Street Player

by Danny Seraphine

  Because of Pete, almost overnight I became popular with the upper echelon of the record industry. I had been called up to the big leagues. The power brokers, record company presidents, managers, and top producers all wanted to be my friend. I got to be on a first-name basis with them. I’m not going to lie; it felt great to be pursued.

  Talk about respect—I was on the A-list for all industry events, fund-raisers, and parties. The red carpet rolled out wherever I went. Whether it was true or not, it was believed that through Pete I was connected to one of the most feared factions of the Outfit in the country. I never confirmed people’s suspicions or denied them. I was already one of the most respected rock drummers in the world and part of a band who was talked about in the same sentences as the Beatles, Rolling Stones, and the Who. Now there was even more influence at my fingertips.

  Pete kept me insulated from the rest of the Outfit and never let me know too much. He understood that if they got to me it would be all over. As much as we liked each other, they would like nothing better than to sink their hooks into me. There is no doubt their influence corrupted me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was beginning to happen.

  Pete and I talked on the phone every day. I hardly made a move without checking with him first, and vice versa. We watched each other’s backs. When my father started having health issues and decided that running the store was too much stress and strain, Pete pulled a few strings back home and got him another job. My dad would get up early in the morning and open a hot dog stand Pete owned, called Demon Dogs. It was a landmark location, right below the el tracks on Fullerton near DePaul University. My dad sat at the counter and served people their morning coffee and doughnuts. Around midday, he went to another job Pete had hooked him up with answering phones at his ward’s office for a few hours.

  From an early age, my father had prostate problems. He was always in a great deal of pain and discomfort. Being a truck driver for the Tip Top Bread Company didn’t do his health any favors. All of the constant bouncing in the seat left him with kidney problems as well. Because of his health, my dad had trouble getting around. The new low-stress jobs were perfect for him. I was very thankful to Pete for helping him out in a time of need.

  Once Pete and I got everything running the way it should, B.Ginnings became wildly popular. At one point, I even entertained the thought of opening a chain of them across the country. But I soon reconsidered. My schedule was already hectic enough without having to deal with that headache.

  In many respects, life was good. I owned a successful nightclub outside Chicago and my band could do no wrong. Everything we touched seemed to turn to gold—or better yet, platinum. Through Jack, our road manager, the band even got word that back in Chicago they wanted to give us the keys to the city! Jack said a buddy of his had helped arrange a meeting with Mayor Daley for the band. I couldn’t believe it. But when I told Pete about it, he was a little skeptical. He made a few calls and said he heard we would only be meeting with the deputy mayor for the ceremony. I truly didn’t mean to undermine what Jack had done for us, but I went ahead and had Pete check into the whole situation. In the end, he was able to get Mayor Daley to agree to a meeting.

  Needless to say, Jack was pissed.

  “I had it all set up and you had to go and make me look bad, didn’t you?” he asked me.

  Nothing I said made the situation any better, and from that day forward there was a negative undercurrent between us. But hey, Jack pulled his strings and I pulled mine. In the end, the band still got the keys to the city from the mayor, didn’t we? It might have been a power play on my part, but I was intent on getting what I wanted.

  With the fruits of the constant touring and chart-topping success, I bought a gorgeous Tudor home for Rose and my girls in Westlake Village, California. It was a wonderful piece of property with a detached guesthouse I decided to make into a home recording studio. A professional designer from Westlake Audio came in and put it together with state-of-the-art sound equipment. There was even a drop-down Murphy bed in case anyone wanted to crash for the night. Since the studio was completely soundproof, it was the ideal sleep chamber. It quickly became the perfect place for Chicago to rehearse. And the location was ideal because I never had to worry about showing up late for band practice!

  The stunning home and studio may have been a newfound luxury, but there was also an unfortunate downside to the success and good fortune. Rose and I both knew we were at a crossroads in our relationship, and the move to Westlake was a last-ditch effort to save our marriage. I figured that if we bought our dream home somehow everything would be miraculously repaired between us. It turned out we were both fooling ourselves.

  Our location might have changed, but our marital problems stayed the same. The excitement of our new home didn’t change the fact that our marriage had been imploding for years. We weren’t going to be starting over with a clean slate. There was no overlooking my cheating and how I had disrespected Rose. Not long after relocating, she and I decided it was best for the two of us to separate.

  Rose and my daughters deserved much better treatment from me. I had failed miserably as a husband to her and as a father to my two little girls. I was devastated at the thought that they would have to grow up without a full-time father in their lives. But I only had myself to blame. Nobody had forced me to do the things I had done. I repeatedly gave in to the temptations of the rock-star lifestyle and I alone was responsible for my awful behavior.

  When it came time to sit our daughters down and explain the situation, I was heartbroken. After hearing the news, my oldest daughter Krissy ran up and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. The tears streamed down her face as she cried.

  “Who’s gonna take care of you, Daddy?” she sobbed.

  I couldn’t have felt lower. Instead of showing anger at the situation, she was worried about what was going to happen to me. It was a moment I will never forget.

