Hollywood: Rock Of Ages

by Chris Solberg

  Pops and I were both still in panic mode and after every bit of the fire was extinguished, we got back into the van and left the parking lot. The gas station attendant yelled at us as we drove off into the distance. We never looked back.

  As usual, Pops and I did not say a word to each other for a good five minutes. (If we ignore it, it will go away). I think we were both in shock. Here we were in possession of a van that is full of smoke residue, no blankets for the bed, and one large beer and soda soaked, down-feather mattress. We finally made it back to the club, with no sign of the other guys. Good. We have time to figure out what to do. Pops and I discussed possible ways to dry the mattress out, but we could not figure out how to take care of the extra large burn mark on the mattress that meant the world to Ernie. We checked the inside of the club for anything that would resemble a blanket. We located an old dingy blanket that appeared to be unwanted in the corner of the stage area. We put that into the van, but knew that everyone would eventually notice that all of the nice bedding was missing. Besides, how would we take care of the large burn on the mattress? What about the pungent smell of smoke? What about all the missing beer and soda from the cooler? I had a plan.

  We had another roadie with us on the tour. I have not mentioned him much because he was not well liked by any of us on the tour. He was basically a big fat slob, that thought he was cool, but was really the goofiest guy on the planet. His name was Mike. Mike has a fat pudgy, ugly baby face, orangish curly hair, and pale white skin. His laugh was annoying enough to make you want to shoot yourself in the head if you had to spend much time with the loon. He wore button up shirts that were always two or three sizes too small, so the buttons were always ready to pull apart every second of the day. Mike would tell anyone he could corner for five seconds really stupid comments or jokes. I never wanted to hear them, but he would corner you and tell you anyway. Mike’s most famous comment/statement to me was, and I quote; “Guys, when I get a girl alone, I get my bottle of Jack, my bullwhip, cowboy boots and ride the bitch until she screams Daddy!” I thought to myself every time he said that, “What a dick! He is so full of shit!” This wacko actually had a red leather bullwhip with him 24/7. I think he thought in his sick mind that he was the 80’s version of Indiana Jones.

  Pops and I had no problem laying the blame on Mike regarding the fire in the back of the van that destroyed the ever so favorite mattress, because he was such an ass. But how could we pull this off? It was very easy. Mike would be assumed the guilty party by the rest of the guys within 24 hours, I just knew it.

  Pops flipped the wet charred mattress onto the other side, so the burn mark would be face down and not easily seen. He put the old blanket that we found on top of the bed and threw a few suitcases and pillows on the bed to make it look as if nothing was out of place. We just had to keep the rest of the guys out of the van for the next 12 hours to allow the bed to dry. The beer and soda had seeped all the way through the mattress and was beginning to stink and the smoke odor was unreal and overwhelming. We waited inside the club for the rest of the guys to arrive. Remember, they do not think that we had ever left with the van. Pops took some of his spray cologne and soaked the rear of the van to cover up the smoke odor. Hmmm, how do we keep everyone out of the van? I told Pops that if anybody wanted something out of the van, including Mike, to volunteer to retrieve whatever their hearts desired. Pops had to fetch things here and there, nothing big. It was worth the trouble. Just keep everyone out of the van for a few more hours.

  Mike usually slept in the van to guard all the equipment overnight. Our goal was to get Mike rip-roaring drunk so he would not notice any blankets missing or the mattress being wet. We fed Mike throughout the evening every drink imaginable. Mike thought this was really cool because we never bought him anything. We always made him fend for himself. Things would get better. We could see that Mike was getting smashed. Exxxxxxcellent!

