Tales Of A RATT (9 page)

Fire Foxx 1978. RATT Bassist Juan Croucier (left), Me, Lead Vocalist and Lead Guitarist Ron Abrams (right)

Rocket 88 in 1979. We were playing in Flagstaff Arizona here.

Brother-in-law took this picture while working as an interpreter in Russia 1984.

Be careful out there. There are things that go bump in the night. Actually, there are things that go 'Give me your wallet or I'll kill you' in the night. - John Larroquette It was through Rocket 88 (named after the old car from the 1950s, Rocket 88) that I wound up sacrificing a full year of my life to the court system.

We were finishing this two-week run at a biker bar called the Hard Rock Saloon in Long Beach. This was a really rough neighborhood, and our look in Rocket 88 was that of a bunch of skinny rocker guys. Usually, that would have made us targets for some abuse, but the biker's never fucked with us. I guess they figured that skinny rockers are better entertainment on stage than nothing at all.

In this particular place, there were seldom any fights. They were a "locals" kind of place, and there might be arguments once in a while, but nothing like what I was about to witness.

It was the final show of the second weekend. We did four sets a night, Wednesday through Saturday, for a two week stint. That week, during the Friday night show, some random black dude came walking in and was dancing at the front of the stage. That was really odd, because normally black guys don't like being around bikers, and vice-versa.

This guy, it turned out, had a saxophone with him, so he actually got up and jammed a Stones song with us. I think it was "Brown Sugar" or something. He wasn't very good, but it was funny and we were enjoying it, so everyone had a good time.

As I'm looking out at the club, the bar is straight ahead, and at the left of my vision is the entrance to the front door, and to the right are a couple of pool tables.

I noticed these two dudes hanging out at the pool tables. One of them really stuck out to me, because he looked like Chuck Daw. Chuck was my bro, but Chuck had an unfortunate habit of getting into trouble with the law. He was a really sharp guy, but not sharp enough to keep his ass out of jail. He had a drug problem which led to him stealing shit and getting collared for it.

When Chuck would get out of jail, he would just be ripped! He was always a big guy, with huge arms. My bro had some major guns on him, and could flat out fight when he wanted to. But, when he would get out of stir, the guy was a monster. All he had to do while inside was lift weights, and it showed.

Chuck was a total nice guy, you just don't want to be on his bad side. He would always wear those wife-beater T-shirts and have his hair cut real short.

There was this guy in the bar, and he had that exact same look. Fresh, prison reject.

For whatever reason, these two assholes caught the black guy outside after the show and beat the shit out of him. It really pissed me off when I found out about it.

The next night, those two guys were back. They really stood out from the bikers. The bikers looked like they were bikers. These two guys looked like jailhouse Arian Brotherhood.

It was at the end of the night. We always started out the evening with "Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen" by Cheap Trick, then we would close our last set with the same song, but change it to "Good night, Ladies and Gentlemen.” We were in that song when this all went down.

During the song, I was watching this fight break out over by the pool tables. It started, then worked it's way around the bar and toward this fake doorway that was made by the entrance. The thing had been built out of 2X4s and drywall, and was used to guide traffic into the club. When those guys hit that thing, I could have sworn it was going to come down, the thing shook so hard.

We finished the song, and the ambulance chaser in me came to life. I went outside to see what was going on. The bikers were looking out, and I worked my way to the front by weaving in and out of them. I was a lot smaller than they were, to say the least. When I got out there, I was shocked by what I saw.

There was a really big guy sitting on the curb, with his arms behind him, holding him up. These two assholes were kicking him in the head, over and over! It was bad enough that the bikers went back inside. They were too scared to do anything. That's how un-nerving the thing was.

The Chuck Daw look-alike was a guy named David Lee something-or-other. He was the one who was really going off. He was kicking him in the head with everything he had, going, "You motherfucker! Don't you ever touch me!” His buddy kept going, "Come on, man. We gotta get out of here!” He kept trying to pull the dude down the street. David Lee broke away and delivered one more brutal kick to the victim's temple!

The guy on the curb looked like he had a bucket of blood dumped over his head! It was unbelievable. I thought he was dead, and just hadn't fallen over yet.

I had this moment where I was looking at the guy sitting there, and seeing myself in his place. Having my head kicked in, with literally no one raising a finger to help. It was a very weird scene. I could honestly feel myself sitting in his place.

There was nothing I was going to be able to do for him.

I ducked up the street and followed these two guys on the sly. I'd hide behind cars, or trashcans and wait for them to round the corner, then I would rush up and look around the thing to see where they went. Eventually, they got into a car, and drove away.

