DANNY

DANNY

Members of my local writers group have been working on reflective projects, autobiographical pieces. I will digress from my LA blog to try to recall, as best I can, perhaps the best friend I ever had. Danny Cross.

Where to start? Danny and I met in school probably early on. But we didn’t really connect until we both got into music. Danny was in the drum section of our school band. His brother had been a drummer. Both brothers had red hair. His brother had formed a rock group called, are you ready, RED CROSS AND THE DOCTORS.

While Danny was a skilled drummer, his real attraction was for the guitar. His father owned the local Chevrolet dealership, which meant that Danny got a rose colored Les Paul solid body special around 1958.

That was roughly the same year that I moved from clarinet to tenor saxophone. Danny wanted to form a rock group also. I knew how to “play by ear” and had already figured out “Tequila” on the horn. We recruited Ron Birch and Bill on piano. Sorry, Bill. I can’t recall your last name. Bill played gospel piano in church which is only a stone’s throw of intent from old classic early rock.

We rehearsed diligently, usually at Bill’s house. That’s where the piano was. My dad had to give me a lift because we were all in our early teens and didn’t have driver’s licenses nor transportation.

We worked out some songs. Basic three chord rock. Usually in F or C. That was the standard fare on the Top Forty Stations.

We played a lot of five dollar a man gigs for church groups and teen birthdays. After a couple of years we did have driver’s licenses and transportation and we could play dances outside our small textile hamlet.

Then Danny got sick. Very sick. Burst appendix sick. He missed out on a whole year of school. Danny was never much of an academic. He was a below average student. But he wasn’t stupid. Just uninterested. And rich. Well, for the town of Mimosa, he was rich.

The year didn’t go wasted however. Danny attacked the guitar as never before. He drew charts and pointed out where every note on every string was between the frets. He had fingering charts for all the chords. Most importantly, he discovered Julie London and Barney Kessel’s album and found something better to play.

There was a guy named Murray in our town who ran an electrical repair shop fixing anything and everything that would be tossed into the garbage these days. He was an unbelievable guitarist. Many times I asked him why he didn’t play for money. He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe because I’m too nervous around people. Maybe because I’d have to play what they wanted me to play. Instead of me playing what I wanted to play.” He could have stood shoulder to shoulder with Barney Kessel, Charlie Byrd or Herb Ellis any day of the week.

It was basically the same answer Jimmy Buffet had in one of his songs, “If I play my songs to turn the people on, Who’s gonna turn on me?”

While Danny was discovering great guitar music, I was discovering Big band jazz and jazz combo groups. My tastes went in that direction. Happily, it meshed nicely with Danny’s new tastes. We formed a duet emulating the music of Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd. And we made music for ourselves.

If course we didn’t make music around the clock. Danny was, as our band director described him, “a free spirit.” It was true. Danny was unbound, unaware, unconcerned. He loved people and they, in general, loved him. He was a boundless source of amusement and amazement.

Take his sense of smell. My senior year of high school we kept the Foreign Exchange student from England. David Priest was a cheerful fellow, and a good guy. He was enthusiastic and eager to learn about this little tiny portion of America. Especially the food.

One of his favorites was the refrigerated pre-made pies from people like Sara Lee that you baked yourself. Mother would put one on weekly. Sometimes twice a week. It never failed that when the pie came out of the oven, Danny showed up. David swore that he could smell that pie all the way from Mimosa. David would laugh and announce, “Here comes Hoss.”

Now that requires some explanation. Danny, during his illness, had discovered a late-night disc jockey from somewhere in Tennessee I think, Bill Allen I believe his name was. This DJ called everyone “Hoss”, probably because he couldn’t remember names. Danny loved that and took to calling everyone the same and eventually everyone began calling him Hoss.

Years later, on the set of DOUBLE JEOPARDY, Tommy Lee Jones responded to one of my lines with obvious sarcasm, which my character obviously didn’t understand, I used it in response where I didn’t have a line. “Thanks a lot Mangold. I never thought about that. I feel a whole lot better.” TL Jones had said. “Anytime, Hoss. Anytime,” was my reply. It made it into the film. It was my tribute to my friend, Hoss Cross.

