Duncan – Superbowl Sunday – Part 3

We’re a little burned out. We’re not in our thirties anymore. Duncan comes to the gym and works out. He’s eating better. We’re not doing Philly Tacos anymore. (Philly Cheesesteaks rolled in giant slices of pizza from Lorenzos on South Street.) There is no Heavy Metal here. I think Duncan wishes his father was here to share this moment with him. My father is long gone and so is my mother and I’ve already forgiven and buried them.

Duncan speaks of a time when he and his father would watch the Eagles together when he was a kid. They are some of my friend’s finest memories with his father. His dad was a hard man but this was something they shared.

I get it. My father and I shared a love of film.

If the Eagles win the Superbowl Duncan would love nothing more than to go to the parade with his dad. But his father has already declined, but that sucks because that motherfucker should be at that parade with his boy. Just another failure as a parent when you could actually do he right thing by your son.

But I digress…

I’m at the salon until 4. We have no plan. It’s horrible,  Duncan is worried. He expected the King of Philly to have it locked down. No dice. Ticketed events and no idea where to go for a sporting event.

Duncan shows up at the salon an hour before closing and I ply him with soft pretzels and Tastycakes. (I knew it would work because he’s a Philly guy and I’ll figure it out)

It bought me some time before I closed the salon and I have no idea where we’re going to watch the Super Bowl.

I tell him I brought a flask and he can fill it with whatever he wants.

Duncan heads down the street and buys a fifth of Plantation Rum. It’s $50 a bottle so I’m down with drinking that.

He actually figures out a way to get the booze into the flask without spilling it by using the card that the Tastycakes rest on as a cylinder to pour the booze. Pure genius. A McGyver moment on this Super Bowl Sunday.

We’re set. Like we’ve been set in the past but tonight it’s raining and we have no idea where we should go. For the first time we’re at the hands of fate. I feel bad I haven’t set up a cool spot for my friend who has traveled 1500 miles and paid for a hotel and paid for food and drinks and now I can’t deliver on the only thing my friend wants.

But then we come up with an idea…

We head to the Ritz Carlton. Maybe the bar won’t be packed. Hopefully the people who are there won’t be a bunch of animals like everywhere else in this fair city.

Normally on a day like this you should already have your spot to watch the game staked out. But I closed the salon at 4 and now we’re trudging through the rain towards Broad Street.

We get to the Ritz and have no problem getting in. There are a few clusters of tables throughout but most are Reserved.

See the source image

Yea… this bar is amazing.

We get to the bar and there are no seats available. We drop our wet coats and umbrella. We decide the best course of action is to order beers. The bartenders are really busy so when we finally snag one, we order four beers. He’s happy to oblige and Duncan starts a tab.

We know we need to eat so we grab a menu and decide what we want. That’s when the bartender comes back and tells us there is one seat at the back left corner of the bar. We jump on that. It’s a perfect seat. I tell Duncan to take it. He says we’ll take turns. I don’t care. I’m accustomed to being on my feet for long periods of time at the salon. The seat is directly in front of a big flat screen TV.

We’ve done it. This is the most important moment of the entire weekend. Duncan has a front row seat to watch the Superbowl, a drink in his hand, and food on the way.

For me? Mission Accomplished.

To be honest I don’t care about sports. I never have. Do I enjoy watching the important games? Absolutely. But I’m just not a die-hard fan like most men.

My goal is for Duncan to be happy. He came all the way up here for his 50th birthday and to watch the Eagles play in the Superbowl and hopefully win. I’m happy to see him and we’ve had a great weekend together.

The game begins and it’s a tense match. The Patriots have won five Superbowls. The Eagles have never won. There is a stressful exchange of power during this game. When our team gets a goal, the place erupts in cheers. But when it goes the other way, a nervous hush falls over the crowd here at the Ritz.

Like I said, I’m not a sports fan. But that game was probably the greatest sporting event I have ever seen. It was a nail biter to the final minutes.

Finally….

The Philadelphia Eagles Win the Superbowl!!!

 

The place goes crazy. Duncan jumps on me and hugs me like it’s his last time. I’m high fiving and hugging people I don’t even know who have come out of the kitchen to watch. It was one of Philadelphia’s most glorious moments in history. We witnessed it at a lovely bar near a big TV. We really lucked out. Every place was packed or sold out. Duncan had a ringside seat and we were together for this moment.

