"The feeling
remains... 
Even after 
the glitter fades"

Stevie Nicks

 

 

For What It's Worth      

For those of you who just can't get enough. For those who crave every morsel of the sixties--especially the California Sixties,  these pages are for you.

These are stories I had been writing for my book, but as I said on the home page, the stories have been redirected into a screenplay. You may have read bits and pieces of these tales on the site, but here are  the detailed versions. They aren't necessarily in chronological order, because dates are hazy, but the stories are true and close to my heart. Most of them are so incredible that they would be difficult to forget anyway.

I begin by explaining how I got to Hollywood in the first place.

Big dreams

LEAVING FLORA DRIVE        

It had to have been sometime in 1965 that I arrived in Hollywood for the first time. I couldn't have been any greener--straight out of the cornfields of central Illinois-- oh so unworldly and gullible. Prior to my arrival, things back home had become incredibly complicated for me, after the heartbreaking loss of my grandfather. Losing him was bad enough, but I was blaming myself for his death. He died just a few minutes after an explosive argument with me. I had expressed to him that I wanted to go down to Selma, Alabama and march for the 'colored people'. He went ballistic--died just a few minutes after our hot-headed battle, of heart failure. I stayed with my grandmother for a few months, but we didn't talk much. What we both wanted to say just wouldn't come out. The tension between us finally released itself one day over a teeny incident, but quickly escalated into yelling and fighting.

I was screaming obscenities and throwing things in the back of my '63 Corvette- -never bothered to pack--just threw records, clothes, jewelry, cosmetics into the back of the car. Granny stood at the garage door shaken and tearful; and watched me slam my car door for the last time. Then she uttered, "Well, God bless you, honey." I screamed back at the top of my lungs, "There - is - no - God! If there was, he wouldn't have taken my grandfather away from me!"

I screeched out of the driveway and left a trail of black rubber on Flora Drive; while my grandmother stood there on the driveway in tears waving goodbye. I headed out of town straight to Route 66 going west. I had no idea where I was going. I didn't care. I just wanted to run. I couldn't take the pain of losing Grandpa anymore. Somehow I had to try and get away from it--the pain, the house, Granny, all of it! I had a drummer friend, Tommy McCormick, who had moved to Phoenix from Champaign. That's all I knew. "Tommy was in Phoenix." I had no idea where in Phoenix that he was, but somehow I did find him playing drums at the Camelback Country Club in Scottsdale which borders Phoenix.

My prom photo prior to leaving home.

Tommy turned me on to Robitussin cough syrup, and to a dancer friend of his named Haley. Since I had danced a little go-go back home, I started go-go dancing with her around Phoenix and in Tucson. After a few months, it got old, and the guilt of abandoning my grandmother in such a state of sorrow finally had gotten the best of me. I'd never even called her. She didn't know if I was dead or alive. I decided to head back to Illinois.

On the three or four hour drive up to Flagstaff back to Route 66, it occurred to me how close to California I really was. I thought "When will I ever be this close to the west coast again?"

     
Go-go dancing days

It was right then on the spur-of-the-moment that I decided to literally just 'swing through' Los Angeles on my way back home, so I turned west on 66 out of Flagstaff. I followed the signs to Los Angeles and then to Hollywood. I must have driven up and down Sunset Boulevard a couple of times before I realized that I hadn't seen anything that looked like the illustrious Hollywood I had read about and seen in the movies. I stopped at a drugstore to get directions. The guy behind the counter said, "Doll, you are right in the middle of it." I was in the legendary Schwab's Drug Store known for Lana Turner's discovery. Astonished, but thrilled that I had found this famous place; I cruised around the area for awhile.


Schwab's Drug Store

I found a little club later that night on Sunset where the Righteous Brothers were singing-- might have been the Red Velvet. Bursting with joy, I sat just a few feet from them right in front of the little stage that night. That was utterly incredible to me, and it had been so easy.

