In a burst of psychedelic colors and vintage rhythms, San Francisco’s 23rd annual Jerry Day returned to McLaren Park, drawing thousands to honor Grateful Dead frontman Jerry Garcia on what would have been his 83rd birthday. Amid barefoot dancers, swirling tie-dye, and nostalgic melodies, the celebration lit up the Excelsior district — Garcia’s childhood neighborhood — with passion and pride. But while joy flowed freely, funding cuts cast a long shadow over its future. With city support reduced by 80%, this cherished cultural tribute now stands at a bittersweet crossroads.

On a breezy Saturday in August, San Francisco’s McLaren Park transformed into a vibrant echo of the 1970s, where the sounds of guitar riffs, swirling bodies, and the scent of incense and second-hand smoke filled the air. The occasion was the 23rd annual Jerry Day, a grassroots celebration that continues to honor the Excelsior-born icon Jerry Garcia, frontman of the legendary Grateful Dead.

Now a firmly rooted tradition, Jerry Day takes place each year during the first weekend of August, turning the Jerry Garcia Amphitheater into a portal of nostalgia and cultural celebration. This year’s gathering marked Garcia’s 83rd birthday, and despite funding threats, it offered what it always promises — music, memory, and movement — all entirely free of charge.

Unlike the heavily commercialized concerts by Dead & Company, which can cost fans over $100 per ticket at venues like Golden Gate Park, Jerry Day remains one of the few events where Deadheads — both veterans and newcomers — can gather under the open sky without paying a cent. That distinction has made it not only a tribute to Garcia but also a standout community ritual, especially for the Excelsior District.

The neighborhood’s connection to Garcia is personal and deep. At 87 Harrington Street, Garcia spent his early years in a modest home that now sits on a newly renamed block: Jerry Garcia Street. A commemorative sign was unveiled on August 1, a symbolic nod to the musician’s birthday and enduring legacy.

“I found out in 1995 that Jerry came from the Excelsior,” said Tom Murphy, founder and longtime organizer of Jerry Day. “And I was like, ‘how come nobody knows this?’ We were known for some other characters, but Jerry was more of a positive light.”

Murphy, along with countless volunteers and artists, has helped Jerry Day evolve into the Excelsior’s largest annual event, one that reflects not just the love for Garcia’s music but the soul of a community proud of its local roots.

The festivities kicked off at 11:30 a.m., and the energy escalated quickly. The amphitheater was soon buzzing with a diverse crowd: tie-dyed elders reliving past tours, families introducing toddlers to Deadhead culture, and twentysomethings, or “the kids,” as the older generation affectionately calls them, discovering the music for themselves.

Opening the show was bluegrass legend Peter Rowan, whose set launched a wave of dancing, head-nodding, and barefoot twirling. In every direction, bodies swayed freely to songs that stretched ten minutes long, flowing as freely as the memories they evoked.

“I used to dance to ‘China Cat Sunflower’ in my room, in the kitchen — all over the place,” said a young fan who described themselves as a third-generation Deadhead.
“Then I saw Dead & Company in Los Angeles in 2019, and I realized there were people out there dancing just like me. I didn’t even know that was happening.”
“This is beautiful,” they added. “It’s absolutely incredible. A free show in the park? Everyone is just stoked to be here — stoked to be alive.”

That sense of shared joy was unmistakable throughout McLaren Park. Even amid a haze of shroom chocolate vendors, crystal peddlers, and the ever-present scent of burning sage, the underlying message was clear — this was a celebration of life, music, and community spirit.

“The best memory,” laughed a twirling 57-year-old Deadhead, “was that I don’t have any memories. It was just one continuous thing after another, because every beautiful day was an incredible experience [listening to the music].”

Yet for all its color and exuberance, Jerry Day 2025 carried a note of urgency. The event has historically relied on city funding to remain free. But organizers were recently notified that 80 percent of that funding has been cut for next year. The threat has prompted a new wave of fundraising efforts, with donation buckets making frequent rounds through the crowd, accompanied by pleas like “Help keep Jerry Day free!”

While VIP passes — some priced at over $150 — and GoFundMe drives help, the loss of public dollars has organizers and attendees concerned about how long the event can sustain itself.

“This year, we really pulled out all the stops,” Murphy said. “We’re selling posters, merch, you name it. The love is there, but we still need help.”

And help came in every shape — from older fans offering donations with peace signs and hugs, to young vendors offering fan-made Dead merch like T-shirts, lanyards, and bumper stickers from homemade stands. Others offered crystals from coloring-sheet signage or shared free dance lessons beneath the trees.

The vibe wasn’t just nostalgic; it was resilient. For every memory of the past, there was a clear sense that Jerry Day is also about building a future — one where people of all ages gather not out of obligation, but out of a shared love for something intangible yet deeply felt.