The show began at approximately 8PM with Johnny taking the stage and delivering a vulgar, opening monologue to Siggy’s all-female audience. He also began to quickly select random women from the crowd to participate in various sexually explicit onstage skits. My first impression was that Johnny’s graphic routines were far from entertaining. Personally, I found what I saw happening onstage to be quite disturbing. And to me, most of the women in attendance also appeared to be equally unimpressed, laughing at Johnny rather than being enticed by him. I also thought to myself, what if one of the women onstage was my niece or aunt, or even worse, my daughter – being publicly groped and in my opinion, violated by this guy. Fortunately, I felt fairly confident that none of my female loved ones would attend such an event, yet I continued to feel creeped-out by Johnny’s performance nonetheless.
One by one, the various male “entertainers” made their way from Siggy’s dressing room to the stage to perform their routines. Bass-heavy, techno and hip-hop sounds blasted over the club’s P.A. system while Johnny instructed the dancers to “take it off” over the microphone and encouraged female patrons to provide them with generous tips. Despite the fact that all participants were willing and of legal age, I still couldn’t help but feel dirty just being there and ashamed to have had my name attached to such a spectacle.
But it gets worse. Unbeknownst to me, a couple of the routines that night were to involve fire and the club’s stage recently had been rebuilt and re-carpeted. Simply put, semi-naked, drunken, drug-crazed, dancing men + kerosene + Zippos = out-of-control fires and a destroyed stage.
Toward the end of the performance, Johnny surmised in his now undeniably impaired state, that the check I had issued to him earlier in the evening had been stolen from the dressing room. This was clearly a ridiculous notion considering that with the exception of his cohorts, no one else had gone in or out of the room all night. It was obvious to any rational person that Johnny had misplaced the check. I assured him that no one had stolen anything and suggested that he return to the dressing room and search again.
But Johnny was now too far out of his mind (from whatever) to accept or even comprehend any logical explanation. And instead of following my advice, Johnny returned to the dressing room only to inform the members of his group that the club had ripped them off. And immediately, I became the target of their misguided concerns.
There I was, an aging five-foot-six rocker dude (who didn’t even want to be there), standing on a nightclub dance floor, surrounded by half a dozen, angry, greased-down, doped-up dancing men wearing T-backs and buttless chaps. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so pathetic. The show was now over and male patrons once again were allowed to access to the club’s main room. Noticing the dance floor commotion, club staff members and a few male regulars came to my aide. Devon now had lost all patience regarding the evening’s shenanigans, and given the property damage caused by the show-related fires, he notified Johnny that when the check was found, the dancers would be held financially responsible for repairs. Oops!
Within seconds, physical violence erupted as the (now) irate dancers engaged in hand-to-hand combat behind the bar with staff members and patrons. Fortunately, based on an anonymous call, the police had already been dispatched to Siggy’s and stormtrooped the club with nightsticks and Tasers in-hand just as cash registers were being knocked over and bottles were sent flying and crashing in the ensuing brawl. The police quickly gained control of the situation and in the end, one dancer named Tommy was arrested, placed in a squad car and taken downtown while Devon was placed in an ambulance and rushed to the hospital – having had his thumb nearly bitten off by Tommy during the battle. All the while, Johnny stood in the parking lot, yelling obscenities at club patrons and employees.
I received a call the next morning from Johnny. Guess what he found in his pocket when he got home that night? But the club owner had already put a “stop payment” on the check before Johnny could cash it. In summation, Johnny’s crew didn’t get paid, the club lost money, one guy went to jail and another required emergency medical treatment. And I walked away feeling sick and disgusted, realizing that my life had come to this.