Righteous Brothers

I remember I had seen Sal Mineo walking down Sunset earlier that afternoon with an entourage of body guards--MY God! A movie star right there on the street in front of me! And rock stars! I found myself drag-racing later with Jan and Dean down the Strip near Hollywood High School from a red light. This was all too much! I had to stay and find a place to live, and find a job--probably as a go-go dancer. I found an agent in the newspaper classifieds. He seemed surprised that I considered myself go-go dancer material. He told me I wasn't pretty enough, and if I wanted to work as a go-go dancer, I would have to go topless. Then he asked me to remove my blouse right there in front of him, so he could have a look at what he'd be representing. Since I thought this was a big Hollywood agent who actually advertised and all, I took my shirt off and my bra. Actually, I wanted to die right there on the carpet in front of him, but I felt it was a job requirement. Then I left his office and vowed never to go back. I couldn't do that for money.

Me and little Sis, on the farm

"Who's Your Favorite Star?"

After just a couple more days of job hunting, I gave up on Hollywood and called Dad to wire me enough money for me to get back home. After I bought a couple of wigs, trying to look better/prettier, I was broke. When I got back to Illinois, I revealed to my little sister (Dixie) my unbelievable first impressions of Tinsel Town. She just had to see that place someday, too. I begged her to go back with me after we saved up the money. She was reluctant, however and very young--only sixteen. I tried bribery. I said, " Dixie, you will never have to work a day in your life. I will always take care of you. I'm a dancer now, with an agent in Hollywood. All you have to do for the rest of your life is be my companion."

She still wasn't willing, so I asked her, "Who's your favorite star?" She answered that it was Gary Lewis.

Gary Lewis and the Playboys

"Dixie, do you know that they have maps to the stars' homes out there? There's guys right on the street sellin' em. All we have to do is grab a map, and go up to his house!" I believe that was the part she wanted to believe the most--her dream man, Gary Lewis, was practically at her side. All she had to do was get across country.

     
Dixie (L) and Me (R) in grade school in the late fifties.
Two cornball kids--just a little unsophisticated.

We worked as dancers in Illinois for almost a year and saved up $400. An agent in Illinois was booking me as "Miss Nancy-a-Go-Go"; "Here she is-- straight from Hollywood, California !" Yeah, right ...I'd been there a whole week job-hunting, but it got me jobs and I dragged Dixie along with me--kind of teaching her the ropes, priming her for Hollywood. Teaching her how-to-be-groovy, how to not look or act like some farmer hick, and how not to embarrass me.

One of my lessons in sophistication was trying to get a benny down her throat. She gagged and coughed, ran around the room squealing. I remember thinking, "God, I don't think she'll ever be worldly." With our $400, we finally left for L.A. California Dreaming was the song we heard blasting on the radio many times on Route 66 heading west. We found an apartment at the St. Regis on Sunset Boulevard. We had to have a Sunset Strip address, so that our family and friends back home would be impressed and assured we were doing well. I looked for work dancing in the daytime while Dixie scouted around the Strip and Hollywood Boulevard. At nights, we cruised around in the Vette stumbling in and out of restaurants and a few clubs. She was too young to drink and didn't have an ID, so they wouldn't let us in many drinking establishments.

We tried to get in the Whisky one night, but the doorman refused to let us in, so we walked up the block a few doors and tried again at a place called London Fog. A band called the Doors was playing. The club was almost empty. I think that's why they let us in. They needed the business.

    

We'd Never Heard of the Doors

I remember one bartender being there, one waitress, two patrons at the bar, and three or four people at one other table up against a rear wall, the band, and US.

We plopped ourselves down at a table right in front of the stage, and stared up as the Doors played their set. We had never heard of the Doors, but decided that we really liked their music.

When they took a break, two of the members of the band, Jim Morrison and John Densmore came over and introduced themselves, and sat and talked with us for the rest of their break.

We told them that we were dancers out of a "suburb of Chicago" --that we had just arrived in town looking for work; we had many auditions lined up; and it was just a matter of time before we settled down and began our dancing careers in Hollywood movies and shows. 

