World in My Eyes: The Autobiography

by Richard Blade

  In between the roles however she would often come home from her latest audition in a sad mood, feeling that she was missing out on her chance to finally get that breakthrough part and land the lead role in a TV series. I tried to be the rock that she could lean on just as my father had been Mum’s support but obviously I hadn’t done enough. Even with all her talent, Hollywood was slowly beating her down and, unknown to me, our marriage with it.

  We hadn’t really talked about kids until that previous night and when the topic came up I dismissed it as “not being ready; maybe now, maybe ever.” My reasoning was that if we had children it would completely change everything for us. I was not willing to be a part-time dad. I would want to be there for my kids 100% just as my father had been for me. That would mean giving up my gigs and so many side projects and I just wasn’t ready to do that, but for me that would be the only way I would even consider starting a family, so that I could be the best father possible for them.

  Karen hadn’t seemed upset as we discussed the situation but could that have been it? Had my comments triggered feelings inside her that she didn’t express to me? With her landmark birthday approaching, had children suddenly become a priority and had I just inadvertently dashed her dreams of becoming a mother? Whatever the reason, something had caused her to leave and I was totally blindsided by it.

  I called Karen’s sister who reluctantly told me that Karen needed “some time” and was with her mother and asked me not to call, that she didn’t want to talk and she would reach out to me when she was ready. Her words confirmed my worst fears and as I hung up I fell to the floor and tears exploded from my eyes as my body shook uncontrollably. I rolled back and forth on the carpet convinced of the inevitability of what was going to happen.

  It had been many years and many women since I’d left a great love whom I’d never forgotten, Terri Nunn, for Karen and now I was on the verge of losing everything I had ever worked for. All I could hear, roaring through my mind, was the word divorce and those were seven letters that were strangers to me. I grew up in a happy household. My parents had married for life and never once even came close to splitting up. But here I was, after just four years, on the brink of a failed marriage. I was rocked to my core. This was not something petty, this was life-changing and I had never been so low.

  Was it a combination of events, was it because I’d changed so many things about myself to try and make this marriage work or was it because it was so unexpected? Whatever it was it hit me like a ton of bricks and the silence of that empty house, once so full of love and laughter, screamed at me. If I had been so wrong about this then perhaps I was wrong about everything?

  I desperately needed someone to talk to so I called Peter but all I got was his answering machine mocking me. I felt so lost and alone and I found myself falling into a deep, dark abyss. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. If my life could turn so bad, so quickly, then what terrible thing would happen next? And what was the point of this? What was the point of anything? At that moment, in fearing losing everything, I lost myself.

  I went into the bedroom and took out the twenty-gauge pump shotgun that I’d bought to have in the house for Karen to use for protection during the nights I was gone at my gigs. I was not a fan of guns but figured my wife needed something and a handgun has to be aimed and the bullet needs to hit its target to be effective. A shotgun with its loud discharge and wide scattershot field is much better in a dark, chaotic situation. Just point it roughly in the right direction and you’ll probably hit what you aiming at.

  I took the gun and loaded a single shell into the chamber and pumped it. I thought for a moment about what this would do to my beloved mother but she still had Stephen and my pain was so great. And this would be easier than having to tell her I was a failure at one of life’s most important relationships.

  My jeans were wet from my tears and I took a final look at the house that I knew the lawyers would inevitably take from me. It was all too much to bear. I raised the gun and steeled myself for the hot blast when I heard a cry.

  Sitting just feet from me was Angel. She had her head back and was howling in distress. I had heard her howl many times before when Karen and I would tease her with our own “little wolf” calls that we’d make just so she would join in with us to be part of the pack. It was so cute and we loved to do it with her. But this was a different howl. It was like her heart was breaking too. If a dog can scream in anguish then this is what Angel was doing.

  I lowered the gun and Angel took a few steps to me and lay down across my feet. She looked up at me with her chocolate brown eyes that said “take me with you,” then lowered her head in a motion of surrender as if she should go first.

  Hurt her? How could I do that? Then how could I leave this poor, defenseless creature who only wanted love? If I was gone how long would she be alone in the house before she would be found? And who would take care of this innocent animal?

  I realized that for the first time in my life I was being a coward, wanting to run away from a tough situation, just to make the pain stop. I had never done that before and it had taken my beautiful Angel to show me my weakness and fear.

  I ejected the shell and put the gun away. Bring on whatever might come, take from me what you will; I would face it the way I had done everything in my life so far, by meeting it head on. After all I had failed in love before; the only real difference here was that we had signed a contract that now might require lawyers to be undone. And everything can be replaced, even my house, it was only stuff. But there was one thing I promised myself that I would never give up in the legal battle ahead.

  I reached down and petted Angel, “Whatever happens, baby girl, you’re staying with me.”

  Ten days later Karen returned. I was right about what caused her to leave, she had been upset by our conversation about work and children and needed time away. We tried to work things out, to put it behind us and even went to a marriage counselor, but there was no violence, or drinking or abuse for them to address. From the outside we seemed to have a great marriage, a perfect couple, but for us it was never the same.