  Rose and I may have been separated, but she and the girls were never that far out of my life. I bought another house in Westlake only a few blocks away for her and my daughters to live in. I wanted to keep them as close to me as possible. If I couldn’t be around on a daily basis, having them live in the same neighborhood was the next best thing. I was determined to keep a great relationship with my daughters. Whenever possible, I took them on day trips to Disneyland and had them stay the night at my house. I also bought Krissy a pony and together we went out riding on the weekends at the Equestrian Center. On a few occasions, I even took her on the road with me during short promotional trips for the band. The separation was difficult on my girls and I was determined to do everything within my power to make it easier. Spending time with them was more rewarding than anything.

  Needless to say, I was overcome with guilt and regret after seeing my marriage crumble. I threw myself into recording, touring, and running B.Ginnings. Back home in California, I hit the Hollywood nightlife and filled my time with women and partying. Whenever Chicago wasn’t working, we tried to take a break and spend time away from one another. It was important that each of us developed our own pockets of friends and were able to take a break from one another. Together with my buddies Hawk Wolinski, Marty Derek, and Tom Jans, I did the town and spent my nights on the Sunset Strip or in Beverly Hills. We put together our own version of the Rat Pack. When we weren’t sitting in to jam with the house bands at the jazz clubs, we trolled the bar scene and played the field. After last call, which can be pretty early in Hollywood, we kept the party going back at my house in Westlake or headed up Beverly Glen Boulevard to Hawk’s place in the Valley.

  Whenever there was a long enough break in Chicago’s schedule, Hawk and I jumped out to Hawaii to vacation. We rented a big house and spent our days relaxing on the beach and swimming in the crystal-clear waters. I loved the area so much, I ended up purchasing a half acre of land in Haena, in the northwest corner of Kauai. It was a glorious time in a lot of respects, but in the back of my mind I knew something was
still missing. There was an underlying emptiness about everything and it was nearly impossible to shake the feeling.

  I got more and more into spending time in my home studio. I wanted to learn everything there was to know about the recording process and begin work on my own ideas. I had spent top dollar to put the equipment in, so I might as well put it to use. Hawk and I had also been throwing around the idea of starting to produce bands on our own. Eventually I reconnected with an old friend of mine named Bobby Colomby, who offered to help us. Years back, Bobby had been the drummer and leader of Blood, Sweat and Tears, and in a lot of ways he and I were rivals early our careers. Although Blood, Sweat and Tears were an important part of Chicago’s scoring our record deal, there was also always a healthy competition between our groups. For the type of music we were performing at the time, Bobby and I were considered the top drummers in our genre. Even the late great drummer Buddy Rich, who rarely complimented anyone, said we were two of the best young drummers he had heard. After Bobby left Blood, Sweat and Tears, he had gone on to head the West Coast office of Epic Records, a subsidiary of our label, Columbia. Bobby’s transition made sense because he was a gregarious guy who had a strong sense for the business side of things. He was no fool. He even owned the name Blood, Sweat and Tears. He had recently started working with acts like Boston and Dan Fogelberg.

  Bobby was the perfect person to talk to about getting into other facets of the business, because he was an ex-drummer who had successfully made the transition. There weren’t many musicians at that time who managed to pull off something like that. I wanted to start putting the producing knowledge I had gained over the course of recording to good use.

  I passed on a couple of demos Hawk and I had been working on at my home studio and Bobby loved them. At the time, he was working under my old friend Ron Alexenburg at Epic, whom I knew well because he had started out in promotions at Columbia. Soon after hearing our demos, Bobby came through and signed Hawk and me to a production deal at Epic Records. Our newly created Street Sense Productions would deliver two acts a year, which Epic had the option to release. The company gave us some decent production money to finance the development and studio costs for any projects we developed. It was basically a budget to record demos. Although it wasn’t the most lucrative contract, Hawk and I were thrilled to have the opportunity to branch out into something new.

  When Chicago’s soundman, Mike Stahl, caught wind that I was on the prowl for new talent, he passed on a demo tape a few of his friends had made, a group called the Jerry-Kelly Band. I immediately liked what I heard. The guys sounded like a more refined version of the Eagles. Hawk and I flew into Scranton, Pennsylvania, and signed them to a small deal with our Street Sense Productions on the spot. Unfortunately, we never had much success taking them to the next level, but the whole experience gave me the confidence to continue to pursue my interest in producing. I wasn’t going to let the fact that we didn’t hit a home run out of the gate get me down. There were more than enough talented bands out there waiting to be discovered. It was only a matter of time before Hawk and I found the right one.

  The days of Chicago being the darlings of the underground scene were a thing of the past. We had always been antiestablishment, but once the band started becoming successful that changed. There were still political groups approaching the band to lend our support to their causes, but it was a slippery slope to navigate. On one hand, the band wanted to stay true to its roots; on the other, we had obligations to record companies and corporations. Chicago was an essential part of the machine now.

