A Rock & Roll Pilgrimage by Nick Taggart
Ricki C.’s travelogue to Paris that appeared in May on Pencil Storm (click here) reminded me of my own trip to that city and my own pilgrimage to the grave of Jim Morrison. Since all rock & roll odysseys are unique to each traveler, I thought my own trek to the singer’s final resting place may be of interest.
Picture, if you will, two young ne'er-do-wells who had just graduated from college and were freewheeling it around Europe -- like a gazillion other young people -- traveling from youth hostel to youth hostel with all our belongings in our backpacks. The year was 1985 and Drew and I had traveled through Germany and Switzerland and were going to make Paris our last big stop. To get there, we hopped aboard an overnight train in Basel, Switzerland. Using the kind of logic that is unique to young people, we decided it would be best to get some alcohol in us to make it easier to sleep on the train. We spent a couple of hours bar-hopping, but worried that we might lose our buzz, so we shared a bottle of wine before departing at 12:10 am. The wine turned out to be a very bad idea. I ended up spending a large chunk of the seven-hour trip either throwing up in the train bathroom or just resting my head on the rim of the toilet. We rolled into Paris around 7:00 a.m. and I felt like shit. I was totally wiped out and would have had no problem curling up to sleep under any of the train station benches, but we didn’t have time for that.
We found a one-star hotel (one is better than none) with a vacancy, but the room still had to be cleaned so sleep continued to be delayed. In the meantime, we decided to explore the city. Months before as we planned an itinerary that included Paris, I had a couple of must-sees. I knew I wanted to visit Père Lachaise Cemetery and I knew I wanted to drink a beer at Jim Morrison’s grave.
Père Lachaise is huge, about 110 acres. Without a map, one might think that finding a particular grave would be difficult, but Morrison’s grave is unique. All one has to do is begin wandering through the cemetery before markers make themselves known. Over the years, fans have etched aids onto the sides of other graves. Each is a simple scratched “Jim” with a directional arrow. It didn’t take long before we came upon the graffiti-covered grave. There were already a couple of other young people there when we arrived and more people came by while we were there. We talked awhile to a girl from Texas and a guy from Toronto.
With my hangover, the last thing I needed was another sip of beer, but nobody said it was going to be easy, so I popped open my bottle and had Drew snap a picture. Included in the photo is the bust of Morrison created by Croatian sculptor Mladen Mikulin. It was installed at the gravesite in 1981 on the 10th anniversary of Morrison’s death. The bust disappeared in 1988. It was rediscovered in 2025, but hasn’t yet been returned to the grave.
The author in Paris. “Nobody said it was going to be easy”
A suspect sketch of the author in Paris.
I’ve always been pleased with how that photo turned out. I’ve also been extremely happy that I was never picked up on suspicion of being the Unabomber.
Flash forward to 2019. My wife, Michele, and I are on vacation and I’m revisiting Paris. Of course, I had to make a return trip to Jim Morrison’s grave. I considered recreating my personal iconic photo, but realized right away that the vibe was ALL wrong. Not only was the bust gone, but so was all the graffiti. A fence had been erected to keep visitors from getting too up close and personal to the grave. I still had Michele take my photo NEAR the grave, but I drank my beer on a nearby seat. Upon reflection, I felt more like an aging derelict on a park bench than a cool rock & roller. While it was a stark reminder that you can never go back, it also emphasized that you need to keep moving forward.
Postscript: On our return from the cemetery, we wandered over to the Le Marais district of the city to see the apartment building at 17 Rue Beautreillis. According to the most accepted account (there are MANY alternate theories as to what happened that night), it was here in a bathtub that Jim Morrison died after suffering a heart attack. I was amused to see a sign posted above the doorway that read, “Jim Morrison did not die here.” Was the author trying to tell us the location was wrong or was the message that Morrison was not dead?!
Mr. Mojo Risin’
July 3, 2026 marks the 55th anniversary of Jim Morrison’s death.
The author returns to Paris
Jim’s grave ain’t what it used to be.