I’d had many chances throughout my life to offer a testimony for God. I made a half-hearted effort in 1984, but allowed myself to become discouraged too easily by my own “teammates.” Through my experiences with Dead Serios, a door was opened for me to deliver a powerful message to a large audience. However, I chose to spend my time in the spotlight running around onstage swinging toy lawnmowers, performing songs about boogers and chasing skirts. Years later, I went on tour working for Poison. But rather than focusing on Jesus, I focused on pimping out groupies to rock stars. Then, I got my first book deal. But instead of harnessing a golden opportunity to “shine,” my debut memoir was laced with F-bombs and glorified accounts of worldly behavior. I now recognize that in 2010, somebody was losing patience with me and finally was demanding my undivided attention. And the Male Revue experience served as a mighty attention-getter!
Voices Carry
By the spring of 2010, I was becoming overwhelmed with anxieties. I had difficulty eating and consequently experienced a drastic weight loss. From close friends and family members to casual acquaintances, people began inquiring if I had cancer or had developed a cocaine habit. Due to (now) frequent traumatic nightmares, I also was afraid to fall asleep and I began to rely on prescription drugs like Ambien and Xanax in order to catch occasional catnaps. In fact, I even acquired my own local dealer who I would visit late at night to access my much-needed meds without the fear of getting caught up in doctor shopping. And when I did fall asleep, I usually remained fully-clothed, with my shoes on, so I’d be prepared to split quickly in the middle of the night should I need to escape the evil spirits that I now perceived to be living with me. I also began keeping my drapes closed at all times and I found it difficult even to leave my house. Yes, that is as crazy as it sounds. I was too scared to fall asleep, but too freaked out to stay awake, and I was too scared to be in my house, but too freaked out to leave. I felt as if I was losing my mind. I’d often stumble through my daily tasks, muttering to myself just to silence the voices in my head that were haunting me. Emotionally and spiritually, I had reached rock bottom and because my life was supposedly going to be “destroyed” anyway, I further reasoned that there was no point in hanging around for tomorrow.
The “Weirdo Club”
One night I found myself alone, sitting in my kitchen, talking to myself. My house was clean, my affairs were in order and I had a knife lying on the table. My head was swimming as the overwhelming voices egged me on to, “Do it! Do it!” I wanted to kill myself so badly at that moment that I practically could taste the steel blade slicing through my veins. But just as I was at the height of THE darkest moment of my life, the phone rang. An angel was on the line.
I’d known my cousin Dorothy her entire life and she only lived an hour away from me, however, we never had been extremely close. I always had known her to be one of those overzealous Christian weirdo-types and I always had been a good-time rock and roller. Consequently, I never felt I had much in common with my thirty-nine-year-old cousin. In recent years we occasionally would exchange Facebook messages but neither of us ever had gone so far as to reach out personally to the other.
“God told me to call you,” Dorothy confessed immediately upon me answering the phone. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Uh, not really,” I desperately replied.
In no time, Dorothy began talking me off the ledge, so to speak. We soon started discussing my current laundry list of burdens and she offered me much-needed guidance and advice from a spiritual perspective. She further encouraged me to begin seriously seeking God through His Word.
I once shared this experience with a close friend who indicated that he thought it was an amazing story. However, although he didn’t doubt my sincerity, he found my account to be a bit too “hocus pocus” to be completely believable. Well, guess what
? God operates in the supernatural realm and He specializes in “hocus pocus.” His ways are not our ways. From the burning bush in Exodus 3 and the parting of the Red Sea in Exodus 14 to a talking donkey in Numbers 22, the Old Testament recounts numerous examples of God’s “hocus pocus-like” power. Heck, Abraham and Sarah were in their nineties when God fulfilled His promise to give them a child. Birthin’ babies, in their nineties? And I thought Rod Stewart was too old to be still having kids! And from feeding thousands with only five loaves and two fish in Matthew 14 and turning water into wine in John 2 to numerous acts of healings, the New Testament is loaded with accounts of the miracles that Jesus performed while He was on earth. Hence, given the supernatural power of God, to me, the timing of Dorothy’s call and her subsequent message are quite “believable.”
“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,”
says the Lord.“And my ways are far beyond
anything you could imagine.”