 Lies! There were no auditions lined up, and the suburb (Champaign) was 120 miles south of Chicago! We were just trying to impress these big city people. We couldn't tell them we were really from a farming community! Anyway, we had already rehearsed it in the car on the trip from Illinois-- what we were going to say, where we were going to be from, and the kind of image we would try and convey to people. 

The Doors sat with us at every break, but remember, the club was almost empty except for us. There was not a big choice of women to meet there. Afterwards, we went to Ben Franks for breakfast, and then to our apartment at the St. Regis.

Old London Fog location

I had a big crush on Jim already, but Dixie pulled me aside at our apartment, and told me that John was acting like he really liked her, but she was not interested in him, because she didn't like guys who wore sandals. That was the end of John and Dixie, but Jim and I continued to see each other.

He Liked My Car

Jim Morrison and I liked each other and continued to get together for the next couple of weeks--maybe three or four--not sure. Pamela Courson must have been out there in the perimeter somewhere, I'm sure, according to what I've read. I never met her; I never even knew she existed back then. Morrison was seen with a lot of women in Hollywood. What he and I had, I believe, was pretty piddly...But we liked cruising the Strip in my Vette; we'd drive through the canyon or up to Mulholland, or follow Sunset Boulevard all the way out to the beach. We'd often end up at some coffeehouse, especially the ones on UCLA campus. I don't remember ever drinking with him, but we smoked a little pot. We drove to Ray Manzarek's house out on the beach one night. Ray's wife, Dorothy, was very cordial offering little snacks and tea.

It was another quiet uneventful evening with Jim, but I remember waking up with him the next morning while the waves were rolling in. We slept in a bed out on a little porch that faced the beach. Now THAT was memorable. I also remember waking up with him on the living room floor at my St. Regis apartment one morning. We had spread out a blanket on the tile floor. I don't remember ever falling to sleep with him or what we did or talked about before we crashed. I don't remember any spicy details, but I wouldn't make it public even if I did. If there had been anything special about his body or his lovemaking, I would have remembered it. That's all I will say on that subject, other than he had the most beautiful face I have ever stared into. I was seeing a couple of other guys, too. Jim and I weren't a "steady" thing. We just liked hanging out together. I think he liked my car. Remember, he was poor at that time; and he was probably used to riding around in old Junkers. Morrison was a very sweet man in those days, very quiet-even bashful. We had many awkward silences between us. Either he had nothing to say, didn't feel like talking, or didn't know what to say. I remember often feeling uncomfortable with him. I'm very verbal and outgoing. He wasn't. I would say something I thought was really clever or cute, and there'd be no response. He was very calm and subdued almost all the time-pensive. Most people are only familiar with his stage and drinking performances. The real Morrison was buried deep below that exterior.

Our Third Half--Cooker

My sister, Dixie, in the meantime, had been making friends while I was hitting the job trail in the daytime. She told me one day about this little New York character she had recently met, named Cooker, and she wanted me to meet him.

What an oddity that guy was! I don't think he weighed 100 pounds, barely five feet tall, green teeth, a monkey on his back, and his hair was falling out! He was sixteen.

Dixie and I became absolutely enchanted with Cooker. When he sat down and played his guitar and sang, both of us sat on the floor at his feet staring up at him completely engrossed in his voice and his songs. He played a lot of old blues songs, and since he had this teeny little cracking thing in his voice that quivered when he sang, everything about him was totally out of the ordinary. We took him in under our wing immediately--like we'd rescued a cute little puppy, and adored everything he did, everything he said, and of course, everything he sang and played fascinated us. One afternoon Jim and were making out on the couch at the St. Regis when Cooker walked in unannounced. He said "Hey, how ya doin." and walked on back to the bedroom. Since he'd be staying with us, I never thought the incident meant much to anybody; but later on that day, Cooker pulled me aside, and told me that I was going to have to choose between Morrison or him. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know he cared for me like that.

