Christopher Matthias: A Eulogy for Shep

Christopher Matthias: A Eulogy for Shep

A Eulogy for Shep

The first word is ALS.

ALS is certainly a big presence in this major life moment for all of us. I’d like to  acknowledge how much it sucks.

Shep came to my New Year’s Eve party as we rolled the calendar from 2023 to 2024. It was the kind of party that had two-year olds all the way up to a 70-year old. He hung out with kids, getting tattoos markered on his arms by industrious 9-year-old girls. He chatted up strangers, having somehow gotten over his shyness for the first time. Never to be one to miss out on any fun, he was delighted when the absinthe fountain came out, and he was one of the very last to leave. He was an absolute rock star. Peak Shep.

Shep took me in as a roommate for a few months after I ended a long relationship. I was there from March first to May 15th. This guy celebrates his birthday of April 5th beginning one month prior to the date all the way to one month after that day. Therefore, I lived with Shep for his birthday, and fifteen other days. Trickster math!

There hadn’t been any noticeable signs of ALS at the party, but over the course of the time we were roommates, his speech was changing. It was getting slower. Then he started sounding like someone who’s a little drunk but trying to hide it. He investigated the strange symptoms with his doctor and a neurologist.

When he got the diagnosis, he told me like he probably told you. In a well thought out conversation. I asked him what kind of support he wanted as he goes through the experience of ALS. He said that he didn’t want to talk about ALS and dying all the time. He wants us to do the things that we’ve always done. He wants to talk about music, politics, heartbreaks, and love, make jokes, and be together.

We did a lot of that, and I’m sure a lot of you did too.

Not long after that, Shep had to say to me on a Zoom call that he needs our future conversations to be by email. It’s getting too hard to talk.

Then, typing became too difficult. He had to learn to type with his eyes. ALS couldn’t shut him up, but it got more and more adamant about slowing him down.

Lift chairs. Wonderfully attentive around the clock care. It’s so great to have those things. It sucks to have to.

It’s been fast. It’s been mean.

Also, having heard Shep gush about trickster endlessly for the entire time we’ve known each other, I’ve been finding it helpful to remember a few things. Trickster, in Shep’s telling, is morally neutral. And while Trickster brings a world of upheaval, by and large the outcome is usually generative. It’s how the world gets made, and saved, and recreated, and made good. Trickster coming to visit is going to fuck things up, and everything that isn’t real crumbles and perspective changes, and a freshness is delivered.

So let’s try again, this time with ALS as Trickster.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

ALS.

ALS who?

Shep then lets ALS in the front door, makes it a coffee and sips it from Salvador Dali espresso cups at the diner booth in his kitchen, ever curious to find out what someone new has to say that he may not know already.

Like the old prank of getting your nose, ALS goes on to say, Hey Shep, Got your hands and feet! What are you gonna do about it?

Shep says, “I’m gonna fall in love for the last and best time!”

Hey Shep! Got your voice. What are you gonna do about it?

Shep says, “I’m going to write a 70 minute talk just by moving my eyeballs.”

ALS says, Hey Shep! I might be cured in five years, but you’ve got less than two. What are you gonna do about it!

Shep takes a minute and says, I’m gonna find all the best endings I can. I’m going to pick my own last day. I’m going to throw a raging party and invite three times as many of my friends as will fit into this house to say That’s All Folks!

And with that, Shep—as he tries to do with pretty much everyone he meets—makes friends with ALS, and friends with Death, and laughs his way out of this life.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

ALS.

ALS who?

Sorry ALS, you don’t get the last word. We do. We’ve got more important things to talk about. LIFE! The one that Shep has loved living for these seventy-two years, two hundred and eighty five days.

