Forty years ago today, only three days removed from New York City, I walked into Tower Records on Sunset Strip. I was looking for a job. I had just spent nearly a year working for a guy named Sam Goody at his flagship store in Rockefeller Center, but I was not prepared for the size and breadth of “Tower Sunset” – or the staff. At Sam Goody’s the staff wore shirt and tie, the managers wore suits. We were exceedingly attentive to our customers. We closed at 6pm.  

 I was awestruck by this enormous Hollywood record store and wandered gob struck in a straight line until I came to a wall, a wall of cassette tapes. An endless wall of cassette tapes. A bit disoriented, I looked up and there was a gent behind the counter, with long flowing hair and an astonishingly expansive mustache. He was absentmindedly drumming away on the counter with a Bic pen. He couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge me staring at him. Finally, I mustered the strength to say, “I’m here to see the manager”. Without looking up, or missing a beat, he said, “Back room”. 

 I found my way to the back room. I filled out a job application and was led into a tiny office where a rather tall, blonde, hippy-looking guy sat behind a desk wearing dark sunglasses, faded jeans and a raglan t-shirt. His sneakers were on the desk and he looked at me like I was a bill collector. I asked to see the manager. He said, “Yeah, I’m Bob” and reached for my application. As he glanced at the paper, I perused the dirty, cluttered, fluorescent lit, white walls. My eyes froze on a picture of this same guy standing with his arm around Bob Marley. Before I could finish my gasp, Bob said dismissively, “You worked in a record store for a month and you put it on your résumé? I arrogantly replied, “I worked there from January to December. That’s eleven months”. Bob grumbled something under his breath and said, “Okay. Thanks for coming in. Got any questions?”

I answered, “Just one. When do I start?”

 Bob started to answer a couple of times, but couldn’t find words. Finally, he managed, “Come back tomorrow at 3:30. Ask for David. Shift ends at 12:30am”. A tiny woman materialized, escorted me out of the room, gave me some paperwork to fill out and wrote me out a schedule. 

 My 26 year journey with Tower Records had begun. 

First day on the job? April Fool’s Day, 1980

Employee #3047

POSTSCRIPT;

Wow! How gratifying to see so many reactions. Thank you!

 Right after I wrote this little piece, I realized that I forgot a great detail. During the interview, Delanoy asked me where I saw myself going with the company and I said, “I think I’d like to have your job”. Hahaha! True story.

 Nine “short” years later, that little office was mine.

 And here’s a picture of me and some random job applicant in that very room. 

LOVE!

3/27/2020

 40 years ago TODAY, I left my childhood home of New York City. NYC was a hovel in the late 70’s, broken down, filthy and hopeless. Son of Sam was reigning terror, the subways were a lawless no-man’s land and the South Bronx was on fire. I was a starving musician sleeping on a friend’s pull out couch. It was freezing outside, I was broke and my family had all moved to Beverly Hills. They had a swimming pool and lots of sunshine. Every winter, my folks would send me a round trip ticket to visit LA for my birthday. In February of 1980, Mom said, “No more round trips. If I gift you another ticket, it’s going to be one way”.

 Our band was changing. We had been increasingly successful in ‘78 and into ‘79, getting lots of gigs all around NYC and Long Island, playing big clubs (and small) and the college circuit. We were reviewed in Variety and local papers. On a good night, we could draw 200-300 people, maybe more at the college lunch hour shows. We even played twice at the Central Park Bandshell and twice in Washington Square Park. But punk and disco and rap were all blowing up and suddenly we were questioning our direction. We stood in front of Great Gildersleeves and looked down the Bowery where one block down the lines in front of CBGB kept getting bigger as our crowds started getting smaller. We added more band members, tried to adjust our sound. We even played a gig at CBGB. 