That’s all that matters to me.

I turn around and the whole place is emptying out. Duncan says he’s going to watch the award ceremony. I tell him I’m going out front for a celebratory smoke.

When I was out here smoking earlier it was pouring raining. There was only two people out on the street.

Now I can’t even see Broad Street.

It is a sea of people.

Thousands and thousands of people have poured out of every bar, tavern or tap-room, and are now marching in the streets of Philadelphia. Cheering, waving flags, chanting, and carrying swag. There are idiots climbing the light poles, but that always happens when we have a major win. There’s a guy trying to rip the Broad Street sign from the pole. There are people dancing on the top of the newsstands. Groups of drunken revelers sitting on top of the bus stop shelter.

But, it’s surprisingly peaceful. There’s just so many people. If something erupted, I don’t think the cops could do anything. People are high fiving and hugging. It’s just such a happy joyous moment in our city’s sports history.

Duncan joins me and he’s loving it. Neither of us have ever seen anything like this in our lives. In 2008 when the Phillies won the World’s Series, the same thing happened, but this seems bigger. We’ve NEVER won the Super bowl. This is huge!

People were going crazy all over the city. I saw people riding on the top of cars like it was nothing. They’re firing fireworks off right over the crowd. It’s insane. Duncan and I hung out on the front of the Ritz for what seemed like two hours. Just watching the spectacle of this celebration from our safe perch. I’d occasionally whip out the flask of Plantation Rum and pass it to him. It was cold out there that night but the rum warmed our bellies.

We were going to leave through the side exit instead of diving right into this madness. But we were told by security that a bunch of people climbed onto the canopy over the door and it collapsed. All I saw was a twisted pile of rubble blocking the exit.

We eventually made it back to Duncan’s hotel. We both flopped in a couple of comfy chairs in the lobby trying to process what just happened. The Eagles beating the New England Patriots and winning their first Super Bowl. The frenzy in the streets that would probably last all night. It was probably one of the best times Duncan and I ever had together.

I’m glad I got to share it with my very best friend.

Here’s a glimpse of what we witnessed.

 

In a sad footnote to this blog that was obviously written a year ago, my dear friend Duncan just lost his mother. At 72 she suddenly had a stroke, and after a fierce battle succumbed to death a week later. We are all reeling from this terrible news and are trying to grasp what has happened to suddenly take her from us. She was a wonderful human being and we will all feel the void of her going. We can only move on now and know that we may all meet again when we are all equal.

I love you Duncan, and cherish  our friendship that sometimes I don’t even feel like I deserve. I hope you and your family can get through this together and know that life is beautiful, fleeting and fragile. 

You knew her for half a century and that is a long time to love in this short time we have on Earth with each other.

I’ve lost both of my parents in a two year span. It is devastating to a family to lose even one of the people that brought us all here.

But we’ll find a way to get through it and move it forward.

Just like we always do.

 

Charles

 

 

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Duncan – Touchdown – Part 1

“Whenever his plane lands he always texts me the signal: “Touchdown.” I know he’s landed in Philly and the fun is about to begin. But in that moment I didn’t realize how his phrase would ring true this fateful weekend.”

Duncan had planned on coming into town to visit me. It had been a while since we’d hung out. But this was a very special weekend. He was turning 50 and the Philadelphia Eagles were playing in the Super Bowl.

Whenever his plane lands he always texts me the signal: “Touchdown.” I know he’s landed in Philly and the fun is about to begin. But in that moment I didn’t realize how his phrase would ring true this fateful weekend.

My schedule has changed since he last was up here in Philly. I work every day and only get every other Saturday off. I don’t mind because I love to work and stay busy. We’ve got two businesses to run and this blog’s not going to write itself.

While I was walking into work today, I realized that even though we don’t see each other very often, Duncan is my very best friend. We’ve known each other for 20 years.

He later rolls into the salon on Friday afternoon. It’s great to see him. He walks up to me and practically jumps into my arms.

I give him the tour of the gym and salon. It’s been over a year since he’s seen it. The last time he was here the space was an empty husk of a fallen restaurant. Now it’s a busy tanning salon with a personal training fitness center up front. We’ve come a long way since then. He’s impressed.