I talked to my sister, Dixie, about what I should do, and she said, "Oh, Cooker, definitely choose Cooker. He's so much more fun." She was right. I loved staring at Jim Morrison. He was beautiful, but as far as busting guts and having an all-out blast, he was a little "boring" compared to Cooker's humor and playfulness, so I promised Cooker that I would not see Morrison again and I didn't, except socially. Cooker's band, The Groupies, and the Doors had become rivals, too, along with some other local bands in those days, so there was also jealousy brewing between them when I came along. Dixie and I were big Groupie fans the instant we met them. I loved the Doors, too, but Dixie didn't care for them as much. Hence, my decision. Hanging out in Hollywood on Sunset Strip in the sixties, was very much like roaming around in Alice in Wonderland. As young teens and twenty-some-things, that's about the closest I can come to describing it. It reminded me of fairy-tales read to me not so long ago, and how I used to pretend I was one of the characters flying or floating or wishing.

The Groupies

Everything in my Hollywood life seemed surreal and dreamy--like "don't pinch me, or I'll wake up from all this." My naive and uncomplicated self had only heard about this place called Hollywood on the radio, and I'd seen bits and pieces of what Hollywood might be like on TV, but I never dreamed in a million years that it would be so majestic.

I was in awe of seeing famous people right before my eyes, and the fabulous homes sprinkled all over the hills, the Rolls Royces, all the rock and roll clubs, the traffic at night; and there were hundreds of kids just like me going through the same thing that I was--we were literally walking through a fairy-tale every day and night of our lives out there on the Strip.

We became part of what we had fallen in love with in the first place; so we loved our town, we loved each other, the life we were living, the air we breathed, and the ground we walked on. Life never got much better than that.

IN LOVE WITH LOVE 

People often ask me what the most memorable event was I ever witnessed. I can't think of one that stands out more than others. There were so many incredible days and nights back then. My fondest memory is the entire indescribable sixties "show" out there on the Strip. It was the parade of hippies out on the street every night, the drugs, the lights, the rock stars, the money, the traffic, the hang-outs, the parties, my funny, wonderful friends and all the great times we shared. It's all rolled up into one big fat unbelievable celebration of life. We laughed, we loved so intensely, we danced and we partied till we dropped. We got high on anything we could find. We were trusting, loving, good human beings--nothing was laced with nothing, unless it was ornamental. 

I had promised my sister, that if she would go with me to California that she'd "never have to work. Just be my companion." ...Well, things just didn't work out that way too long for Dixie. We needed more money. I was trying to support her and Cooker, and most of Cooker's band members, The Groupies, from New York, on my ten dollars an hour topless dancing money. We needed rent, food, drugs, clothes, a fancy car that was mechanically sound, and club money. Somehow, some way, I actually did convince that poor young innocent little girl--freshly ripened with breasts--large round ones, unlike my flat double-A fried eggs, to get up on stage one night and dance topless at a biker bar in San Bernardino. She was gorgeous, and the bikers were hooting and hollering like cave men. She was obviously a big smash, but if the room hadn't been so hideously loud, I swear you could have heard her knees knocking. She was scared to death of them. I wasn't too convinced that I had done the right thing, myself. Bikers! Geez! "What have I done here?! We could be dead by morning!"...and Dixie was still a virgin! 

That night Dixie was befriended by Buzzard, who was the vice-president of the biker club in town that night. Buzzard instinctively knew how scared and wet behind the ears she really was. He stood guard over her for the rest of the night, including ushering her from the dressing room to the stage and back, walking us out to our car and escorting us to the interstate on his Harley.

He and Dixie became great friends after that. He took her Harley riding several times and once he took her up to the Hell's Angels' mansion outside of San Bernardino.

Dixie swears he never ever laid a hand on her--that she always felt safe with him. "God bless you, Buzzard, wherever you are." We may have worked that club a couple more times, but Dixie said that if she had to dance topless for a living, it was not going to be in biker bars. She said she would start at the top auditioning at only the best clubs in Hollywood, and work her way down from there.

     

Dixie backstage.

She auditioned and landed a job at the first club she went to--The Classic Cat right on the Strip, and worked there until the early seventies.