  We were against the hypocrisy of capitalism, but we found ourselves making huge amounts of money. As reluctant as we were to admit it, we had become capitalists and full-fledged members of the Hollywood elite. I had no problem booking reservations to the best restaurants and getting into the most exclusive nightclubs. Lou Adler, one of the early music business moguls, who had worked with the Mamas and the Papas, Carole King, and Cheech and Chong, gave every member of Chicago a membership to his VIP club upstairs from the Roxy called On the Rocks. On any given night, I found myself sitting at the bar next to celebrities like Warren Beatty, Ringo Starr, Dustin Hoffman, and Michelle Phillips. It was a surreal experience, and I never felt comfortable around that type of elite circle. I didn’t know whether to try to hang out with the celebrities or ask them for their autographs.

  More and more, Pete started coming out to California to visit me and spend time with the band. With my new power and influence, I introduced him around town and showed him everything the city had to offer. We’d have an incredible dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants or drive down to a club in Hollywood. I had gotten season tickets for the Los Angeles Lakers, so one night I drove Pete down to Inglewood and we took in a game.

  The Forum was always quite the scene. The crowd consisted of a who’s who of the entertainment industry. During halftime, I spotted Lou Adler at his courtside seats, where he was sitting with Jack Nicholson. The two were a mainstay at every Lakers home game (and still are). It seemed like the perfect opportunity to have Pete meet them, so we made our way down to where Lou and Jack were sitting. As I began making the introductions, an usher came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You can’t be here.”

  Lou raised a hand and stepped forward. “It’s okay,” he told her. “These are friends of mine.”

  His explanation didn’t make any difference to the woman and she kept eyeing Pete and me. I gave her a smile, but she wasn’t going for it.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll only be a minute.”

  Thinking everything was cool, I leaned back against the railing and continued talking to Lou and Jack. A minute later, the woman came up from behind me again and grabbed my wrist.

  “I told you you’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

  I reached my breaking point. “Keep your fucking hands off of me!” I yelled, pushing her out of the way. Within seconds, a group of burly ushers advanced toward us.

  Despite Lou’s pleading, a huge usher put me in a bear hug and lifted me up off the floor. He was about to carry me up the stairs when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Put him down right now,” I heard Pete say from somewhere behind me. “Now!” he shouted.

  The usher released me from his hold and I turned around to find Pete standing next to him with a hand around his throat. The usher could barely breathe. I looked around and noticed that ushers and security had surrounded us. It was a full-blown standoff on the floor of the Forum. Luckily, Lou stepped in and explained the whole situation to the head supervisor and everyone eventually wandered off. Pete and I went back to our seats, hysterically laughing over the spectacle we had made. Lou and Nicholson came and found us after the game.

  “Good God, man,” Nicholson howled, “that whole scene was something right out of a movie! I loved it!”

  Going out on the town was always a good time. I would never complain about mixing with A-list celebrities and being given the royal treatment all over Hollywood. But the silence of my empty house was always deafening when I came home at the end of the night. My partying only covered up the fact that I was as lonely as ever.

  12

  Lyrics and the Blonde

  Chicago X, released in June 1976, ended up being a major achievement in the band’s career. During the course of recording out at Caribou Ranch, Guercio wasn’t convinced there was a solid single on the album until Peter’s ballad “If You Leave Me Now” came along. To tell the truth, it was a throwaway track when we recorded it—a pretty little number with some string arrangements and French horns. I wanted to keep the band jazz and there was nothing jazz about the song. We felt that other songs like Terry’s “Once or Twice” or Bobby’s “Another Rainy Day in New York City” were strong enough to be released as singles, but Guercio didn’t want to hear it. He had already made up his mind.

 
In the end, I have to admit he was right on the money. “If You Leave Me Now” went on to become a smash and became Chicago’s first number one single in both the United States and Britain. The band couldn’t believe it. We took home Grammy awards in early 1977 for Best Arrangement and Best Pop Vocal Performance. We had previously been nominated for Best New Group in 1970, but lost to Crosby, Stills and Nash, and Album of the Year in 1971 for our second album, but lost to Simon and Garfunkel. Third time is the charm, I guess. Chicago X also went on to be nominated for Album of the Year in 1977, but Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life landed the Grammy.

  “If You Leave Me Now” changed the public’s perception of what we were capable of as a group. Peter’s hit song suddenly pushed him to the forefront, a place where he would remain for many years to come. He became the voice of Chicago. The single set off a growing demand for down-tempo ballads on future records. We had whetted people’s appetites and now they wanted more. Even after all the success it brought, I found myself still bitching and moaning about the song. It hadn’t come out of our true identity as a group. We might have notched a number one single, but in my mind we had veered way off course.

  I was riding high professionally, but personally I was about to be dealt a painful blow. Late one evening, I received a call from an old friend named Marty Grebb, whom I had known from the early days back in Chicago when he was a member of Peter’s old band the Exceptions, and who later played keyboards in the Buckinghams and enjoyed a successful music career. At first, I was happy to hear from him, but unfortunately he wasn’t calling to reminisce. Marty had some bad news to pass on. Our old friend Freddy Page from the Illinois Speed Press had been admitted to a hospital in Southern California with an unknown illness. Marty wanted me to come down to the hospital and pay Freddy a visit.

  I sensed the seriousness in Marty’s voice, but Chicago was supposed to leave on tour in the next few days. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to fit a trip to the hospital into my schedule before we set out on the road. I offered to see Freddy the second we returned to town.