“Yeah, sir,” he blasted on.
“You mean she’s booking us on something even bigger than The Factory before we even open there? We’ve still got two weeks left at Gazzarri’s.”
“No problem-o! I already got Gazzarri to let us off for the next few nights for this gig. When we get back from San Francisco, we’ll finish the last few nights there before opening at The Factory.
“Right after she booked us for her gig there yesterday,” Eddie went on, “she got the cancellation from the Jefferson Airplane. They’re over-booked back east or something like that. She’s been booking the Kennedy gig also! Talk about being in the right place at the right time! Now it’s our turn to dance!”
On the flight to San Francisco, Jan Martin excused herself to go to the restroom. The tickets she had booked placed all of us in a two row area.
“Yeah, sure,” I teased in a voice only the four of them could hear. “Toney bitches and complains about having to move the equipment to The Factory and we get this gig from it,” I jeered at “New York” Toney.
Milton Berle turned around in his aisle seat directly in front of us. “So, I hear you boys are the rock and roll portion of the show,” Milton said comically, perhaps testing the water to see if we were savvy enough to keep up with his wit.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Berle,” Toney said. He was sitting directly across the aisle seat from him. I sat directly behind him.
“Please, my dears, just call me Uncle Milty. Mr. Berle sounds like a donkey salesman.” He twisted his neck to look straight back at me, focusing his eyes on my black Russian hat. “Expecting a cold winter in Moscow are we, Babushka?”
I blushed, loving the humorous delivery. “Ah, no, it was just a present from my dad.”
“Is he in Russia?”
“No, he’s in Yorba Linda.”
“That a sanitarium or a state of mind? Your dad a little funny, boy?”
“Just since he had me,” I cracked.
“I’ll do the jokes, Tiny Tim. You just comb your hat,” he jabbed.
A quote from somewhere danced through my mind as I tried to relax in my seat. Some people live their whole life working toward a moment. Some live life in the moment. I sat back and prepared for the ride of our lives.
We entered the San Francisco Convention Center and I still could hardly believe our good fortune. The stage was huge—this was truly the “big time.”
We approached the front of the stage where Bill Cosby stood.
“Hi, Jan,” Bill beamed as they greeted each other.
“Bill, how nice. Hello.”
“Are these the Pacific Oceans?” he joked.
And who cared about jokes? I mean, Damn! Here we were talking with Bill Cosby!
“That’s us,” Eddie said, shaking his hand. “I’m Eddie, this is Toney, Rusty, and Ronnie.”
“Jan tells me she found you at the auditions for The Factory and you’ll be opening there soon.”
“They most certainly are, Bill, and they’re great,” Jan added proudly.
“Perfect then,” Bill said. “I’ll be seeing you guys there. Now here are your schedules. You’ll go on after Jerry Lewis tomorrow night. Any problems, just ask the stage manager. Your instruments arrived from the airport.” He pointed backstage. “Just set them up on the stage in front of the orchestra.”
“Great,” Jan answered.
A click-click of high heels brought my eyes to stage right. I noticed a beautiful blond woman approaching Cosby from the wings.
“Hey, you guys, that’s Kim Novak.”
I laughed out loud. This gig just got better and better.
“Wow! Dig this,” I said when we walked into our dressing room the following evening. Bowls of fresh fruit, wine, desserts, and cold cuts were everywhere. We snacked while hanging up our clothes and got comfortable for our evening’s performance.
Jan walked in. She was dressed in a light beige chiffon evening dress accented perfectly with a gold belt. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Everything’s great, Jan. Thank you,” Eddie answered.
“Peter Lawford just arrived. He’s one of your new bosses at The Factory. Come on out so we can get some pictures with him.”
We dropped what we were doing and headed out the door to meet Lawford. Jan introduced everyone and we posed for a picture with the film star and in-law to the Kennedys.
After the photo moment, we turned to mingle with the crowd that gathered around the backstage area.
“It’s every man for himself,” Toney said.
