Laurie Garrett: Fable For A Trickster – Or Of A Trickster
January 14th, 2026
Coming over Highway 17 into Los Gatos, timing the journey so we’d get a perfect spot in Winterland.
Timing the trip so the acid would peak midway through the Dead’s show.
The bass hits hard on the opening chords of “Sugar Magnolia” and you shouted, “Phil Lesh is a God!”
You turned with a face beaming pure joy. And Brian jumped you from behind, screaming “Yeah!”
One day your dad greeted us at the front door. He had that sparkle – a sort of slightly mischievous glint in his eyes. I didn’t get it, really, until I saw the exact same glint in your eyes one day, when you were probably the same age as Al had been.
Was your dad a secret trickster?
The tricks – YOUR tricks – started with falling. Walking down a San Francisco street with you could, at any instant, mean you’d suddenly disappear – THUD – laughter. “You gotta learn how to fall,” you cry out from your prone sidewalk position.
What is “falling” if you never had “up”? How can you learn to fall if you never had a leg up?
No surprise, Shep – you identified with the folks who never had a chance to rise high enough to take a real fall.
Your PhD idea was brilliant, I thought, though I know little about pedagogy. On a walk-thru inside PG&E you showed me how it worked. This is how I remember it.
A high school freshman deemed to be future jail bait is approached. “Here’s the deal,” the miscreant is told.
“We’re going to make a contract with you. All of the people in this room will sign it, if you do. This fellow – your new boss, if you sign – he runs the mailroom at PG&E headquarters. The part he will sign promises to teach you a good-paying job, let you know if you’re doing well, and tell you what you need to learn in order to advance further. To make more money.”
“This person works in payroll at PG&E. She promises to process your checks. You will make real, legit money.”
“It will be yours.”
“This fellow from Wells Fargo will help you open a bank account, get checks with your name printed on them.”
“This person is in real estate. She’s going to show you some apartments you can now afford to rent and help you with the contracts.”
“Your parents are here – they are going to sign the contract, agreeing to never demand money from you, never visit your apartment without your permission.”
“You know this fellow? Your school principal? He will sign, agreeing to put you in classes that the folks at PG&E say you need to pass if you want to advance, and earn more money.”
“And my name is Shepherd Siegel. I wrote this contract. And I’ve already signed it. I promise to do everything I can to keep you out of jail, on a job path, open to education – even getting a high school degree.”
You saved so many. Is there a list somewhere of all the jail-destined, abused, hopeless kids you set on journeys into safe adulthood?
You were right when you said that the education system was wrong to only teach kids to get entry into expensive universities. You were right.
You said children needed to play. They needed original play – no rules, no adults, just doing whatever they wanted.
Play.
You said the world needs playful tricksters, able to take a joke, and give back in spades. Coyote and Raven, Crow and jester, Bugs Bunny and Groucho Marx. Abbie Hoffman levitating the Pentagon.
You gotta learn how to fall.
Bob Weir beat you by a couple of days. Brian beat you by 54 years. Jerry Garcia beat you by decades, too.
If you see them, give them all hugs for me. Tell Brian not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.
And, Shep, I doubt a day will do by that I don’t think of you, too.
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Shepherd Siegel died on January 14 after a valiant struggle with ALS, surrounded by family and friends. His partner Susan Leslie accompanied him with love and devotion throughout his illness. She survives him, along with his sisters Adena Siegel (Steve Soklin) and Gretta Siegel, and nephew Leo Stein. Born in Chicago in 1953, the family...
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