  In June of 1993 things came to a head when Karen returned from six days away in Aruba with her sister, her husband and their new baby. Who started what is a matter of conjecture but within minutes I said quite simply, “I’m getting a divorce,” and within three days I moved out to an apartment in Burbank just blocks from KROQ.

  When the staff at the radio station found out about our pending divorce they were stunned. The DJ who followed me on the air, Tami Heide, reacted like she had been punched and had to sit down when she heard the news.

  “My God,” she said, “if you two couldn’t make it then there’s no hope for anyone.”

  I was saddened by everything that went down. Karen was a wonderful girl, a talented actress and a good wife but something had happened between us and whose fault it was I still don’t know. The only thing that was certain was the divorce severed our relationship for good and Karen never wanted to see me or talk to me again. That is something I regret as I treasured our friendship as much as I treasured our actual marriage.

  The lawyers did their work and ended up being the ones that came out ahead as they usually do, but I walked away a single man once again, and I retained possession of the one thing that meant the most to me, my little Eskie, Angel.

  My first thought now that I was single was to find Terri and see if she was willing to give me another chance. Sadly for me, but hopefully happily for her, she was married and that meant I couldn’t even think of suggesting anything with her. I might be a scoundrel but I respect sacred institutions like marriage. So instead I went on a tear.

  I started working out like a mad man, put on nearly ten pounds of muscle and began dating every beautiful girl I ran into. I was almost insane in trying to put my failed marriage behind me and had one night stands with actresses, soap stars, strippers, waitresses, models, you name it. It was a wild time but I was lost and n
eeded to find myself again,

  The Palace became a haven for me and a great place to meet girls. They would all come there because it was Richard Blade night so I had an almost unfair advantage. One Friday in late 1995 I noticed a particularly gorgeous girl dancing her heart out on the floor and whirling like a dervish as I played “You Spin Me Round.”

  I called her up to the booth but she wasn’t interested in me. Instead she tried to set me up with her friend, Susanne. She was cute but now I had my mind on someone else.

  My wild dancer was back the next week and again I made a point to speak to her but this time instead of summoning her to the booth like some monarch granting her an audience I came down to the floor and chatted with her. Maybe that was the trick because we just clicked that night and we laughed together and danced. I found out her name was Krista and we made plans to meet outside of the club and go for dinner.

  Krista was awesome. So much fun to be with and just down to earth and happy to stay in, kick back and watch TV. There was no pressure from her to always have to go out and be seen around town. Her favorite thing was to put on comfies and cuddle on the couch. Plus she loved Angel and Angel loved her. The two of them bonded instantly and it was so cute to watch that little fur ball follow Krista around the house. I only had one problem with her.

  Krista was only nineteen years old. I was twice her age. It didn’t bother her but as we were starting to get serious I was concerned for the future. I met her parents and immediately saw where she got her fantastic personality. Dyle and Lonnie Henderson were incredible people and so down to earth. We laughed, shared beers and enjoyed each other’s company.

  I took Dyle to the side and had a man-to-man talk with him.

  “I know I’m a lot older than your daughter but…” I hesitated, “but there’s nothing I can do about that and we really like each other.”

  Dyle nodded, “As long as you don’t hurt her I’m fine with it. I’d rather her be with a good man like you than some idiot who is the same age as her.”

  And just like that, Dyle cleared the air and the Henderson family gave us their approval to continue our relationship.

  Krista had come with me to The Palace on Friday November 29, 1996. She was living with me now and had thought that this might be the last night she would be going out before getting our home ready for the holiday season and her big twenty-first birthday coming up on December 20.

  The Palace was particularly packed that night and being the first weekend after Thanksgiving everyone was there ready to party. It was a little after midnight and I was getting ready to head out of the DJ booth and make my way to the stage to start a series of contests and giveaways that had been a feature of my Friday nights at The Palace for the past five years.

  I slammed into House of Pain’s “Jump Around” which all the regulars knew was the signal that the contests were about to begin and as I turned to leave the raised booth I saw a guy dressed in a red plaid shirt step up onto the balcony rail.

  The balcony was at the same height as the DJ booth, about fourteen-feet above the dance floor. It was always a great vantage point to see the stage. It held about 400 people who normally watched the action from their seats. But this person wasn’t sitting.

  He moved so fast there was no warning, nothing anyone could do or say. He stepped up to the balcony rail and without hesitation did a swan dive from it, his arms outstretched to his sides and plunged head first to the floor.

  I pushed Krista and everyone else in the booth out of the way and took the spiral staircase down three steps at a time. I jammed through the stunned crowd, my mind racing. I had been teaching Medic First Aid for more than five years and a dozen scenarios flashed through my mind; Head, neck or back trauma; stabilize but do not move the patient for risk of aggravating the injury. Broken arm or leg; bind and stabilize until it can be X-rayed and placed in a cast. Rib fracture; check for signs of punctures or internal bleeding, have the victim remain still until a stretcher can be brought in. Remember the ABCs - Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Introduce yourself with the first responder’s greeting, “My name is Richard. I’m medically trained. I’m here to help you.” and get his name so you can have him answer you and keep him responsive.