“Yeah, but stay within earshot for more pictures,” Eddie said.
A few minutes later, Eddie and I found ourselves in a conversation with Bill Cosby about the new microphones we were all using. Dan Rowan was in a conversation behind Ronnie and Toney as Eddie Fisher walked in and I excused myself to go check my drum set. The murmur of the voices from the large crowd had a low, rumbling sound.
Ronnie began talking with a man in a white suit. The man’s hair was a radiant black. Ronnie turned to us with an excited look. “Hey, you guys, meet Don Ho!”
“Good luck, everyone.” Bill waved and left to hit his mark as the large orchestra blasted into their first song. The power from the orchestra seemed to shake the walls. Eddie and I moved over to the curtains. We gasped as we looked at the thousands of faces.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen. Please welcome your host for the evening…BILL COSBY!”
“This is going to be a trip,” Eddie yelled, jumping up and down, reacting to the electricity coming from the crowd.
Ronnie and Toney came running over behind us.
“God!” Toney blurted. “Is Kennedy out front yet?”
“No,” Eddie said. “I heard his plane is late or something, but they have to start the show anyway.”
Back on stage, Cosby had warmed up the room fast with his easy and relaxing comedy style. “Ladies and gentleman, please welcome hit maker and actor, Mr. Eddie Fisher.”
Fisher emerged from the opposite side of the stage looking tan and trim in a black tuxedo and stepped to the microphone confidently. The band played the opening bars of his 1955 hit “Heart” as the audience applauded their approval.
“This is a dream, you guys!” Eddie yelled over the music.
Half way through the song, Jerry Lewis walked up and was standing inches from us. He settled next to us and smiled warmly.
“You guys on after me?” he asked with a buoyant smile.
“Yes, we are, Jerry,” Eddie said.
Jan walked up with a photographer. “Jerry,” she asked, “Is it all right if I get a picture with you and the boys before you go out?”
“Sure, Jan,” he said.
The picture was snapped literally as Bill Cosby on stage announced, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the one and only—Mr. Jerry Lewis!”
The house lights went out. A large, single spotlight hit the side of the stage where Jerry made his entrance.
“Kennedy’s still not here yet?” Eddie asked, obviously worried because we were on next. “He’s got to get here. I don’t want to tell my children we sang for Bobby Kennedy and he wasn’t there.”
As Jerry’s portion of the show ended, the audience gave him wild applause. Jerry walked off and Cosby went into his introduction for the Pacific Ocean.
The lights went down and our adrenaline was pumping. We ran to our instruments in the blackness onstage. Suddenly, without warning, Cosby hollered, “Everyone, stop what you’re doing!”
We froze in our tracks.
Cosby continued, “Ladies and gentlemen, please help me welcome…Robert and Ethyl Kennedy!”
The Convention Center erupted like an exploding volcano. Thirty thousand people jumped to their feet. At the back of the auditorium, in a mob of security agents and police, walked Bobby and Ethyl Kennedy. The Kennedys’ progress down the aisle seemed to take forever as they shook hands with almost every step. As they finally made their way to the front row, Eddie and I stared at each o
ther in disbelief.
“Look at this!” I screamed.
Eddie reached over, hugged me, and yelled in my ear, “If they could only see us now!”
I replied while pointing to several cameras in front of the stage. “They are seeing us now! Every news station in the world is here. Let’s do it!”
When the crowd calmed and everyone was seated, Cosby said into the microphone, “Well, now that you’re here, we can start the rest of the show.”
Everyone, including the Kennedys, laughed at the famous comedian’s comic styling.
Cosby continued, “We’ve got some boys here, Bobby and Ethyl, that are going to tear the house down tonight. They’re called the Pacific Ocean and we know you’re going to love them. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy…Ladies and gentlemen…I present to you…The Pacific Ocean!”