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When we first met, Shep was getting ready to publish his first book. My friend Beth was working with him in the publishing process. She introduced us so that I could help him with his website.I would drive from North Seattle down to West Seattle and sit at the table in his dining room (not the diner booth) and work at two laptops side by side. Back then, his site was an amalgam of everything that sparkled or yelled. Hot pink with all the fonts he could find. We’d work for two or three hours caffeinated hours together, slowly moving the site into something consistent and clear, where his ideas could be what was wild rather than visual spectacle. He’d write a check. Then we’d put on a record, spark a joint, and take it all in.

Silently of course.

Then we’d break it all down. What was great about stand-out tracks, a particular solo, the work as a whole, the historical context, and the personal history of when and where he saw a band, not to mention the number of times he’d seen them, and who he saw them with.

If you’re here, probably you for some number of shows.

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If you’re here, you’ve probably also been to any number of Shep’s listening parties curated by him or any of his many deeply dedicated audiophile friends. Music loud enough to feel. People quiet enough to hear. Some on a theme. Others a deep dive into a specific artist, or maybe two paired together to contrast and compare. There were often times notes, and handouts, and always good food, and drink, and…what have you. They were an absolute blast.

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During the birthday season of twenty-twenty-four, I watched Shep conduct a steady parade of social engagements. At first, to me it seemed a little self-indulgent. Like, seriously dude. You’re celebrating your birthday for a sixth of the year!

They were all either one-on-ones or small groups. Some were strictly scheduled Zoom dates. Others were dinners out. Others were concerts. I joined him for a night out to see John Cleese on his final comedy tour. He even flew to L.A. for a symphony performance of Stravinski’s Patruska and Tchacovski’s Symphony #4. because it was a conductor he liked and wanted to see how he and that symphony would perform those pieces in that space.

As the two-month birthday progressed, it started to dawn on me that it wasn’t so much self-indulgence, as much as other-indulgence. For his birthday season, he treated himself to us!

As the time went on, it also became clear that while he was absolutely happy to stake a two-month claim on our calendars, he was just as excited to dole out overflowing attention just as generously. My birthday is May 13th. So one of the 15 days of the two and a half months we lived together wasn’t his birthday. I followed his example. I didn’t throw a party. It’d been a hard year already and I wasn’t in any condition for a big gathering. I lined up special events that were either one-on-one or very small groups. I went to see concerts, have special dinners, go on hikes, or have calls with far-away friends and family. It was great.

From Shep, I had a big ask. I didn’t have a record player at the time, but I had been buying records here and there that really matter to me. We’d listened to each of them in impromptu deep listening sessions. But one had been held back. It was the 25th Anniversary special edition LP of Ani DiFranco’s Living in Clip. Six sides of live songs on heavy, red, never-been-played vinyl. He made a small campaign to just do one side of each record, but all I had to say was “birthday” and he acquiesced without protest. We listened to every minute of that beast in a single sitting with him combing over the liner notes, asking questions and giving his two cents between side flips.

It was a perfect birthday session.

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I’ve lost count of how many shows I’ve seen with him personally. Shep’s musical appetite is ravenous. Sparks, Nick Cave, Bill Frisell, The Seattle Symphony Orchestra, and of course The Dead and Co. to name a few highlights off the top of my head.

You certainly know that he’s opinionated about….everything.

Shep follows music like other people follow baseball. Just like that symphony in L.A., he keeps track of the players. He researches backgrounds. He knows the seats where the sound is best. Every venue, stadium, and amphitheater is part of the story for Shep, and he cares deeply about all of it.

Once, Shep had invited me to Benaroya Hall with him to see the Seattle Symphony. Shep steered me over to the stairs at the far end of house left. He bent over and looked up into the ventilation and told me to check it out. It was a pink flamingo lawn ornament! He proceed to tell me and the ushers about how when the concert hall was renovated, the construction workers put it in there before putting the vent on. He spoke loud and enthusiastically, hoping to catch the attention of anyone walking by who might be interested. While I got the surprise version, he started asking strangers more overtly, do you want to see a pink flamingo?