Dixie on stage at the Classic Cat with the Oscar Meyer
Wiener Man and his wife.

Musicians

Dixie and I had always gravitated to musicians, and vice-versa. It was probably because our dad had played in big bands since the early 1940's. We knew almost every musician in our home town through Dad and by attending hops and dances on Friday and Saturday nights. Larry Hindman was a tall, gawky 4-eyed drummer who played the Moose Club dances. We got to know him because it was so hard not to notice his talent and his humor. The guy was hilarious! He was  one of the most comedic people I have ever met. We would laugh till it hurt begging him to stop.

Larry had birdlike characteristics and mannerisms, so his nickname was The Byrd. We stayed in contact with him after we moved to California; and finally after dispelling all his fears about leaving Urbana, Illinois, he hopped a Greyhound bus and took off for L.A. to meet up with us. ...but oh geez, what a surprise when Byrd stepped off the bus that day! He had on his thick black horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was greased and slicked back He was wearing a long black trench coat over a suit! Dixie, and I were standing there in our hippy garb; Cooker had on his standard issue confederate jacket. We stood there dumbfounded staring at Byrd like he was some kind of alien, which actually he was! "We gotta fix this situation fast!" Byrd just didn't fit the divine image we aspired to have in Hollywood. Well, we fixed him, and we fixed him real fast with LSD, pot, speed and downers.

Cooker in his Confederate jacket

Within a week, he had sold his stereo, his suit was ruined, and he was broke. Done deal. He fit right in. The Groupies had a new drummer!

Byrd

We all moved into one room at the House of Awareness because it was cheap--ten bucks a week for the four of us-Dixie, Cooker, Byrd, me. Pete, who was Cooker's guitar player in the band, and Jay Eisenburg, took a room downstairs. The House of Awareness was just a block and a half up from Hollywood Boulevard on Wilcox. There were two hookers living on our floor across the hall, and a guy named Sky Saxon lived at the end of the hall. We shared a bathroom with the tenant who roomed between Sky and us. The first thing we did to make the room look hipper, was paint it black--ceiling and walls. Then we stole a "No Parking" sign that we planted in the very center of the room. At night we would light candles and sit in a circle around the sign. It would feel like we were outside under the stars, and out in the street, I guess. I don't really remember, but it was trippy and unforgettable. This worked for us for awhile. 

Sky Saxon

There were lots of Snickers across the street to shoplift at the 7-11, and Moonpies, etc., if you were quick enough to get out of there before they melted down your pants. Hollywood Boulevard was just a few steps away, and what a trip that could be at night with the sidewalks full of screamers, hookers, pimps and johns, and old whining starlets that never made it...very entertaining on acid. 

That block or so on Wilcox of rooming houses was rockin most of the time. Muddy Waters lived down on the corner in another boarding house. I remember going to his room, meeting him, and shaking his huge hand. He was fairly well-known even then, but he was struggling as it is well known that the record execs were stealing from him, so he was obviously low on money just like us. Therefore we could all relate. We were poor,  lived for music and did drugs whenever possible.

Muddy Waters

One Thanksgiving we all chipped in and bought Dom Perignon and several boxes of macaroni and cheese to celebrate the holiday. We had to wait in line to use the House of Awareness kitchen, but mac-n-cheese tasted awesome with pot and Dom, and your closest friends-another most memorable occasion at The House.

"I'm In the Mood For Food..."

The time we spent living there were some of the most enduring memories of my life. I laughed so hard it hurt. I laughed till I cried. I laughed till I peed my pants, and then some. I'm still laughing just looking back.

Contrary to popular belief, there was not much sex to speak of. Cooker and I may have managed it once in a while, but how and where do you have sex living in one room with five or six other people hanging around and paper-thin walls? Nope, we stayed high on laughter and each other. We were hilarity perves. "I'm in the mood for food...simply because I'm STARVING!" That was our theme song. We sang it loud and often--in key, with harmonies and big crescendos that faded softly into... "funny, but when I'm starving... I'm in the mood for food ."

