One
day soon after, Brian Wilson did show up. He was accompanied by a young cute surfer-dude
looking guy with long blonde hair and eyeglasses -- sorta like how Michael
Stipe of REM looked in the early-mid ‘80’s. Apparently, whatever was going on with
Brian, whatever his issues, he had to have a “handler” on board with him pretty
constantly. (I recently read that he had been diagnosed with schizoaffective
disorder, like my older brother Tom. . . and on a lot of medication.)
When we were invited to meet Brian, it was a pretty
formal event for a rather casual situation/lifestyle (being on the road as
musicians isn’t a very formal type setting, after all). We Squares were
approached by one of the roadies to follow down a hallway at one of the arenas
(probably Pittsburgh). It was sort of Spinal Tap-ish, a long hallway in a
subterranean passage that went on for a while. The anticipation of the meeting
in our minds probably lengthened it considerably. . .
At last, we faced an unmarked door and the roadie
guy opened it and left. We were then greeted by the young blonde surfer-dude
guy. He told us, “Brian’s looking forward to meeting you.” Aw, I’ll bet he says
that to all the fans. Still, it was nice to hear.
Behind the surfer guy, in the back of a plain white
room backstage, an almost gauntly thin Brian Wilson stood, sort of smiling,
sort of gaping in a slack-jawed way -- the side affect of some psychiatric
drugs. “Pleased to meet you,” he slurred, and shook our hands, one by one.
What do you say to a legend, especially one that
seems discombobulated and kind of reminds you of your troubled older brother?
Beats me. . . I probably murmured back, “Pleased to
meet YOU -- thank you!”
(Somewhere,
I have a photo of us with Brian -- but can’t find it at present. Sorry!)
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