As I said, Danny was Mimosa rich. Like a lot of well off folks, he never had a dime on him. But, we always had a new 409 Chevy hardtop coupe to run around in. [His Mama didn’t trust my little MG.] But when the Chevy stopped, for gas or hamburgers, it was me who had to foot the bill. It wasn’t that Danny was cheap. He just never thought about money.

His sense of humor was unabashed. Once, when we were cruising Charlotte in an unfamiliar section of town, we turned down a one-way street the wrong way. A cop spotted us and red-light flashing, pulled us over on the side. Danny was as unconcerned as probably only a rich kid could be.

“Kid, you’re on a one-way street.”

I feared he’d say something about only going one way. But, NO. Danny just smiled at the officer and handed him his driver’s license.

“Good. I thought I’us late for somethin’. Looked like ever-body was a comin’ back.”

“You didn’t see the arrows?”

“Shoot, man, I didn’t even see the Indians.”

The officer was not a good audience. Another ticket for Herman, Danny’s daddy, to pay off.

There was another story about a similar situation. I wasn’t there so I couldn’t swear to this one personally, but …

Danny was pulled over in Gastonia on the way back from a gig we’d played at the Moose Lodge. He’d apparently run a stop light, while joking around with the bass player in the back seat. Gaston County cops were not even as good humored as Charlotte cops.

“Boy, didn’t you see that red light?”

“No, man. Which house?”

Herman had to get out of bed for that one. After bailing Danny out, he followed him home, dropping off other band members along the way. I take it Herman had a LONG talk with Danny after that. I heard no more traffic cop stories.

Eventually Danny got drafted. He was injured in basic training at Ft. Benning, Georgia and wound up in the base hospital for a long time. After his release, and an interview with the base commander, he entered into the USO program under Army Special Services. He played his guitar for Uncle Sam for a few years. When he got out, he decided to open a recording studio. Years before, when he was being tutored by Murray, Danny had discovered tape recording and it held a near equal fascination for him.

His idea, and it wasn’t bad, was to record local groups but primarily to write and record advertising jingles. He wrote one popular one for Biltmore Dairies. I was working in advertising for Sears. I should have joined him, but I was married with a family by then. It didn’t last.

Danny went into a dive I guess after that. I didn’t hear from him for a couple of years. His father had a long illness and passed away. His older brother, James, was in line to inherit the dealership along with Danny.

James ‘Red” Cross was, what I’ve learned through experience, a useless rich kid. He was second generation wealthy. He grew older but never up. His college days at Lenoir Rhyne was filled with stories of him pulling up to the girl’s dormitory in his little yellow Corvette, pick up his date and go straight to the nearest gas station saying, “I forgot my rubbers.” Then head into the men’s room.

According to his way of thinking, if the girl was still there when he got back, she knew what to expect. If not, then he’d go across the county line to the nearest beer joint and get hammered. Either way, he didn’t waste an evening.

It was, I suspect, as much Herman’s fault as Red’s. When Red, like a lot –too many- rich kids, left college with a degree. But not an education. But, I fairness, why should Red have worried? His life was laid out before him. He would inherit the dealership. Admittedly, along with his brother. But it was obvious who was to be in charge. Danny was a late in life “Oops” baby. After Danny’s birth, Herman moved his bedroom to the ground floor den. He remained there for the rest of his life.

Herman really should have been the source of Red’s education if he’d wanted him to take over. But by the time Red had graduated from LR, Herman had lost interest. Danny told me privately that his daddy was disgusted with his son. He’d said that Herman told Red, “I figured it out the hard way. You do the same.”

Herman spent his days growing huge tomatoes he never ate. He passed away after an extended illness apparently.

I don’t know how much time had passed when I got a call while I was at my accountant’s office. It was from my mother. Danny was dead. Suicide.