Isaiah 55:8 (NLT)
It’s funny that over the years I’d managed to memorize each word to every song on Bob Seger’s Live Bullet album (including the intros, uh-huhs, yeah-yeahs, and in-between-song banter), yet I knew relatively little of the very book in which I based my eternity. Sure, I’d grown up in church as a kid and spent much of my adult life sucking up to Christian rockers, but I didn’t truly know God’s Word. So I immediately began looking for answers to my questions in the one place where I should have been looking all along.
I located and dusted off my Bible and began reading. To my chagrin I found no answers to any of my questions! What? No “hocus pocus?” Aw, c’mon! So the next day I read some more. Still no answers. However, day by day, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, I finally found myself gradually being guided from the darkness and directed into the light.
As a result, you can show others the
goodness of God, for he called you out
of the darkness into his wonderful light.
1 Peter 2:9 (NLT)
I began my personal study in the New Testament because even I knew what the red ink indicated and I wanted to read for myself the exact words from Jesus. I soon discovered that the Word of God is as relevant today as it was thousands of years ago. In fact, everything I was reading in the New Testament could be applied to what I was currently dealing with. Ever since I was a young church boy, I’ve believed that all have come short of the glory of God, yet all can be forgiven – made righteous through the blood of Jesus Christ. But as I was approaching fifty, the Word of God seemed fresh. It was speaking directly to me and I was now (finally) listening.
Whoever has the Son has life; whoever
does not have God’s Son does not have life.
1 John 5:12 (NLT)
I ultimately found such inner peace through the Word and became so “on fire” for God that I was transformed into one of those weird people who sits outside of Starbucks, reading the Bible every morning. Dorothy and I would joke that we were members of God’s secret “weirdo club” and she and I were the only members – I would be referred to as “#1” and she was “#2.”
Dorothy and her family attended my April book signing in Orlando. I’d mentioned to her previously that I often had difficulty connecting with the language used in my current King James version of the Bible. At the end of the book signing, Dorothy handed me a colorful gift bag with fancy tissue paper sticking out of the top, containing a new Bible – an NLT (New Living Translation). The NLT is so “street” that it stops just short of using terms like “dude” and “bro” – even I could understand it. The NLT was exactly what I needed and in no time, the once beautiful, leather-bound book became filled with ink markings from my notations and coffee stains and cake crumbs from my morning Starbucks study time. I believe it’s actually more beautiful now.
Dorothy has since become my best friend and quasi-spiritual sponsor. And hardly a day goes by now when we miss making our morning phone calls to each other to discuss various faith-related matters, personal prayer needs and to brag about our awesome kids!
Jibber Jabber
So what does all of this jibber jabber about “darkness,” “light” and “transformation” really mean? Well, for starters, I was no longer interested in hanging out with rock stars and millionaires. My comfort now came from hanging out with Jesus and his disciples, like my new “bro,” Apostle Paul, through my daily Bible study. I didn’t think or act the way I used to either. It was as if I’d become a new person.
While some people have the numbers of their doctors, lawyers and mechanics programmed into their cell phones, I have the numbers of my hair stylist, makeup artist and nail tech programmed into mine! Alright, I know what you’re thinking, and believe me, I’ve been called those names for a very long time. Anyway, my tech, Melody, works part-time doing nails at my hometown salon of choice, Studio Medusa and she also works part-time at Starbucks. Wow, is God good, or what? Dream gigs, to be sure. Melody and I bonded pretty quickly as I soon discovered that she too was a Christian. She began sharing with me her own spot-on spiritual perspectives and revealed to me how we are defined and affected by the very language we use. As a result of Melody’s inspiration, I now guard my every word – careful always to present a proper testimony and not give life to any darkness.
For whatever is in your heart
determines what you say.
Matthew 12:34 (NLT)
So put to death the sinful earthly
things lurking within you…
Get rid of anger, rage, malicious behavior,
slander, and dirty language…
…Christ is all that matters, and he lives in all of us.
Colossians 3:12-15 (NLT)
I had not become “religious.” Christianity is not about “religion,” it’s about “relationship.” In fact, it was the religious leaders at that time who crucified Jesus. What I was experiencing was a newfound personal relationship with my Lord and Savior.
