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4 LEARNING the HARD WAY
ROLL IT OVER

Saul’s main squeeze at this time was a beautiful young blond girl we’ll call Melissa. We used to go over to her house all the time. I could just walk out the back of Grandma’s house and I’d be on Melissa’s street.

I learned how to roll joints from Melissa’s mom, Carrie, who had a big bowl of pot and papers ready for me when I visited. One afternoon we were the only ones in the house. She was a very pretty lady, about thirty-six years old. She was twenty-two years older than me but as we were getting stoned I thought, “Y’know, I’m horny, what the fuck.” I went for it. I started making out with Carrie, and she started moaning softly. I gave her a big wicked smile, then pulled out my cock and stuck it in her face. She started sucking on it, and it was incredible, a real blow job from an experienced lover. Although I was still learning, I felt like the hero of eighth graders everywhere. I wanted to get up on the roof and scream it out to the whole world. “I’m Steven Adler, the fuckmeister of grade-schoolers everywhere. Kneel before me!”

Without ever discussing it, we agreed it would be our little secret, once and done. There was no awkwardness between us, and the proof was that we remained good friends after our horizontal tango. It was natural, it was fantastic, and neither of us regretted a thing about it.

THE THREE OF US

But when it came to hanging out, it was just Melissa, Saul, and me. The three of us were inseparable for nearly four years. If you saw one of us, the other two weren’t far away. I wouldn’t come home for days. I slept over at Saul’s grandma’s house sometimes and at his mom Ola’s too. Ola was incredibly talented, a lovely, artistic black woman who lived near Olympic and Crescent Heights.

Melissa had a friend, Michelle Young, who became a part of our tightly knit little group. She was a thin brunette with attitude. Michelle would be immortalized in the song “My Michelle” years later.

I remember the first time we went over to her pad, I was surprised by the stacks upon stacks of pornographic videotapes. She said her dad made his living as a producer in the porn industry and asked if I wanted to watch one.

I’d never seen one, so why not? This one took place in a jail cell, which was actually a really terrible set. These guys were getting their dicks sucked through the bars of this woman’s cell. I was a horny young kid and found it difficult to hide my boner. But it was so damned cheesy, I had to laugh.

Every so often, we would visit Saul’s dad, Tony Hudson. His dad hung out with a lot of rock ’n’ roll people. He was a well-known album cover designer who did art for sixties folksingers like Joni Mitchell. I remember he took us to a couple of parties up in Laurel Canyon. It was so cool, a beautiful hippie house, everyone smoking pot, munching mushrooms, and it was the first time we ever tried wine coolers. The wine coolers were too lightweight for us. But everything else was just right. It was just nonstop sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.

WEED VERSUS WINE

Saul didn’t like smoking weed as much as I did, so we would mostly drink when we hung out together. One week we’d have peppermint schnapps, another we’d switch to Jack Daniel’s, and then another it would be vodka. Every week it was something different, depending on whatever struck our fancy (or what we found in the cupboard).

My grandpa always had a couple of bottles in the liquor cabinet, so we’d skim a little from there, or we would have someone buy a bottle for us. I’m pretty sure Melissa’s mom would’ve gotten it for us if we really needed it.

I didn’t smoke cigarettes at the time, but Saul loved his cowboy killers, Marlboro Reds in the hard pack. He’d always be like, “C’mon, smoke with me. I don’t have anyone to smoke with.” So without giving it much thought, I started smoking too.

We would roam anywhere and everywhere. At first he would ride his bike, and I’d hitch my skateboard behind him. Then we decided that since all the people we associated with were older than us, it was time to ditch the bike and the skateboard and just walk instead. Back and forth between all the popular Hollywood clubs: the Starwood, the Whisky, Gazzarri’s, the Roxy, and our favorite, the Rainbow Bar and Grill. Everybody ended up at the Rainbow after the nightly club crawls. Saul and I had so much fun there.

Before going in, we loved to get primed by drinking in the parking lot of a nearby bank. One night we were pouring 151 Bacardi in the cap, lighting the rum on fire, and downing the mini shot. After a while, we were pretty toasted, and as Saul did his umpteenth shot, he missed his mouth completely and spilled a purplish-blue fireball onto his chin and cheek. All of a sudden the left side of his face lit up like he was the Human Torch. Saul didn’t immediately realize what he had done and just looked at me like he was confused. I was shocked shitless but instinctively reached out to smother the flames with my bare hands before it did any real harm. Booze would definitely mete out its fair share of damage to us over the next decade, but not that night. Saul got away with a nice healthy glow on his face, and I didn’t notice any burn marks on my hands. I’m sure we had both forgotten about it by the time we ordered our first round at the Rainbow.

