RIP David Johansen

Rock and Roll, Houses and Remnants of History

David Johansen was the cause of the biggest fight I ever had with my mother. I was home from college for the summer working at a keychain factory. Yes, you heard that right. I had gotten the job after two horrible days working in a globe factory. I trimmed hemispheres which were made of pressed and formed cardboard, slapping them down on a machine that spun, quickly trimming the hemispheres so they could be sealed up with the equators. Can you imagine the dust that flew in the air? I’ve never felt thirst like that. The difference between those two factories and their conditions was illuminating.

Back to David Johansen. My boyfriend Ernie, the cute shaggy boy from the record store, had told me that David Johansen was going to play at Mabel’s on an upcoming weeknight. I tried to convince my mother that it made perfect sense for me to borrow their car when they got home from work and drive down to Champaign, go to the show at Mabel’s and then drive home at which point I would sleep for maybe two hours before going to work at 7 am at said keychain factory. In hindsight I gotta side with my mom. It was a ridiculous plan but ohhhh, I wanted to go. I remember standing in the hall of our house in Lisle. My mother was sorting laundry from the wicker hamper. There was much yelling. I didn’t go.

I discovered the New York Dolls from the Ian Hunter song Standing In My Light, “Aint’ gonna trade with the pain of the New York Dolls…” Given that there was no internet I merely found the album at a visit to Wax Trax in Chicago. That was a period of time when that stretch of Lincoln Avenue was full of used clothing stores and fascinating little spots. I came home with a cool old Army jacket and this.

I fell in love with the Dolls and although I was always a hardcore Johnny Thunders girl, David Johansen was the one you’d want to hang out with, maybe try to match wits, although of course you’d lose.

Later, I did see David in his Buster Poindexter era at Navy Pier. It was back before it had been Disneyfied and only the Auditorium at the end of the Pier had been renovated. We saw some great shows there…Lyle Lovett with k.d. lang, Richard Thompson, Kid Creole, can’t remember them all. You couldn’t park near there so we’d take the L down from Rogers Park, then walk a half mile to the Pier, then we’d walk the half mile down to the end of the Pier (no wonder I was so much thinner) past the unused sheds and end up at this beautiful jewel of an auditorium. They were magical shows. Buster Poindexter wasn’t necessarily my favorite phase of his but man that guy was charismatic.

I always followed him through his various periods…wish I’d seen him with the Harry Smiths. When Scorcese did the documentary of him at the Carlyle a few years back we were giddy with delight. A year or so ago I came across his wife, Mara Hennessy, on Instagram and I followed her there, charmed by their sweet love.

When the news came out in January about his illness I was so saddened. We quickly sent the money to the Sweet Relief fundraiser for the t-shirt. It arrived the other day. Yesterday morning Ernie put it on and did an impression of him talking to Johansen at the Red Lion years ago when Screams opened. Ernie does a great David Johansen impression. In fact recently we’d been watching 1923 (I do love some Harrison Ford) and some of the episodes go back and forth between the African jungle and Montana. Every time there was a switch he’d do his Johansen voice and say, “Meanwhile, back in the States,” or “Meanwhile, back in the jungle.” I giggled every damn time. I’m so easy sometimes. Yesterday, I admired Ernie’s new t-shirt and only minutes later I read that David had died. I cried. I actually surprised myself with how heartbroken I was. There are a lot of triggers for me I suppose. Fucking stage four cancer.

After we wiped our eyes we went ahead with our planned mini-wander. I wanted to check on a house, well, actually the remains of a house, about an hour or so from here. My gut told me it was probably gone. I’d been wanting to check on it for awhile. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to ruins of old buildings. Somehow I love them as remnants of history. History that is just sitting there in the midst of cornfields. Maybe that’s what David Johansen was to me, a remnant of my personal history.

We first came across this house in 2019. The light was against me so it’s not a great shot.

And in 2022.

Last time we saw it in January 2024.

And yesterday.

On our way to the house we drove through a little town we’d been to before. There’s a lovely old church there.

I remembered there was a little old store across the park area that we’d seen last time we were there.

I looked over to see it and only saw this.

My neck was hurting terribly and the rough roads we were on didn’t help. I never think to bring pain pills with me. I told Ernie we should just head home. I was done. When we got home I was thrilled to take off my bra, find my corner of the couch, take a pain pill and accept the glass of wine Ernie poured me. Then we watched videos of David Johansen and cried a fair amount.

Oh the way home I had asked the eternal question, “What are we having for dinner?” We both sighed and then I said, “I want a hot dog.”

Onward.

Love,
Cynthia