Me, Being a Pretender @ The Pretenders
1981, this event turned out to be near life ending and I was only 20...Issue #66
ifOnlyi…had some common sense, none of this would’ve happened. I know for a fact that my life's destiny would have been very special and different indeed.
I was at California Lutheran College, and my roommate, Bob, said he would like to go see the Pretenders in Santa Monica on Wilshire Blvd. “Where was this?” I asked. And when?” It turned out it was that same day.
Madam Wong’s West was 40 miles away from School, and I loved the Pretenders back then, so we went. We did not have much money beyond the ticket cost and gas money, so we decided to buy a ‘bottle’ of Jack Daniels to drink on the way there. (Do you see where this is going?)
Once we arrived, we were very well on our way to becoming totally blasted. “DRUNK”.
I had no sense; I imagined I was better than all the rest and could handle drinking and driving and everything that came with that illusion.
We got into the event. It was a small, intimate gig, the kind that bands perform at before they make the big time — a warm-up gig before they went on to play massive events and larger crowds. I have no doubt the 300 people who were there that night were lucky to have incredible memories of a rare evening with the Pretenders, except for one, ME!
Bob and I managed to walk to the front of the stage. I was once again being naughty, and Chrissie Hines and I were flirting as she played. Her music was magic to my ears, and I loved it. One great song after another and another, there I was, shaking around as the liquor was moving throughout my body. My mind got lost in it all.
“THE PRETENDERS” I was in heaven and connected with the lead singer. I was handed a note saying, “Let’s meet at the hotel where I’m staying.” I instantly put both my thumbs up to say, “YES, we will be there.” The music ended, so off to the car we went.
I finally found my car parked on a side street with homes on both sides. We got in. I started up the car, put on my left blinker to indicate that I was exiting the parking spot, and pulled out. What happened next, I have zero idea. All I recall is that my car was in the middle of six or seven vehicles when I came around.
I was pulled out of the wrecked car by a policewoman who, I recall, took no shit from me. I wasn’t even asked the usual question, “ Sir, have you been drinking”?
I was handcuffed and pushed into the backseat of the policewoman’s car. By now, it was a full-fledged event where local homeowners were coming out of their houses, and people from Madam Wong’s were exiting the concert. I was on full display. The paramedics were attending to Bob in the ambulance as I was being taken away.
My car, which was nearly new when we arrived at Madam Wong’s with only about 2500 miles on it, was completely smashed from the front, sides, and back. It went from super Deluxe to belonging in the junkyard, but how?
The Monte Carlo was Mom's gift to me. Please read Issue…#64 (see link below)
By the way, I did add my custom sound system. It sounded as if Frank Sinatra was singing inside the car. All was gone now, with only 2500 miles on the clock.
I had zero idea how!
I was driven immediately to the Santa Monica, CA, Police station. This time, I was not put on the women’s side of the holding cell. This time, I went into the depths of hell, all men
It was a holding cell with at least 15-20 men inside and only one toilet. The benches were all being used; they were solid steel and mounted to the concrete floor. Honestly, I was shaking… These other 14-19 men were some of the worst of the worst, IMO. Drugged out, beaten up, drunk (like me, but loud and belligerent). Some had committed crimes, and two were being held for killing or attempted.
Never did I use the metal toilet. I held everything in for the rest of the night. I was probably dehydrated from the alcohol in my system, so that helped. When breakfast came around after a sleepless night, food was passed through the prison bars in styrofoam bowls. When I went to grab mine, I was pushed so hard that I flew and ended up with my back and head slamming into the wall. Then words came out from somewhere: “You won’t be needing this”.
.Next, a Man in a suit and tie called out my name, Ollie G. Yes! I was loudly saying, "I’m here." I then heard, "Do you want a public defender to handle your case?" Yes, sir! I walked close to the bars, and he leaned in to say, "We need to get you out of here." This place was packed like pancakes stacked. Thank you, Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, is all I kept saying.
Full disclosure: I didn’t care who handled this case as long as it was done as fast as possible to ensure my parents would NEVER find out what happened. We walked into the courtroom, and shortly afterward, my name was called off the docket sheet. We went up to the front, and the Public Defender handled all the talking, with a few exceptions.
The Judge sat up tall, looking down at me, and said, “You have two I.Ds here; which one are you?” He read off both names, and I said, “Ollie G.” He threw the Fake ID away, tossed it on the floor, and said, “Don’t you ever do that again?” I replied, “Yes, Sir, your Honor, never!”
God gave me a true blessing. My license was not revoked for this current problem, and knowing my Solvang case was still pending, I had to close this current one off the books immediately. I accepted two years of Probation along with some small fines. Everything was moving to closure quickly, and I was taking whatever punishment was needed to get this done.
Thankfully, the Los Angeles judge did not know that I was just starting to go through a full-blown trial after my last arrest in Solvang.
Walking out of the Los Angeles courthouse, I heard the Judge once again call my name. This time, it was a bit louder. OLLIE G, I have been given a note that says you are to call your MOTHER when you leave here. What The Heck! I know when she calls herself MOTHER, I am in deep, deep piles of donkey doo.
While I was walking inside, you would not believe who I saw—the arresting police officer! I smiled, but she did not. I said how grateful I was for her help at my crash. All I recall her saying is, "You're beyond lucky!" And she walked away.
I was a real mess, but wondering how my roommate Bob was doing, I thought, "Feck the car." I was sad about it, but I was more concerned about injuries to my passenger. He had a lot of cuts and bruises but no major injuries, thankfully.
I called my old roommate Ross to pick me up from the Police Station, and as I was awaiting his arrival, I realized I had not peed in almost 15 hours. I ran back inside the Station; thank goodness they allowed me to use the restroom.
I can never forget Ross's look of despair when I got in the car. He kept shaking his head, saying, “What have you done this time?” I was about to get into serious trouble before returning to College. I honestly couldn’t imagine how bad it was going to be, and to this day, I have no idea how Mom found out what had happened.
I was still in the middle of a full-blown trial in Solvang, and the worry was sickening, not only for me but, I’m sure, both my Parents. How were they going to get me out of that mess?
That case was for fainting at the steering wheel, and Mom was having a hell of a time trying to find the best Lawyer. She didn’t want anyone from Beverly Hills or any high-profile lawyer; she was advised to find someone local. In the end, she hired a full-on Paraplegic with two steel crutches. He was in terrible shape but super smart and very kind.
My Mom told me that about a week after my accident near Madam Wong’s, she was driving down Hawthorne Blvd., about to get on the FWY, when she saw my car on a flatbed tow truck. It was so bad that she said it was hard to understand how anyone could have survived the wreck. She busted out crying when she realized how blessed I was to be alive, and knowing I was facing another trial, she let my punishment slide.
The car took almost 16 months to repair.
Dad said I should sell my car the first day it came back to me after a 16-month repair. His wisdom was simple: “Don’t risk their repairs on your life again.” “Okay, Dad.” I said, “I will respect your wishes!”
#…ifOnlyi… short stories are published chronologically and follow my life growing up in California from 4 years old. If you’ve just found me, the stories will come together when you start reading from...Issue #1