1974 - It's A Wonderful Life

OK, in everyones life, hopefully, there are good times. There are times of adventure and, sometimes, events that have unfortunate results or demonstrate the callow foolishness of youth or ignorance. There have been many good times and I am now in a wonderful place in my life but the path was not always smooth. Sometimes in the middle of the greatest adventures one can find an equally frightening or threatening event. As an honest autobiography contains the good times as well as the less-than-good some of these are written...but not posted...until now. Some of these are arriving in the near future. They are hardly complimentary...but they are what they are. These aren't necessarily for kids.

1974 - Its A Wonderful Life

I was ready to blow my brains out.

I thought of the gun upstairs in Leo’s room. It was tempting but simply sounded like too much work to walk upstairs to get it. But if someone had walked into the room right then with the gun in-hand it would have been tempting to end to my personal torture. “Just go to bed,” I told myself, “everything will be ok in the morning.”

I looked at my “bedroom.” The dirt on the outside of the basement window was so thick lights were required at noon to navigate the room that looked out on a barren hillside. A shallow trench bordered the concrete wall. It contained about ½ an inch of an odiferous scum that used to be water. Three walls of concrete and one of wood with exposed 2 x 4’s and the back side of the paneling that lined the connecting room. There was no sound or heating insulation. A plastic window into the next room revealed the chaotic mess of guitars, amplifiers, drums and assorted cord, pedals, strings, drumheads and such. A sound board took up about a quarter of the room and my pillow and extra bedding was shelved underneath as storage room was severely limited. My unheated waterbed took up most of the rest of the room. I had a carpet beneath the sheets to insulate me from the cold water. It was 2 AM and the rehearsal/recording that had been going on until 20 minutes ago was wrapped up and I could contemplate sleep.

I couldn’t have cared less.

I was living in the basement of the studio/house owned by the sound company for whom I worked. My bedroom was also the sound booth. I had called dad that day for the forth time in the last two weeks. It was the forth time he wasn’t home for me. My depression was palatable. I was sure my neglect of calling and my lifestyle had caused dad to give up on me. I was sure I was “disowned.” I was stuck with a job that did not include a salary or paycheck. It only paid room and board. I begged for meals from whoever showed up with food. The main meal in the house was speed – crystal meth. I was a cautious participant, as I always have been with drugs of any kind, legal or illegal, but as a member of the household and the group of guys with whom I had made friends, the use was expected if not mandatory. In this environment my paranoia regarding my familial standing would be rationalized by imagination and less-than-clear thinking.

Needless to say, due to the drug, there was a surplus of extra energy in the house 24-hours-a-day although nothing was ever cleaned, fixed, straightened or maintained in any way. People were too busy playing their instruments, explaining some vague poorly-formed idea or obsessing on personal fantasies of stardom. Usually I rose well before the rest of the house who would all eventually appear around the crack of noon.

This was an upgrade from living in my car.

After arriving in San Diego for my “new career” in music the next few months were a hand-to-mouth existence with poor jobs, few gigs and little cash. Bill and I moved from place to place until we found this “great gig” doing sound and moving equipment for a locally well-known sound company just as they felt they were about to reach a “new plateau” of professionalism.” They were getting bigger and bigger gigs and making more money than ever before. We had worked for the Eagles as well as Boz Skaggs, Chambers Brothers, Kool and the Gang, Average White Band and other names of the day including big-time local groups like Boone’s Farm and Azteca. I had met every one of the Beatles, except Paul, at one time or another and the latest gig for Yoko Ono, Papa John Creech, Jimmy Smith and various other groups at a stadium festival was the gig that would take us “over the top.” Visions of fame, fortune and brushing shoulders with rock n’ roll greats was in Dennis’ head as he made big plans for his company. Unfortunately, he had developed a liking for acid, cocaine & meth sometime before and now was able to afford all he could consume.

I had recently sat in a meeting in the Jack Murphy Stadium offices, as Dennis’ assistant, with the general manager of the stadium, the concert promoter and the general manager of the sponsoring radio station when Dennis went off. The LSD kicked in. No huge outward displays of anger, or insanity except his sudden rambling dissertation about how he “met Yoko last night as we both flew through the universe.” He took off remarking on how during this trip Yoko had assured him the upcoming concert would unite blacks and whites, straights and freaks, and very possibly end the war in Viet Nam. Unfortunately as the war was already over the looks that resulted from his remarks were not very understanding or kind. I was sitting in a room with 3 millionaires and 1-goofball – my boss. The three suits began discussing the advisability of going forward with the concert as the meeting had been called to firm up any questions regarding sound and lighting and the guy responsible was clearly incapable of even thinking straight. They looked askance at Dennis clearly critiquing his ability to pull off his part of the event. Dennis was oblivious to the conversation. I spoke up reassuring the group that we had acquired additional sound equipment as well as scaffolding and forklifts. I assured them that, as of the previous day, all contracts were signed and committed to the planned upon date. I excused my self and Dennis as I escorted him out of the room and to a break area where he could drink coffee and watch the grounds-keepers maintain the interior of the stadium. Dennis accepted that we had all taken a temporary break – patently untrue but it satisfied him. I returned alone and in the next hour firmed up plans and took the final contracts to Dennis for his signature. I don’t believe they trusted us at all. I certainly didn’t blame them.

The concert came off like clockwork.