  We were all set up to play the show and the little barn-like building was packed to its fullest with hundreds of screaming fans. That band Dangerous Toys could really draw a crowd! There were hundreds of people inside the club and hundreds more outside that could not get in. The temperature outside had not gone down one degree. In fact, I swear it went up ten degrees. As darkness relieved the sun’s duties for the day, you could hear all of the various insects buzzing, humming, clicking, hissing, competing with the noisy air conditioner that droned away in the night. Fireflies were everywhere and they lit up the sky like some extra large set of Christmas lights. There were so many fireflies that evening, they would land on you every few seconds. Because they tickled and annoyed your skin, the first thing you would do is slap them. The juice from the firefly would be all over my hands and face, resembling a broken glow stick you would get during Halloween. All of the outside fans that could not make it into the club, entertained themselves by rubbing firefly goo on each other. Nobody here seemed bothered that they could not get in. They just set up camp and partied at their vehicles like a football tailgate party. It was a carnival atmosphere and made for a really fun evening. Beer and shots were flowing in the parking area, inside and on every square inch of the clubs property. As people got drunk, they were dancing in the various mud puddles in the dirt parking lot. As the evening went on, it reminded me of a scene straight out of Woodstock.

  We wormed our way back into the club to play yet another sold out bitchin’ show. I can only recall flashes of the evening. I know I had a good time, but details? Forget about it!

  We were finished for the evening and the partying continued until the club closed. We were very buzzed and having a great time. Mike, well that is a different story. Mike was absolutely trashed! That was our goal. Much easier than we thought it would be. We shooed Mike into the van to lay down and sleep for the evening. Pops and I told the guys that we would drive the

  passenger van to the hotel room and we would be responsible for Mike. Nobody argued. Mike passed out in the back of the van and did not complain once that the mattress was wet or that it smelled of old beer, smoke, and soda. Mike was out cold like a dead body.

  Pops and I took off and headed back to the motel. The rest of the band had already taken off and we were on our own. I did not think of the drive here. What street is the motel on? What is the name of the motel? What road are we on? How many turns we took at this oak tree, or past what barn. Worst, it was pitch dark. Ok, we had to make our way back to the motel and meet up with the rest of the guys. Nowadays, you simply call your buddies and tell them you are lost, but remember, this was the 80’s and we had no cell phones! We took off to make our best attempt in finding our motel. After all... how hard could that be? We had been driving on the winding road for

  approximately ten minutes and found nothing that even remotely looked like civilization. Pops cracked a couple of beers for us to drink along the way. After all, we did not want to lose our buzz while we were dickin’ off looking for the motel. We kept driving, and driving and flipping U-turns. We were a good one hour into driving, with several beers finished along the way. Without any notice, Pops screamed, “Blow-hatch!” I thought shit, heads up! What is he blow-hatching? Pee? Nope, just an empty bottle. Out the window it went and smacked a speed limit traffic sign. Pops found this to be absolutely grand as he boasted a big smile on his face. I scolded him not to litter, but laughed it off in the same breath. Pops continued, “Blow-hatch!” I laughed and told him to stop, we are going to get in... OOOH SHIT! A Sheriff patrol car was right behind us! Crap! Crap! Shit! The emergency lights came on and we were now getting pulled over.

  Cupkake: “Pops, don’t say anything! Stay cool. Don’t say anything!”

  Pops: “Ok. It’s all good.”

  It took awhile for the Deputy Sheriff to approach our vehicle. I could see him fussing around in his vehicle, but nothing more. I patiently waited for his arrival, trying to remain calm. I was buzzed. It was very difficult to stay calm. I am still in most of my stage gear, hair standing straight up, makeup smeared...
so how can I explain this?

  The Sheriff Deputy arrived at my driver side window. The Deputy stood taller then the vans driver side window, so all I could see is the Deputy’s giant gut pouring over a gun belt hosting a various bunch of weapons, to better assist him with kicking my ass. The Deputy then leaned his head into the window. I remember thinking this is it. I had heard stories about the “good ol’ boy” cops in the south and here I was face to face with the biggest one I had ever seen. The Deputy sported a jet black, thick mustache, and his skin looked as if he had not ever seen any sunshine, almost reflective, pale white. He was chewing on something, probably tobacco, and he had an extremely thick Southern accent with long drawl on every other word spoken.

  Sheriff Deputy: “Are youuuu boys lost?”