Our afternoon strolls covered much of the same turf. We would also cruise up Santa Monica Boulevard, then head north past Barney’s Beanery, a great bar where you could shoot pool, play foos-ball, and order some great chow. It was also where Jim Morrison wrote songs for the Doors and Janis Joplin hung out when she was in L.A. In fact the artist R. Crumb immortalized Barney’s when he drew it on the Cheap Thrills album cover for Janis and her band, Big Brother and the Holding Company.

Saul and I would then head down Sunset to Tower Records, check out the scene there, and then wander up to Hollywood Boulevard. Tower isn’t there anymore, and it makes me sad every time I drive by the old brick building. Some things, especially record stores, should never change.

Flipping through Tower Records’ racks, from Aerosmith to the Who, always set me to dreaming about putting a rock band together, making out with our groupies, and traveling around the world. That’s all Saul and I would talk about. He’d often have his acoustic guitar with him, idly strumming away.

I remember walking out of the store just as Benjamin Orr, the bass player from the Cars, drove by in his Rolls-Royce. He was the coolest-looking dude on earth that day. He had the top down, music cranked, and a beautiful girl with him. He just looked like a rock star. You could tell when you saw a rock star back then. They really stood out. And I just knew in my heart and soul that one day, I would be that guy.

LEARNING THE DRUMS AT THE STARWOOD

The Starwood was a famous rock club at Santa Monica and Crescent Heights Boulevard. Van Halen and Quiet Riot played there all the time, as well as lesser-known acts such as Y& T and the Quick. Our first time there, we just slipped in the door. Once inside, we checked out the place and walked right up to the VIP room, pulled the curtain back, and saw a band called London playing. I vividly remember seeing Nikki Sixx onstage; his hair was spiked high up in the air. He was dressed in black leather, and he was playing a black-and-white-striped bass. It was the coolest thing I ever fucking saw, right up there with the Orr sighting.

That experience was so amazing, so new to me, that I started going there every day at two or three in the afternoon. When the bands rolled in to set up, I’d help them move in their equipment. I just started hanging out and soon became a regular. Saul wasn’t into it as much as me, and it became sort of my private thing. When the bands played, I would go up this stairway that led to the backstage area that the bands used.

In this area, between the back wall and where the drums were set up, was a small space about a foot wide. I could squeeze right in there because I was skinny. There was a little crack in the wall and from that vantage point I could look right down on the drummers. I’d study their every move, and that’s how I started to learn the techniques of playing, from watching the pros. I was just a couple of feet away, and I could see everything. Sometimes my foot would fall asleep, or my back and neck would start to cramp up. I didn’t care because this was the greatest possible opportunity for me. I honestly believed I was blessed to find this secret place where time seemed to stand still.

MEETING THE BANDS

I hung out and talked to everybody. I remember the Go-Go’s playing there in late 1978. Belinda Carlisle had a shaved head and was just a happy, chubby-cheeked girl. She definitely got her act together in the following years. I met a lot of musicians, but the encounter I recall best is meeting Danny Bonaduce. I was tripping my balls off on acid, which was a new pastime for me that Saul wasn’t particularly into, and I walked into the management office. He was sitting there with a bunch of coke on the table. I was at the point in my acid trip where there wasn’t any barrier between what you thought and what you said, so I just blurted out: “Dude, you’re Danny Partridge!”

“That’s right,” he replied, totally deadpan. I was so happy to see this person I watched on TV all the time, and I just smiled at him like a blithering idiot. There may have been a long awkward period of silence, but I don’t remember. I know at one point I was back outside, probably leaving Danny to do his thing.

After hanging out there every day, the owners got to know me and I had free rein in the place. It was the seventies, and I couldn’t help but feel that everybody was carefree, partying, and having fun. But it wasn’t always like that. In fact, some bad, traumatic things happened to me during this time.

END OF INNOCENCE

The managers of the Starwood were these men in their midtwenties. All they wanted was to do drugs, fuck, and party. They were extremely smart, eccentric hippie white guys. They were all gay, and I was this cute blond-haired fuck-boy. They just loved me. I wasn’t into that, but I was young and naive.

