REMEMBERING BOB WEIR
“ AT THEIR NEXT REHEARSAL, BOBBY PLUGGED THE OLD TELE INTO HIS RIG, AND WITH ITS FIRST BITING NOTES IT UNEQUIVOCALLY CLAIMED ITS PLACE IN THE MIX”
As for the Parber sons, whom he’ d later meet, they were equally impressed as surprised that their straight-laced Air Force Colonel— the model of discipline and sobriety— had illicitly fathered a heretofore unknown son— and a rock star, at that. But recalling James’ girlfriend’ s remark many years earlier about Bobby’ s strong family resemblance, their doubts were wholly assuaged; Bobby was, indeed, their brother.
Milena, on the other hand, wasn’ t as quick to appreciate the deeper significance of the sudden extension of her family. She had been in Houston visiting friends when the Colonel called with the news.“ Houston,” he said.“ We have a problem.” In time, though, the shock would abate, the anger would subside, and she’ d welcome Bobby into their lives, becoming his de facto“ current reining mom.”
The Telecaster had its original cream finish when James got it in 1969, but he’ d stripped the heavy swamp ash body down to bare wood and replaced the tuning machines and pickups in the bargain. It was a real working man’ s guitar— the one he’ d been waiting for. And the custom touches he contributed would make it his own.
The guitar came into James’ hands via the long and winding path typical of such workhorses; since its manufacture in 1956 it had been bought, sold, and traded many times along the way. James got it in exchange for a commensurately beat-up piano. But the guitar was silent now. It stood perched upright, secure on its stand against a wall in his bedroom, while he lay somewhat less securely in his own bed. Twelve years earlier, he was told his condition was terminal, yet he defied his doctors’ prognosis of only weeks to live.
The Colonel remained by his side, having retired from military service, and thus passing up an inevitable General’ s commission, in order to help Milena care for their dying son. But this was one battle the decorated war veteran would not win.“ The night has been unruly,” Shakespeare wrote.“ Where we lay, our chimneys were blown down.” In an eerie echoing, James died, and in that moment, his much-loved guitar inexplicably fell from its stand.
Ironically, Bobby, the Colonel, and Phyllis lived within a few miles of each other, yet in all the years, their paths never crossed. Now, though, a brief, if not reluctant, 50- year reunion would be arranged, allowing the circle to be fully closed at last. It would be their
110 | SPRING 2026