I don't have any movies tonight, the reason being that a close friend passed away last night (or at least I got the news last night), and to even call him a close friend doesn't do him justice because he was such an ongoing, constant presence in my life, and in all of his friends' lives, that it's more accurate to call him just that, a constant part of my life. His name was (and still is) Pat. If you know me, you knew him. It's not many people one can say they've known for fifty years, let alone been friends with for all that time, but Pat was one such friend. One thing about Pat: he was For Real. Absolutely no pretense about him.
I met him in in the Summer of 1973, when I was playing pinball at Thrifty Drug Store near the corner of Reseda and Nordhoff in Northridge. David Bragen was probably with me at the time, possibly my brother, too. We were fixtures on the Circus pinball machine they had in the store, and one day, another guy came in wanting to play it. That was Pat, looking very stylish in his bell bottom jeans, '70s satin shirt (flowered?), shag haircut (slightly longish and feathered), and best of all, his zip-up platform shoes. He was taller than we were (even without the platforms), older than me by more than a year, but what made him really stand out was that he worked at College Records, across the Thrifty parking lot. He was only 14, but already had a job, and the fact that he worked at a music store made him cool. His look made him seem more sophisticated than we were, like he was 16 rather than 14, a big age difference to a kid.
We met at the Thrifty pinball game a few times, and I don't remember how it happened, but Pat probably told us to come check out the record store. I don't think I'd been inside it before. To say that College Records would go on to have a gigantic mega-influence on my life is an understatement, and very soon after meeting Pat, David Bragen and I were hanging out at College Records every day. By 1974, we spent almost every afternoon there, because not only were we getting the best rock and roll education available in the country, but 1974 just so happened to be The Greatest Year in Rock and Roll History, as noted by Homer Simpson.
One of the first records I recall hearing at College was "Selling England By The Pound" by Genesis. Who'd ever heard, or even imagined, music like that? Not 13 year old me. I think Pat already knew about Genesis, and he saw their tour for that album at The Roxy in Hollywood (which would've been right after The Roxy opened). My life was changed by that album, and I became a progressive rock aficionado, grabbing up anything that was suggested (or that I heard inside the store on its JBL speakers) to enhance my learning. I can still remember the day ELP's "Brain Salad Surgery" was released, in November of '73. The clerks, likely Pat and his boss Barry, unboxed it, put it on, and......holy jiminy christmas! Talk about "who ever heard music like that?" I remember it was about 7:30 in the evening. The store closed at 8. So I ran home, told my Mom and Dad I just had to have $2.99 to buy it, not tomorrow, but now, right now, before the store closed. Dad gave me the dough and I ran back just in time to purchase my copy, then went home, where Mom and Dad said, "Well, let's hear it." I remember that Mom liked the classical "trumpet" parts Emerson played on the Moog on Karn Evil 9 Third Impression. He copped that melody from a classical piece but I can't remember which one.
This was the kind of music Pat was introducing me to. Before that, though I was a 60s pop expert, and knew every song ever on the radio from 1963 onwards, I'd never even heard of bands like PFM or King Crimson. All of them came to me through Pat. Other early recommendations were Yes and Camel. Such was his (and the store's) musical influence on my life.
And it wasn't only music he introduced. It was through Pat that I met Lillian, at the Capitol Records Swap Meet, one Saturday night in October 1980. He knew her from another record store, Moby Disc, where she and her friends went to shop, browse and hang out after school, just like David Bragen and I did at College.
I could write about the late 70s, and driving around in Pat's yellow Fiat (was it a Spider?). Late nights at Tommy's, eating triple cheeseburgers, driving through Box Canyon, pulling over because Pat spotted a tarantula. Or years of playing softball, on weekend afternoons, Over-The-Line in particular. He was known as The Commissioner then, because he organized the games. Pat had a big gym bag full of gloves and balls. He'd hand them out and we'd play. When The Commish says, "play ball," you do.
Then there were years of hanging out, first at Terry's, then in our garage at 9032, when Terry moved in there. Pat and Terry became close, and still talked on the phone when Terry moved to Washington state. He died earlier this year. Now Pat has joined him on The Other Side.
I am so grateful to have had the recent opportunities to spend time with him. He was undergoing some medical procedures recently, quite an ordeal, and designated me as his ride home from the hospital. I will always remember stopping at a 70s-era hamburger restaurant in Newhall called Jimmy Dean's. I love Newhall, and I know Pat did too. He'd only recently moved there, having gotten a HUD apartment in a beautiful,quiet neighborhood. He suggested we stop at Jimmy Dean's, and he bought me a double chili-cheeseburger and fries for driving him home from the hospital. The restaurant was next store to a small building advertised as "The School of Rock." I suggested we could open our own such school, being that he and I, between tthe two of us knew every freaking band that ever existed. Pat agreed, but said that we couldn't just speak extemporaneously. "We'd need a curriculum".
Man, I wish he'd had more time to enjoy his new apartment. I was over there again only about ten days ago. What a beautiful and peaceful place, and named "Canterbury Village"! Couldn't be more perfect name for a progressive rock fanatic. No one understood progressive rock like Pat did (well, except me.) I will carry the torch now; I was never really the heavy-metaller everyone thought I was. Well, I was for a while, but it didn't have the staying power of Prog. We talked about the music for hours in long phone calls, and holy smokes, Pat, we got to see the 50th anniversary of "Days of Future Passed", performed by the Moody Blues at the Hollywood Bowl in 2017.
I remember in the early 90s when his green ten-speed was permanently parked in our back yard. He used to encourage my Black Lab Shemp to jump the fence. I can't say I loved that, haha, but I hope he's up there with Pat now. And his dog Boo, also.
I still can't believe it, because just two weeks ago we were watching TV as his new apartment. He gave me some shirts to take home that were now too small for him, and are slightly too large for me, but I'll wear 'em.
Man, I've lost a lot of friends over the last 15 years. Many of 'em didn't even make it to 50. Pat lived the longest. He made it to 64. I'll be 64 next year, and that's another thing I can't believe. If you hear me yammering about progressive rock for 90 minutes on end, and it looks like I'm talking to myself, don't worry; I'm not. I'm talking to Pat on The Other Side. We've gotta keep our friendship going. Can't let a little thing like death get in the way. ////
And that's all I know. Play some Genesis in Pat's honor tonight. And thank him for the friendship and the music. Thanks, Pat! ////
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