Before we start, I have a musical question: Do you guys like The Cranberries? Lately I can't stop listening to them. There's just something about Dolores O'Riordan, her voice and persona, that's captivating to many people including myself. I am a fan of the female singers from the 1990s: Leigh Nash, Tonya Donnelly, Natalie Merchant to name a few...but Dolores was the best of the bunch, I think. We all know the big Cranberries hits like "Linger", "Dreams" and "Zombie", great songs all. But check out their entire first two albums for some deeper, darker tracks. Both of those records capture the essence of the '90s. Long live Dolores O'Riordan.
Okay folks, we have a lot of work to do. We are currently researching 1983 (from a notion I received to do so), and in order to properly cover it, we must start by examining the final three months of 1982. I remind you that the Zilch Burglary happened on January 31 of that year, the first sign that something very shady was going on with my band members, Dennis and Dave. We've also surmised that Lilly knew about the crime in advance, not because she was complicit (she wasn't) but likely because Dave Small, in a moment of nervous tension, revealed the plan to her. Dave was a nervous guy. It's possible she found out about it in another way, but she was not part of the plot, and in fact she tried to show me what was going to happen by alerting me to the loose window in our Golden Glenn studio unit (see the last blog for details).
For the most part, however, or even entirely, 1982 seems to be without trouble for me and Lilly.
She graduated high school in May and began college at CSUN in September.
But then something terrible happened in my family in October or November. My Mom attempted suicide. I've tried to date this, using my usual triggers like movie titles, concerts attended, world events, etc. One event that rings a bell is the day I went with Jon S. to interview Aerosmith at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Grimsley went with us. I used to think this was in November, but now I am sure it was October. Anyhow, what happened was this: I came home one night, possibly right after that Aerosmith interview, to be told that my Mom had been taken away in an ambulance. She'd slit her wrists in our small back bathroom. Fortunately, she "cut the wrong way" (across rather than lengthwise) and only used a butter knife. Dad thought it was more a cry for help than an actual attempt. Still, there was a fair amount of blood. I wrote about this in my original version of "What Happened in Northridge". I helped clean it up. It was very traumatic but I was relieved Mom was gonna be okay (and she was, and she lived 26 more years).
Regardless of the "seriousness" of Mom's attempt, it hit Dad very hard. He was already a heavy drinker. Now, he was hitting the bottle even harder. Dad had retired the previous Summer after turning 62. He was home all day, and with Mom now in a court-mandated psychiatric lockdown (at Olive View Van Nuys), he just sat in his green easy chair in our living room, and he drank, and drank and drank. On a side note, I think Mom's lockdown lasted either 60 or 90 days. Well, here's what happened next. Dave Small (my friend and bass player who died in 2008) was spending a lot of time at our house that year. We'd lost our rehearsal studio (Golden Glenn) back in February and were using my bedroom to jam. Dave and I were doing speed, which we got from Howard Schaller. I'd quit my job at MGM (also the previous February) and we went to Howard's house (as explained in the last blog) about once a week to get our "crank" from him. It enabled us to practice for hours, which is what we did for most of that year. As noted, Lilly was going to school, CSUN by now, and working for Dr. Winn in the afternoons.
One night, in November 1982, Dad was sitting in his green chair. I noticed that he looked somewhat yellow. "Hey Dad...Dad?...Dad, are you okay?" There were at least half-a-dozen empty vodka bottles on the floor, at Dad's feet and surrounding the chair. He hadn't drunk them back-to-back, but over the past few days, and it struck me that he'd been sitting in his chair for the better part of 72 hours. Dad was non-responsive.
Dave was at the house. "Hey Dave...um, my Dad's not moving. He's not answering me. He needs to go to the hospital. Can you help me take him?" I didn't have a car. My 320i was repossessed the previous February (which seems to have been a particularly bad month). Dave agreed that Dad needed medical attention. We got him on his feet and somehow into Dave's car. I think Dave had his Studebaker at that time. We drove Dad to Olive View Van Nuys, the same hospital where Mom was in lockdown, and we took him to the emergency room. On a side note, I remember the orderly saying, "Man, how'd you guys ever get him in the car?" Dad was admitted to the hospital with acute alcohol poisoning. This happened approximately two weeks after Mom made her suicide attempt. I will always remember saying to Dave on the way home, "I can't believe both my parents are in the same hospital at the same time." But I was also relieved because now they could get better.
Dad was released after a few days or a couple weeks. He would later enter a six-month rehab at the Sepulveda VA. Mom was sent home from lockdown in time for Christmas, as I remember. My movie title triggers came in handy on this one; I recalled that Mom and Dad went to see "Tootsie", and loved it as much as everyone else did. Lillian and I saw it, too. "Tootsie" ended everyone's year with laughter.
But there is one very noteworthy thing for our research. Howard Schaller stopped selling speed at the end of 1982. This happened in November or December. I remember the scene quite clearly, even though it was 43 years ago. Dave Small and I had gone over to see him on our usual weekly run. I always called first (you had to), and when we got to his house, Howard was in his driveway working on his metallic-blue chopper. He had our usual gram of "crank" and handed it to me (the price was always 80 dollars), and then he said something that, for Dave and me, was definitely unwelcome news.
"Hey Buddy...um, this is gonna be the last one. I can't sell you any more after this."
I was no doubt stunned, but what can you say except, "Why?"
