Remembering Someone Special

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

For a change, this is not a celebrity remembrance, because no, I never met Gina Lollobrigida. One of my lifelong friends passed away last Thursday at the age of 76, the first to go from a group of merry pranksters that I formed a bond, and soon after a band, with. Peter Nichols became my friend when I was in my last year of high school, while he was in what should have been his final year at the University of Redlands. He was seven units shy of graduating when I began my one-year stint at Redlands, by which time he and I had already gotten stoned together probably a hundred times.

He was staying at a house where there were drums set up, and I would frequently come over with my guitar, amplifier, and microphone, and we would play nearly every song off the radio. He was a good enough drummer that he could follow whatever I was doing. We then took this bit of jamming to the university’s Student Union building, where we would set up impromptu performances. Somehow it all jelled, but equally important, we used our stage time to do silly banter as well. There was definitely something resembling rapport.

After he graduated, he went hitchhiking across the US to stay with his parents in Ohio for a few months. That spring term at U of Redlands was anticlimactic to say the least. It seemed like the free spirit that Peter brought to the table couldn’t be replicated without his presence. He came back in the summer and we more or less picked up where we left off, except that I would not be returning to Redlands, and in fact would get completely disinterested in school.

Peter wanted to continue working with me, and we began experimenting with what could be called political theatre mixed with 50s Rock. We incorporated various recorded bits as well as some filmed pieces to create what could be classified a multimedia show. Unfortunately, finding any kind of regular venues to produce this type of show was not easy in the San Bernardino Valley. Peter decided we needed to leave Redlands, and San Francisco should be our target of pursuit, but exactly how we were going to survive once we were there, and what sort of people we should try to sell our ideas to, were sketchy at best.

My brother was already in San Francisco attending medical school, which was probably the only way I was able to convince my dad to let me make this foray into the unknown. I promised him that if nothing happened over the summer, I would come back and return to school and get my degree, though my feeling was pretty firm that I would never come back to Redlands except to visit. I held to that conviction, and only once in the next 30 years did I stay there for more than two weeks.

Peter had been in SF about two weeks when I made my way up. I was able to make the entire 400-mile trip on the $10 my dad gave me, driving my brother’s 1967 Fiat which got over 40 miles per gallon. There was a couple days trying to figure out a game plan, and we spent a frustrating day in Santa Cruz, about 90 miles south of SF, trying to find any kind of work, having absolutely no success. Peter at one point said maybe we’d just live in the woods for the summer.

However, we got some inspiration when we went back up to San Francisco. We visited another friend of mine who had just moved there, and crashed at her place before making a trip to Berkeley the next day, where at Peter’s instigation, we set up at Sproul Plaza, one of the main settings for so many political rallies of the late 60s (It was now summer of 1970). I have told this story before, but after singing 50s songs for about an hour, we made $40 in tips, which was a month’s rent back then, and thought we might be on to something.

Things escalated when two other friends from Redlands also moved north, one who would become the third member of the band, playing saxophone, the other who would become our manager. Peter recognised the charisma our friend had, and how willingly he took Peter’s suggestions. The fact that he played the sax gave us the semblance of a 50s combo, and we could recreate a lot since all three of us could sing. We had one afternoon audition at a club called The Cooperage in the suburb of Los Altos, and got hired for a regular two-nights-a-week gig. But Peter had one more idea that completely changed my life.

The friend of mine that we had visited in San Francisco had become a bit more than that before we left Redlands. I went up to visit her in SF one afternoon, and Peter came up to her place to pick me up and drive me back to Los Gatos, where we were staying. He took one look at Monica Carroll, who was wearing a funky nightdress with a few holes in it, and as soon as we left, he was totally convinced she should join our band. He didn’t even know if she could sing or not, and didn’t really care, he just knew something was there, and given the success she and I had later on, he was totally right.

The band only lasted about 10 months, as Peter became disillusioned by gigs not being as plentiful as they had been. In the aftermath, Monica and I went on to become a couple both on and off stage, as Rick and Ruby was born. In retrospect, I’m not sure all that happened in the ensuing years could have been possible had I not known Peter. I last saw him in 2019 at a party at my brother’s house in Oakland, and the last words he said to me were, “Hey, my wife and I really like your girlfriend,” referring to Maggie. A good thing to remember him by.

January 16th, 2023



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