We takes a seat in the waiting area and we chit-chat. This time together gives us a chance to catch up on what’s happening in each other’s lives. It’s been slow at the salon so we can talk. Duncan also likes all of the young attractive women that come in to tan. It’s like an endless pageant of beauty.

I get a couple of cheese steaks and sodas delivered and we happily munch them, while bringing each other up to date. We discuss current events, business, work, the women in our lives, and most of all Super Bowl LII.

When I finish we decide to go to Duncan’s favorite bar at the Ritz Carlton. He stayed there last year and we loved it. I got him a more modern and less expensive room at the Hotel Palomar at 17th and Sansom. But there’s no bar that looks like what’s at the Ritz Carlton. It’s a vast space with high ceilings surrounded by pillars. It’s like you’re having a drink at a beautiful white marble bar in ancient Rome. (But with all the modern amenities) If you ever get to Philly, check it out.

We park it at the bar and Duncan goes for his favorite: Rum, Bailey’s and Cream. It’s like a White Russian but more like a milkshake for adults. I like my drinks with a touch of evil so I go for the Manhattan, Bulliet Rye, Sweet Vermouth and brandied cherries. A lethal and elegant classic cocktail.

We get into it. We’ve been friends for 20 years. We know basically everything about each other. But there’s always new material. Stuff you know, but we go for the deeper dive. We both have issues with our parents. Who doesn’t our age? Especially boys.

We agree that the only way we could have moved forward in our lives was to forgive them and embrace all of the great things they did. Not dwell on the horrific things they did to us growing up.

We used to just listen to heavy metal and go to concerts and eat and party in the old days.

We relive those days of simple joy. Building our time together around concerts, meals, drinks, drugs and fun. But now we’re both men in middle age that have held our friendship through truth and our common interests. But mostly growing up in the same era and loving all of the same things.

The pain we suffered growing up has always been there, but tonight in middle age we let loose and agree to forgive. My gentle friend’s childhood was way worse than mine. Our parents were so good to us and they did the best they could, but why the violence against us?

Nothing good came from any of that. It was all just an emotional and physical release for them to escape from their own pain and frustration. None of our sisters knew this, but the sons did. The humiliation. The beatings. It was awful.

How could you do that to a child. By today’s standards, it is a 911 call.

I know my best friend’s life was worse than mine. There is always someone who’s had it worse than you.

I Love Duncan and treasure him as my distant best friend. We are always connected even though there are miles between us.

Our cylinders run an engine of friendship that transcends time and space. Business, values, marriage, relationships, philosophy, politics. comedy, film, Star Wars, comics, music. Everything. I just adore him.

20 years. You can’t build that without your ups and downs but there’s love there. It’s something we both have wanted our entire lives. I met my very best friend 20 years ago through the banking industry.

You never know when you’re going to meet a best friend. Sometimes you don’t even know who they are when you have them. But you open your eyes one day in this fleeting life and there they are 20 years later and you are just as you were when you first started.

You love all of the same stuff. There’s a little bit of new stuff, but the vein runs through it and it is pure. That’s your guy. He gets you. He knows your secrets and all of your fuck ups and weaknesses and he hangs in there anyway.

You can tell him anything and he won’t ever judge you. That’s a friend. He has all of his shit, and you have yours. You have both taught each other to forgive those that have hurt you. They only were doing the best they could with what they had.

They’re lives were so much harder than ours. Their parents came from a harder place and were even more ignorant than we are. But we’re the next generation and we love them. They did so many great things and that outweighs most of the awful mistakes that they made with us.

 

I’m plowing Manhattan’s and Duncan is destroying his White Russians like he’s John Bonham. Then for the first time in our 20 year relationship we finally dig into the darkness.

The agonizing pain of our childhoods and how ignorant our parents were. I describe what happened to me and with Duncan I feel safe in telling him what my childhood was like.

Then he describes incidents from his childhood and I am horrified and tears come to my eyes because I can’t imagine that happening to my friend.

It’s way worse than any of my punishments and almost seem like a call to child services would have been in order back then.

