Maybe it's just the dead body of Reagan being FedEx'd all over the place, with Queen-of-England-level ceremonies of State. But it got me to thinking.
I remembered my old buddy Mace. If you were really in the know, he was Paul Mace.
A bona fide character -- good musician, actor, martial artist. New baby -- the whole she-bang. Yeah, his career wasn't too good, but it was picking up; he'd recently been in the ensemble of the movie Lords of Flatbush, along with then-equally-unknown Sylvestre Stallone and Henry Winkler (later to be "The Fonz" of Happy Days). Basically, the movie was a real career-launcher.
Except for Mace. Things remained kinda slow. We recorded some kick-ass rock music (and he wrote and sang songs like he meant it). Ah, I'll never forget that sweet Les Paul gold top I played back then. Shoulda never sold it.
Mace started teaching Kung Fu mixed with good ol' street fightin'. He was doing everything he could to make a little money. Even though things were going kind of rocky with his girlfrend, he was planning to marry her -- his kid's mother.
Then the asshole ups and gets on the back of a motorcycle piloted by a drunk motherf***er. The rest is history, and I mean "history" as in "no more in the present". The usual accident, with the usual irony -- the guy driving lived. Good thing I never saw the guy, cuz I might have changed that.
Mace died instantly, so we were told. We never saw any body, and I never went to any funeral. I was too damn mad at him to wish him "farewell". It was so damned stupid. To this day, I do not and will not drink when riding. I've taken a lot of shit for that stance, but it is the least I can do to honor a fallen friend.
But fallen why? It was stupid to get on the bike. Look folks, a bike has two tiny patches of rubber on the road, and that's all that is keeping that 800+ pounds (with passengers) machine upright and in control on the road. That and the good sense of the riders. Subtract the good sense and all you have left is two little patches of rubber and no sense. Rubber doesn't think well. Never let it do yer thinking fer ya.
Now, I'll bet you're thinking this is a tirade against drunk driving, but it isn't. I don't care what stupid thing somebody does to get themself killed.
It is the fact that you didn't think about US when you were at the pivotal decision point that I'm railing against, Mace. It's the fact that you left us without any options but to be pissed off at you, Mace, and to be mad at you for cutting yourself off from us, your friends; from your kid and from your wife-to-be. It's the fact that you cut short all of the hopes we shared with you, the dreams you told us you held and strove for, and the plans we'd all made together, Mace.
So here we are, over 20 years later and I'm still mad at you, Mace.
I have only one thing left to say.
Don't you ever do that again.
A. Biker
1 comment:
Kathy,
Paul was a very close friend, and he had spoken of you to me. I had the highest regard for his artistic skills. In fact, we've been cleaning up the place here and I am hoping to find a cassette tape of original music we played in a band we'd formed together. If I do, perhaps you would like a copy (but I last saw/heard the tape something like 10 years ago, so may not find it). But I haven't got your email address, so...
Yes, Sarah was a basket case, but what you may not know is that already their marriage was kind of rocky. I think that contributed to his drinking and getting on that bike that day, because it was very unusual behavior for him at that time (and we'd been close for 2 or 3 years by then).
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