The Night My Mom Thought I Was Dead
Back in the early 1980’s there were many things that didn’t exist back then but are now part of everyday life. Here is a small list:
The internet
Google
Uber
Laptop computers
Netflix
Amazon
Digital music
Electric cars
Social media
The iPhone
Why is this relevant?
In 1982, my punk rock pals and I from Manhattan Beach were usually at gig on a Friday or Saturday night. The Whiskey a Go Go, The Starwood, The Hong Kong Cafe, The Cathey de Grande, Dancing Waters, The Cuckoos Nest, and other venues.
At that time I was sixteen years old and fully into the scene. I mostly dressed like a beach punk…jeans, t shirt, motorcycle boot or vans, chains, bandanas, and very short hair. Occasionally I had a bit of a Hollywood punker look with stuff that I bought at Poseur or Vinyl Fetish on Melrose Blvd…plaid bondage pants, leather jacket, creepers, spiked wristbands, etc.
One Friday or Saturday night, I was up with my south bay punker friends at the Starwood seeing…no clue but I am sure it was a crazy gig. Shit usually went down at the Starwood. When gigs were over, people typically hung around the club to socialize and see what was the next activity for the night. There was also the hunt for more beer, more drugs, more girls, etc. It was not uncommon for the police to show up in force at a gig to crack skulls and arrest people for no reason That night I hung around the Starwood for a bit after the show to soak in the environment that I loved so much. It wasn’t the beer or drugs ( I was kinda straight edge back then ) or the girls…remember I was a skinny and shy sixteen years old with low self esteem. Gigs were always a bit scary for me. What I really liked was the energy of the crowd, the violence of the music, and the feeling of being part of a group. It was intoxicating!
When it was time to meet up with my friends to make our way back home, I started to get a feeling that something was not ok…I didn’t see any of my friends along with the car that drove us! Maybe I forgot where we were parked? As I ran around the neighborhood looking for them, fear started to emerge. That fear turned into panic as I didn’t see any of them. “Where the fuck did they go?!”, “What am I going to do?” “how am I going to get home!!!!!!” I was so fucked!
My brain continued to ask questions. I remember vividly asking myself “am I going to have to sleep in an alley?, ”am I going to get the shit beat out of me by some punk hating long hairs?”, “am I going to get arrested?!” It was definitely an “oh fuck moment”. If I was thinking logically, I would have called my mom on a payphone and beg her to pick me up. The problem was my sixteen year old brain at that time was in short supply of logic. I also didn’t have any money…not a quarter or two dimes and a nickel to make that call.
After what felt like an eternity looking for the ride that left me, I went back to the Starwood to see if there was anyone who might be heading down to the South Bay. I didn’t give a shit who or how, I just needed to get home. After I started to completely give up hope out of nowhere comes my savior, Chris Allen! This nightmare was over. I had known Chris since I was a little kid. He lived in Manhattan Beach and was one of the older guys (probably eighteen or nineteen years old at the time) of our South Bay crew. He was a good guy and definitely had our backs when the shit hit the fan.
I told him my ride bailed on me and he let me bum a ride back to MB. There was a little twist to this misadventure. He was with some random punker girl that he had picked up and he itching to get some action. Oh yes…he was also hammered. At that moment I didn’t care about his blood alcohol level or what his intentions were with his “lady friend”. I just wanted to get home.
It started as a fairly benign drive to Manhattan Beach. Perhaps the police had already gone to bed because for some reason we did not get pulled over. As we got closer to the Inglewood exit that led to Manhattan Beach Blvd, I was overcome with the sense of relief that this nightmare was about to end. Well, that relief quickly turned panic once again as he kept on driving down the 405…past the exit! What the hell was he doing??? Why didn’t a turn off at the exit?? I think my stomach dropped down into my colon.
I yelled “why the fuck didn’t you get off the freeway?” His response was “I am dropping her off at her parents house in Huntington Beach.” Huntington Beach??!! That is approximately thirty five miles away so we are looking at a seventy mile drive round trip. I should have just jumped out of the car into the bushes next to the freeway. I would have been home a hell of a lot quicker.
I pleaded with him to take a quick detour off the freewwayand drop me off somewhat closer to home. I would have been happy to walk the rest of the way. My words fell on deaf ears because he had one thing on his mind and we all know what that is. Again, I was so fucked!
That drive was the longest and most anguishing of my young life. As each mile passed, the dread of how much I was going to get in trouble continued to grow. As we got closer to Huntington Beach there was some semblance of relief that it would be a simple drop off and we would get back on the freeway. That was wishful and rather naive thinking because when we arrived at this girl’s home, they started to get hot and heavy in the front seat.
During their steamy interplay I kept hearing him say “can I come in” This begging kept going for some time. Perhaps he thought if he said it enough she would eventually say “yes.” Thankfully for me she was a good girl. Her “no” and “I can’t” told me that this nightmare actually had an ending. Again that was wishful thinking!
After his advances were shot down, we got back on the road. I thought it was somewhere between two or three in the morning when we got on to the freeway. That fear of “what my mom is going to do to me” turned into “am I going die”. The mix of many beers earlier in the night and drooping eyelids were a really bad combo while driving. Luckily, the freeway was empty. I had to keep yelling at him to wake up when car kept drifting into to the next lane or two. If there was a cop on the road it would have been jail for Chris and me sitting at a police station…but I could have at least call my mom!
When we exited the freeway to Manhattan Beach, there was an overwhelming feeling of relief that this insanity was almost over. That fear of “I am going to get in so much trouble” started to reemerge as we got closer to my house. That reality hit me square in the face when he dropped me in the alley at the back of my house on 8th place and my mom was standing there in her bathrobe holding the newspaper. Typically the local newspaper was delivered around five in the morning so obviously my estimation of time was a bit off. My mom was beyond pissed…too angry to even speak. That lasted for days and of course she told my dad (my parents were divorced) so I was doubly fucked. There is nothing worse than having your parents say “we are so disappointed in you”. I would rather of been yelled at. I don’t remember how long I was grounded for but it was a long stretch. I even think there some talk of sending me to military school.
Now, let’s look at this story today’s context. In 1982 there were no cell phones or any form of mobile communication so I couldn’t just call home or text. This wouldn’t happen in today’s world. “My ride left…no problem..I’ll get an Uber and text my mom I was on my way home.” To this day, I still don’t know why I didn’t use a payphone. I guess I could blame it on being a dumb teenager. I put my mom through hell that night amongst other nights during my punk rock days. This one was definitely at the top of the list and it haunted me for decades, especially after I had kids. How she must of felt during that early morning hours had to be awful. The fear and anxiety of not knowing is the worst. She must of thought I was dead.