Feeding People Through Music: Panic Fans for Food

By Josh Stack

I graduated from Emory in May of 1998 and the Dali Lama handed me my diploma. His commencement address implored us to be citizens of the world, to love our neighbors as if they were our family, and do our best to give back to the world, make it a better place because we have the capacity to do so. A simple, perhaps cliché message, but that May morning, his holiness cast a warm and pleasant glow over all of us, almost supernaturally so. His message took hold and reinforced many of the teachings of my youth instilled in me by my parents. However, it took more than a year for the message to be put into action.

I took a job that July in a corporate law firm in Atlanta, fully intending on clerking for a year, taking the LSATs and heading to law school, as I had an undergraduate degree in Political Science and Sociology. Not much else you can do with that. (note: the weekend I got my first paycheck, Panic was playing Lakewood Amphitheater in Atlanta. I had never had that much of a lump sum of money at one time that was ALL MINE. So, I bought a keg, threw a pre party at my house with our band set up in the kitchen and raged it. I forgot, however, that I wasn’t getting paid for another two weeks. Live and learn.)

Living in Atlanta in the 90’s, avoiding Panic was difficult. They were everywhere in the Southeast. I got a great dose, for sure. It came to be that my free time consisted of playing music and going to see music. I began developing a cadre of friends through this band, as is wont to happen. However, there was something missing.

If you’ve ever been to downtown Atlanta, you’ve been panhandled. Working there every day for two years, I was hit up coming and going. It began to grate on me. The commencement address that was bestowed upon me, my education, and my parents lessons were not being implemented, and I realized it was because I hadn’t taken any action.

One day, I made three loaves of bread worth of sandwiches: One bologna, one pbj, and one ham. I went down to the park and handed ‘em out. It was a tough lesson for many reasons. I felt so defeated after I finished because I couldn’t do anymore at that moment…by myself. And I began to look at how I was spending my time and money.

The first food drive at a concert happened at Smith’s Olde Bar in 1999. We needed to get some folks to come out and see us on a Sunday night. If you could get a draw on a Sunday, they’d book you a better gig. I had a friend who did PR and she offered her services to help out. I thought that coupling a food drive with the show might generate a little press and get some folks out. The plan worked. A story got published about the gig and the drive. A bunch of people showed up. The gig was great. We got another one. And we collected $80 and 50 pounds of food for the Atlanta Community Food Bank.

And again, I was left feeling like that just was not enough. And again, I looked at how I was spending my time and money. And that’s when it hit me:

1) I’m already going to a lot of Widespread Panic shows.

B) I don’t have to bring the people because they do.

4) More people equal the chance for more food and money.

In early September of 1999, I pitched the idea to Brown Cat, in hopes of conducting the first PF3 drives at the Oak Mountain run. The answer was simple, concise, and completely unexpected…”no.”

Josh Stack is a consummate optimist, almost to my own detriment. I believed with every ounce of myself that the band’s consent was the least of my worries. So, I got on my horse and tried again.

I tried again, and this time with feeling. I ran across an article quoting Dave Schools their gratitude to be able to play such nice venues as Red Rocks and were grateful that their fans had enough decorum to allow the band to keep coming back, unlike other bands (Phish). I put this quote at the end of the letter and two days later, my pitch to do a food drive in New Orleans for the Halloween run was accepted.

Oh shit.

The internet was a new fangled toy that brought together people in new and exciting ways. Stuck at a desk in front of a computer for 40 hours a week, the internet provided solace, entertainment, and best of all for this effort, NETWORKING.

I stumbled across Brian Harris’ Panic chat room. Endless hours of comedic banter among fans all over the country, similarly shackled to desks, biding their time till the next show. I ran this idea by a bunch of those folks who approved. I was also spending some time with the WPATLCREW and pitched it to them as well. All of these folks provided valuable insight, feedback, and most all, helped to spread the word. Spreadnet was also an in valuable tool in spreading the word. I did my best to let people know what was happening. I had to do it all on my own. The band had nothing to do with the cause other than to grant consent to set up. (I did not know that I was the first, last, and only non-profit permitted to set up onsite at a Widespread Panic show.) I learned the art of a press release thanks to Chip and Laura Schramm and began writing and submitting them for shows.

