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A Last Farewell To Bill Graham
Originally published in San Francisco Chronicle, 3 November 1991
Bill Graham was a movie of a man. His 60-year-long life, which came to an end in a helicopter crash in Sonoma County the night of October 25, was a seemingly endless reel of stories.
At his funeral service—before, during, and after—friends and family, musicians, music-biz people, and journalists regaled each other with stories about encounters with the man who single-handedly revolutionized the rock concert industry, beginning at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco 25 years ago.
As I gazed at the poster portrait of a beaming Graham in the courtyard of Temple Emanuel, I thought back to my own connections and collisions with Graham.
The most explosive was one I actually heard through a closed door. It was 1972, and he was in the brick-walled offices of Jann Wenner, editor of Rolling Stone, with whom Graham had a hate-hate relationship until recent times.
For somewhere between six and seven hours that April day, he was locked in with Wenner and writer Tim Cahill, going over, line by excruciating line, a recent Cahill profile of Graham, focusing on his extensive business activities after closing down his Fillmores in San Francisco and New York. Graham was especially upset with the opening scene, in which Graham, walking through a warehouse cluttered with Fillmore memorabilia, supposedly said, “Hello, balloon inflator, remember me?”
Reading that line, Graham exploded. “Now, what the f——am I in Peoria?” he asked. “…I’ll walk down the street, and they’ll say, ‘Hey, there’s that guy who said, “Hello, balloon inflator!” ‘ “
When Wenner and Cahill tried to convince him that the anecdote made Graham seem human, he read it again and again, like the actor he always wanted to be. “That’s nice,” Cahill tried. “Nice?” Graham replied. “I think you’re to be pitied.” As angry as he was over this and other perceived misquotes, the promoter couldn’t help himself. He chuckled.
But for six more hours, he shook the room and the surrounding area with his rage. Then it was over, Rolling Stone never printed any retractions, and within a few issues, Graham was making himself available to the magazine again.
It was the same way with me. Early in my career at Rolling Stone, in mid-1969, I wrote a story about a series of free recording seminars Graham’s Fillmore Corp. was offering, implying that he had selfish as well as altruistic motives for attracting musicians and producers to a company involved in records, music publishing and management, as well as concert production.
Soon after that article appeared, I was at the Fillmore West conducting an interview with a rock group when Graham spotted me. “Mister Fong-Torres,” he said, emphasizing the title with a hissing sneer as he did with anyone he detested. “If I see you in my building again, I will have you physically removed.”
But within a couple of weeks, we were on the phone again, and I was at the Fillmore again. Graham simply needed to vent his wrath.
Before Graham, promoters flew by night, booking a few bands and a hall, setting up a rinky-dink sound system, herding in the kids, taking their money, and moving on. Graham, recognizing a new culture and community (and, not incidentally, a potential cash cow) when he produced those first benefits for the San Francisco Mime Troupe in late 1965, caught on quick and redefined concert productions with the simple notion of providing top-quality entertainment and production values for the dollar.
Along with rival Chet Helms of the Family Dog, Graham helped popularize light shows and concert posters; he spread the dance-ballroom concept across the country at the Fillmore East in New York; and he became a master of merchandising, of staging entire tours for bands, and of mounting large-scale events such as the Last Waltz (the Band’s final concert) and New Year’s Eve extravaganzas with his favorite band, the Grateful Dead.
He obviously was by no means universally popular. His unabashed pursuit of perfection—rooted in his time as a waiter in the Catskills, when he realized that one of his main talents was good service—immediately set him apart from rock musicians who had no sense of rules. His brawling, street-fighting style—on the phone or backstage— frightened and repulsed others. But to Graham, he was merely being “a stickler for principles.”
Graham, who seemed to be helping stage a benefit every week of his life, also became a villain for daring to make money, for squeezing as many dollars as he could out of a deal, and for making no apologies about his capitalism. “We were the evil necessity,” he told me in 1976, a trace of pain in his voice. “Many times, someone would tap 
me and say, ‘Great show, Bill. Then… he’d give me a dig in the ribs: ‘You really made a killing tonight, huh?’ It was almost as if saying, ‘I wish we didn’t need you, but thank God there is a you to put this on.’ “
Bill Graham, who looked so thick-skinned as to be impenetrable, was, in reality, an insecure man who bled with every perceived slight; who feared failure and, explaining why he found it so hard to let go of his concert business, likened success to a drug. “It’s hard to stay away from it,” he said.
But success was less a crutch than his lifeblood, a daily confirmation that he had indeed made it away from the Nazis, from whom the Berlin-born Graham (real name Wolfgang Grajonca) had to escape on foot from an orphanage in Paris to Marseille in 1941.
Leave it to Graham to begin his life with an episode dramatic enough for any movie—and to top it, over and over again.