  Like a series of flip cards all those thoughts went through me in less than a second, but as I reached the fallen victim I saw something that my years of training had not prepared me for.

  Kevin Fowler lay there, face up, in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood. The top of his skull was crushed in and split open from the impact. It looked like the back of his head was also broken open also but it was hard to tell because of how he lay. He was breathing but just barely.

  Blood was pouring from his mouth which suggested a puncturing of his lungs. This meant that should his heart stop beating, CPR would be impossible because of the probable existing lung damage and the obvious trauma to his spine and ribcage. Chest compressions would only aggravate his injuries. This was beyond the scope of anything that could be done in the field; it would take a miracle to save him even if he were in a well-equipped ICU rather than lying on the floor of a crowded dance club. All that could be done would be to prevent him from being hurt any further by the crowd and getting paramedics here as quickly as possible to transport him to the expert care of a hospital.

  The Palace security and Krista were with me now and I called out instructions to them.

  “Keep everyone back ten feet so he has air. Krista, call 911 and get paramedics here. Tell the operator that there is major impact trauma to the head, back and lungs.” I pointed to the side exit and then to security, “Keep a path to that exit open and unobstructed and have one of your guys wait outside and as soon as the ambulance arrives bring them in that way as it’ll be a lot quicker.”

  I turned back to the fallen disco dancer and knelt beside him. I spoke continuously and reassuringly to him hoping to ward off shock. “We’ve got people coming to help you. They’ll be here soon. It’s going to be OK. They’ll patch you up and everything will be good.”

  His eyes locked on mine as I lied to him, “Don’t worry about anything it’s all going to be taken care of.”

  His gaze didn’t move from mine as he violently coughed twice and blood flew from his mouth. He convulsed for a moment, then his whole body seemed to sag and slowly his pupils glazed over as the life fled from his eyes. I was the last person he saw on this earth.

  A few minutes later the paramedics arrived and took the twenty-year old’s body out on a gurney.

  I got to my feet and walked silently through the crowd to my dressing room backstage. My hands were covered in his blood, my jeans soaked through from where I’d been kneeling by the dying boy and my face was stained with streaks of red.

  I stood at the sink and scrubbed and scrubbed as though the very act of getting clean would bring him back. I gazed hopelessly in the mirror and prayed to myself that nothing like this would ever happen again. Little did I know that not only would my prayers go unanswered, but that this young boy was just the first of three people who over the next six years would die in my arms as I held them.

  All the local papers and news channels carried the following report.

  December 1, 1996

  A 20-year-old man apparently jumped to his death early Saturday at a Hollywood nightclub, police said. Kevin Fowler was dancing at the Palace in the 1700 block of North Vine Street when he dove from a second-story balcony into the crowd below, sometime before 12:30 am Los Angeles police Officer Mike Partain said Fowler, who lived in the Los Angeles area, suffered head and neck injuries and died at the scene.

  Kevin Weatherly was furious when he heard the news and called me into his office that Monday morning before my show.

  “We’re taking The Palace off the air and you are to do no more gigs there. It’s over,” he yelled.

  I understood his anger but it was misdirected and I stood up to him.

  “You can’t do that,” I answered forcefully. “The Palace di
d nothing wrong. Their security were on top of the whole situation. It was no one’s fault but the kid who decided to jump. It was a tragedy but The Palace wasn’t responsible for it.” I was not going to back down; after all, I was the one who watched the boy die. “If someone died in a car wreck driving to a KROQ show would you stop putting on concerts and cancel the Weenie Roast or Acoustic Christmas? No, you wouldn’t and no one would expect you to.” I took a breath. “The owners are reaching out to his family and in respect to the kid are going to be dark this coming Friday. There’s nothing else they can humanly do.”

  Kevin thought for a second and I knew he was fearing a lawsuit coming at KROQ. “Okay, if that’s all there is,” he said, “but one thing you should know. You’re not bigger than the radio station. Lose KROQ and you lose everything. It’ll all go away and you’ll have nothing.”

  I have immense respect for KW but his words ripped me apart inside. All I had tried to do was save that boy’s life and the memory of his fading gaze would haunt me forever. And to stand there and hear my job threatened and be told I had nothing else going for me in my life after all the work I had done and the experiences I’d had over the years shook me to the core and dispelled any doubts that I might have had in my mind about my importance to the station.

  I pulled myself together and said simply, “I have to get on the air.”

  I left Kevin’s office and went into the control room. I sat there trying to regain my composure, to bring the show for the listeners. As my opening song played I picked up the phone and called Krista. She answered on the first ring.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. She could tell from my voice I wasn’t. “Tonight, when I get home let’s start making plans.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting out of here. For leaving LA. That is if you want to go with me,” I said.

  “I’ll go anywhere with you,” she said without hesitation. “Where are you thinking?”