I grew up with a psychotic, abusive step-mother, my father was king of the three martini lunch & most of the time when he was there, he really wasn’t. Not a nurturing situation.
I was fortunate to fall in with a misfit high school rock band, despite the fact that I didn’t play an instrument. I became the wanna be, hanger on friend who would gather bits and pieces of equipnment and record the band, creating pop up studios when someone’s parents went out of town. Robert, Stewart, Toad, Ben and others would lend a sympathetic ear and offer lodging during the frequent times I would run away from “home.”
The day I turned 18 I left for good. Pillo took me in and I shared his bedroom, sleeping on the couch for the few months remaining until I graduated high school. We bought a 64 Chevy wagon, got a cat (hiya Fred), and set the car up with what we needed to hit the road. We stopped when we hit the ocean in Los Angeles, staying with his brother Sam and making jewelry for him.
It was a formative time, both of us running from dysfunctional families; me from an overbearing lunatic micromanaging a colonial museum of a home, him from a dysfunctional alcoholic mother largely absent from the mayhem of a giant house filled with children raising themselves. We talked of all things, wandering together through astrology, astral projections and music. We found agreement in music (at least some of it) but parted ways on the more mystical subjects.
What we had through our disagreements was an unshakable faith in each other, unshakable mutual support, and an ability to communicate. We shared many joys and many trials. Hours were spent in discussion and debate, sitting together, smoking cigarettes, hashing out the nature of reality and how to deal with it.
We went swimming in the St. Croix river between Wisconsin and Minnesota. The current took Ben and he called for help. I swam toward him and when I got there he did what I learned most people do when they are fearful of drowning; he climbed on top of me, scrambling to get out of the water. I took a breath and went under. Fortunately I touched bottom & could push off toward the shore. Take a breath, go under, push. Rinse and repeat. We got lucky that day, Ben & I.
Then there was the time we were stranded in Montana for a weekend with a leaking radiator, broke, with nothing but cat food, Tang and peanut butter. He got money wired from from Sam on Monday, bought solder and a propane torch, then he found that leak and plugged it. We made the run across the desert at night to avoid overheating, and slammed into the lights of Reno just before dawn. Ben had a mechanical aptitude that wasn’t obvious at first, but bloomed throughout his life, fixing old televisions, toasters and who knows what all.
LA was a great experience. We spent many nights talking and tripping, listening to music, working and wandering. By fall we both knew it was not for us and we returned to the Motor City. More philosophy ensued and it became clear that we had very different agendas, very different approaches to life, but we remained close.
That Chevy wagon had a big empty tub under the floor in the back where the third seat option would go. It was very handy for carrying cargo and leave space in the bed for a mattress. That way one could drive while the other slept. Once we filled it full of people to go to a drive in movie. Ben curled up in the tub to get in free.
He bought a Karmann Ghia, planning another road trip west from Detroit. It had bad brakes and he needed to get it to our slum-shack rental to fix it for the trip. “Sure, I’ll get it there,” I said. It was a wild ride because it really had no brakes, but I got it there. He fixed it, then off he went, “Abandoning it out west,” as Dylan sang. Eventually he returned.
We had a house in Oak Park, sharing it with several others, working at a Tulsa Gas station. The staff included many of our friends. Toad, Von Loon, Bruno, Stew… eventually the entire staff consisted of our high school rock & roll family and various other sympathetic high school chums. I was working with Ben on one shift & I can still see him sitting on the safe, swinging his legs, bouncing his feet rhythmically, “John, I think I’m in love with your sister.”
Somewhere in there we shared a house near I-75 in Madison Heights. I was working in a bike shop & Ben began to paint. He said that it was better to paint than to be in a band because, “You don’t have to rely on anyone else to make art. You don’t have to put up with someone else’s bullshit.” I could see what he was going to put on canvas as he did it. We had a strong connection.
Brenda didn’t have any love interest in Ben at first, but she went west with him platonically to escape Detroit. She had been trying to escape for years and finally did once she graduated high school. It took awhile, but eventually that platonic orbit became a union of two & they bought 40 acres of trees on the dark side of a mountain near Sandpoint, Idaho. They homesteaded, built a house that was not so good, built another up the hill from it and put a goat in the old one. Then a bear got the goat.
We didn’t see much of each other after that. I went west for their wedding, went again for my brother’s wedding and went a third time for a few weeks in winter where we had a great visit, talking about their 55 Chevy truck, a 2-speed kick back Schwinn and Ben’s attempt to create a carburetor that would deliver over 100 miles per gallon. I got to bond with their daughter, Keri. It was a time I will always treasure.
They said I could come anytime and build a house on their land. That generous offer kept me sane through many trials. Just knowing that I had the option of disappearing into the Idaho woods was enough to prevent any thoughts of suicide in those dark days. I am grateful they helped me to survive.
We never reconnected after that. They had a son, then they drifted apart. I could say that I lost him in the divorce, but that’s not quite accurate. Time, distance, and other interests interceded as so often happens between people. We grew apart.
I heard stories about him from time to time, stories that were hard to reconcile with the Ben I knew. I’m glad I have the memories I have, without being encumbered by the details of the actions he took later in life. I always felt he had a dark inner torment, but I never pushed him for the details. I simply enjoyed the Ben he presented, and I’m fortunate to have journeyed with him into adulthood.
Gizzo Bike Works 