But as awful as it all is as we laugh and throw our cocktails back we discuss forgiveness and understanding. We both realize where our parents were in their lives back then. Where they came from and how far they came with all of us kids.

It was a different time back then and they didn’t know any better. They really did a lot of great things. Fantastic things for us kids, but there were moments where they made missteps that marked us forever.

They could never have foreseen the long-term effect on how what they gave us would propel us into greatness, but in that same moment, provide a weight, a nearly disabling weight that could destroy us in the same moment.

Some of their children would prevail and soar high and clean. Others would crawl from the wreckage of their upbringing broken and fragile, but would still find their way.

Maybe these birds cast from the nest would find their way and eventually fly back to the nest and rescue their own parents from their on demise.

Simply as an act of kindness.

Because they had become good people.

They were able to take the best of what they learned from their parents, and forgive the worst. Learn from it and be the best people they could be.

That’s my Duncan.

It’s late and we’re elated but wiped out. The bill comes and it’s $200. My God.

Duncan pays it.

I feel a twinge of regret but he insists. The weekend is only getting started and I’m stupid happy to see him.

I love Duncan. Our history is so rich, we could write a phicklphilly book just about our stories. (I probably will)

Our friendship has aged beautifully. Middle age hasn’t been kind to any of us, but we’re still tight as super glue. Our friendship has transcended time and space. We still love and hate all of the same stuff together. Now we’re in our fifties and I would love nothing more than to sit beside my dear friend watching whatever new Star Wars incarnation Disney can create and be happy.

We just want to share a moment, a drink, and a laugh.

We’ll do more than that this weekend, but for now… I’m just happy to have him in my life after all of this time.

 

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Wildwood Daze – Winter of 1980 – These Fucking Guys

Karma’s a real thing.

I’m busting my ass to work with this band with no name. I’m trying to fit in. I don’t know what Brian the drummer’s deal is. He’s a great singer, showman, and tough leader and we need direction. Jesse is a super talented guitarist way beyond my knowledge. I’m just trying to keep up and happy to be here and learn. Mark’s family owns the practice space and they have money. I just know it. This is successful restaurant that only needs to be open three months a year. I’m sure they’re doing well.

Mark has great equipment. Obviously not earned like me and my dear friend Jim. I’m sure his parents hooked him up with good gear because they’re rich. There’s a difference. I don’t care. I’m just happy to be rocking.

I slowly begin to discover that Mark is tone-deaf.

Our fucking bass player is tone-deaf. How is he a musican? I suppose we should all be proud that he’s a musician. Being tone-deaf means you can’t distinguish between notes in music. What the fuck dude? That IS music, motherfucker!

But you own the space and I’m still the Ronnie Wood in this band so I’ll be cool.

But another thing I learned was there was night I called Brian to see if there was practice and he would say no. I started to get suspicious.

I talked to my dad about it and he said the following:

“just go up to the restaurant one night when there’s no practice.”

I did this one night and walked in on them auditioning another guitarist to take my place.

This was a shocking and heartbreaking moment for me. I knew Brian was a controlling fucker, Mark would go with whatever the majority was and super talented Jesse was just a pussy puppet.

That was this dysfunctional family. A distrustful mess.

I walk in and I see some cunt playing through my Marshall and I’m pissed and hurt. I’ve abandoned my dear friend Jim. I betrayed him and now it’s me that’s getting betrayed.

Karma’s a real thing.

“What the fuck Brian?”

I think back in that moment how me, Larry and Jerry ran Jack out of Renegade to make way for Mike Carlin. We’re all little pieces of shit so I need to be cool.

“You just seemed too mouthy and wanted to take over the band with your opinions and songs. ”

“I’ve been always been honored to play with you guys. I left my best friends band to come play with you guys. I’m sorry if I came on to strong. I was just so enthusiastic to jam with you guys and join your band. I can scale it back.”

Brian looks at me with those blue eyes. Gives me the thousand yard stare. The loser guitar packs up and get out of there knowing there is a domestic about to happen.

“You auditioned these dicks behind my back and let them plug into my amp?”

“Sorry about that man. I just thought you came in here and thought you had too much control.”

“Brian, that has never been my intention. I just am so happy to play with you guys.”

