Chapter 29 - Goodbye Mal

IT WAS NOW the beginning of 1976 and the new year started off with an unfortunate series of bangs that I was not prepared for. I was back on Oakhurst Drive trying to recuperate from my little accident with a guitar case that really messed me up a lot more than I thought it would. I think it was Blair who called with the news about Mal. I had not seen Mal in a few months and didn't realize how despondent he had become. I knew he was depressed about leaving his wife and kids behind in England, to live in Los Angeles with Fran Hughes and her three-year-old daughter Jody. Fran worked as an administrator at the famed Record Plant on Third street. Their apartment was a couple of blocks away on Fourth St. on the lower level of a duplex. Mal was a frustrated songwriter, and I think one of the reasons he liked to collaborate with us was because we had shown an interest in his original material. Most of his songs were about retaining peace of mind and meditation and it was a shame that he didn't heed the message of his own lyric and stay quiet and serene. Behind the big, gentle teddy bear of a facade, Mal had another, much darker side that he tried to keep hidden.

On the fifth of January Mal's depression had hit its pinnacle. He was nearing the completion of his autobiography with John Hoernie that was to be named Living The Beatles Legend, and as I heard the story back then, Mal had ingested a large amount of valium and was upstairs in his office. This room housed some of Mal's prized possessions, his cowboy gun collection, his Elvis stuff, and of course, meaningful letters and photographs of the Boys that shaped the better part of his life. I don't know what prompted those unfortunate series of events which led to his final episode, his last stand, on that horrible Monday evening. They say that Fran had felt threatened by Mal's destructive behavior and called his friend and co-author, John, to try and talk Mal out of his locked room. He was inside twirling his cowboy air-rifle, Here is what it says in Wikipedia about it: "Evans picked up a 30.30 air rifle. Hoernie struggled with Evans, but Evans, being much stronger, held onto the weapon. Hughes then phoned the police and told them that Evans was confused, had a rifle, and was on valium. Four policemen arrived and three of them, David D. Krempa, Robert E. Brannon, and Lieutenant Higbie, went up to the bedroom. They later reported that as soon as Evans saw the three policemen he pointed a rifle at them. The officers repeatedly told Evans to put down the rifle (which they did not know at the time was an air rifle) but Evans constantly refused. The police fired six shots, four hitting Evans, killing him instantly."

          Although this sounds accurate and in accord with the story, I seem to remember Mal had other guns, his favorite being that colt 45 with the white and black handles. He would try to out-draw John Wayne whenever an old “Duke” western would come on the television. I never heard of any struggle with his co-author, I heard that Mal was despondent and playing with his gun collection and was high on valium. He was at the top of the stairs twirling the said weapon in his drug-induced stupor when they told him to drop the gun. He said, and I vividly remember these words as they were told to me on the next day, “You'll have to blow me away.” They did. 

 I don't know why we never went to the funeral, being too out of the loop now to be informed where and when it would be, or frozen with too much shock to actually get around to checking it out. It's sad to report that the Beatles never made it either. It was said that none of the Beatles were in the habit of attending funerals. Another theory is, they may not have been able to get away from their schedules to attend or may not have wanted to risk bumping into each other at Mal's service. (There were still some hard feelings between them, with their business partnership's dissolution the year before.) Harry Nillson was there. I found out later he had Mal’s body cremated, and a small ceremony was held in Los Angeles on January 7. His ashes got lost in the mail on the way back to England and were eventually recovered and returned to his family. Right after this John Lennon instituted his bullet proof vest campaign and donated a considerable sum of cash to the New York City police department along with Harry (Nillson) who continued his work on gun control for the rest of his life. I wish that John had been wearing a bulletproof vest on that tragic night of December the eighth four years later.

Paul said when asked about Mal’s death, “Mal was a big lovable bear of a roadie; he’d go over the top occasionally, but we all knew him and never had any problems. Had I been there I would have been able to say, ‘Mal, don’t be silly.’ In fact, any of his friends could have talked him out of it without any sweat, because he was not a nutter.” Later, George recounted, “[Mal] loved his job, he was brilliant, and I often regret that he got killed. Right to this day I keep thinking, Mal, where are you?’ 

 I guess I must have called Stephen and Blair and we all commiserated somewhere together but I don't remember. It wouldn't be long though before I would make my escape into the desert from extreme cabin fever when I felt I had nothing left to lose. Alone in Palm Springs on my self-imposed retreat, I would have a message waiting for me at the Haymer House on Oakhurst Drive; written on a piece of scrap paper left on the round kitchen table, waiting there for my eventual call home.