  Cupkake: “Very lost sir, we are visiting...”

  Sheriff Deputy: “I know, y’all from California. You guys have a good show this evening? I think my son when over to see y’all.”

  Cupkake: “Great show. I hope your son enjoyed it!”

  (I was thinking to myself... am I dreaming? This must be all just a bad dream).

  Sheriff Deputy: “Hey, you haven’t been drinking any... is that y’alls

  record on that there dashboard?”

  Cupkake: “Yes it is. Would your son like it? I have a poster also.”

  Sheriff Deputy: “Yeah, Yeah, Ok as long as... well do y’all... hey can y’all sign the record and poster to my son?”

  Cupkake: “Sir, no problem, you can have two.”

  (I signed the back of two albums and gave them to Pops to sign even though he was not in the band).

  Sheriff Deputy: “Why, thank y’all very much. My son will enjoy this there record. Where y’all goin, I can help ya boys get there now.”

  Cupkake: “We are looking for the Motel 6. It is right off Main Street in downtown Memphis. It should not be...”

  Mike wakes up and dangerously interrupts the conversation while the Sheriff Deputy was still standing at the driver side window.

  Mike: (Yelled loud enough that Arkansas could here him) “WHAT THE FUCK ARE THE FUCKIN’ COPS DOING? WHAT DO THE BASTARDS WANT?”

  I am positive the Sheriff Deputy heard Mike loud and clear. I leaned back and calmly told Mike to be quiet I was asking for directions back to the motel. Mike mumbled a few more undesirable words toward the Deputy, still plenty loud so the Deputy could hear, and by now I thought for sure I was going to have my ass beat and arrested. After all, I had been drinking, Pops was throwing bottles out the window, and Mike was running his fat, filthy mouth at the Officer. Shit!...

  Sheriff Deputy: (calmly stated) “Is your friend alright? He seems a little angry.”

  Cupkake: “Yea, he is a little sick. I am trying to get him back to the hotel. That is an acquaintance of ours, not a band member.”

  Mike: “I AM NOT YOU BONE HEADS! WHY IS THIS BED ALL WET? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? YOU GUYS ARE ALL ASSHOLES! FUCKING WHORES!”

  Sheriff Deputy: (long pause) “Ok. You boys get along now... Follow me, I will get you gents to the Motel 6 off of Main Street. Don’t y’all lose me... (chuckle, belly fat, Santa Claus laughter) I wont be coming back to save you boys, now ya hear me?”

  Cupkake: “Yes sir and I... (interrupted)

  Sheriff Deputy: “And you boys settle down with the beer bottle throwin’. Now someone could get hurt with all that horsesplay.”

  I shook my head yes and did not open my mouth because I was speechless. I could not believe that Sheriff Deputy completely let us go. I know he saw me driving like shit, Pops throwing bottles out the window, and Mike’s fat trap yelping foul language at the cop... well I am not sure what just happened. I followed the Deputy and he graciously led us right to our hotel within minutes and waved his left arm out the window as he sped off into the night.

  We decided no more goofing off for the day. I had pressed my luck way too far that evening. I was relieved. We left Mike in the van, because he was passed out again, just as we hopped out of the van to retire for the evening, Pops grabbed some empty beer bottles and placed them around Mike for him to find in the morning. We knew that Mike would not think he pissed the bed, so the empty beer bottles would hopefully explain the wetness he was experiencing on the mattress. Mike was famous for passing out with a full beer and then tipping it at some point during the night.

  The next day, we woke up to Mike banging on the hotel door to use the restroom. It was really sweet. The plan worked. Mike came into the room and bragged at what a night he had. Mike started telling us bullshit stories about him having several girls around him and partying it up with them until he passed out in the back, double fisted with beers. I thought what a complete jackass this guy is. I pretended to be interested in his story, but did not really care. Mike did tell us about the “dream” he had that we were pulled over by the cops. He must have been wasted not to remember that.