In Matthew 22, Jesus is asked which is the most important commandment. He replied that we must love the Lord with all of our heart, soul and mind. He added that we must also love our neighbor. I’d finally received the “love the Lord memo” and through my growing love relationship with Him, I now was able to extend love to others. I no longer was consumed by my own selfish endeavors nor was I a slave to anger, malicious behavior or slander (i.e. “darkness”). I was becoming filled with a genuine love for people (i.e. “light”) – showing kindness, compassion, patience and forgiveness to all – even to that guy who cut me off as I was pulling into the Starbucks parking lot and then had the nerve to get out of his car and scream at me. Put all of this together and it equals transformation.
‘You must love the Lord your God with all
your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’
This is the first and greatest commandment.
A second is equally important:
‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’
Matthew 22:37-39 (NLT)
Blinded by the Light
I likened my awakening to that of Apostle Paul’s revelation as chronicled by Luke in Acts 9.
Originally known as Saul, Paul was a Jew – a religious kingpin in his early days, with an infamous reputation for persecuting and even murdering Christians. As he was traveling one day from Jerusalem with his cronies on a mission to arrest believers in Damascus, he was struck blind by a light from heaven. At that point he heard the voice of Jesus, calling him out. “Why are you persecuting me?” the Lord asked. Now blinded, Paul was led to Damascus by his motley crew, where he remained – blind for three days. To cut to the chase, when his sight finally was restored by a fellow named Ananias, Paul experienced one of, if not THE most, amazing spiritual transformations ever recorded.
I certainly wasn’t persecuting anyone. I wasn’t a murderer or a rapist. But I was a total dirtbag – a self-centered, foul-mouthed, sex-crazed loser in dire need of a Paul-like revelation. I too was “blinded,” but thanks to Dorothy,
my “Ananias,” if you will, my “sight” was restored to perfect 20/20 vision.
In my view, few have ever lived for Christ the way Paul did following his Damascus Road experience. He went on to author two thirds of the New Testament and to me, he’s the second-most compelling figure throughout the Bible.
That’s What Friends Are For
I believe that God puts people in our lives to offer us guidance and encouragement, often when we need it the most. And in 2010, there were several amazing people who helped me get through a very tough time.
Willie Nelson once said, “There’s no such thing as an ex-wife.” And I’m inclined to agree with that. Despite our past problems, my ex-wife Trish and her current husband Travis actually proved to be two of my closest and most supportive friends. “T-n-T” (as they’re collectively known) became so alarmed over my drastic weight loss that they would frequently invite me over to their place and force me to eat. Mmm, home cookin’! And when I would sit like a zombie, mumbling to myself on their back porch, they offered me considerable words of encouragement. I can’t adequately express what that meant to me.
Chris Dillon would call nightly to offer me pep talks as well as frequent relevant Bible scriptures via email. Chris also introduced me to an exciting Christian author by sending me a copy of Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What – a book which proved to be particularly inspirational to me.
It was also in the spring of 2010 when I was contacted by a childhood friend, Melanie Dunmire-Halsey. Melanie was a cheerleader at my Orlando junior high school in the mid ‘70s. She was quite a character in those days and I remember her being one of the (very) few hot chicks who was actually willing to talk to me back then. I also remember that she often wore tight corduroy Levis that whistled when she walked into class. Melanie and I had reconnected on Facebook a couple of years earlier and we now enjoyed keeping in touch on a fairly regular basis. Another wonderful thing about Melanie is that she has always been a very godly person – not as “weird” as my cousin Dorothy, but pretty darn godly nonetheless. During a phone conversation in April, Melanie was the first one to sum up my situation accurately. “You don’t get it,” she boldly informed me. “You’re living out your next book.” She further suggested that I use my story to offer a personal testimony. This was particularly surreal because Melanie was my teenage dream girl and now, almost thirty-five years later, she was offering me spiritual guidance – she even prayed with me. Okay, maybe she is a little weird!
C’MON! – My Story of Rock, Ruin and Revelation Page 13