Thinking this crazy guy was trying to make rubes of them, nobody took him up on the offer. I couldn’t believe it. I hope that if anyone ever offers to show me a pink flamingo or anything like that, I hope to always respond with a resounding and enthusiastic yes!

In 2024, Bill Frisell played a show at Jazz Alley. He was doing two shows that night. As usual, Shep had a sense of the best way to enjoy it. He booked a table in the sonic sweet spot. Also, he declared that going to the early show is important because they serve great prime rib, and it always sells out. The sound was perfect. Shep was in his blissed out music trance. And we got the last two slices of prime rib before it was 86’d. After the show, Shep, my partner, and I were walking out. He’d been to paradise and was reluctant to go. And so he didn’t! He hugged us goodbye, turned around, bought a ticket for the second set and walked right back in!

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Shep is a bit of a musical tyrant. He tries to rule judiciously and justly, rather than with an iron fist, but there is certainly a fist there to contend with. He works really hard to make sure the most fun is possible for the most people possible. Ideal conditions please! With that kind of dedication, the pet peeves are pronounced. This is one of the places that joker has a strict adherence to decorum. At the symphony, he gently put his hands on mine to mute my clapping, then said we don’t do that between movements. (Thanks, Shep. That’s actually very helpful to know.) He despises people taking videos or photos at concerts. I’ve seen him get worked up at someone after putting their phone in the air one too many times, saying something along the lines of “did you get your shot, asshole?” He did something similar as a show with someone else, and the person he’d confronted recognized where Shep was coming from, but responded “You know, I’m the norm here,” before taking one last picture and putting his phone away for the rest of the show. Shep took that into account too.

Because of Shep, I’ve adopted a policy of one photo per show, but there’s a caveat. When Shep stopped being able to go see live music, I also made a point to get one picture of someone taking a picture, then sending it to Shep so that he could still enjoy his ire vicariously.

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The thing about ire and rage is that they are rooted in a sense of justice. (There are plenty of counterpoints to be made against that point, but this is Shep’s funeral party jamboree eulogy, so I’m talking about him.) In relationships of any kind, conflict will inevitably arise. Between colleagues, family, friends, partners. While Shep does his best to keep all his relationships in balance, he’s no more immune than the rest of us. He’s an opinionated person who likes opinionated people.

There’s a few things that I’ve noticed about him. One, he doesn’t forgive carelessly. He can carry a slight like a camel carries water. The same is true when someone is upset with him. I’ve seen those rifts weigh on him real hard. Two, He does forgive and asks for forgiveness readily. You don’t get seven decades and change worth of people to gather at your death by stepping on toes unapologetically. He looks to repair the ruptures and arrive at a shared understanding. He’s done that with me. I’ve seen him do it with others. Fresh transgressions as well as ancient ones. I loved it when after hashing out our tiff, he reached across that diner booth table in his kitchen, grabbing my hands in the air and saying “you are my brotha. I love you, brother.”

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Shep’s sense of justice is extra large. It’s interpersonal. It’s communal. It’s national. It’s environmental. It’s global.

He’s proud of his many accomplishments. His degrees. His Career. His band. His antics. He’s also proud of having gone to jail once for one of the many righteous causes he’s stood up for across his life. I’ve heard him tell that story more times than any formal education experience he had.

When Shep holds a belief, he gets all the way behind it. Going to jail for justice is only one way. Shep’s revolution happens in as many parts of the day as he can muster. He likes to be involved. It’s the hybrid cars. It’s the solar panels on his roof. It’s the many donations to excellent causes.

I’ve talked with a lot of Shep’s people throughout the process of concluding life. Just like his insistence on ideal music listening conditions, he is tenacious in making sure that the world is as good as possible for as many people as possible, with a strong emphasis on anyone who’s at risk of being forgotten or left out.

The world isn’t changed by people who adjust to it. It’s changed by people like Shep who grab onto a dream, and insist that it become fully real.