House of Awareness Card

Byrd, Pete, and Cooker ran into an old friend, Frankie Rowena, from Brooklyn, who had just opened up a clothing store with his New York drug money, called Head East. Frankie hired the three of them to work there. Pity poor Frankie, but I guess he knew what he was doing. Frankie was just like all of us--just a little luckier maybe. We all helped each other out back in those days anyway. It was our credo.

Anybody and everybody came into Head East to shop, and to score--Sharon Tate, Ann Margaret, Warren Beatty, The Jackson Five, Ringo Starr, Sly Stone, John Kay, Tony Curtis, Pete Townsend, Roger Daltry, Little Richard, and Jimi  Hendrix just to name a few.

Head East party invitation

After the store closed, there were many parties upstairs on the second floor above the shop where Frankie kept all of his "inventory."

I was leaving West Hollywood one morning driving down Sunset. I'd probably been out there partying, but I was shocked when the huge Beatles billboard came into view. The profiles of the four Beatles heads rose up above the actual sign, but the tallest one of Paul McCartney, was missing. His head had been removed from the giant sign! This was horribly upsetting to me and soon to the entire Hollywood community as the news quickly spread. Remember, he was the one walking barefoot on the Abbey Road album cover. There were many references to his impending death in those days. When the press tried to find McCartney to confirm that he was ok, he was nowhere to be found.

Billboard missing Paul's Head (second from left)
Click to enlarge

For two or three days, Paul was just "missing" and we were all freaking out. "Paul McCartney Is Dead" were the headlines across the nation, and across the world. When McCartney himself finally heard the news, he notified the media. He had been yachting out at sea for a few days without contact purposely with the rest of the world just to "get away" and relax. The "Paul McCartney Is Dead" story faded in the news. 

McCartney's Head

A week or two after the story had resolved itself, Cooker and I went to one of Frankie's parties at Head East after hours. We were on the second floor hob-knobbing when Frankie approached us, pulled us aside, and said he had something very important to show us. We figured he wanted to turn us on, or show us what a hundred pounds of coke looked like or something.

We followed Frankie up a winding flight of stairs to a THIRD floor where he proudly stood and pointed to the giant head of Paul McCartney leaning up against a wall! Frankie explained that he had simply gotten loaded to the gills one night, climbed up onto his roof where the billboard was perched, and on up onto the billboard scaffolding with a wrench, and performed the dirty deed which created headlines around the world. Whatever happened to Paul's eight-foot head after that, I haven't a clue. Frankie died of heart failure just a few years later. 

Dixie was doing well at the Classic Cat. She was well-liked, and was making friends with the other girls who worked there. I stopped into see her as often as I could. The Cat wasn't far from the Whisky-a-Go-Go, so if I wasn't working too far out of town, I could be back early enough to stop in both places before they closed. I loved the Classic Cat. It was a ritzy club with beautiful dancers and cocktail waitresses. You never knew who you 
would run into in that place. 

Some of the other celebrities that were seen there were: James Arnez, Evel Knevel, Adam West, Bob Crane, Robert Conrad, Richard Deacon ("Mel" from the Dick Van Dyke Show,)  Louis Nye, Charleston Heston, Jim Morrison, Doug McClure,  Lana Turner, Dennis Cole, Chevy Chase, Steve Jaffe, Leslie West  (Mountain) Dino Valenti, "Jethro" from The Beverly Hillbillies, and  Stan Freberg who produced many famous commercials in those days,  such as the famous shaving commercial--"Take it off, take it all off,"  These are people that I know personally were there, but there were many other famous people known to have been seen there.

One dancer, Kay Poorboy, and her friend Francine Brockey, a cocktail waitress, had moved to Hollywood from Tulsa. I struck up friendships with both those girls immediately, but of course, if you knew one of them, you knew the other one; those girls were so tight, they were like twins. Kay and Francine became the first females that I made friends with in Hollywood.