"It's because I'm switching to coke. It's easier to get ahold of, and more people seem to want it." I think he added that cocaine was a bigger profit margin for him. He may have said, "But I'm guessing you guys don't want it since you're used to this stuff". And he was right. As noted, the saying among the speed users at MGM was "Coke's a joke" because it only worked for twenty minutes. A speed high lasted half a day.
For the record, and it's important to say this, I haven't used drugs for 28 years. Not even pot. However, it's also important to be honest, and these details are very important for our story and our research.
So keep it in mind that Howard Schaller announced, in November/December 1982 that he would no longer be selling speed because he was switching to cocaine. We already know that Howard was connected to the Meissners, and was present at events at their house. But that's getting ahead of the game. For now, we're at the start of 1983.
Dave Small and I made one more speed run. It turned out to be our last (until 1993) for reasons that will be apparent. Someone, I think it was David Friedman, told us about "this guy in Lancaster" who sold "crystal meth". I didn't know if that was the same as "crank", or something different, but Friedman made the arrangements and we drove out there, to the boonies in the Mojave desert, using Dave Small's Thomas Guide to guide us.
The guy had speed for sale but he was crazier than a hoot owl. It was my first experience with a grade-A Tweaker. He had a gun on his coffee table. He got his scale out to "weigh the stuff" but took forever to actually weigh it because he kept getting up to look out his window. His eyes were bugging out, hands twiching. He started talking about how "they" might be coming at any moment, and if "they" came, there was probably gonna "be a shootout". He kept glancing at his gun on the table. "If it happens," he said, "if they come and there's a shootout, its gonna be every man for himself, so I'd advise you guys to jump behind the couch or whatever you can find. But don't try to run out of the house."
I remember making eye contact with Dave, like "we've gotta get the F outta here." We somehow convinced the guy to weigh the speed, then bag it or put it in a vial so we could leave. One gram cost us $130.00, 50 bucks more than Howard Schaller's price, and the guy's stuff wasn't as good as Howard's. Both Dave and I knew, without really talking about it, that it was our last speed run ever. We both did say, "I'm never going to that guy's house again." And because we knew no other dealers, we just stopped using. This was in January 1983.
By this point, Lilly had finished her first semester at CSUN. It was Winter break. She was out of school for six weeks. School usually resumes at the end of January, right after Super Bowl Sunday.
This concludes our late-1982 preamble and brings us to the notion I received, earlier this Summer, to research 1983. Do you guys ever get notions? I do, and I trust them because of the astounding results they've produced. Now, to repeat something I've said in other blogs, for decades I thought that all the trouble for Lillian and myself began and ended in 1989. Late 1988 at the earliest. I thought What Happened in Northridge (as I call it) was a 1989 Event lasting twelve days in September of that year. That Event did of course happen, and was of Earth-shaking significance, but it did not encompass the totality of the things that befell us in the 1980s.
Not even close.
When I discovered this fact, beginning in 2023, I wondered, "Okay, then. If not in 1989, when did all the trouble start?" My research backtracked to show extreme incidents in 1988, 1987...and just one month ago I got this notion to research 1983. I thought, "Wow. It started that early, eh?"
That appears to be the case.
Let's start with an incident from Super Bowl Sunday on January 30, 1983. Please keep in mind all the stuff from our 1982 preamble.
Do you guys remember a Mexican restaurant called Chi-Chi's that was out by the Northridge Mall? I don't mean Chi-Chi's Pizza, which has been in the same area for decades. This was specifically a Mexican restaurant (part of a chain) that was popular in the early 1980s. And there was one that was located almost directly across from the Mall at Nordhoff and Tampa. Okay, now forget Chi-Chi's for a minute. Because when I started researching 1983, and this memory came back, I only remembered the incident. I couldn't remember the name of the restaurant, and thought it might've been a sports bar because I clearly recalled watching the Super Bowl. I was at a table by myself. I was waiting for someone because I never go to restaurants by myself. Who was I waiting for? I thought it was probably Lillian.
I recalled sitting there, knowing the speed trip was over (the Lancaster incident was likely just days earlier). I was depressed at that prospect, and sipping a margarita and feeling it more than usual...but none of this is why the incident was memorable.
It was because all of a sudden, Gary Patterson appeared. There he was in the restaurant. Now he was approaching my table. As noted, I was sitting alone, waiting for someone, probably Lillian. I didn't know Gary. He was David Friedman's friend. Oh, I'd jammed with him once at his house out in Sunland. That was in 1982. And I'd bought pot from him once or twice. But I didn't know him, and on the few occasions I'd been in his presence, I found Gary offputting, arrogant, snide and condescending. He was a good bass player, a better musician than me. But he was also a drug dealer, and he had that edge to him. His nickname was "Skull" (he looked like one), and even though he was skinny, I found Gary Patterson a little scary. He had cold eyes.
And now he was sitting down at my table. "Hey, Adam! How's it going man? Mind if I sit with you for a minute?" (to be continued shortly)
Due to time constraints, this story is gonna have to be a two-parter. I promise to return more quickly than usual with the second half (no more than four days from now and maybe sooner). For now, please keep in mind the timing of my Mom's suicide attempt. I am wondering why it happened when it did. We were never given a specific reason why she did what she did, or why it happened then, in the Fall of 1982.
I think there was a specific, and secret, reason.
Back soon, in the next few days. Thanks for reading. Tons of love as always.
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