 Arista Records Publishing was having meetings with our band leader. They started feeding him tunes from their catalog for us to arrange and demo up. The feedback that was slowly coming back to us was, “Great work. You’re getting close. You could be signed in a month”. I was unconvinced. I needed unfiltered info and demanded a meeting with this exec. My partner and I ventured to this guy’s Lower Manhattan loft for the meet up. I don’t remember anything about the place other than it was brick walled and the walls were covered with zithers. Rad! We “got comfy” and he played us some of the new music he was into. It was the first time I heard Squeeze, a real game changer for me. 

Side note: the guy’s name was John Wonderling and he had a little girl named Allison. Yeah. His daughter’s name was Allison Wonderling. Hahaha. How cool is that?!

 After hours of avoiding the elephant in the room, I finally gathered my chutzpah and said, “So, I hear we could be a month away from being signed”. John responded, “Yeah. Could be a month, a few months, a year, but I like what I’m hearing”. A year? Could be? I didn’t hear anything after that. My heart sank and my ears shut down. The next morning, I called my Mom and asked for that one way ticket.

 I’ve been back to NYC at least 20 times since March 27, 1980. I just love that place. I’ll always consider myself a New Yorker and I am so eternally grateful to have grown up in the greatest city in the world. My thoughts are with all of my friends in NYC who are living through times that must make the 70s look like Disneyland in comparison. I cherish my 40+ year relationships and I love you all. I hope to see you all again after this storm passes. 

LOVE, peace and wash your hands.

Joel

  I cried today. For the first time since this crisis started, I cried.

 I woke up this morning to find my beloved sitting at her new “desk” (the kitchen table) all showered and made up and dressed for work. The 3-day pajama party had ended. She’s struggling to find normalcy in this epic shit storm. Her head is in her hands. Her young autistic son is stuck here at home and Nickie has to go to his school and pick up lesson plans. She worries that she’s not doing enough to keep Jason active and learning. She feels she is somehow failing him, that she’s a failure as a parent. She breaks down and sobs, completely overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. She pulls herself together and heads out, only to return empty handed. No one answering the door at the school. I console her as best I can, but hugs can only do so much.

 It’s Thursday, just before 8am. I suit up to catch the last hour of “senior shopping”. The mask, the gloves, the hoodie pulled up over my baseball cap. Not my nice cap. An old skanky one. I get to the market and wipe down my cart. A young employee, a kid really, stands in front of the market looking shell shocked. He pulls out a rag, sprays some sort of clear liquid on it and wipes my cart down. Didn’t he just see me? No matter. I venture in. It’s not the same experience of just two days ago. People look forlorn. The smiles are more tired, the shoppers moving a little slower. Probably just a reflection of myself. I thank every clerk and shelf stocker for being there. I’m finding most of what I need, but still no paper products, no cleaning products, no eggs or ground beef. I don’t even want eggs or ground beef. We have all we need for the next week. And then it hits me. The novelty has worn off. I see my fellow shoppers, many old and frail, frightened and confused. This isn’t a fun little adventure anymore, this is literally life or death. How many of them won’t survive? And it’s still early days. This is only the beginning.

 There is now a huge piece of plexiglass between the cashier and me. This massive sneeze guard wasn’t here two days ago. The clerk looks like he’s lost his will to live. I bag my own groceries and thank him. He grunts something in return.

 I arrive home, with the groceries and all of the good advice I read in a doctor’s post that President Obama shared. I carefully remove my mask and cap and hoodie and put my keys aside. I take the tainted clothes to the laundry room and grab some Clorox wipes. I return to the front room and start removing all of the groceries from the bags, carefully wiping each package down. Nickie comes in to help and the absurdity of the moment, the REALITY of the moment, hits me. What if I did all the right things but in the wrong order? What if I brought one tiny, little nasty bug into our home? What if I’m getting my wife and children sick just by bringing home some frozen peas? 

 I looked at my partner and I just broke down and cried. Is this our lives now? This surreal sci-fi movie? Good Lord. Who could have imagined?

 I know I’ll find the light and I’ll have many little victories today, reignite my spirit and regain my resolve. I know am more fortunate than so many, that my blessings are many, that my gratitude for what I have is greater than fear and sadness. 

MUCH LOVE TO ALL! You’re going to be okay!

Joel