Richie Dagger: Life & Times

Acknowledgements

PART ONE

Trans Ams and Bellbottoms

JAKE JOHNSON, JOSHUA TREE, CALIFORNIA. (GUITAR)

Of all the people interviewed for this book I’m sure I was closer to Richie than anybody else, including his mother. I met the guy when we were just kids, and we started our first band while we were still in high school, eventually playing thousands of shows together. You could say we were like brothers, but we were actually much closer than that. Sure, I might have wanted to kill that skinny little fucker at times, but I also loved the guy and did everything I could to protect him. In the end, that wasn’t enough, and I’ll never forgive myself for what happened, although there was nothing at all I could have done differently. I’ve played that tape over and over in my head millions of times looking for ways to blame myself, and I would have fallen on my sword if there was any way to do that. Sometimes shit just happens and there ain’t nothing nobody can do about it. Richie’s death was one of those things.

I was twelve and Richard Horowitz was only eleven when we attended St Andrew’s Elementary in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Grade six seems like a million years ago, but I remember seeing him for the first time as if it were yesterday. I recall thinking that Richie was a weird looking kid, and I sure as hell never imagined we’d ever hang out together, let alone play in the same band and make a bunch of records. We didn’t have much in common.

In fact, Richie was such a geek that I might have started picking on him myself if the school bully didn’t get to him first. Ronald Hislap was his name, and he was a real piece of work. Everybody at St Andrew’s was scared shitless of Ronald, who was thirteen in grade six because he’d been held back a year. I swear, this kid weighed 180 pounds if he weighed an ounce, and he was taller than most of the teachers. I dunno what happened to make Ronald the way he was, but it must of been something fairly fucking awful. Even the principal was scared of him.

Anyway, I’ll never forget when Richie shuffled into my life, late for class on the very first day of school. The teacher was blabbing away when Richie came in, but she stopped mid-sentence when he dropped his books all over the floor. He bent over to pick up his shit, and you could see his bony little spine sticking up through his shirt. He finally gathered his books together and stood there blinking like a sorry sonofabitch and stuttering some lame excuse about not being able to get into his locker. Everybody was staring at him, and a couple of kids were snickering openly.

Unsurprisingly, the teacher gave Richie a look that would freeze turpentine and made him sit in the front row with the other mega geeks, and that’s where he truly belonged. He was one of those guys with transparent skin you could practically see through, with big, blubbery lips and long, stringy brown hair. I later learned that Ronald had thrown Richie’s combination lock out the window, so he had to go look for it on the lawn outside. And that was just the beginning of his trouble with Ronald.

Richie was in my homeroom class so I saw him every day. I somehow managed to steer clear of Ronald, but he picked on almost everyone, some more than others. At any given time he’d be giving some poor sucker an Indian rope burn or an atomic wedgie, but Ronald had a special trick he called the Hislap Hook that he saved especially for Richie. This lovely bit of torture involved jamming two fingers up his victim’s nostrils and lifting until the poor sonofabitch had to stand on tiptoes if he wanted to keep his nose. Naturally, Richie would be trying to pull Ronald’s hand away, but not too hard because Ronald actually would tear his fucking nose off. I always felt bad watching that shit, but school was rough in those days and I was just happy it wasn’t me. I didn’t know that I’d have to step in to protect Richie one day. That thought never would have dawned on me, at least not at first.

I squeaked through grade six and discovered Mott the Hoople, T Rex, and Slade that summer. I was totally into glam when I entered junior high in the fall, and glam seemed better than anything else going on in the music scene. Around that same time, my cousin Harold gave me a piece-of-shit electric guitar with four strings, which I replaced at some point. Although I didn’t know how to make a barre chord, I could play along to Mama Weer All Crazee Now in a somewhat recognizable fashion. I was thirteen by then, and that seemed kinda late to get into guitar. Even so, I didn’t play a lot at first. My hands were still growing and my fingers weren’t strong enough to press the strings against the frets. The neck was so warped you could roll a bowling ball under the fretboard without hitting the strings, and my fingers still hurt just thinking about it. That thing was an instrument of torture.

I made it through grade seven unscathed but Ronald was still hassling Richie in grade eight. My dad finally split that year, but we all knew that was coming. He was never home much anyway, and when he was, he’d be sleeping one off in the basement. Me, my mom, and two older brothers had to move out of the house and into a rundown apartment building over on Sherbrook Street. The place smelled funny and was lousy with cockroaches, but at least school was within easy walking distance, even in the winter. School sucked, but I figured I could hack it out if I tried hard enough. I was starting to lose interest in glam, but there wasn’t much else going on. I was horny all the time and the girls weren’t interested. I wasn’t a jock and I wasn’t a stoner and I wasn’t a nerd. I was just me.

