Living across the street from Chas, I was one of the first
one’s over at his house after the news of Richard’s death. I saw Regina, Chas’s
mother and Tom, her husband and Chas’ stepfather. I gave Regina a hug and offered
my deepest condolences then I shook Tom’s hand and did the same. After awhile
and the plans were made for Richard’s funeral, Chas and I decided to go out for
coffee so he could get away from the downcast scene. We mostly talked about
Richard, reminiscing about his days in Silverspoon, the rehearsals in Regina’s
garage in Hancock Park and about Richard’s interest in aviation. He said, while
trying to stifle a tear, his baby brother was flying with the angels now. Then
I brought up the Aspen trip. It was still almost two weeks away and asked him
if he had cancelled the rental on the cabin. He said he was going to but hadn’t
gotten around to it yet.
“Don’t cancel it,” I said.
I could see his wheels turning like he was thinking he shouldn’t
be leaving now. His brother had just died and his mom might need his shoulder
to cry on. He should be here. We sat there silently for a few minutes when the
waitress came by with the coffee and the mood broke. After she refilled our cups
for the fourth time, he spoke:
“You know, you might be right. It will be two weeks
after...and that should be enough time to let thing settle. We’re going to
Aspen, James. We’ll take the Blazer and it will be good to have you along for
company.”
I told him it would do him a world of good to get away and
that he could meet with Johnson and talk about his upcoming record, and not to
forget about the skiing, and the ski bunnies and the hot toddies by a roaring
fire in the lodge.
“James,
you always know how to cheer me up.”
It
was the first time a smile had invaded his face in days. Johnson was Don
Johnson, who played the role of Sonny Crockett on the hit series, Miami Vice.
He had hired Chas to produce his debut solo record which would be later called
Heartbeat, and the title track reached number five on the Billboard charts in
1986. Not many people know that Johnson was a musician and used to hang out
with members of the Allman Bothers in the sixties. He co-wrote the songs "Blind Love" and "Can't
Take It with You" with Dickie Betts, which appeared on The Allman’s 1979
album, Enlightened Rogues. Maybe it was coincidence that Chas had a
song on the record entitled “Got to Get Away”. Could it have been about his
sojourn through the desert culminating at the mountainous Aspen, Colorado
destination?
After hours
of driving we decided to make our first rest stop in the adult playground, Las
Vegas. The first thing I did was put a dollar on 17 black at the roulette
tables. It was a running joke in my family that ever since my dad had won a
jackpot with that bet, whenever someone went to Vegas (a family member or close
friend) the first bet would always be on that number. This time the silver ball
landed on 00. I did have better luck at the blackjack table and was able to
escape with forty bucks more than what I had come in with. I’m not sure if Chas
had the same luck and to tell you the truth I don’t know if he even placed a
bet. We had the best luck of all when we found some female companionship in the
lounge and invited them back to our suite which provided the inspiration of the
song, It Ain’t Love, but It Ain’t Bad.
I was still thinking about Maria and
Chas was still in mourning, but it did serve as a pleasant distraction from our
misery. Neither of us realized that God was spinning his karmic wheel and we
were both helplessly turning round and round in His grand scheme waiting for
the ball to drop. Little did we know it would be about three hundred miles
ahead off Interstate 70 in Grand Junction, Colorado.
After
leaving Las Vegas (nothing happened that even remotely correlated with the
movie with Nick Cage), we were back on Interstate 70 heading east. Chas was
falling asleep at the wheel. I was starting to get more than a little nervous thinking our lives were going to end right
there and our bodies would be have to be pried out like sardines from a crushed
tin can. When he almost hit the mileage marker sign I had had enough.
“You’re
freaking me out, man! Pull over,” I shouted knowing that would be the only way
to take control of the command vessel from Captain Kirk Sandford. “I’m
driving.”
As we sped
through the Utah desert and were approaching the Colorado state line, Chas woke
up out of a trance-like sleep and his eyes bugged out like a man possessed. He
screamed, “I have to find a Burger King.”
I couldn’t
help but laugh. One minute he was dead to the world and the next minute he was
ranting and raving about finding a fast food restaurant. Chas, who was for the
most part a strict vegetarian, had an unexplainable urge to go to a Burger
King. It had to be Burger King, McDonald’s or Wendy’s just wouldn’t, excuse the
pun, cut the mustard. The first major town in Colorado was Grand Junction,
about forty miles east of the border. Chas was a man on a mission and I had
never seen him like that about anything, except for maybe when a beautiful woman
was on his radar.
“Pull over
James, I’m going to find one if it kills me.”
With Chas
at the wheel now, we cruised the main drags, the side streets, and even the
industrial sections of Grand Junction, our eyes peeled for a the home of the
Whopper.. At the outskirts of town, just before the next entrance to Interstate
70, where we would have to take in order to avoid another ten miles of back
roads in the boonies, there it was—a Burger King in all of its glory.
While we
were standing in a long line there was a young woman wearing a blue pea coat
and on her lapel was a button with the band “Great Building” embossed in black
on a white background. When Chas saw the button it looked like the scarlet hair
on his head rose up in the air like it had been sucked up by a turbine.
“Where did
you get that button?” He asked the girl behind him who had no idea he was
talking to her at first but when he crept closer to her a mere inch or two away
from her face he asked again.
“Uh...I saw
them in L.A. a year or two ago. Why?” the girl replied in a nonchalant but
guarded manner. She must have thought the guy was either a cop or had just been
released from a mental ward. I just stood there in amazement watching the scene
like it was a lost episode of “The Twilight Zone”.
“That was
my brother’s band. He just passed away a couple of weeks ago. There weren’t
more than 100 maybe 200 of those buttons printed up. This is unbelievable!”
“I’m sorry
about your brother,” she said. “Was he the one with the long black hair, the
drummer?”
“Yes.”
“He was the
one who gave me the button.”
He was at a
loss for words which was a rarity for Mr. Sandford. After I got a burgers and
Chas his fish sandwich we took them to go and ate them in the car. He was
gearing up to drive the last loop to Aspen when he unexpectedly thanked me for
twisting his arm to make him go on this trip, if not, none of this would have
happened.
“What are
friends for?”
Then he
looked up through the mud-streaked windshield of the Blazer and said that it
was sign from the heavens. He thought that Richard, or the spirit of Richard
had guided him, guided us to this place.
“Why else
would I suddenly fixate on Burger King? I don’t even like fast food.”
“I know
it’s weird. What do you think it means, Chas?”
“What else could
it mean? He’s still around. He’s watching over me now. There is life
after...he’s in that greatest of great building up there and was given a free
pass to make contact...to make sure I would...”
“You would
what?”
“Make sure
I would never forget.”
We drove
the next hundred miles through the prairies that inclined upwards toward the
higher elevations in silent reverence thinking about the metaphysical
experience we both had. He never would forget—neither of us would.
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