I don’t recall what I did at that point. I know I got up and left in the middle of the session and went home to call home and get more details. Mom was heart-broken. As was I. I got the details. Danny had been working at the dealership with Red. He had taken a pick-up and gone into the woods. Danny never drove pick-ups. He had taken a .22 caliber rifle and shot himself. There was a tape recorder in the truck.

“What was on the tape,” I asked.

Police Chief McKenny said it was blank. Red had taken it to him when it was discovered in the truck. Nothing on it.

“That’s bullshit.” I said.

“There was no note.” She said. “They’re calling it an accident.”

“Bullshit.” I told her I’d be there for the funeral. I knew Danny wouldn’t write a suicide note. He wasn’t comfortable with that kind of writing. Danny would have taped his message. I didn’t believe he’d leave without saying goodbye. Danny could never bear to hurt anyone’s feelings.

At the funeral, I learned that Danny was engaged to be married. That he’d built a chalet style house on the back of the property. I met his fiancé. I asked about the house. She hadn’t liked it. I told her that I wish she’d known him back when we were gigging and playing music.

“Oh no. It was only after he got that foolishness out of his head that I agreed to marry him.” She showed no emotion at all. Except possibly disappointment.

I knew then why Danny had died. Danny was facing a life he’d never be able to live with. Required to be something he could never be. A life of living death. Music was Danny’s life. He would be required to live without it. How she got her hooks in him, I don’t know. I’d heard that Red brought them together. I also heard that she was Red’s mistress.

I stopped by McKenny’s office after the funeral. He saw me and stood, “I cannot and will not discuss this with you. Let him rest in peace. What’s done is done.” I’d never said a word.

Ten years later, I went to the dealership. I asked where Red was. “Hiding in his office,” I was told by a friend I’d graduated High School with. He apparently was. The office was dark. The venetian blinds were closed. Red sat behind the desk in a slumped position. When he saw me his face contorted, trying to smile.

Instead of rising and offering his glad hand, as had always been his custom, he weakly pushed it forward while seated. I didn’t bother.

“What can I do for you?”

“What was on the tape?”

His features contorted even more. Suddenly he was in tears, sobbing. He admitted he’d taken the recorder to the Chief. He poured a decade of pent up guilt. Danny had been crying on the tape. He couldn’t do it. He kept saying that. He kept saying he tried to be what I’d pushed him to be. To help with running the dealership. “He was no more capable of doing it than I was” Red explained. “It was failing. I didn’t know what to do. Nobody would help me. I was desperate. I had a big fight with Danny over him not helping me.”

After a crying session, “He had no more idea than I did how to solve our problems. I got him holed up with that girl. She was my accountant and business advisor. If he married her, it could have saved us. We’d have someone who understood.”

He grew very quiet and still. He took a deep breath. The tears were gone. “But, he wouldn’t go through with it. He hated the dealership. He didn’t want any part of it. He offered to sign over his share. I begged him and then demanded that he marry the girl. But he refused. He said, ‘I’m sorry Red. I just can’t do it.’ That’s the last I saw of him before we found him the next day.”

“And that’s what was on the tape?”

“He said…” he began to cry again, “he said he couldn’t stand hurting me or her. But he couldn’t live like that. He didn’t want to hurt us. So, he could only hurt himself.” Then he said goodbye and turned it off.

McKinney said it did nobody any good now. Said they’d list it as a hunting accident. Danny had never hunted anything in his life. The Chief erased the tape.

Red dropped his head down on the desk and his shoulders shook. But there was no sound. After a minute or so, his head rose up. His eyes were red. Blood red. “I’ll sell you this place for sixty-five thousand dollars. Sixty-five and it’s yours.”

I think the place must have been a taunting reminder every day since. A reminder that he’d killed his brother. A decade of sadness, grief, guilt and anguish. Confronting his demons every time he walked in the door.

I stood. Shook my head. “Sorry, Red. No.”