The first run was tough. I had never “tabled” anything before. And, I was in New Orleans. And…I was egregiously hung over. I had gone out with some college buddies when I got to New Orleans the night before the shows. We ran around the quarter, gambled at Harrah’s with JB (sheer coincidence as I peered across the table through stupored eyes as I doubled down and lost at Mr. Bell chuckling at me. Good one, Stack.)

Hand grenades and Hurricanes. Damn.

A very kind Panic fan who lived in NOLA, whose name I’ve since forgotten, picked me up from the Days Inn on Canal at about 2 pm. I had poster board, markers, duct tape, and stopped at a convenience store to get some canned goods. The kind unnamed fan dropped me off at UNO and there I was.

I knocked on the box office door and told the kind woman what I was doing and she let me in to grab a table, some chairs, and the barrels left by the food bank. And she also kinda looked at me like I was crazy. No reason not to. I suppose I would’ve felt the same if a somewhat haggard looking dude/fan told me he was going to be doing a food drive at an event where most people are focused on hedonistic pursuits…and music.

Inside the venue, I commenced to trying to write “Panic Fans for Food” in big block letters on the posterboard. If you know me, I’m not artistic. My handwriting isn’t that good and I was in PAIN from the night before. I perched myself on the floor of the concourse as the crew was assembling the stage and the lights for the magic show. First time I’d seen “behind the curtain,” so to speak. But the only curtain I was after was dry heaving in the latrine. My attempted purge just made me feel worse. Back to my effort at signage.

After my best efforts had eluded me, I resigned myself to doing what I could and decided to go ahead and set up my station. I dragged the table out, set down my gear and immediately had to excuse myself to the closest porta john, as I no longer had access to the building. I kindly and quickly mumbled to a dreadlocked warrior who looked like he hadn’t slept in a few…days, to watch my markers, canned goods, and posterboard while I tried to unload the previous evening’s baggage. And yes, he looked at me like I was crazy too.

The stage was set, literally. I returned to my post, somewhat refreshed in the salty humid New Orleans air and waited.

I didn’t know it then, but those hours probably became some of my favorite food drive moments, over and over again. Heretofore, I was just like everyone else; pre-gaming at the hotel or house, and heading to the lot to roam in the awesomeness, carefree, sipping brews, etc., with anticipation of the greatness to come. Awaiting inspiration can be inspirational in and of itself.

There I sat, solo. And I watched the lots fill. I watched the fans trickle. I witnessed the scene unfold before me. And soon, the magical chaos was all around me. And much to my surprise, people actually were bringing food. One dude from Alabama named Kevin actually pulled up in his big blue pick up and unloaded about 15 cases of goodies. Money was dropped in the bin and food was piled up all around me. I guess my sign worked.

I can’t tell you how much food or money was collected that day. But what was more important is that the word had spread and fans gleefully responded. People believed.

As the years passed, I pretty much did a food drive at every show I attended. I was planning on going anyway, and the fans responded. The following April, Panic opened their tour with a 3 show run in Athens. PF3 got front page coverage even with a photo. The plan was working. Food and money was being left behind in cities all over the country; Atlanta, Athens, New Orleans, Birmingham, Red Rocks, Myrtle Beach, Memphis, Knoxville.

Charlotte 2008 - Panic Fans For Food and JB

Then there was Huntsville. We all know the legendary Huntsville shows. For some reason, the band always brings it. And in 2000, the fans apparently decided to bring it too. The result was dozens of arrests, apparent disruptions of a family festival occurring the same night and place as the show, and even some unfortunate hospitalizations of local teens. Suffice it to say, the city was not keen to having Panic and their fans back in April of 2001. Enter PF3.

In an attempt at contrition on the fans’ behalf, I wanted to be sure we held a drive at this show. However, after contacting the local food bank and numerous other non profits, it was even more evident that the city was vehemently against the presence of Widespread Panic in their fair city. I could not convince any of these major non profits to receive our good will. I was shocked and a bit dismayed. But, undaunted, I contacted the local media. They jumped all over the story. Prominent Huntsvillians equivocated in the press but maintained their position they wanted nothing to do with the band and their fans. I found a local battered woman’s shelter who would gladly accept our donations and again, the stage was set.

