Love Street

Yeah, she’s funny and she’s smart.
Yeah, she’s tough as nails.
Yeah, she’s a hot piece.
Yeah, she knows how to put me in my place when I need it.
But that’s not it.
That’s not the reason I married her; there are plenty of hot, funny, tough chicks in the world.
The reasons that I married her are simple; well simple to me.
Bruce Wayne and James Douglas Morrison.
It’s not that being a disciple of Batman and The Doors was a prerequisite to earn my undying love.
It’s that I never once had to explain either one to her.
She knew.
From the beginning, she knew how the allure and the mystery and the attraction to both went beyond a comic book character and a dead rockstar. It was about myth and ethos and legends.
It was about the darkness.
It was about the night.
She understood it all. She got it.
It will be 10 years next week. But it’s been longer. Much longer.

When I was about to turn 15 years old, I saw a movie, and I read a book, and I became obsessed with a certain individual who was the singer of arguably the most dangerous band in the history of Rock and Roll.
I wanted to sing like him, and I wanted to write like him. I wanted to move like him, look like him. I wanted to screw like him… (until I found out that he was impotent for the last two years of his life due to his prodigious use of alcohol).
I wanted to be the 2nd coming of Jim Morrison.
I even had the same initials. Hell, my name is Jim for God’s sake.
This is my birthright!

Turns out, I could only drink like him.
And I didn’t even do that right.
But in this book, a collection of facts, fables and mythology titled, No One Here Gets Out Alive, I read how Jim described his girlfriend, a little red-headed pixie named Pamela, as his “cosmic mate”.

I’ve been searching for that ever since. Not a girl friend, not a wife, not a baby momma; a cosmic mate.
Someone who “got” me without explanation or judgement. I finally met her in 2010; married her in June of 2015. “I Looked at You” was one of our two wedding songs. It’s been the best 10 years of my life.

I had been wanting to make a pilgrimage to the City of Angels, the birthplace and home field for the legendary Doors, ever since I finished that book.
Never got there.
Each year I would come up with some excuse, and I’d wind up going somewhere else on vacation; Miami. Canada. The Caymans. Canada Again. Miami. Then Tampa AND Miami.
But never LA.
Until I met her.
She had never been there either.
We went the first time in 2014. We made the drive down the PCH from Monterey to Venice Beach and arrived shortly before midnight.
She said, “Baby, we made it” as we pulled up the rented guest house a block from the beach and a block from the canals.

It was the best vacation of my life.
Until the next time we went.
This time, we were on our honeymoon.
I rented a small cottage on a quiet street just above Sunset Blvd.
My wife is 4' 11".
I was literally, “with a little girl in a Hollywood Bungalow.”
We made the pilgrimage to Love Street; the house in Laurel Canyon that Jim and Pam lived in for a period during the summer of 68.

We ate snacks at the famed Canyon Country Store. We visited the Whiskey-a-Go-Go on Sunset, where the Doors first cut their teeth and Jim made a name for himself with his legendary performance in front of Jac Holtzman of Electra records.
That was the BEST vacation ever.
Until the next time we went.
That time I rented an apartment on Rose Ave, which just happened to be next door to the garage where the Doors took their publicity photos for the Waiting for the Sun album. And coincidentally, the building used as the home of Hank Moody on Californication.

That vacation, we also made the trek into the heart of the city to visit the site of the old hotel that was used as the cover of the Morrison Hotel record.

That was the BEST vacation ever!
Until the NEXT time we went.
This time we made the trek up into the Topanga Hills to hike up to the legendary Morrison Cave. It’s this huge hole in a rock that I’m pretty sure Jim NEVER visited. Someone made up a story that he used to eat acid and write poetry there, but the authenticity of that story is to be doubted. Still a pretty cool cave though.

Then, on July 3rd, the anniversary of Jim’s death, we had the absolute pleasure of seeing Robbie Krieger perform at the previously mentioned Whiskey, with 650 other Jim-obsessed friends and strangers.

To say it was a surreal experience would be an understatement.
THAT was the BEST VACATION EVER!

Then there’s today.
A few weeks ago, I started searching for ideas for anniversary gifts for our 10 year mark. The traditional gift for 10 years is wood and diamonds.
I’m not all that big on traditional gifts.
One year (I think it was our 6th) we both got each other the SAME gift; a copy of the Complete Writings of Jim Morrison.
Best anniversary gift EVER!

During my search for ideas, I got an email from the Tribeca Film Festival. The email said that in honor of the 60th anniversary of the Doors, they would be screening When You’re Strange, a 2009 documentary about the band, pieced together with footage of the time, and clips of Jim’s short film, HWY. It was narrated by Johnny Depp. In addition, the film was to be followed by a Q and A from none other that John Densmore, drummer of said outfit.
THIS was going to be the best day ever, and a swell pre-anniversary date.
I purchased the tickets and told her nothing other than “dont make plans on the 14th”. Then I went down into the basement to find my copy of Densmore’s autobiography, Riders On the Storm, in the hopes that I might get him to sign it.
(spoiler alert: he didn’t)
I had seen the film multiple times, but never on the big screen, so I was looking forward to the experience. I was more excited about surprising my betrothed with a really cool afternoon date. I was super excited about meeting one of the architects of one of the most influential bands of my life.