Yoko was the headliner and, unknown to many there, the drummer for a couple of songs was a disguised Ringo Starr who had been in LA visiting mutual friends when she invited him to play. John had been there early in the day but was not introduced as this was a period when he & Yoko were separated and they were arguing. He was only there for about 15 minutes before taking off looking somewhere between heartbroken and pissed. The echo in the stadium was terrible but the majority of the people were happy with the event as the music was plentiful and loud if not clear. Very few people were even aware 2 of 4 Beatles were in town. John left 2-hours before Ringo showed up so there was no crossing of souls that day anyway. Yoko screeched her heart out. Papa John Creech was next with the ancient Papa John wailing away on his violin backed by a group of young rockers. They were well accepted by the crowd but the next act was the surprise of the day: Jimmy Smith and his jazz organ. I was familiar with Jimmy from my parent’s record collection so I expected roller-skating music…I couldn’t have been more incorrect. Jimmy started playing but only got about 3 or 4 bars into the first number when his head cocked and he held up a clenched fist. The band, a drummer and a bass player, stopped. Jimmy ripped off a 10-note line and stopped. His head turned toward the rear of the stadium as the echo returned. He played the line again and, this time, when the echo returned he began tapping his foot to the bounce-back and played a similar line on top of his echo. His foot continued to tap to the beat of the echo as he turned to the band and counted, his fingers snapping in rhythm to his voice, “One…Two…Three.” On the unvoiced “Four” his head tipped forward as a signal and the band restarted the song playing harmonies over their own echo. It was a truly amazing performance. The crowd applauded and screamed their appreciation.

A week later we did a gig with The Marshall Tucker Band after which we invited them to our house to jam. They accepted. We found this country-rock group to be a group of consummate musicians with varied backgrounds and musical interests. Toy Caldwell played a very tasty jazz guitar. We partied and jammed for hours.

The Eagles concert was a bit different as it was held at Terminal Island Prison which necessitated unloading equipment from truck to boat, from boat to hall and reversal upon completion. Although they were all nice guys and very professional and friendly there wasn’t much opportunity to party and, as they weren’t far from their homes in LA, they certainly weren’t going to go all the way to San Diego to party or jam – regardless – great guys.

We did sound for Boz Skaggs in El Centro where he filled a AAA-Baseball field with appreciative concert goers. Boz was a good guy – his road crew – not so much. My favorite group to work with was the Chambers Brothers who were all gentlemen and consummate professionals. We did their concert in LA at a club called the Golden Spike.

Not long after that we worked an “Oldies Concert” including The Penguins, Paul & Paula, Rosie and the Originals, among other 50’s & early 60’s groups. Paul Shaffer, David Letterman’s band leader and keyboard player, was the house drummer for all of the oldies groups. Paul told me he had just come from a studio gig where he played keyboards for The Carpenters’ latest album. He was a consummate professional with an unlimited future. Just before Paul & Paula went on Paul got punched out by Paula’s husband when he made a pass at her backstage. He performed with a Kleenex stuffed far enough up his nose to be invisible. The headliner was Flash Cadillac and the Continental Kids who had recorded and performed the original version of the Happy Days Theme Song for the TV show of the same name. The Kids drum solo was one of the best drum solos I’ve ever seen for lighting as, after hammering his drums, cymbals, his drum-stool and the high-hat stand a roadie held up a Rambler-Nash hubcap which he went to work on. That was followed up by a well-shaken can of Budweiser. As tiny pinholes began to appear in the can it began spraying beer in random directions which made an impressive display under the lights. Afterwards I had a date with Rosie who, as it turned out, lived down the block from the sound company.

Working the concerts and building the new studio was great fun…but the downtime in between took its toll on my psyche. I felt completely alone even when surrounded by thousands of people. Late nights, not enough sleep, too many drugs, too many women, too many dealers, hangers-on and weirdo’s made my life less than settling. Dad’s unavailability was the straw that broke this camel’s back. As it turned out dad had not been home any of the times I called but my drug-induced paranoia told me a story much worse. When I retired that early morning I just wanted it all to end and wasn’t sure how that would happen.

That’s when the angel appeared.

We discussed my life to this point and the path that got me to this juncture. Then we went on a trip…to my future. It was a short trip. After that we talked for what seemed like hours and hours discussing philosophy and world events and where I was in relation to it all. We discussed the direction of society and my place in it…we discussed who would really suffer if I continued this path. Before the angel left it revealed I would have no memory of the meeting but explained the purpose of our time together was to allow me to internalize some of the things we had discussed so I could make rational decisions about my life. The angel revealed that these discussions took place all of the time all over the world. The angel said “You know those times when you realize something in your life has to change? You have had an epiphany that causes you to self-examine yourself and reach a crossroads of change. You have had an angelic visitation. As all of this takes place in zero-time you will be unable to remember any of this but we have discussed the issue long enough for you to have changed the way you think about this. The decision and the rest of your life? All of that is up to you.” The angel vanished without a trace and I was awakening on the late-morning of the angel’s appearance.

With the rising sun came a new attitude. Upon waking I looked around at my surroundings and asked myself out loud “Well, is everything better?” My answer was “Hell, no. But if I made it through last night I can make it through anything.” A sunny day, Adieus Huxley’s Brave New World and new resolution changed my total outlook. I can’t say I never did another illegal drug and, in fact, I roamed the edge of that culture until I retired from music in ’79 but was never as involved as I had been and it all eventually simply faded from interest as maturity and removal from the environment also removed the temptation. My family has never seen this side of me. I am now fairly proud of having survived this part of my life as many friends and acquaintances did not. The lessons learned are a major part of who I am…but I don’t think I’ll be returning.

Oh…and I NEVER AGAIN contemplated suicide…