It may have been his own tough times that led him to pour so many of his resources into energizing other people, whether friends and family or schools, churches, and entire communities.
Whatever it was, he wound up symbolizing, as much as anybody, the endurance of some of the best values of the ’60s, of taking care of business, of one’s own, and of the surrounding community. He was an energetic and effective spokesperson for rock ’n’ roll, freedom of speech, and artistic and human rights, and he was so singular in the way he could articulate his thoughts.
It’s a big voice, a big pair of shoes, and a big auditorium that are empty now.
» Last Week: Going Down Memory Lane With Jenny Fabian
17 Comments
I was at the Dylan/Band opening show in 1974 in Chicago Stadium — the tour promoted by Bill Graham. As Dylan sang the line “Even the United States President sometimes must have to stand naked!” a guy front row center stage stood up nude with a Nixon mask on flashing the peace sign among other things. The crows roared and Bill Graham hustled the guy out, but only to let him regain his seat after he got dressed again. This made a huge impression on me as I never expected this guy to be allowed back in. We all assumed the cops would work him over. In rough and tumble Chicago, this was unexpected and a very classy thing to do.
What a great article, and wonderful tribute to Graham’s legacy.
i live in pasadena and never got to go to the fillmores west but this site has opened a time tunnel to all these amazing concerts which feels like i was there seeing all these bands at their peak.i’m sure i attended a few concerts which bill promoted in LA and for that i am very grateful.my only connection to bill is seeing him in that surealistic scene in APOCALYPSE NOW.i’m sure bill’s life was not far from that reality.thanks bill for what you’ve done for my wonderful world of great music.this site rocks because it keeps bill’s vision of how music should be far away from the suits who have ruined it.
Ah Bill. One of my heroes.
My fave BG story is this.
After NYE 78-79, the Closing Of Winterland, I saw Bill hitchhiking by the venue. I had a bunch of friends in a VW, but could not pass up the opportunity to give Bill a ride.
He got in and we took him down to the Hyatt, he said to get rooms for the band.
When we dropped him off, he thanked us, and said if there’s anything he can do let him know.
A couple of years later, at a NYE show in Oakland at the Oak Aud. I could not get a ticket. pissing rain, I walked all over Oaklnd trying.
I saw Bill walking in front of the venue and said “hey Bill remember the time I gave you a ride?” “Can you do me a favor and get me and my lady into the show”? (desperate measures).
He came unglued. In front of EVERYONE. Screaming “how much do you want for that ride’ and throwng a twenty at me. This went on for about five minutes, with him telling me how the FD had limits and nobody else could legally fit into the building etc.
Finally I was Okay, Bill…. and moved on to find a ticket.
We were walking by a door, a door that everytime I have ever been to venue, has always had a very large person guarding it.
But not this time. My lady pulled on the handle and voila’ it opened. In we went. Really early, so we just hid out up top while the NYE festivites were being put together.
I know to this day that Bill could not let us in in front of everyone, he would have had every person there coming up with a story and gave me the Bill treatment to prevent just that.
But I know that he saw that when we went up to that door it would be unguarded.
I’ve seen Bill on many occasions. Let’s face it, Bill was not Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. I swear I never saw the guy smile. Sure, there’s the photos of his crooked grin, but in person…
One night, we were out in North Beach and there was old Bill; hunched over a bowl of soup. I walked up to him and he looked up at me like I was about to mug him. I said, “Bill thanks for the music.”
He grunted, looked down, picked up his spoon and took another loud slurp. It was then that he did the most unexepected thing; he glanced up at me and smiled.
As corny as it sounds, that damn smile made my night.
Uncle BoBo ( Bob Weir’s tag ) always gave us a show to remember. And How !
Yea , the nicest , bastard you will ever meet.
One night , I received a call from Bill’s office wondering if I was able to talk to Bill. I had written a long letter asking exactly why the Dead would no longer play in S.F. large halls and how I could write , call or otherwise badger the local officials to allow them to play , once agian , in the city .
I was speachless as Bill came on the phone and we talked about 30 minutes about the Dead and things in general. I mentioned that Graham should take the night off and relax. He got a chuckle and our conversation ended.
Three months later, while doing my laundry , I noticed a news flash about a helicopter hitting power lines in the North Bay and got sick to my gut. Later , I found out that Bill was on board.
Hey…Bill got the Dead to play in Golden Gate Park , finally.
Too bad he had to die to get it done.]
Thanks, Bill…
teh Bay Area Music scene was better for you.
Preston Stedman
It was about 1967 and I was attending San Jose State. I called the Fillmore to see who was playing that week end and who picks up the phone but Mr.G himself(one cannot mistake that voice). He answered, Jimi Hendrix and Gabor Zabo. I then asked(I wish I hadn’t-”who else”. Bill, in a peeved tone of voice answered “thats enough!” and hung up the phone. Neeedless to say, I was at that concert.
