrow school hallway waiting to board the bus back, Billy popped a cassette into his boombox and the first notes of “Shakedown Street” began to fill the air. The music sounded wonderfully strange to my ears, and since Billy liked it, I decided the only cool thing to do was like it, too. This was my initiation into the world of being a Deadhead.

After that I was determined to know all of their music, all of the lyrics, and attend as many concerts as possible. Would my association with this subculture get me any closer to being Billy’s girlfriend? Sadly, no. But thank you to Billy, whose dark wavy black hair and chiseled cheekbones captured a young girl’s heart and opened up her ears to the Grateful Dead.