This is the moment I learned that a band is like a marriage and a shitty family all in one. You would think I would have learned this valuable lesson and carried it forth into my future married life.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” (Brian was good like that) “You’re in.”

————————————————————————————————————————————-

Things were great after that. We grew as a band and were tighter than a crab’s ass. (That’s water tight!)

We bonded as a band. We made great music. I was happy. I would hang out and get pizza with Brian. He was a tough customer but a great singer and an amazing drummer.  I almost felt like we should get a drummer and he should be the lead singer of the band. I loved my role in the band. I just played rhythm and they let me do my original songs that I would sing. They actually liked when I would write a new piece and introduce it to the band. We were rocking!

There were nights I would hang with Mark. As fat and gross as he was he had a hot girlfriend. We as a band were all amazed by this, but well done, sir.

At a Styx concert when the band played their hit “Lady” Mark punched his girlfriend in the face. He didn’t mean to he simply thrust out his fists in joy that the band was playing the song and caught her in the nose.

Mark had a car. It was an enormous puke green station wagon that was great for hauling our gear. It had th frostiest air condioning I’ve ever felt. I don’t know what make or model that monstrosity was but it was a great car, It had faux wood paneling on the sides of it, that’s how horrible it was. But I will tell you this: It had a great cassette player in it and I was turned onto the lovely Pat Benatar in that car and have enjoyed being transported to shows not sweating my ass off.

But I do remember some tender times between Mark and myself. Brian was a gruff motherfucker but I was the sensitive Beatle. There were so many nights Mark and I would hang out in his car and just talk about life.

If he was struggling with something, his girl or whatever, he knew he could come and pick me up and we would listen to Joe Perry’s first solo album and had it out in his car. I knew Mark was sensitive and I think when I joined the band he had somebody he could talk to finally. Brian. Prick. Boss. Jesse. Great guitarist and moron.

Mark loved music and reminded me of Larry from Renegade, Guys that made music  just because they loved it so much. We all had different goals. It’s weird … you’re all in the same band but you all want the different thing. I can imagine a band that all wants the same things. What can that be like? Led Zeppelin? Aerosmith? I want that so bad, but that is hard to find on this little island.

We’ll just have to figure it out and make our way down here on this shitty little town.

We’re really good and I love this crazy band. But I’m worried. I feel there is a fragility to this group that could tear it apart at any moment.

————————————————————————————————————————————

“What?  Jesse is quitting the band? ”

“He wants to watch more TV.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Brian?”

“No man. He’s out. But I will tell you this.”

“What?”

“You know that hatchback Izuzu he drives?”

“Yea. He’s had that for years.”

You know how the whole back door is a glass window?

“Yea. So what?”

He quit the band today and packed up his shit. He put his amp in the back of his car and slammed the hatchback shut.”

“So?”

“The amp is square and it shattered his whole back window when he left today. It was fucking hilarious! His car’s back window is gone because of his stupidity. I couldn’t stop laughing. Stupid fucker!

I laugh with Brian over this crazy mishap but instantly have anxiety about the future of the band. Jesse had all of our songs and all of the leads.

We’re fucked.

“Hey man. Jesse was a piece of shit anyway. I fuckin’ hated him. Do you know anybody?”

My mind reeled at the loss of the greatest talent of my band suddenly gone. But in a few minutes I realized I did know someone.

“I have a guy, Brian.”

“Well, fucking bring him in for an audition because we’re short a lead guitarist. We’re going to have to start from scratch again.”

“I’ll give him a call.”

 

 

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Wildwood Daze – Winter of 1979 – Lola – Part 6

Lola’s mom is out with her sister. All Lola and I want is some alone time.  I just want to kiss her her

I go to her house. The whole relationship has been condemned by anybody who knows. But I love her. Lola is beautiful and voluptuous and I can’t resist her. Her mom seems fine with is. I’m a nice boy who looks so innocent I’m probably her a year older than her 14-year-old daughter. I feel like Jimmy Page and Lori Maddox at this point. (Google it friends) But I adore Lola. She’s such a sweet baby to me. I always liked young girls. I think it came from me being me being grounded so much and having to hang out with my middle sisters at the house that I got a taste for young girls.

