I really didn’t speak of them so much… in hindsight I would
say I wrote a biography and added a small personal note at the end. That personal note was about having met the
guys… but to read myself now, I realize I wasn’t really telling the story.
On June 6, 1992, Jerry Gaskill, Doug Pinnick, and Ty Tabor
played a show in Cleveland, Ohio at a venue called The Empire. It was a
somewhat narrow and long space, so you were either in the crowd or you were
sitting at the bar with a little more breathing room.
By the time the band was taking the stage, my friends and I had
made our way within the first five rows of eager fans, which spanned all of
about ten people wide. I’d be lying if I said we didn’t get our ears blasted
out, and I’d be lying even more if I said it wasn’t worth it. King’s X came to
play that night, and we were all witnesses.
As it turns out they were recording that night, and it was
the show that the band deemed worthy of their first live release.
As is true with many “smaller” bands, King’s X is
known to take a brief reprieve after their show and then spend all the time it
takes to share some time with anyone who wishes to say hello. Most bands I
follow are great enough to deserve huge recognition, and yet they’re consistently
humbler than most “regular” people I’ve ever met. They all seem to enjoy
meeting their fans and treating them more as friends. I’ve already started
talking about Lincoln Durham and Patrick Sweany, and soon I’ll be telling a
story about getting to know The Steepwater Band…
But in the meantime; King’s X.
As Doug and I shook hands and began to talk, he complimented the necklace I was wearing. It was a simple little thing… five chimes hanging from a rope necklace, tied there by fishing line. I had bought that necklace at my one and only Grateful Dead show. I attended this Dead show with my great friend… the first person I met when we moved to Cleveland in 1978, who’d pretty much been my best friend all through my high school days.
As Doug and I shook hands and began to talk, he complimented the necklace I was wearing. It was a simple little thing… five chimes hanging from a rope necklace, tied there by fishing line. I had bought that necklace at my one and only Grateful Dead show. I attended this Dead show with my great friend… the first person I met when we moved to Cleveland in 1978, who’d pretty much been my best friend all through my high school days.
And so I offered my necklace to this man I had just met. I
did so because he liked it, and because he had just inspired me to find my
better self, although I may not have completely understood that in the moment. He
refused, but I insisted. We went back and forth a few times, until finally I took
the necklace off and leaned over to place it over his head.
Doug told me I would see that necklace again someday.
Doug told me I would see that necklace again someday.
In the cover photography for their next album, Dogman, I was
amazed to see that Doug was wearing my necklace. It
was a most amazing gesture.
Over time I really started missing that necklace. It wasn’t
the idea that I gave it away; it was the feeling it had given me when I wore
it.
At that time in my life, I was living a very casual lifestyle.
I was managing pizza shops and finding my way up the ladder in the service
industry. Working in restaurants, especially the privately owned higher ticket
places, employees are often encouraged to “let their freak flag fly,” if you
will. Personalities that can entertain at a variety of levels make great
bartenders and servers, and I was quite a personality back in the day.
And while never devout in religion, I’ve always been
spiritual; always seeking a greater understanding how periods of turbulence and
harmony affect my soul. The chimes touched that part of me, and without them I
felt a loss of sorts.
So, I talked to friends, family, coworkers… anyone who
would listen, probably… and I asked them to please watch for the pieces… even
just the little chimes… maybe in a craft store. I figured if I could put
together the pieces I could try to make my own, else ask for help from someone
close with craft skills beyond mine.
A couple of years later, for my birthday I believe, my
parents gave me the most amazing gift. During their travels they’d found a
chime necklace… different yet similar… and so perfect. I’m forever grateful for
so much more, but that necklace says everything I will ever need to know about my
parents. I am truly blessed.
I still have that wonderful gift my parents gave me. I’ve
grown into a new life, with a job in an office environment where a certain
level of decorum is the responsible thing to do, and a 50ish year old man
wearing chimes isn’t quite within those guidelines.
And so I don’t wear it every day, but I still love it just as
much today as the day they gave it to me. I do wear it whenever I’m out riding
my Harley, or any time I go to a show… doing the things that make me who I am…
that make me feel free. And every time I lift that necklace around my neck, that
feeling comes right back. Harmony.
I just told my friend this story the other night… my old dear
friend from high school… and in the process I realized it was he who took me to
that fateful Grateful Dead show.
He had never heard the story about the fate of the necklace. Truth
be told, I don’t think he remembered the necklace at all, or maybe even that we
had seen The Grateful Dead together. But that’s okay… whether he remembered any
of that between then and now never mattered.
It’s the fact that we can talk about it today, now that amazing
circumstance has rekindled our friendship. We had lost touch for a while. My
move to Arizona was at a critical time in both our lives, and we had things we
had to do that broke the focus of an everyday friendship. But thanks to
classmates and Facebook, we’ve seemingly picked up at just the right level… for
a couple of guys who have led uniquely different lives, all the while
understanding that very fact as an integral part of why we are great friends.