In his career years, Shep saw that the schools were defunding skill building in the trades. Shop class was being replaced by an emphasis on college. College is great, but it’s not for everyone, and it’s not the only path to a fulfilling life or livelihood. While some folks looked for the workarounds to help kids have some access to tools or workspaces, Shep was unwavering. He saw it as something that absolutely belonged within the education system. He fought it back into existence, and it changed lives. Just last year a student he’d helped get placed in a job after working through one of the programs Shep helped create, found his website and wrote him a message to thank him for setting his life in a much better direction than it would have gone otherwise.

Once we were at lunch together at a table in front of a restaurant. A car parked right in front of us. When the driver got out, Shep recognized him as one of the city council members. He immediately greeted him, proceeded to busting his chops for the clumsy parking job, then started a friendly interrogation about the proposed changes in closing and selling off Seattle Public School locations. He fired scenarios about population fluctuation and how ditching properties doesn’t take into account the future, and how a smarter option would be to rent them out as alternate spaces during enrollment lulls so that in swells, the infrastructure would be readily available. I’m staring at my menu, thinking about a grilled cheese sandwich, and Shep is taking a moment to grill an elected official on ill-conceived, short-sighted solutions to community problems. A polite email doesn’t necessarily get read. I am one hundred percent sure Shep’s message was received that day.

++++

You may have heard, Shep likes the Grateful Dead.

I know that some of you have seen the dead with Shep having your own love affair with the music as well. I was never that big of a fan. However, a few years ago, Shep invited me to join him to see The Dead and Co. at the Gorge. We stopped and bought a bag of Rainer cherries at the big fruit and antiques barn somewhere between here and there, nibbling on them while he regaled me with all the Dead lore, factoids, and trivia in his head just waiting for a warm audience.

We wandered around connecting with all the friends he knew were also going to be there. He’d calculated the ideal time that if any concert goers chose to ingest anything, that they’d peak at the ideal point, and land in time to leave the show satisfied with the experience and safe to those on the road. I don’t know who he’d done that math for, but I’m glad he did.

As we waited in our seats overlooking what seemed to me a kinder, gentler, Grand Canyon waiting for the band to begin, Shep explained the structure of a Dead show. The first set is when they play the more traditional songs. Then, there’s a set break. (That night it was at the tail end of dusk, so we were treated to one of the most exquisite sunsets of my life.) Then, they turn the drummers loose for the second half. That’s when it gets weird. It’s as trancey as it is dancy.

As we drove to the home of his friends who were putting us up for the night we laughed and talked about the show. I finally grocked the Dead. Albums are like pictures of the moon, never quite it. The Dead are to be experienced live.

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Phil Lesh was a big hero of Sheps. When the news came of Phil’s passing, Shep played a live album of the Dark Star era, where Phil’s work shined particularly brightly.

This Monday when we were on our final logistics call for Shep’s death party here, we were all talking about Bob Weir’s passing on Friday. We spoke of the uncanny timing. I asked, “Shep, in your wildest dreams, did you ever think that Bob Weir would be your opening act?”

I sure like that he never lost the ability to laugh out loud.

There are now only two of the original members of the Grateful Dead; drummers Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. I guess it’s the second set for the living Dead.

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In all of this, Shep has been expressive in his love for each of us; for his love of life. He’s also been extremely articulate about his gratitude for this life. That gratitude, and the fact that he’s heading to the other side of the veil, means that indeed, Shep is about to be among the ranks of the Grateful Dead.

What a long, strange trip it’s been…

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Shep,

You’ve lived beautifully. You’ve walked towards death beautifully. You’ve been a wonderful friend and brother. All of our lives are better by having had you in them. You are surrounded by love. We are all with you in this giant step into the unknown.

Go, now, beloved. Go with all the love you’ve shared so generously.

You are loved.
You are loved.
You are loved.

 

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