        
Kay and Francine

I loved to brag about Cooker and the Groupies, so that's one of the first subjects that came up when I met my new girlfriends. They in turn, told me about their Tulsa friends who were in a band called Delaney and Bonnie and Friends. Kay and Francine vowed to come and hear Cooker play, if I promised to go out to the Valley some night to hear Delaney and Bonnie. They probably heard Cooker for the first time in somebody's living room, but I went out to the Valley one night with Kay and Francine to hear their favorite band.

     
Delaney & Bonnie & Friends

I probably hadn't been inside the door for more than fifteen seconds, when I found my body, mind, and soul instantly seduced by one member of that band. He had on a white tuxedo, a white top hat with long salt and pepper hair streaming underneath his hat. He was onstage sitting at a concert grand piano and playing notes that were aimed straight to my heart-or so it seemed. In an instant, I was madly in love with Leon Russell.

Leon

God Plays Piano and Wears a White Tux

Leon became my essential new god. I could become an instant babbling idiot if I found myself breathing the same air as he was. He was bigger than life. He looked the supreme almighty part, too-- sounded like a god would sound if given the amplification. He even had back-up singers that conveyed the essence of Mahalia Jackson's gospel sound. Yep! That's how my god would manifest Himself on stage, that's how he would look; he'd be wearing a white tux, and he'd have long salt-and-pepper hair. Leon was beautiful to stare at, and faultless--perfect in every way, an exceptional musical entity. How did I feel about myself in His Presence? Like a common idiot, of course. 

After leaving the club that night, we went to a record release party at a hotel where I was introduced to Bonnie and Delaney. Leon wasn't there, but I became a big fan of the entire group after that night. I wished then it hadn't taken me so long to get over to the Valley. Their fame was rising fast and soon they would no longer be performing in small intimate clubs. 

Kay and Francine were very close to Leon. I was never sure how that happened, but I suspected that Leon was like a big brother to those two girls way back in Tulsa. He was ten years or so older, and I think he was trying to keep an eye on them; they were always drinking and doing dope and partying hard.

Francine

Kay and Francine were both living at Leon's house on Skyhill Drive--a two-story house in the hills of North Hollywood. Except for the kitchen, the downstairs part of the house had been converted into a recording studio. What had once been a living or sitting room was the studio itself, filled with mikes, amps, guitars, drums, headsets everywhere, miles of wires and cords, and a grand piano in the far right corner. Off this room, separated by a partial glass wall, was a sound-proof cubicle that housed the recording console. Leon gave Kay a closet upstairs. She kept a sleeping bag on the floor, a clock, a radio, and clothes in her "room." Leon's was across the hall at the top of the stairs.

At the end of the hall was where Francine and Chuck Blackwell stayed. Down at the opposite end of the hall was a room where everybody liked to hang out. The ceiling was draped with a parachute--a yellow-with-age silky, fluffy parachute. I remember a stereo system of course, and a TV that nobody ever watched. Old crappy sofas and chairs lined the walls. There were always tons of people in and out of there--a steady stream of musicians, singers, their friends, girlfriends, etc. Then of course, the back-up singers, Claudia Lennear and Kathi MacDonald, were there on a
regular basis recording.

 
Leon and Chuck Blackwell

Bonnie and Delaney often stopped by and Emily, a heavy-set wild-haired woman who was Leon's so-called pet, and it seemed like she was ALWAYS there. I never knew the story about Leon and Emily--how they met or what her relationship was to him, but I heard she was a cousin. For some reason, the subject never came up. She was just there!--An impending presence that was almost always looming about somewhere in that house. She hated me and she made that very clear. Don't know what I ever did--it may have had something to do with my slender figure, but I always tried to avoid her even though it wasn't very easy. 

Sweet Emily

She was known for her threats and her rolling pin! One time she answered the front door when I came knocking, and I just swung around and scampered back down the steps, jumped back in my car and hauled ass down the hill. I just wasn't in the mood to deal with her that day. She was very intimidating and she knew it. It was as though Leon had a human pit bull.

