Light my fire

Ever hear of Ingram Cecil Connor III? No? You might have heard the name Gram Parsons. Same guy, new name after his stepfather adopted him. The young man saw Elvis and fell in love with rock music. Went to Harvard for one semester, saw Merle Haggard in concert, and fell in love with country music. He dropped out of college, muddled around in music, and ended up in The Byrds as a replacement for the departed David Crosby.

During a break from The Byrds, he hooked up with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards (him again!). They played country music for hours and did lots of drugs. Gram founded the band, Flying Burrito Brothers, a short lived but intriguing band, and played with Emmylou Harris and my former girlfriend, Linda Ronstadt. He was a rising star in country music, sure to be a generational star.

When a friend was killed by a drunk driver, Gram told his friend and manager, Phil Kaufman, he wanted to be cremated when he died. And not just anywhere, but at Joshua Tree National Park where he wanted his ashes scattered at Cap Rock, a prominent feature there.

Gram loved Joshua Tree and started partying there frequently, along with his girlfriend, Byrds’ roadie Michael Martin, and his girlfriend. On September 19, 1973, while staying at The Joshua Tree Inn, Gram overdosed on a combination of morphine and tequila. He was rushed to a hospital but he was dead on arrival at age 26. His body was prepared for burial and in a coffin at the L.A. Airport awaiting a flight to his native Louisiana on Western Airlines.

Now it gets nutty. The aforementioned Kaufman and Martin used Martin’s girlfriend’s beat-up 1957 Cadillac hearse to steal the coffin from the airport, complicit with bungling police help, whereupon they headed to Joshua Tree National Park. Being amateurs, they dumped five gallons of gasoline on the open casket and lit it, and incredibly survived! 

The ensuing fireball 1) didn’t burn Gram’s body completely, and 2) alerted neighboring campers who notified police, who again bungled everything, including having the two aspiring cremationists in handcuffs but were distracted and let them escape, having never seen their identification, so the cops could identify them.

But two intoxicated miscreants can’t get far, and they didn’t. They ended up being fined $300, getting a 30-day suspended sentence, and paying funeral home expenses of $708. A concert fundraiser, called “Kaufman’s Koffin Kaper Koncert,” was held to raise the money, and Dr. Demento served as the DJ. I am not making this up!

The remains of Gram, not much at this point, were interred in his native New Orleans. His tombstone calls him “God’s Own Singer.”

It was unknown to me when I first wrote this column, but there is a movie called “Grand Theft Parsons,” very loosely based on these events. The movie is very funny though. Available on Amazon, and Tubi (with commercials at weird times, but it’s free).

You can book the room Gram overdosed in, Room 8, but you have to specifically request it. The original mirror remains, but the 1970s furniture and shag carpeting have long since been replaced.

Life is crazy. Death can be nuts.

Kelly Burke was born in Knoxville where he spent his younger years, followed by high school years in Atlanta where he graduated from Georgia Tech, and then graduated from Mercer Law School. He has been in private practice, a magistrate judge, and an elected district attorney. He writes about the law, politics, music, and Ireland. He and his wife enjoy gardening, playing with their Lagotto Ramanolo named George Harrison, and spending time with their grandchildren.