They were always around. So cute and friendly. I had no point of reference, I think it stunted my sexual maturity. From fucking up and being grounded all of the time when I was younger I would be home with my sister and her friends. I had nothing to do and they were always around. This is a thing I carried with me my entire life. All of my girlfriends once I got out of my horrible nightmare of a marriage were all younger than me.

20 years, 17 years, 10 years, and now 30 years. It’s a never ending cycle of failure.

If you date women younger than you, they will always want marriage and kids. and if you’re divorced and have a kid and paying a fortune in chid support you will never want to do that again, no matter how magically amazing your girl is. (See: Michelle.)

It’s a horrible cycle.

I kept dating and getting into relationships with young women over and over for over a decade and they all end the same.

 

Lola is delicious. I love her. But I don’t even know what love is. I have already relieved her of her virginity. I feel guilt and victory in the same breath. But mostly fear of the consequences of the adult part. Pregnancy and VD are my biggest nightmares from Jersey to LA. That and drugs.

I have realized that I love the feeling of being around a beautiful girl. I’m a teenager and I am crippled by anxiety and depression I don’t even know I have but Lola makes me feel good for the first time.

I go to her Aunt’s house and we kiss, drink soda, and watch TV. We know when her mom will be back.

I was always amazed at how big Lola’s breasts were at the age of 14 and how much she liked me having sex with her. But I was her first.

I had already had my cherry busted years ago in Philly at 16 but for Lola this was a whole new world. It was for me too. Sadly, even at the age of 17 I actually was even more turned on I was fucking an underage girl.

What was wrong with me at age 17? I don’t think now it was anything perverted because I really thought of Lola as my girlfriend and I absolutely loved her. Cute, sweet, witty and fun. Lola made me feel relaxed with a girl for the first time.

I loved her little visits with her mom in the winter of 79. Lola was the sweetest, warmest moments of my life back then.

 

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Tales of Rock – David Bowie and the 15-Year-Old Girls

The surprise news of David Bowie passing Sunday night caught everyone off guard, and there has been a massive outpouring of emotion and support for a man whose music and art touched many (New Times has published two such pieces). Those tributes are well-deserved. Bowie leaves behind an incredibly diverse and impressive body of work, and he has inspired millions. David Bowie was many things — rock ‘n’ roll hero, queer icon, fashion superstar, a man unafraid to make daring artistic choices. He was also the type of man who, in his mid-20s, allegedly would sleep with two girls not old enough to drive themselves to his hotel.

Consider the story of Lori Maddox and her friend, Sable Starr.

In her teens, Maddox (often spelled “Mattix”) was known as Lori Lightning, a barely post-pubescent model who became known as a groupie in Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip nightclub scene. Raised by a single working mother with little time to care for Maddox, Maddox befriended a girl her own age, Sable Starr, and the two would eventually go on to party with just about every major rock star that came through LA. Most famously, Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page kept Maddox as a hidden girlfriend for two years while she was underage.

But before Page, there was David Bowie.

Maddox has repeatedly said in interviews that she met Bowie as a young teen and he asked her up to his hotel room. She was 14, and Bowie was in his mid-20s. Afraid, she declined. But five months later Bowie again propositioned her, and she and Starr went to his room.

Maddox has since told the story several times, including once for a VH1 documentary that curiously omitted her age at the time, but she most succinctly told it to Thrillist just a few months ago.

Next time Bowie was in town, though, maybe five months later, I got a call at home from his bodyguard, a huge black guy named Stuey. He told me that David wanted to take me to dinner. Obviously, I had no homework that night. Fuck homework. I wasn’t spending a lot of time at school anyway. I said that I would like to go but that I wanted to bring my friend Sable. She was dying to fuck Bowie. I figured that she would sleep with him while I got to hang out and have fun.

So the two girls went to Bowie’s hotel, where, according to Maddox, she had sex with Bowie, which later turned into a threesome with Sable.

We got to the Beverly Hilton and all went up to Bowie’s enormous suite. I found myself more and more fascinated by him. He was beautiful and clever and poised. I was incredibly turned on. Bowie excused himself and left us in this big living room with white shag carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows. Stuey brought out Champagne and hash. We were getting stoned when, all of a sudden, the bedroom door opens and there is Bowie in this fucking beautiful red and orange and yellow kimono.