I had the honor of working for Bill at the Fillmore East when I was in Plainview High School and the at the West and Berkeley Community Theatre while a student at UC Berkeley. he was definitely a role model in terms of my business with regards to how I treat my employees and take no prisoners in bussiness dealings. I have this crystal clear memory of him watching B-ball Saturday morning at the cage on West 4th Street. The first night I worked was a party after Janis first weekend in NYC. I think it was May 68; anyway all the staff was at the stage party and I ended up drinking with Janis which was no big deal then. Sometimes I would sleep over in the Fillmore too. We that’s it for now … lots more memories. Thanks for this reprint and this great web site. You make my day.
SAY ANT SO I DONT BELIVE IT TRUE WE LOST ONE WONDERFUL PERSON THERE NEVER BE ANYONE LIKE BILL GRAMHAN BY THE WAY DOSE ANYONE WHAT 2 HIS GRAY HAT I LOVE BUY
STORE BEHINE RABBET ON ROLLSKATE
I MISS YOU YOUR # 1 FAN THANK YOU AGIN TRIBUTE
Great article! I spent many a late nite Saturday at the Fillmoe East
My fondest memories are playing handball along side the building waiting for the early show to end
We played ball with some great people but my favorite was Leslie West from Mountain we had a great time and boy that big guy could really move !
Thanks for the memories Bill I still miis you after all these years!
I never saw his better side. That part of his personlaity was apparebtly off-linits to ppl like me…the three times I had to deal with him, he came off as clurlish and self-centered, more interested in a making a sharp deal than solving our band’s tourinf and sound problems at venues he managed or booked. He was a thourouhgly unpleasant person to deal with in person. So i don’t lionize the guy.
saw bill many times backstage during dead shows. I just naturally stayed out of his way, for fear of being singled out, but he never bothered me. He always seemed to be very busy, like nothing could get past him, One time though at a show I believe it may have been in philly, not sure, there was this girl screaming at jerry, she was very stoned, and Bill went berserk and beat the crap out of her, was very unsettling, but if you were backstage, you were on bill’s turf, and you had to play by his rules. There was a softer side of him, when he’d interact with his son David, this was when he was a very little boy. anyway, bill gave us the very best, and may he RIP
I was at the Amnesty International Concert at Giants stadium in 1986 which was booked by Bill Graham. Like at Live Aid, he was an ever present figure looming large on the stage between acts….more like one of the crew than a “promoter”.
When Joanie Mitchell performed in replacement of Pete Townshend, who left to see his ailing father, many in the crowd were unhappy. And Bill gave a mean stare when the some of the crowd groaned upon hearing the news.
While Joanie sang, some bonehead lobbed a cup of water at her from the front of the crowd. People around me were shocked. Who would throw water at this beautiful person here to sing some sings for us? Even more shocking to the crowd was the guy in his mid-50s who had been prowling the stage all day suddenly jumping off the front of the stage and climbing the barrier in front of the crowd and screaming and pointing for someone to grab the idiot who threw the water. All the young teens around me started asking why that guy reacted that way. I told them who he was and that he had a reputation for not taking sh^^ from anyone. Also told them about his legendary fight with led Zeppelin in 77.
Joanie Mitchell finished her song and said “C’mon guys, I’m not that bad”before starting the next one. Bill had a mixed look of rage and embarassment.
He became a hero to me that day. Wish I could have caught the creep myself…would have hand delivered him to Bill!
Bill Graham was truly ‘The’ rock promoter of our time. I have been yelled at by him and hugged by him and I respected him both times. When I could not get tickets to a Grateful Dead New Years Eve show I wrote to him and received tickets to the show. I will always remember and miss Bill Graham.
Oh Jeezus holy crap, Bill IS Wolfgang? Oh der, duh, I get it now. OMFG. RIP Wolfie, I don’t care if you did make money. That’s can be a tuff job in this society, but someone always steps up to the plate. I saw you once backstage at a Santana show, I admit I was more in awe of you than of Carlos. And our favorite band was and always will be the Dead. See how much we had in common? peace and love
Bill Graham was indeed a real rock mensch. Where would we all be without him??? G-d rest his soul…
I was at a Grateful Dead show at the San Francisco Civic Center (now the Bill Graham civic) for New Years 1983-84. I was with my lady walking up the stairs to the balcony level when Bill was coming down the stairs. No one else was around. I stopped and said “Mr. Graham?” He stopped and looked at us. I extended my hand and shook his and said “Thank you for the music – Happy New Year”. He shook my hand and smiled and said “Happy New Year.” I will never forget that.