I got the license number.

I went back to the Hard Rock Saloon and started packing up my drums. By that time, you could hear the cop cars and ambulances coming to the scene. The guy on the curb was alive, how, I have no idea. That man was a fucked up as I've ever seen another human being. The cops came in and I pulled one of them to the side. I told them what I'd seen and gave them the license number. They thanked me, and I went back to packing my gear.

I was getting ready to pile into the van and leave when the cops came back. They asked me if I would go with them. They had the car pulled over with the two guys still inside, and they needed me to identify them.

"You're kidding me, right?” Those two guys were animals. They just didn't care, and they had destroyed a man who was easily twice my size, no exaggeration. I told the cops that I felt I'd done my civic duty. I followed them and got the license plate. I'd rather not get any more involved.

The problem was, no one else in the club could accurately identify them. Without my help, they were likely going to walk for what they had done. Civic duty can be a bitch, folks, let me tell you.

The cops talked me into going with them, but the agreement was that the two guys wouldn't be able to see me. The lights from the cop car would be in their eyes, and they wouldn't be able to make me out.

That turned out to be total bullshit.

The cops were nervous about these two guys, so there's no way there were going to have them get out of the car until they absolutely had to. I had to actually get out of the cruiser and walk up to their car to look in.

It was them. They looked right at me, and I looked right at them. It was a pretty scary lock of eyes, there.

I told the cops, and off they went to jail. They were both out on parole, and now they were under arrest for attempted murder!

The district attorney interviewed me, and I told him the whole story. Surprise! I was going to be their number one witness. I was the only one who followed them to the car. I saw the whole thing. So forth, and so on.

I was concerned, because now I've got my nuts up on the chopping block should these two ass clowns beat this charge. They didn't seem the forgiving types.

When they started the trial, I'd go down there, get on the witness stand, and the first thing they would tell me to do is, "State and spell your name, and give your street address for the record.” They did that every day, with David Lee and his buddy looking on. It got to a point where I looked at the judge and went, "Should I just give these guys my apartment key? Would that make it easier for you?”

It was reaching a point where if these guys walked, I was going to have to take my family and move someplace no one ever heard of me. It was that kind of a situation.

I had been to the court so many times for testimony. Each time, they had to read the transcripts of the last appearance, I started getting a little more ballsy and irritated. I was getting a lot more matter of fact with everything.

I remember the first time the guy who took the beating was in court. I remember him being in the club, because he was a pretty big guy. He was probably 6'4". He reminded me of a friend of mine named Crow, because he had the same kind of curly hair.

This guy comes up to me in the hall.

His mouth is wired shut, because his jaw had been broken in several places, his nose was broken, he had contusions and stitches all over the place, broken arm, concussions, it was unbelievable what the guy went through.

But, that dude never fell! I remember that like it was this morning. He sat on the curb with his hands behind him, holding himself up, and he never fell. THAT was amazing, considering the beating those two jack-offs threw him. He would just take the force of the kick, but not fall over where they could stomp him. I can visually picture this right now.

He came up to me, and through his clenched jaw, goes, "I want to thank you for what you're doing.” I looked at him, and he was soooo skinny. He'd lost so much weight because of his wired jaw.

I go, "What the fuck happened that night?”

He says, "Those two were going off on a guy with a pool stick. I just stepped in and stopped them, saying, 'Hey, you don't need to do that. If you gotta fight, do it without the stick.' Then they both turned on me.”

The guy was just trying to stop some random guy from getting his head beat in with a pool cue.

One of the witnesses was a waitress. One of them was the club's owner. But, I was the focus for the prosecution.

At one point, I got into an elevator with one of the guys who gave the beating. Not the David Lee character, but the other one, and his family. I didn't knowingly get into this elevator, mind you. I was rushing to catch it as the doors were closing, and I caught the door and got in. Then I noticed that it was them in the elevator with me. It was a really uncomfortable moment, because they looked at me, I looked at them, and then he goes, "Let's take another elevator," and they all got off.

I went down in that elevator, and I was going to my car. I was looking around, all nervous and shit. It was a tense time for me. I was scared shitless.

One of my last trips to court, I had been out the night before to Pier 52 with a bunch of friends. We finished the night off at my place, partying and drinking and snorting blow. The party went all the way into the morning.

I called the lady at the prosecutor's office and told her that I was sick, and my car was broken down. I wasn't going to be able to make it in. Please let the District Attorney know.

The D.A. called me right back. I don't know if he could tell that I was loaded, or not. Most likely, he could. But, he goes, "You have to be here today. This is one of the last days of testimony. You have to get here. It's a very crucial day.”