I threw the rim-shot cue to Ronnie and Toney. I heard the first chord of the intro—and we were in. I glanced up at Robert and Ethyl. They were smiling those incredible smiles—smiles that the whole world knew intimately. Eddie sang his guts out as Toney, Ronnie and I synchronized our harmonies. For the next ten minutes, we played harder than we ever played before, hoping upon hope to not only make an impression on the audience in front of us, but on the whole world.
When we finished, Cosby grabbed the microphone. “THE PACIFIC OCEAN!” he announced, presenting us to the world for approval.
They approved.
We stood directly in front of the Kennedys and bowed. The arena went wild. We waved as we ran off stage.
“That was insanely insane. Wow!” Ronnie yelled at the top of his lungs.
“God! What a magnificent trip!” I seconded.
The people standing near the dressing room erupted with congratulations. We hit the dressing room door with such energy it flew back, bouncing off a small wooden chair in the corner.
“Damn straight!” Toney threw his towel on the counter and peeled off his shirt. “We can carry off these big time gigs with the best of them.” He closed his hands hard and raised them high into the air.
“All right,” Eddie said. “Let’s change, hang out with our new friends, get some more pictures, and then it’s back to the Fairmont for the party!”
“So who made you camp counselor?” I mockingly challenged.
“Your mamma!”
At the dinner at the Fairmont, we ate lobster tail dipped in hot butter. I was talking about the sound in the arena with Toney when Ronnie’s voice interrupted us. “There they are, you guys, coming in now.”
Bobby and Ethel Kennedy were ushered in as the whole room stood for a second time tonight to welcome them.
“They’re seating them right across from us,” Eddie noted while waving at the Kennedys, who returned the motion.
After they settled in and ordered their meal, Bobby suddenly got up and walked straight over to our table. I couldn’t believe it. We started to stand and he stopped us with a wave of his hand.
“Sit down, guys. Eat and enjoy.” He placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders for a moment. “I just want to thank you personally for the outstanding performance you fellas did tonight. Believe me, Ethyl and I are truly honored to have you here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” Eddie said proudly.
“It’s Bobby to you fellas,” he said with a second small wave of his right hand. “And your name, Mr. Drummer man?”
“Rusty Johnson, Bobby.” My heart raced as we shook hands. Being this close to him, it was easy to see that the man had been working long and hard. He looked extremely tired, but yet still grateful and genuine with his words.
When he finished meeting all four of us, he turned to leave, then turned back. “Say, fellas, Ethyl would like to meet you. Please come over.”
We looked at each other, smiled, then followed Bobby to his table and were promptly introduced to Ethyl and some friends.
“We absolutely loved your show, boys. Thank you so very much,” Ethyl said as she motioned to some elaborate desserts on their table.
“Have some dessert with us, please.”
“Here,” Bobby said, pointing to some spare chairs at the next table. “Pull those chairs over here and just crowd on in. There’s room for everyone.”
Ethyl offered talk about contemporary music and Bobby asked how the band got started and our plans for the future. Listening to the conversation around the table, I was struck by the genuine nature of their hospitality and interest in us. They’d answer questions about themselves and their tremendous workload, but seemed more interested in those around them.
The party crept into the wee-small hours. Bobby and Ethyl bid all their good-byes around 2:00 AM.
“Man, it’s cold up here,” Ronnie complained later as we walked across the street separating the two hotels.
The excitement of the evening was now a memory as the quiet of the hour geared us down for needed sleep and rejuvenation. We walked on quietly for a moment, lost in what we had accomplished and what was ahead of us.
“This is a long way from the Sunset Strip,” Eddie stated softly.
Toney looked up the street. Ronnie’s gaze went out to the ocean. Eddie looked up at the towering building they were staying in.
“It’s even a longer way from Montebello and Monterey Park,” I said.
On June 5, 1968, the Pacific Ocean played our last gig at Gazzarri’s on the Strip. After the last set and the last round of applause—accompanied by a standing ovation—we found ourselves for the last time packing up to leave the dressing room.
“Let’s meet here about two tomorrow,” I said, picking up my bag and heading for the door. “We can load up and set up at The Factory.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Rusty?” Ronnie asked. “I mean, as if I didn’t know, to what’s-her-name in Malibu?”