As I’ve documented here in times past, I have been through a
lot of self-inflicted and circumstantial drama since my move to Arizona. This includes
but is not limited to a five-year addiction to methamphetamine. It’s been one heck of a life.
But I’m 11-years clean now from the thing that almost killed
me, and I know I am a better man for all my life’s experiences.
The night we met, my (now ex) wife and I discussed moving to
either Phoenix or Tampa. I’m here, she’s not.
Interestingly, the same friend from Cleveland who introduced
me to King's X and encouraged me to go to the Empire show on that hot and humid
June night, had somewhere along the way moved to Phoenix. It’s also worth noting
that this same friend was the first person to break my trust here in my new
home in the desert southwest. I was unaware of exactly how addicted to alcohol
my friend was, and how that addiction was causing his life to spiral out of
control.
As Memorial Day Weekend approached in 2000, this friend
offered my wife and I the opportunity to stay at his place and enjoy a vacation
in the city that might become our new home.
She told me to go have fun, but that she wasn’t interested in
going to Phoenix for the weekend, or maybe at all.
Her family life changed in the months leading up to our divorce.
Her parents were moving to the Upper Peninsula in Michigan, and her sister was
having a child… the first grandchild in the family. What had once been a promise
to venture across the country in search of an amazing new life together, became
her need to stay rooted in the Great Lakes region. I couldn’t stay, and she
wouldn’t leave.
Devastated, I made my way to Arizona on my own.
Within the first three weeks I lived in that loft in Mesa, my
friend told me he was two months behind on rent and we were being evicted. Of
course, I was a friend… so I trusted him when he suggested we move to the central
corridor of Phoenix, north of downtown. He convinced me there would be more and
better opportunities in that part of town, and that we just needed to stick together.
On a beautiful day in late May 2001, just a couple of months
after my friend and I had made that move that was supposed to bring better
opportunities, I was out riding my mountain bike.
I’d been out for about an hour and was ready to head home,
but before I wrapped the ride I decided to huff it up a street on the side of a
mountain to look at what appeared to be an amazing house. I accomplished my
goal and saw that house, so with my adrenalin surging and sweat beading on my
brow, I turned around and began to ride back down the hill.
As I was headed downhill, gaining speed and momentum, a van facing
the opposite direction pulled away from the curb. I’ll never know if they were
going to cut across my path, but in the split second I saw them and reacted,
that’s what I believed.
Unfortunately, that reaction led me to lock my brakes.
When my front brake locked I went flying over the handle bars.
At the time I wasn’t wearing a helmet or gloves, and I’d just taken off my shirt.
With both arms trying to extend to stop the impact, I plowed into the blacktop
with my left shoulder and the left side of my face and head.
There was an ambulance ride, and I spent a couple of nights
in ICU for the concussion. In addition to the road rash on my shoulder and face,
I had breaks in both my arms and had torn off half of my left earlobe. Thank God
for an excellent plastic surgeon.
Apparently, this was just a little too much for my alcoholic
friend. Once I was released from the hospital, he informed me that he couldn’t “take
care of” me, and that he had to leave. I of course didn’t understand what he
was talking about, as taking care of me was my responsibility. But that was
that, and he bailed… leaving me with a rather expensive 3-bedroom apartment to
handle on my own.
I had to break the lease and move to a place I could afford. I
was not able to work for about six weeks, but I did have employment waiting for
me upon my healing.
I got myself better and got to work… and in the process met I
met evil.
I’m sure it wasn’t her intention to be what I perceive her to
be, but the girl who called herself “Vivacious Vicki” was, in my world, the
devil incarnate. She was an addict, although I didn’t know it at the time. You never
know, until it’s too late. And then you’re an addict too.
There are too many sordid stories to tell here and now, but as
things were at their worst, blessings finally came my way.
Five years of tearing my life apart at the hands of the devil
eventually led to the good fortune of meeting a better person, who helped me
reconnect with my parents and find my way back to myself. The power of my
parents’ respect was enough to make me understand what I had become, and what I
had to do.
So I took a 5-day assignment through a temp agency. I started
that job on Monday, October 2, 2006. I relapsed in February 2007 for one
weekend, but never again.
I still work for that same company today.
I truly believe life has moments of turbulence and moments of
harmonious glory, and that the wonder of life is learning to navigate those
highs and lows without losing yourself in between. I’ve learned about the lows
in a way many never will, and I have certainly been blessed with some highs I’ll
never forget.
I have chosen to make my home a place that is two thousand
miles away from everyone I love most in this world. But I am blessed to be
loved by amazing people who never let me forget who I am, and I know amazing
sources of inspiration… friends to me in their own unique way… who remind me
that no one should ever be made to feel alone.
Tomorrow night, April 20, 2018, I will have the amazing
fortune of coming full circle over an extremely monumental period in my life,
as I am going to see King’s X for the first time since that night in Cleveland.
What a long, strange trip it’s been.
