Tales Of A RATT (4 page)

I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror. I had eaten some food, and was looking in the mirror, just tripping on my own face. A couple of seconds later, I puked all over the place! We'd been drinking beer that day, too, so it was hideous.

Pete comes in, grabs me, and goes, "What are you on, boy? What did you take?”

I'm like, "Nothing. I didn't take anything. I found an open Reese's cup with one left inside, and I ate it.”

"Bullshit. What did you take?”

"Nothing! This guy at the bowling alley had an RC and he gave me a drink off of it.” But, Pete wasn't buying it. The interrogation continued until I finally copped to what I had done, which meant that now I would have the biker kids after me.

Pete decided to take me to the police station. So he hauls my ass into the Torrance P.D., with me just blazing on LSD. Lucy in the Sky With Diamond, bro, and she was singing her song loud and clear. This one cop walks up, and I swear, the guy's nose was turned up like a pig's snout, and he was talking in grunts and oinks.

I was like, "Fuck! Look at that!” I wound up embarrassing the hell out of Pete, giggling at the pig-cop. Pete took me outside and roughed me up a little bit, but not as bad as I probably deserved. He took me home, and the Partridge Family was on TV. I was so confused. They looked like a bunch of cartoon people. I looked at my Mum and went, "Are they real?!? They look so funny!”

She got super pissed.

I was tripping out on everything, like the curtains. I watched all these patterns and lines moving around. It was like a kaleidoscope effect. Really fucking bizarre; especially as a pre-teen. In truth, I was scared shitless. So, I kept trying to describe it to my Mum.

Finally, she was like, "Go to your room!”

That was a great call, because I got into my room, killed the light and turned on my blacklight with all of my blacklight posters in the room. I cranked Hendrix and Zeppelin records. Then I understood! Then I got it! I was like, "Oh, yeah. All that other shit's pretty scary, but this makes the whole trip worth it.”

With the blacklights and the Hendrix, the whole thing turned out to be really fun.

But, now I had the biker kids after me. Richard Wood and Ron Ellerman. I still remember their names.

LA taught lessons fast, I was to discover. That's fine, because I'm a quick learner; eager, even. The Seventies were all about having a good time at the expense of everything around you. People were too busy getting laid, drunk and stoned; posing in front of their bedroom mirrors with broomstick guitars. They didn't spend time worrying about underlying problems. It's the perfect environment for reckless youth.

It wasn't long before we settled in a little house on 226th street in Torrance. It was the sort of house that blended into the rest of the LA basin. Not spectacular, but not a shit-hole either.

I find it amazing today that our house that sold for $40,000 in 1972 now sells for $750,000.

I went to Sam Levy Elementary on 229th street. Again, it lacked the elements of the spectacular. But, it wasn't long before I had some great friends in that neighborhood.

The best, hands down, was Drew Bombeck. Drew and I were fast compatriots, mutual offenders, and always the usual suspects when something questionable happened around school; that was us. I think it was because the two of us had a general disdain for anything involving structure. Let's just say, we didn't "blend.”

First off, we were the only two boys in the school with longhair (and attitudes to match). We had a lot of mutual interests; dirt bikes, chicks (Drew had, hands down, the hottest sister on the planet...alas, I could only love her in my mind...which I did often), but most of all, we bonded over music. Hendrix. The Rolling Stones. And, above all, the Beatles. I don't know if we were just fixated on the music of the Sixties, or if we hadn't found anything better in the Seventies. But, the Beatles WERE music as far as we were concerned.

I'm not getting down on the music of the time. Some of that music was great. But, glitter and glam flooded everything we saw: clothes, music, cars, candy, everything. It was hard to figure the talent from the shit. Some of it was easy; The Sweet, Mott the Hoople, and the absolute genius of David Bowie. That was talent. Some of it wasn't; The New York Dolls, The Sex Pistols, et al. To me, that was shit. It was the whole transvestite thing. I just never got it. Especially when it was used to simply mask a lack of real skill and musical talent. Mind you, Bowie had that look, but he had the brilliant song writing to back up anything he wanted to do.

Punk was experimental, and experimental is fine. Some of it is groundbreaking. But, I wanted to be on the radio. Even back then, I knew what I was going to do with my life. But, to get on the radio, you had to make music that not only spoke to your soul, but spoke to the majority of the other souls in the world, as well. Punk did everything it could to be noticed, but then got pissed off when it did. Okay. If that does it for you. But it doesn't compare to being worshipped by 14,000 people in a stadium, all of who know your music better than you do.

That's how it was with the Beatles. Modern rock and roll, almost without exception, can trace itself to the Beatles. Try to say that for the New York Dolls.

Drew, my bro, got that. We'd hang out for hours at a time, listening to our albums, talking music, talking chicks, and doing everything we could to forget we were only twelve years old. We'd jump on our dirt bikes and destroy anything that remotely resembled a bike trail. It was a free life. And we were indestructible.

Me, Carol, and cousin Chuck.

Me, Carol, Michael with cousins, 1978.

Photo of family above, Jeni, baby Michael, Bobby, niece Heather, Mom, Carol, nephew PJ, nephew Cris, Brother Michael. 1982.

My grandmother on my mother’s side Birtha Thorp (bottom row left), and other members of that side of the family.

Me in a dress, don’t ask me why.

Uncle Ron Blotzer, my brother’s dad.

Me acting kooky Torrance CA, 1972.

Brother, sister Carol and me, 1982.