The quarter was just beginning at UCLA where I was teaching Creative Writing: Poetry for the Extension Writer’s Program. Every quarter I wondered who would be in the class? What would they be like? How much would they already know? Would they be able to listen to comments or were they only interested in praise?

The first night of class that quarter began with a lively group of students—a few men, but mostly women. After I talked to them about the class, I asked the students to divide into groups of two and interview the person sitting next to them. Then, they would introduce that person to the class. There were certain questions I would suggest to break the ice, such as where did you grow up? What is your favorite food? Who is your favorite poet? Why are you taking this class? I would give them about 20 minutes to interview each other. 

As we proceeded, one student, who sat next to a man who had a notebook and pen out, described him in a general way: he worked in the film business making trailers, some called them “Coming Attractions,” had three daughters who lived with their mother, and also played guitar. Then he added, “But I’m not related to the other Jerry Garcia.” 

He must have cringed when asked that question, whether one or one thousand times. I made a promise that no one in class would ask him about the Grateful Dead. 

“Mr. Garcia, why are you taking this class?”

“I’m taking it to meet women,” he said. “I mean, since my family disintegrated, I’ve been lonely. I wondered where could I go to meet women, the type of women I might like. I’m not a gym type person or hang out in bars, so I thought I would try a poetry class because they usually have a lot of women in it.”

To be honest, I’ve never had a student give me this answer before. Original, honest, and practical.

That is how I met Jerry.

That was about thirty years ago.

After the class at Extension ended, Jerry asked me if I taught anywhere else. Like many other writers, I did have a private workshop that gathered in my apartment, but because we met through the Writer’s Program, I had an obligation to them and could not have him join us until he had taken the other poetry classes the Writer’s Program offered.

So he did.

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Poetry has the ability to change people’s lives. It changed mine—for the better, definitely. And it changed Jerry’s too. 

Jerry didn’t meet the love of his life at UCLA Extension, but later he did meet and was happily married, to Becky. He also found something in himself that he did not know was there.

He discovered poetry. 

It came to be that, among other things, Jerry made a commitment to himself and to poetry, to be a serious taskmaster. He showed up every week to class, went to local poetry readings when there were good ones, and read every poetry book he could get his hands on.

Slowly he learned that to write great poetry, you must read poetry—to study all sorts of styles and poets. The goal was for Jerry to experience and develop his own idea about what worked and not worked in poetry. I suggested poets I thought that he would learn from—Pablo Neruda, Joy Harjo, Michael C Ford, Philip Levine, Ada Limon, Sharon Olds, W.S. Merwin, Frank O’Hara, Sandra Cisneros, Naomi Shihab Nye, Galway Kinnell—poets representing many schools of poetry. And he read their work in any way he could—in books, anthologies, CDs or online.

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Mark Strand once wrote a poem about eating poetry so that by ingesting it, it would become a part of his very soul and DNA.

I would say that Jerry took that concept to heart. It became more than a hobby for him—it became a reason to get up in the morning. Many young poets think that poetry is written in one draft. We talked about that a lot. We talked about how not to get discouraged if your first efforts are not lauded. I told him about how there was a magazine in Iowa City where I really wanted to be published. I sent some 4 or 5 poems there, but they were not accepted. So, 6 months later, I sent some more. Then another 6 months, again. After 12 years, they finally did accept and publish some of my poetry. That is true.

Although it may sound like this is was a one-way relationship, to be honest, our friendship was much more than that. I have been a poet in Los Ángeles for over 50 years. I have been a poet when it was fashionable and when it was not. The fact that Jerry listened to what I had to say, and valued it made a difference in my life when my inner voice would tell me that I was a failure, unable to live in the world, had nothing worth living for, incessantly.

Because Jerry discovered the place within himself where poetry writers, readers, and performers are respected and allowed to grow, I believe he felt an integral part of the Los Ángeles poetry community. A literary citizen. He was excited about being a poet and all that it meant.

He walked the walk as well as talked the talk. He fell in love with Beyond Baroque Literary/Arts Center, joined its board of directors and, due to his generosity and insight, was able to help keep it afloat during difficult times. Living in the San Fernando Valley, where literary events are scarce, he co-founded (and re-founded) Valley Contemporary Poets (VCP). A reading series originated by poet Nan Hunt in the early 1980s, it featured poets from all over Los Ángeles County but especially the San Fernando Valley.

Plus, Jerry published two poetry collections. His second Trumpets in the Sky was published by Orange County press Moon Tide.

In so many ways he demonstrated what it means to have a creative life. When I think about some of the many accomplishments that he brought into the world, the memories are bittersweet.

Sweet, because of his generosity of spirit—mentoring younger poets who needed guidance—yet bitter because I will miss him very very much.

Jerry Garcia passed away on August 1^st, after suffering a massive heart attack.