They would give me quaaludes and have their way with me. I just wanted to hang out, be with people, and enjoy life. But when you’re young, doing your own thing roaming the streets, crazy shit happens. I ended up doing a lot of things that I didn’t understand or really have any control over. In retrospect, a lot of things happened to me that probably messed with my head and hung over me for years, particularly when I found out that these young men later died of AIDS.

Just walking down Santa Monica to the Starwood or to Saul’s house, people would pull up beside me in their cars and ask me if I wanted to smoke a joint. I’d be like, “Hell, yeah!” The next thing you know you’re completely baked and they’re touching you all over and you don’t know what the fuck’s going on. All you know is that an orgasm feels good. Anybody can make you come, and in that state I didn’t have the presence of mind to give a damn. I was used, abused, whatever. Let’s get high. Let’s party.

One time I was walking along Santa Monica Boulevard and ran into two clean-cut guys who must have been in their twenties. We started talking and they said they had some bitchin’ weed back at their pad, so I went with them to smoke.

We arrived at this dumpy little apartment and there was another guy there, only he was in his forties, a completely scruffy-looking loser. Right away, I felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. This guy got up and locked the door behind me. “You want some grass, kid? Well, I want something too…”

The younger guys weren’t friendly anymore. They slipped behind me while the loser walked up to me and ran his hand through my hair. I’ll spare you the ugly details, but they hurt me pretty badly. Part of my mind just kind of shut down, and that day my reality became a bad dream. They didn’t beat me up, but they did everything else and it was pretty devastating.

I was just fourteen at the time. I went home, stripped, and got in the shower. It was only then that I realized I was shaking pretty badly. After cleaning up I went out and got real high. Party, laugh, onward…and never tell a soul about it, until now.

ORGIES AND ORGASMS

It was a time in Hollywood where the overriding attitude about sex and drugs was to be free and out in the open. There was no panic over herpes or AIDS, no worries. Saul and I would hang out at Osco’s Disco on La Cienega just across the street from the Beverly Center.

Of course, it wasn’t normal for fourteen-year-old kids to hang out at a disco, but we had an older look to us. And even if we got carded, Saul, who was an expert artist, had taken our IDs and changed the date to make us of legal age. We never had a hard time getting alcohol or getting into the place. We went there just about every weekend of 1977 and 1978. There were like ten different theme rooms in the place. They were mostly sexual in nature, with settings like the baths of ancient Rome, open deserts with rolling dunes, a fully equipped dominatrix chamber, the wildest shit.

Upstairs and downstairs, everybody was doing coke and something called “rush,” the popular drug fad at the time. It came in a bottle, and you were supposed to remove the cap and inhale the vapors from the liquid while you were having sex. By raising your heartbeat to insane levels, rush was supposed to intensify the orgasm experience. Throughout the night, we would go through all the rooms. It was an eye-popping experience. We never got bored, and if things started to lag, we’d just pop to another theme room. It didn’t matter; they were all saturated with booze, drugs, and blaring disco.

It seemed like the more crazy the spectacles we witnessed, the more we hungered for wilder, more perverse thrills. Nothing could shock us anymore. Our nerves were deadened to the point that we stood there watching a three-on-one with the girl servicing every sick whim, only to be manhandled to the point that it was a borderline rape, and we’d be like, “Whatever. Next.”

GAY SCENE

All the gay bars were along Santa Monica Boulevard, and most of the area’s neighborhoods were predominantly gay too. I remember hearing Queen’s song “Another One Bites the Dust” a dozen times every day. The Boulevard was definitely the primo gay hangout.

And the Starwood was the number one gathering spot for everyone. We goddamn lived there. We saw a lot of things that I wouldn’t have seen back in Cleveland—guys getting sodomized in alleys or getting blow jobs from other guys in public bathrooms. Everything was out in the open and people were so into it. Saul and I were witnessing the raw, unbridled climax of a very narcissistic, very adventurous, experimental time.

Eventually, I had enough. It wasn’t any one event, just the culmination of too many sick, beyond-the-limit nights. I needed to slow it down. I had weathered too many mornings waking up in someone’s backyard with no recollection of how I got there or what led up to getting there. I did what any fucked-up Jewish boy would do once he’s realized how empty and pointless the whole world has gotten. I moved back to my mom’s to give home life another chance.

I called my mom and told her I was feeling homesick, that I wanted to come home. Things got very emotional. At first she hardly even recognized my voice, but when I heard hers it was like this wonderful oasis had come back into my life. She said very little, because I don’t think she wanted me to hear her break down. She told me to come right home, and that was all she had to say.