He focused his famously two-colored eyes on me and said, “Lori, darling, can you come with me?” Sable looked like she wanted to murder me. He walked me through his bedroom and into the bathroom, where he dropped his kimono. He got into the tub, already filled with water, and asked me to wash him. Of course I did. Then he escorted me into the bedroom, gently took off my clothes, and de-virginized me.
Two hours later, I went to check on Sable. She was all fucked up in the living room, walking around, fogging up windows and writing, “I want to fuck David.” I told him what she was doing and that I felt so bad. Bowie said, “Well, darling, bring her in.” That night I lost my virginity and had my first threesome. The next morning, there was banging on the door and it was fucking [Bowie’s wife] Angie. I was terrified of her. David said not to worry about it. They were already at the point where they had separate rooms. She probably knew he’d be in there with girls… or boys. He was totally bisexual. I saw David many times after that, for the next 10 years, and it was always great.

So far as I could find, Bowie has neither confirmed nor denied Maddox’s account of that night, and there don’t seem to be any pictures of Bowie and Maddox. That said, Maddox’s relationship with Page, which — again — began when she was 15, is universally accepted as fact by now. Rolling Stone even confirmed it. Getty Images has archived photos in which Page drapes an arm around an obviously juvenile Maddox.

And to be fair, Maddox has not once indicated that she found the experience traumatic, though the encounter under today’s laws would be considered statutory rape. Quite the contrary, in interviews in the past few years, Maddox seems joyous retelling the story. Thrillist asked her point-blank if she saw any problem with how Bowie, a powerful older man supplying young teens with drugs and alcohol, slept with her that night.

“I was an innocent girl, but the way it happened was so beautiful,” she replied. “I remember him looking like God and having me over a table. Who wouldn’t want to lose their virginity to David Bowie?”

She later added, “I feel like I was very present. I saw the greatest music ever. I got to hang out with some of the most amazing, most beautiful, most charismatic men in the world. I went to concerts in limos with police escorts. Am I going to regret this? No.”

Of course, statutory rape laws are in place for a reason. And it’s up to Maddox to define whether her sexual encounter with Bowie was traumatic. Many have dismissed Page’s and Bowie’s actions as par for the course for famous rock stars, dirty misdeeds overshadowed by their contributions to the pop zeitgeist. Many are crediting Bowie’s being an androgynous role model with saving the lives of queer children worldwide. Statutory rape seems destined to be a footnote in Bowie’s legacy, because maybe that’s how we as a society evaluate our famous people: We don’t let singular acts overwhelm the legacy. We measure people’s value by what they contribute to society, and if a man happens to act unethically on the way to selling millions of records and being an overwhelmingly positive force in the lives of millions, so be it.

 

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Wildwood Daze – Winter of 1979 – Garage Band in a Shed – Part Two

I was killing it in school and I loved American Literature. My teacher Ms. Struble had Farrah hair, big tits and was awesome. I always ripped through my assigned books and crushed my tests. I loved to read and I loved her. There was this one girl in my class that was named Lisa that was super hot. She sat a few rows back from me and I would always sit sideways in my seat to check out her sweet legs while reading ” A Bell for Adano.”

I was in class one day, just staring at Ms. Struble’s sumptuous tits and she stopped and looked me in the eye and said, “Watch it,” It was an incredible moment in my teenage life. I was in a class I loved, and in class with a hot teacher that just recognized that I was admiring her beautiful bosom.

Mint!

My mom thought I had stolen someone else’s report card they were so good. School was easy and I liked learning when I got older. I was getting second honors. All A’s and B’s. I’m sure my father was happy he could focus on his life and not worry about me.

My friend Jim and I somehow met this kid Chris and he was a bass player.

Here’s the thing. He’s from money. His family owns a motel at 26th and Surf avenues. Jim and I need to see how hungry these money people are.

We go to the motel. Jim and I. My new friend. My ONLY friend. My comrade. We get there and Chris’ dad is there. He’s this little mealy-mouthed wimpy bespectacled guy.

The place stinks. It’s a smell neither of us has ever smelled before. It is a musky canine smell. Not wet dog, but diseased wet dog. Like cheesy sock and dog ass smell in the lobby of this motel.

Who the fuck stays here?