On the day of the show, Chip Schramm and I must have fielded six different interviews onsite. Local TV, radio, and print were all there to cover the scene. We were under the lights..not just PF3, but all of us as Panic fans and Chip and I found ourselves speaking on everyone’s behalf…and again the band was nowhere to be found. It was up to us.

The drive went very well. Fans intuited the gravity of the situation and gave very generously. The show was incredible with JB graveling introduction saying, “Take it easy folks, we got some work to do!” They played “Do What You Like” that night…saying “everybody must be fed.” That was the first time that I noted any sort of nod to the cause on the band’s behalf. To their credit, they’ve always kept politics off the stage. A tangential reference now and again, however, can’t hurt.

The headline on the front page of the Huntsville Times the next morning read: “Widespread Panic: Anything But,” and told the story of zero arrests and a large donation received by an anonymous woman’s shelter. Another milestone for the cause.

2002 brought with it more drives, more money and more food for food banks all over the country. I don’t need to touch on the sadness of that year with the death of Michael Houser. I did the entire spring tour and held drives at each one. In Raleigh, when they played what had become our mantra, “This Part of Town,” I broke down in tears. I had never met Michael Houser, but his band and his music had been such an impassioned part of my life for the last 8 years. Even more so, as I dedicated and wove my own passion into this scene with the food drives. Everything gets a lot clearer in the midst of death and loss. And the food drives took on a greater importance to me and I think to the fans as well.

Mikey died in August and in October Chip Schramm and I received a Jammy Award in New York City. It was moving to say the least. I spent the afternoon in a bar in Soho trying to write an acceptance speech. As I got to the podium, I scrapped it and recited the first verse and chorus to “This Part of Town” and dedicated the award to Mikey’s memory and to every fan who ever dropped a dime in the bucket.

Now we were on the map. Relix called. Jambands called. Press releases got printed. And the drives continued. LA, Raleigh, Asheville, DC, Charlotte, New York, San Francisco, Portland, Jackson, Austin, Dallas, Gainesville, Winston Salem, Savannah, and the repeat offenders of Atlanta, Birmingham, etc.

I could go on and on about the drives. There are dozens of great stories of fan volunteers and food banks and newspapers and Garrie Vereen welcoming me into the fold and walking me across the stage at the Warfield…but I won’t.

Perhaps the most moving aspect of my 12 years doing food drives at shows is when the fans thank me as they hand me food and money. Or when they email me and ask me how they can do a food drive in their hometown away from the shows. That’s when you know you’ve won. That’s when you know the cause has been absorbed and the scene has been inoculated with goodwill.

Widespread Panic fans only needed the opportunity to give. We’re doctors, lawyers, accountants, dentists, sales people, chiropractors, restaurant owners, bartenders, servers, musicians, graphic designers, business owners, and on and on and on. But above all, we’re sincere and drawn to genuine inspiration and simple yet powerful forms of expression.

Panic Fans for Food kids. Where there is love there is hope.

In 2008, my work with PF3 got me a job doing PR for a food bank in Asheville, North Carolina. The only experience I had doing PR was on Panic tour. The only experience I had with the issue of hunger was on Panic tour. And here I was, being paid a decent salary to help elevate the cause of hunger in Western North Carolina.

3 years later, my work has attracted the attention of CNN, The New York Times, Associated Press, reality TV, and countless spots in local media. I can safely say that the profile of hunger has been elevated exponentially here in Western North Carolina and that’s not tooting my horn. That’s taking what I learned on Panic tour and applying it every day.

The band has continued the effort with much success and from time to time, I still work the table. I still enjoy the magic of arriving early and watching the scene unfold and people still thank me for giving them the chance to give. And as the band’s swan song plays out, I know that this is probably the most impacting thing I’ve ever done or been a part of and I know that it’s all because of the music and the people drawn to that flame.

“I was walking the other day, with my head down. When I met met a man, who had his hand out. So I gave him, gave him a dollar. And as I walked away, I heard him call out…”