My Encounters With Leon

The other person that scared the daylights out of me was Leon himself. I could be in a great socializing mood--the life of the party, laughing and talking ninety miles an hour up in the parachute room, but if Leon walked in, I would immediately just clam up, afraid to utter another stupid-ass word. An entrance by Leon could turn me into wallpaper instantly.

Leon

One particularly memorable time, I was headed downstairs and noticed an audio headset hanging over the banister at the bottom of the staircase. I could hear music faintly drifting out of it, so I put it on and started listening to what must have been one of the new album cuts they had recently recorded. I immediately drifted off into the music right there on a bottom stair step. I closed my eyes and lost myself immersed in the music for a few moments. When I came out of my trance and opened my eyes, Leon was standing at the landing right in front of me observing my mesmerism all that time evidently, and grinning at me. Me! I'm sure I muttered something like "nice song" in a teeny tiny meek little tongue and immediately scurried off. Damn it! I just never thought I could say anything worthy to him. In my mind, Leon was perched high above me on a pedestal. I couldn't relate to him. I wonder if my fear of him had something to do with my being young and stupid and shallow at that time. Possibly, but if I turned around at this very moment and found him looking over my shoulder and reading these very words, I would die a thousand deaths on the spot--meaning there would be nothing left of me, but a large brown puddle on the floor of my office. To me, he's still "way up there" and that's where he will always remain in my world. 

Little Kay

Kay and I wanted to start a band. I had taken up playing guitar a little-- meaning, I knew three chords and I had written one crummy song; and Kay wanted to play bass. Leon's studio was right there in the house, so Kay and I liked to get blasted when Leon wasn't around and go down in the studio and mess around with the equipment as though we knew what we were doing. Leon had expressed to us, though, that if we got a band going, he would stand by us, support us musically, whatever he could do to help. That put some fire under our butts so we were actually serious for awhile--as serious as two stoned young girls could be, that is.

One night we were all celebrating because the album was finished. Bonnie and Delaney, Chuck and Francine, Leon, Emily, me and a couple of other people I wish I could remember--we all dropped acid and crammed into the sound booth like tuna and listened to the entire album at top volume. After that, all of us continued to party until people started passing out or left. Everybody but me and Kay, that is. We must have done some speed too, because we were hopped up on the music thing that night.

Kay and I went into the studio when we thought everybody was sleeping or gone, and started working on songs. My fingers were hurting from playing guitar, so I sat down at the piano, and was plunking out something. I had taken a whole year of piano lessons, so I felt capable on keys--at least I did that night.. I must have been in deep musical concentration, because I didn't notice anybody sit down next to me on the bench, but I heard the notes being played at the top end of the piano. Those notes just kind of started filtering in softy, and when I realized who was sitting next to me, I just sort of oozed off the bench like mush and moved down where Kay was sitting on the floor. God was in the house, and he's playing piano. 
Oh, Lord!

Leon on Piano

Leon started making that piano rumble and roll like only he can do. Kay and I felt as though a magic wand had been waved over us. We fell into an extraordinary euphoria that only he could have created for us in that incredible middle-of-the-night interlude.

We couldn't speak; we telegraphed elation with our eye movements until we eventually just gave in completely, and sprawled out on the tile floor amidst the cigarette butts, guitar cords, and beer and wine bottles where we lost all conception of time. We were carried off in song that night; where we floated into regions of Leon's musical brilliance. Melodically, I think we traveled all through-out the heavens with him until reality finally tapped in. It was daylight; he'd been playing for several hours. 

I have been accused of reverting back to my past time and again, but these days when certain songs come on the radio, I have recollections of some wonderful memories, and there's one song in particular. Whenever I hear Leon's version of "Song for You" and the words... "we're alone now and I'm playing this song for you," my arm hairs stand up, and my heart and soul is flooded with the memory of that night when Leon played just for the two of us.

I will continue to add stories, so stay tuned.

Copyright© 2006 by
The Great Hollywood  Hangover
All rights  reserved.
Nancy Deedrick