Chris’ mother comes out and she is wearing a bikini. She is easily 180 pounds and is sloshing out of this tiny bathing suit. I can stand the evil but I’m actually surprised Jim isn’t retching at this point. Two stinky Irish Setters bound into the room and we are both ready to vomit. Chris’ mom’s cellulite is quivering through the lobby. I want to die.

Jim holds strong and Chris comes out. He wants to be a part of our band. I’m desperate at this point and will take anyone so we say yes to him.

I remember Chris calling me and telling me how I needed to have the heat on if he was going to come to my shitty shed and play.

All I can see is his pink Rickenbacker bass and his serial killer face. I hated him.

What has happened to me? I love Jim as a friend. But this just isn’t working. I think Jim and I click as friends for sure and as musicians, yes. But I can’t do this. We don’t even have a drummer!

But Jim and I were working so hard on building something….

 

I was in art major class. I was chatting with some kid named Ron and he told me he knew of a band that was established that was looking for a rhythm guitarist with some creativity

I told him to hook it up.

I loved Jim, but fame was calling and back then I was selfish asshole. So I told Ron to intro me to this band. I needed to get going with my musical career.

It’s funny when you’re young how selfish you are. I should never have abandoned Jim. But I did. Just like every girl I ever met.

I was a vacuous piece of shit and I may still be that guy.

No. I know I’m not based on all the time I’ve put in with people

But just know that back then I was a heartless, “Madonna-like” opportunist that just wanted to further my musical career and would forsake a friendship for that silly dream.

I told Jim we were done. I was joining another band. I still wanted to be friends with him but was playing in an established act.

My only friend in Wildwood I abandoned in my pursuit of rock and roll.

 

 

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Tales of Rock: Steven Tyler Took Legal Custody Of The Teenager He Was Banging, May Have Pressured Her Into Aborting Their Child

While today he’s most recognized as a prettier, more flamboyant version of your grandmother, back in the mid-’70s, Steven Tyler was navigating the Aerosmith ship over the massive waves of success brought on by smash hits like “Dream On.” But Tyler wasn’t just in it for the fame; right around the time Aerosmith was hitting the big time, he reached deep into his heart to take legal custody of a troubled underage fan … so that he could have approximately all of the sex with her.

Julia Holcomb had a tragic past. Her father was a gambler with abandonment issues, she was a passenger in the car crash that killed her brother and grandfather, and her mother had a history of choosing less-than-stable stepfathers. So it’s understandable that, shortly after a 14-year-old (according to Tyler) or 15-year-old (according to her) Julia met Tyler backstage at an Aerosmith concert, her mother readily signed over custody to the rock star. And by “understandable,” we mean “completely irresponsible and totally nuts.”

But Julia’s mother wasn’t about to start making decisions that were in her daughter’s best interest now, and so the young teen spent three years living with Tyler, a skeletal sex wizard. As you may suspect, this arrangement did precisely nothing to soften the tragedies of her life. According to Julia, a profusely coked-up Tyler “convinced” her to have children with him by tossing her birth control pills off a balcony. Then, once she became pregnant, he took off on tour, leaving her all alone in his Boston apartment. Then the apartment caught fucking fire, with Holcomb barely managing to survive by crawling into a fireplace (which it seems was the last place the fire thought to look for her). Then, while she was in the hospital recovering, Tyler allegedly spent a full hour pressuring her to abort her five-month pregnancy (which, if you recall, was achieved in the first place by Tyler confiscating her birth control and casting it into the wind), finally convincing her by threatening to send her home to her mother. Having gotten his way, Tyler, riding a balloon of cocaine up into the stratosphere, sat down and watched the doctors carry out the procedure.

Holcomb went on to happily marry another man and become a mother of seven. Tyler went on to feature his teenage daughter in an overtly sexual music video.

Now, it’s important to note that Tyler’s version of events — namely, that Holcomb was a repeated-abortion-having sexual pincushion — was written with the intent of achieving bestseller status, while Holcomb’s version was published on a website with an obvious pro-life political agenda. So the whole truth probably lies somewhere in between. Still, when you’re placing someone on a scale from “massive douche” to “the black douche-hole at the center of the galaxy,” you’re really splitting hairs.

 

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