White Rabbit
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Dargelos White Rabbit A Chronicle of the Old Dead Guys Bound in Leather Press Chicago Glen Ellyn Dedicated to the memory of Bill Reynolds Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph. Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you. Paul Simon, Bookends Theme 2 Introduction If you remember the sixties, you weren’t there. For those old enough to remember the Old Dead Guys, the name alone is synonymous with an entire era. For me, at least, they summed up the sixties in a way few other bands could do, and even though they never became as widely known as bands like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones, I believe that had they not broken up when they did, they might well have achieved the fame they deserved within a very short time. This is not an “official” biography of the group by any means, though I did have access to a great deal of material that belonged to band members, and much which has been out of circulation for nearly three decades. For that I would like to thank my sources, most of whom prefer to remain anonymous. However, two of them I can thank publicly: Michael Altman was a great help to me in compiling and interpreting this material. He gave me access to unpublished material which has shed a lot of new light on the group and its members; in order to be clear on exactly what it is you’re reading, please see Michael’s note which follows this introduction. Sydney Ember, who has been incredibly kind and supportive of this effort, gave me complete access to his superb collection of ODG memorabilia as well as sharing a great many memories of the group with me. To all of you who helped make this narrative possible, I offer my most heartfelt thanks. Thanks, too, to Rolling Stone, The Chicago Free Rag and Cornerstone for permission to reprint articles from their archives, and to the authors of those articles, Mike Altman, Stan Granville and Bill Wasserman for their permission as well. Dargelos, Chicago 1999 Back in 1969, when I first made contact with Sydney Ember, I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. I figured it was just another journalist-tours-with-the-band-and- gets-the-inside-scoop gig, usually good for a bit of dish and some funny moments. But what I found changed my life. Very little of that is reflected in what actually made it into print in Rolling Stone that autumn. I have extensive notes, and a lot of material that was 3 never published for various reasons: my publisher didn’t like it, Syd or the band vetoed it…and sometimes I just knew I was seeing stuff I couldn’t share with the world. Times change. What you’ll read here – my words – start out nearly unchanged from what I published in Rolling Stone thirty years ago. Within a few days of joining the band I was writing articles which were extensively rewritten before they ever hit print, and finally, before they ever went to my editor. By the end I was writing two sets of articles, the “real” stuff and the stuff I sent off to the magazine. You can read the print articles in back issues of RS. What you’ll read here is some of the “real” stuff, unedited versions of a number of my articles with all the truth, as I perceived it, left intact. Somehow I don’t think the guys would mind now. It’s true that there is a great deal more material, both mine and from other sources, which could have been included, however in the interests of keeping this narrative to a single volume, and in my own interest – I may just write that book someday – Dargelos and I agreed to make a plan of attack and keep to it, giving the flavor of the group and its members. I don’t think it’s too strong a statement to say that I loved these guys. In a few short weeks they became a kind of family to me. They changed my perceptions of life dramatically. I’ll never forget them. I don’t want anyone else to, either. Read, enjoy. If you were a fan, remember. That’s the least we can do for them. Michael Altman - Los Angeles, 1999 ************************ Seacouver, 1997, Joe’s bar - The white knight is talking backwards1 It was a good thing, having Joe’s bar there to be neutral territory for them all, mortal and immortal alike. Methos was there early, setting up the back room with glasses, ice and finger food, and bottles of each man’s favorite liquor so that they could make their farewells in familiar style. He left one extra chair at the table and set a bottle of bourbon and a glass at that place. Superstitious perhaps, but it felt right, and the others would understand. 4 He was out at the bar talking to Joe when Mac arrived. Methos’ heart sank at the sight of the big Scot; he wasn’t prepared to have a fight that night. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, and winced inwardly to hear the note of hostility in his own voice. “Sorry, that was…sorry.” “Yeah. So, what’s the occasion?” Methos glared at Joe who shrugged. “It slipped, man. Sorry.” “Mac, this is just something private I’m doing for some friends, okay?” Mac was silent for a while, and then – where this came from Methos would never know – he said “It’s about Kronos, isn’t it? These are more of your crazy friends and you’re going to tell them about Kronos and the others. Are they going to come after my head?” “No. I wouldn’t let them do that. They wouldn’t… It’s not like that, Mac.” “No?” “No.” “So it is about him, isn’t it?” Joe set a glass of whisky on the bar and said, “Mac, why can’t you just let this go?” “Because I’m carrying the bastard around inside my head! You don’t know what he was like.” “Neither do you,” Methos said quietly. Predictably, Mac turned on him. “Maybe I know better than you do with him in here.” He jabbed at his forehead. Methos said nothing for a few moments, then, “Mac, I wish I could help you. All I can say is that you got a gift that day I wish I’d been strong enough to take for myself. If you’d just listen to the voice…” “I don’t like what I’m hearing.” “If you’d just listen!” Methos shouted at him. Mac bellowed back, “To what? The sadism, the brutality?” “You two keep it down,” Joe warned and Methos continued in a more subdued voice. “That was the madness. There was a lot more to Kronos.” 5 Mac glared down into his glass. “Well if I’m the keeper of the flame why don’t you invite me to your little party? Maybe I can arrange an appropriately crazy visitation for you all.” Methos would have given anything to be able to fill that empty spot with Mac’s presence. The others would have understood, too, the immortals anyway. But what he said was, “Whatever you may think you know Mac, you’d better deal with the fact that there were people who loved Kronos. I was one of them. I think you’re afraid to accept the idea because it might mean you don’t know all there is to know about him or about me.” Mac seemed about to retaliate when a new voice said, “This is one big mind-fuck, old guy!” “Michael!” Mac was forgotten in the pleasure of seeing the journalist again. “Damn you’ve gotten old!” “I have less hair than last time we saw each other, you son-of-a-bitch, but I resist the idea that I’m old. You haven’t changed a bit and I don’t mean your looks.” He smiled vaguely at Joe, who nodded, and Mac who turned away. “Oh-kay. So where are the others?” “It’s only eight-thirty, you’re half an hour early. Did you ever know the Old Dead Guys to get anywhere early?” Michael chuckled. “Never, now I think about it.” “Michael, this is Joe Dawson; I’m sure you two will find you have a lot in common. Joe, Michael Altman.” “Joe Dawson. I know that name,” Michael said as he shook Joe’s hand. “Oh…” Clearly the penny had dropped. “Ah…hello. It’s nice to meet you.” “Kind of strange to be a celebrity, huh Joe?” Methos asked with a rude grin. “Oh shut up, Adam. Good to meet you, Michael; I’m familiar with your work. Can I get you something to drink? I know Adam is set up in back, but if I know him it’ll be beer, beer and beer with beer chasers.” 6 “That’s how much you know, Joe. Unless Michael has switched to foofy drinks with umbrellas and honking great hunks of fruit soaking in them, I have him covered.” “No, Adam, I still drink beer,” Michael said, eliciting snorts from both Joe and Mac. “The dark, friendly one is MacLeod,” Methos told Michael. “Mac, you feel like being civil to one of my friends?” “You’re really pushing it, Adam,” Joe warned. “Michael, Mac is having sort of a rough year, but he’s one of the good guys.