I woke up today to the sound of a thunderous, horrendous rain storm. I didn’t mind. I headed out early and got bagels for the family, and then used the excess nervous energy to work out in the now damp garage.
At noon, we started our journey in the rain. I had some apprehension about driving into the city on “No Kings” day, but the scheduled demonstrations were far enough away, that I didn’t think I’d get stuck behind a cluster of well-intentioned protestors blocking the streets around the theater. The entire ride, my wife pretended that she didn’t know where we were going; keeping up the charade just to see the absolute boyish excitement of a child going to Disney World, painted on the face of a 59-year old man on his way to see a 15-year old movie. We arrived in plenty of time, and even managed to procure a FREE parking spot a block from the theatre!
As we drove up 23rd street, I pointed to the line outside and pondered aloud, “wonder what’s going on there?” to which she coyly replied, “Maybe it’s part of the 60th anniversary of a certain band, followed by the meet and greet with a certain drummer of that band.”
Yeah. She’s the one.

We found a spot on the quickly growing line, and spent the better part of an hour standing in the rain, but I didn’t care. I was where I wanted to be, with who I wanted to be with, and no amount of rain was going to spoil that.
We made our way inside and quickly found a pair of seats six rows from the stage. We settled in, and shortly after 2pm, the MC announced John Densmore, and the now 80-year-old Rock and Roll star took to the stage to introduce the film, but not before mentioning the fact that today was indeed, No Kings Day in America; a timely topic which was on the minds of most, if not all the attendees in the theatre.

The houselights dropped and the movie began. For the next 90 minutes, Valarie and I grooved in our seats and quietly sang the words to the songs that shaped our lives, as we marveled at one of the most important bands during one of the most culturally important times in our nation’s history. A soundtrack for the turbulence, and the beauty, and the ugliness of the 60’s.
And then, like a shooting star, Jim was gone, and the movie was over.

John re-appeared with music journalist Alan Light, and they began the Q and A session. It was obvious that John was moved by the movie, reliving the events of his youth on the bigscreen. It took him a moment to get his composure, and then the chat began. He’s a fine figure for 80; lithe and athletic, and full of life, but it quickly became evident that he was both overwhelmed by the events of the day, and that he was 80 years old. He would try to answer a question, then go off on a tangent, and then lose his train of thought and have to start over. It was fascinating to watch on so many levels. He talked about the art and the culture of the 60’s and contrasted it with present day, more than once bringing the topic back to the present, and clearly expressing his lack of admiration for the current President and the cult of personality that he has fostered.

He talked about the music, and his life, and he talked about Jim, retelling stories that he’s been telling for the last 54 years since Jim left his body in a Paris apartment. He talked about Jim’s drinking and his recklessness, and the early demise of Rock’s Dionysus.

I knew that there would be audience questions after the main body, and I had 7 or 8 questions running around my hyperactive brain. When the moderator turned to the audience to ask for questions, I froze. Not because I was afraid, but because I didn’t know which question I wanted to ask. A woman asked the first question. It was a good one, but John went off on a tangent, and the main question went unanswered.
I knew then which question I needed to ask.
I shot my hand up, but he picked someone else. Then he picked someone else. I raised my hand as high as I could, but he picked someone on the other side of the room. I felt bad for the questioners, because they didn’t properly read John. They were asking long-winded questions, prefaced with bloviations about how much they liked the Doors, blah, blah, blah.
First rule of journalism: Don’t bury the lede!
He picked someone else, but I wasn’t worried. I knew.
“We have time for one more.”
I looked directly at him and started to stand even before he pointed to me.
I knew.
I made it quick and clear.
I ditched the idea of telling him that my name was “Jim” just to see if he smiled. I stood tall and directed my question right to John.
“You talked earlier about Jim’s drinking, and how AA and recovery wasn’t cool in the 60’s but maybe, if he had gotten to rehab, he might have stayed sober.”
“If he lived now,” he responded.
I nodded. “If he lived now.”
“So my question is this: If Jim had gotten sober, could he have still been “Jim Morrison”, or is it the demons that drive the art?”
(It’s a question I’ve asked myself for the last 38 years, wondering if I hadn’t tamed the more ferocious demons, would I have been a better, writer/singer, or am I just not talented enough? But that’s for another blog.)

I could tell by the murmurings around me that I had hit it out of the park.
John sat back and sighed for a moment, collecting his thoughts before answering. I knew I had him. I knew that I touched him.
I wont put quotes around what he said, but this is the gist of it.

-You know, I think about that. Someone asked me, do you ever think that if it wasnt for you and Ray and Robbie, that Jim might not have lived as long as he did? Jim had a unique gift. He was brilliant and he wrote these words and put them to music even though he didn't have an ounce of musical talent. But he had vision, and together we put that music out there and it still lives in the world.
Then his voice cracked, and he said, “Man, I miss those guys.”
I made John Densmore cry.
Then it was over. The audience rose as one to applaud the man and his music.
Three people came over to thank me for my question.
I wanted to get my book signed, but the crowd surged, and I couldn’t get close, and then he was gone.
But I was more than satisfied. I was elated.
In truth, I was high; filled with energy, and filled with the love and comfort of the “cosmic mate” at my side, and the times that we have shared, and the adventures we have lived, and the anticipation of those still to come.
This was the BEST day of them all.
Until the next one.

So, Thank You John, and Thank you Jim, but most of all, Thank You Valarie.
I couldn’t be me without you.