  Not more then a half hour had passed when it was time for us to wander about town. We all started piling into the passenger van and guess who hopped into the very back to lay on the nice soaking-wet feather bed? Ernie. Oh, was he unhappy when he flopped down on his soaked feather bed. It was like throwing a cat into a swimming pool. The second Ernie’s back hit the bed, he popped back up, leaped into the other passengers seat and yelled, “dude, why is the bed damp Mike?” It was great! Pops and I looked away from each other, holding back the laughter. Mike answered, “Shit Ernie, it was like that when I woke up. I must have spilled a beer when I passed out.” Ernie bitched and moaned telling Mike that when we got back he would have to dry clean the bed. Mike did not argue, because he really did think he had spilled a beer or two on the bed.

  By the end of the trip, Ernie obviously found that his bed had been on fire at some point during the tour. I wonder what went through his mind when he discovered the prized feather bed was completely destroyed? I don’t think Ernie ever really knew what happened.

  Rock N Roll Ralph’s - Vinnie Vegas

  Hollywood had a couple of places that were unique to it and can never be repeated anywhere. These haunts helped define the very nature of Hollywood in the ‘80s, and since they existed before the days of cell phone camcorders, I’m willing to bet that there is no record of them other than memories. Rock N Roll Ralph’s appeared to be a very ordinary Ralph’s, no different than any other in California. Ralph’s supermarkets are everywhere and they are they best place to go for good food at reasonable prices. Ralph’s has always been my favorite, whether you’re getting beer, ice cream or chicken, you can find everything there and not have to go anywhere else. But Rock N Roll Ralph’s was different, because it was right smack in the middle of Hollywood at Sunset & Fuller. The place was full of rockers 24/7, and was actually a great place to meet chicks as well. I used to shop there exclusively after 10 pm and was never alone. Sometimes I’d go there just to be around people and walk around! Nobody drove to Rock N Roll Ralph’s, instead, you walked there and this made it an un-official “locals only” private club. The really glam guys would be walking around in their “off stage” outfits that included jeans, t-shirt and converse sneakers with a backwards baseball hat. Of course, the t-shirt had to feature a classic glam band such as Hanoi Rocks or The New York Dolls. This became somewhat of the town square of the Hollywood apartment area west of La Brea where most of us lived. It was open 24 hours, so chicks would make their mid-night cat food runs in their pajamas. You can only image the mayhem of a bunch of drunk rockers blasting in at 1:45 am to try and score some last minute beer. This happened basically every night, but naturally, Friday and Saturday were the worst.

  Rock N Roll Ralph’s was also famous for seeing B-list rock stars buying kitty litter for their stripper girlfriends. Our first time there, Cupkake and I were star-struck by seeing Claude Schnell the keyboardist for the metal band Dio. Now Dio was huge since the very beginning of the 80’s and had achieved God-like status by 1988, so seeing any guy in that band was cool. Trouble is, he looked like a tired haggard bu
m in his holey sweat pants and matted hair. We said “hey” to him and he didn’t turn his head to look at us, instead he rolled his eyes toward us and grunted like a caveman while his mouth hung open under his nappy moustache. I’d see somebody else every time I was there, guys from bands like Nitro or Warrior, and I would see Taime Down from Faster Pussycat all the time. He looked like your pudgy slutty little sister from the Midwest. The guys from Bang Tango made sure you knew who they were by painting BANG TANGO across the back of their leather jackets, just like the Hells Angels. There was a Chinese cashier who worked there all the time, and we named him “Hung Lo”. His real name was Geoffery, but that’s not very Chinese is it? This dude was the friendliest guy you ever met, and while all the middle aged cashier women never bothered to make eye contact with you, Hung Lo always asked how you were doing while making off color remarks about the stuff you were buying. His humor was off though, and while his jokes usually didn’t hit the mark, he never grasped the quips I would answer back either. This led to a daily awkward exchange with Hung Lo where both of us were slinging jokes back and forth, but nobody was laughing. This happened every time I went there. Still, we loved Hung Lo, and we would always pick his line to wait in.