One recess I was having a smoke on the playground when I saw Ronald Hislap grab a bag away from Richie. He easily held Richie away with one hand and pulled two albums from the bag with the other. The first was an Alice Cooper record, but I didn’t recognize the other. Richie looked more angry than frightened, especially after Ronald called Alice Cooper a fag and threw the records on the ground. He didn’t even try to run away when Ronald stepped forward to employ the Hislap Hook, but I rushed over and told him that I’d seen Mr Hatcher headed in our direction. I doubt that Ronald believed me, but he gave me a nasty look and hurried away without looking back. Hatcher was our tough gym teacher, and he wasn’t afraid of bullies, not even Ronald.

Richie bent to pick up his records. The one I hadn’t been able to identify was Raw Power by Iggy Pop and the Stooges, a band I didn’t know. With a name like the Stooges they had to be a rock band and I was instantly curious. Richie liked rock music? Who knew?

We talked a little as Richie dusted off his precious records and put them back in the bag. He thanked me for distracting Ronald, and I hoped that he wouldn’t get in trouble later. He seemed fairly unruffled for a guy who should have been standing on tiptoes with Ronald’s fat fingers jammed up his nose. I told him not to worry about Ronald, but I was shitting it inside. What had I been thinking? The sight of those records must of impaired my reasoning.

Grade eight dragged on, and it was freezing just like it is every winter in fucking Winnipeg. I started hanging out with Richie a bit after that, and one day I went over to his house to listen to records. Turns out his dad had also split, so it was just him and his older sister in the bungalow on Home Street. The house was old and beat-up, but very clean and his older sister Sarah was a fucking babe. More importantly, Alice was great, and the Stooges were even better. I couldn’t believe the sounds that came blasting out of Richie’s crappy little speakers—it was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

After that, me and Richie started hanging out all the time. He actually had a great sense of humour and wasn’t such a geek after all. He had a real cool record collection, which is the best foundation for any friendship. Still, I had reservations. It seemed to me that being his friend would mean putting my ass on the line.

TOM WILCOX, WINNIPEG, MANITOBA. (TEACHER)

Richard Horowitz. Ah, yes, I remember that one. He was a student in my grade nine science class at Lord Melvin Junior High School. Richie wasn’t a brilliant scholar, but he was far from stupid and could have pulled down top grades if he’d tried. He simply didn’t care about school, and I can’t say a diploma would have helped him in his chosen field. I remember hearing about Richie’s wild antics in the ‘90s, but even then I was always proud of him. Very few can make any sort of living at all with music, and he somehow managed to do that with punk rock, which is even more of a challenge. Not only did Richie possess a rare talent, but he also had the ambition to follow his dreams.

Looking back, I realize that the bullying at Lord Melvin was worse than we thought. I’m not trying to make excuses, but bullying didn’t seem like such a big deal in the ‘70s, even though it must have been terrible for the kids who were on the receiving end of that abuse. In general, people turned a blind eye to bullying and regarded it as part of growing up, a rite of passage that most kids had to endure at one point or another. I still think playground battles help prepare kids for the realities of life, but the violence definitely got out of hand in some instances.

Some of the stuff I heard later definitely seemed over the top. I was fairly disturbed when I learned about the Hislap Hook, which was the stunt that entailed Ronald Hislap sticking his fingers up Richie’s nose and making him stand on tiptoes. The school would never have allowed such a thing to occur had we known. My heart went out to Richie when that abuse came to light. Of course, there was nothing anyone could do about it by then. He’d already found his own closure on that.

JAKE JOHNSON.

By grade nine, Richie and I weren’t listening to glam rock hardly at all, and instead we were into the bad boy rock n’ roll of the day, bands like Aerosmith, Thin Lizzy, Alice Cooper, and, of course, the Stooges. We started talking about getting a band together, and my guitar playing was starting to improve. I could play barre chords by now, and my hands were stronger. I also trashed my first guitar that year and bought a Mann electric guitar with money saved from a paper route. The Mann was a Les Paul copy, but it was a lot better than my old guitar. The action wasn’t too bad, actually, and I was learning how to play leads.

Richie thought he would play drums in our band, and we were looking around for a cheap kit. He didn’t have much money though, and his job at the car wash was seasonal. Mostly, I’d go over to Richie’s place to listen to records and gawk at his sister every day after school. We’d smoke a bit of pot and drop acid once in a while, but we didn’t get all caught up in that shit like some kids. We had music and we were gonna be rock stars.

Ronald was still bullying Richie, but not as much as before. Every once in a while he’d give Richie a rough time, even if he seemed to leave him alone when I was around. I’m not small, but Ronald was a lot bigger and could have kicked my ass, so I don’t know why he kept his distance. It seemed to me that Richie wasn’t such an obvious target now that he wasn’t alone. Bullies often gravitate towards kids who sit by themselves, but me and Richie ate lunch together and everything. Richie was starting to grow a bit by then, and now he was lean instead of chicken-leg skinny. Not only that, but you couldn’t help but notice that his blubbery lips kinda made him look like Steven Tyler or Mick Jagger. It was almost as if he was born to be a singer, even though he wanted to play drums.

