Running With Monsters: A Memoir by Bob Forrest Read Free Book Online

hangover suddenly, screechingly worse. The woman behind the desk sent me back to another office deeper in the building. A stern-looking official had my pathetically, laughably thin folder in front of him. “Mr. Forrest, we don’t have transcripts from you. Nor do we have SAT scores, nor do we have a basic application form, nor do we—”
    I cut him off. I tried to work up a front of righteous, middle-class indignation straight from the heart of suburbia. “This is outrageous!” I sputtered. “What kind of incompetent office do you run here?”
    He just leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m sorry. You are not a student at this university.”
    Well, the jig was up. It was a good scam while it lasted. I turned around and headed back to Los Angeles and re-enrolled at LACC, where I was once again eligible to attend. Once I officially signed up for classes again, those government checks started to arrive in the mail. The purpose of my student days and my only academic goal was really just to be registered somewhere to get money to live and to do drugs and go to clubs. It was a pretty good hustle as far as hustles go.
    Now that I was back in town and my financial situation was settled for the moment, I got back to my real business: rock and roll. One of my favorite clubs to visit was the Cathay de Grande. Situated dead center in Hollywood at the corner of Argyle Avenue and Selma Avenue, the club’s main stage was the subterranean home to some of the most exciting music in Los Angeles. It featured the raw punk of local acts like Fear, X, the Circle Jerks, and countless others. The Orange County punk bands like Social Distortion made the Cathay their home away from home. The club was also home to a vibrant local roots-rock scene, with the Blasters and Los Lobos often taking the stage, as well as numerous cow-punk bands, who, really, were playing the kind of straight-up Bakersfield country that had fallen out of favor with rednecks but was finding a new audience with young punk rockers. It was the kind of music that would have fit right in at Zubie’s in Orange County … if the sweaty cowboys could get past the punk rock look of the musicians playing it.
    I worked that scene like it was a job. Sure, I partied and had lots of fun, but I constantly inserted myself into peoples’ faces. I met the musicians, the regulars, and all the staff. I made sure to remember everybody’s name. I sincerely liked just about everybody I met at the Cathay and I was genuinely happy to be there. People responded to that. I was a best friend to whoever I might meet. It wasn’t long before I was accepted into the inner circle.
    Things were great at the Cathay, but they could have been better according to the owner. There was a problem. The place was divided into two sections, upstairs and downstairs. Downstairs was where the bands played and where the crowd stayed. Upstairs there was a beautiful, ornate bar that was left over from the club’s restaurant days. Very few of the customers used that bar. There was no draw upstairs. All the music and fun happened downstairs. The reluctance of the crowd to go upstairs was costing the place currency. The major moneymaker at any club isn’t the door, it’s the bar. The owner, Michael Brennan, had an idea. “People won’t leave the stage because they want to hear music. What if we have music upstairs?” I was twenty-one years old, loved rock and roll, and lived two blocks away. Michael approached me with his idea. “You’re here every night anyway,” he said. “You come in, play some records, and make a little money too.” His logic was flawless, and the truth is that I would have carried out his plan for free if he had asked. I started coming in five nights a week with a crate of records to spin through the bar’s sound system. I took care and consideration with what I picked to play. I had a vast collection of vinyl I had collected over the years that covered just about every genre of