Free Tales Of A RATT by Bobby Blotzer

thought I belonged!
    That job was going well. I was making money, and they gave me a demo car. A brand new, 1980 Mustang. After having my 1966 Dodge Van, and every other piece of shit car I had owned up to that point, that Mustang was awesome! Believe me.
    At that time, Jeni and I still lived in the apartments on Vanderbilt Lane in north Redondo; The same place that Juan and his psycho chick from Palos Verdes were staying with us in.
    Nice cars, good house, plenty of cash, but that doesn't do it for you when you're still chasing your dreams. I hadn't made it as a player. I was playing gigs every once in a while, not making a lot of money at it, and I wasn't getting any younger. At twenty-one, I was almost as old as Don Dokken was when I met him. And that's too old, when you haven't been discovered yet!
    Something had to give.
    Romeo was still playing gigs, but they were coming fewer and fewer. Roger Romeo is a great guy. A really good friend. But, at this time, Tom and I were getting very itchy. Romeo just didn't seem to be advancing.
    On December 8, 1980, I had gone to work like normal. Sales were still really good, and I was driving a nice, new Mustang demo car.
    It was sometime late-evening, only a few minutes before we closed, and I was on the showroom floor, working with an elderly couple. We got a lot of elderly who would come in late, and just look around. They were bored. So, they would come in and just grill you about different things on the cars. They weren't really there to buy, just to pass the time. But, I approached everyone as if they were going to buy, even at ten minutes to close.
    They were asking me questions about an LTD. The car stereo display was about 15 feet away, and it was on. No one ever paid any attention to it, really. But, then it said: "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news.”
    That immediately grabs everyone's attention.
    "We are receiving reports that moments ago, outside of his New York City apartment, controversial music icon, John Lennon, was shot.”
    I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was stunned. My gut immediately wadded itself into a fist, and was struggling to punch its way out of me. I've never felt quite like that since, and I don't think I've ever been the same.
    It was time to close, so I took my cue. I asked the elderly couple to come back the next day, and I went home. I had the radio on the whole way. I'm dialing through stations trying to find out what happened. Initially, they were saying that he was shot by a pregnant woman, which was disturbing. What the hell did he do? Knock some groupie up? Have an affair? What?
    Up to this point, no one knew he was dead yet. The stations were only reporting that he had been shot. Then, I turned to a station, and they were playing "Imagine.” I knew then, he was gone. I got home, and Jeni and me were watching TV on this the whole night.
    To say that John Lennon and the Beatles are icons doesn't do it justice. Lennon and McCartney were the teachers. Not just for me, but for everyone. They taught how to write classic, beloved songs the whole world over. They taught me music through every Beatles record I'd had since I was five years old. I'll challenge anyone to come up with another band, other than the Beatles, who have had more of an impact on modern music. And, who among the Beatles or any other band was more powerful than Lennon, other than McCartney?
    I'm always irritated when I hear the media compare someone or some band to the Beatles. Especially Nirvana. But, we'll get into that more, later.
    It sickens me when someone comes along and compares something like "The Back-Door Boys" or the "Spice Whores" to the Beatles. Anyone that musically retarded should be hog-tied and beat with a bamboo cane!
    It's almost like they are forcing these others on us in an effort to replace what was probably the greatest musical force since Mozart. It's fucking asinine! There is only one Beatles. Only one John Lennon. Only one