The problem with Ronald came to a head in early June, just as school was about to let out for the year. I dunno what got into him that day, but Ronald saw us from the other side of the schoolyard and came storming over with murder in his eyes. There was nowhere to hide, and he just grabbed Richie and started shaking him like a ragdoll. Ronald was in such a horrible mood that he didn’t even use the Hislap Hook, which was kinda unusual. Anyway, Richie was my friend now, so I lost my head just a bit. Before I knew what I was doing, I must of told Ronald to get his fucking mitts offa Richie, or something to that effect. Sure enough, he let go of Richie and took a swing at me instead. Then I heard Richie shout that Ronald’s mom sucked cocks in hell—those were his exact words and I remember them well to this day. I remember what came next even more.

The entire world seemed to stop as Ronald digested Richie’s words, and he just stood there with his mouth hanging open like a big dumb ape. I watched in disbelief as Ronald took a step towards Richie, and it was obvious that he meant to do him serious harm. That’s when Richie jumped way up in the air and nailed Ronald with an amazing flying roundhouse that caught him square on the noggin, just as cool as could be. Ronald staggered back a couple of feet with this stunned look on his face, his eyes rolling around like pinballs in his stupid head. It was the most beautiful kick I’d ever seen in my life. Then, almost in slow motion, Ronald dropped to his knees and fell over, completely fucking unconscious. He just laid there on the ground like a sack of shit, and me and Richie both thought he was dead. All the kids stopped what they were doing. The schoolyard was as still as a tomb.

Then a bunch of teachers came running over and all fucking hell broke loose. I asked Richie why he hadn’t done this earlier, since he’d obviously taken some sort of martial arts training. Trust me, you can’t throw a kick like that without serious practice and instruction. Anyway, the little fucker just looked at me innocently and said that he didn’t want to hurt the sonofabitch. That was Richie for you—he’d say the most amazing shit in the world and act like it was nothing special.

PART TWO

First Blood

BOB DUNCAN, WINNIPEG, MANITOBA. (CLASSMATE)

I went to Lord Melvin Junior High with Richie and Jake, and I was there the day Richie kicked Ronald in the head. But first you need a little background on those guys. Y’see, Ronald had already pretty much stopped picking on Richie because of Jake. I dunno what Jake told you, but his older brothers Sam and Gary were the toughest guys in the neighbourhood. They were real badasses. Sam was still in high school, but Gary was already in and out of the youth detention centre on Vaughn Street. Jake couldn’t help but learn a few things about sticking up for himself, and even though he wasn’t very big or nothing, he’s always had a toughness about him. I never saw it, but everybody knew that Jake cornered Ronald in the washroom and put a knife to his throat after he and Richie started hanging out. Ronald was shit scared of Jake, and he had very good reason to be. You didn’t wanna mess with Jake.

Most of us knew that Ronald’s dad was a bad drunk, and he used to beat the crap out of his wife and Ronald too. Ronald’s dad actually went to jail for smacking his wife around, but she was still there when he got out, God knows why. Anyway, I think Ronald was meanest when he caught a licking at home, so I’m guessing his old man must have given it to him good that day. He’d have to be really mad to get into it with Jake, and Jake probably would have stabbed him if Richie hadn’t taken care of the problem. Poor ‘ol Ronald couldn’t catch a break that day, the big bully. Boo fuckin’ hoo.

Amazingly, Ronald wasn’t hurt too bad, just a little shaken and sore. School was almost over for the year anyway, and he totally stopped picking on everyone after that and hardly said a word. I dunno what happened to Richie as far as punishment went, but they didn’t really make such a big deal of schoolyard fights in those days. I think he got a few days of detention or something, and everybody knew that Ronald had it coming. In fact, Richie was a fuckin’ hero after that, and everybody wanted to be his friend—even the jocks were kissing his ass. I’ll admit that I was also a bit nicer to Richie after that little incident. Y’see, Ronald threw me a few beatings as well.

NAOMI HOROWITZ, WINNIPEG, MANITOBA. (RICHIE’S MOTHER)

Richard was a good boy most of the time, but I never really knew what was going on with him. He was very secretive, and it wasn’t just about the marijuana he smoked with that Johnson boy. That worried me, but they were good kids otherwise and didn’t turn into hopeless dope fiends like I thought they would. Richard was very quiet when he was younger and didn’t talk much to anyone. He would come home from school and go straight to his bedroom. How on earth was I to know that he was being bullied? I should have known something was going on when he started taking karate lessons, but he convinced me that he just wanted to get some exercise. Richard was dreadfully thin, and I hoped that maybe the instruction would help fill him out a little. He seemed so frail.

The karate lessons went on for almost two years, and I didn’t mind paying, even though money was tight. Richard seemed happier when he got home from his lessons, and although he didn’t get much bigger, I noticed that he looked stronger. His arms weren’t as skinny, and his posture was better. He even carried himself with more assurance and didn’t slouch as much.

I must say, I’d hoped that Richard’s grades would also improve, but nothing much changed in that respect. He wasn’t actually failing any courses, except math, even if he was just barely passing. The telephone started to ring when he