“Johnson’s my name—Malibu Sue’s my game.”
“Been running off there a lot, old buddy,” Toney slyly quipped. “Surf must be good.”
I smiled.
“The surf is perfect!”
The brisk air greeted me like the slap of a scorned girlfriend. I threw my bag into the small backseat of my Austin Healey, unzipped the cover for the convertible top and yanked it up, securing the locking handle from the inside. I started the engine. My legs settled to the fit in the cockpit, and I drove onto the side street that connected with the Sunset Strip main drag.
I turned on the radio.
And the world changed in a heartbeat.
“I’m reporting to you live outside the Los Angeles Ambassador Hotel,” the reporter said, “on Wilshire Boulevard, where tragically tonight, just after delivering a speech in the main ballroom, Senator Robert F. Kennedy was shot by a gunman while walking through the kitchen of the hotel.”
“Shit!” I screamed, pounding my steering wheel in a crashing fit of uncontrolled rage. My mind closed to the world in violent, contorted pain as Bobby’s face flashed in front of me, alive and then dead in the same horror-filled instant.
“Not again!” I screamed as if dying myself. “Is this world insane to the core?”
My car spun out of control, falling sideways to the right and skidding. My fear of dying kicked in and I fought the wheel, trying to bring the metal animal under control. A screaming horn blasted from an oncoming car that swerved hard to the right to avoid me. Gaining control, I savagely threw a violent left spin on the wheel and floored it back to Gazzarri’s.
The radio filled the cabin with interviews from police captains and eye witnesses, some crying uncontrollably.
The left turn into Gazzarri’s parking lot almost turned the Healey over from the momentum. I leaped from the car and banged on the stage door furiously. An unfamiliar girl cautiously opened the door. I grabbed it and threw it open wildly.
Eddie, Toney, and Ronnie were almost out the dressing room door.
“What?” Eddie yelled, seeing the terror in my face.
“Bobby Kennedy was shot at the Ambassador Hotel,” I cried wildly. “I just heard it o
n the radio.” I put my arms to the wall as if needing it to hold myself up.
Eddie’s cheeks flinched as his eyes lost their happiness and a deep, child-like heartbreak emanated from his soul.
“What?”
Toney’s eyes narrowed. His protective mechanism slammed in suddenly, almost as if he were caught in a Bronx alleyway.
Ronnie looked like a fish trying to breathe out of water. His mouth fell to a hollow, round zero in a stunned, catastrophic chasm of disbelief. His body deflated and fell against the black light painted wall. “Oh, God.”
“Quick, let’s go down and tell Bill. I think I saw a television downstairs in his photo lab once,” Eddie suggested earnestly.
We ran down the stairs past the midnight crowd to Bill. He was busy talking with Ray, his bartender, as we descended on him like wild men.
“Bill,” Eddie said, taking his arm and guiding him away from Ray. “Listen, I don’t want to start a panic, but Rusty just heard on the radio that Robert Kennedy has been shot at the Ambassador. Let’s the five of us go down to your room and get the information.”
Bill’s eyes looked startled. “Of course, of course. Follow me.”
We followed him to the rear of the club. He put his keys into the door handle and we were shown down the stairs.
“Here…Here it is,” he said, turning the set on and adjusting the rabbit ears that were wrapped in tin foil. Gazzarri found a working channel and the five of us stood in horror as the truth splashed across the twelve-inch screen showing Bobby dying on the floor of the kitchen.
“We were just with him, like forty hours ago,” Ronnie kept saying.
“This is insanity,” Eddie said, his eyes welling up with tears of rage.
“Outrageous. What the hell’s the matter with this country?” Bill moaned in disbelief.
“Again,” Toney said. “Ought to put them in plastic bubbles wherever they go.” Toney turned, lit a cigarette, and walked to the back of the room. Ronnie leaned against a table stoically.
After forty-five minutes, Bill said goodbye to us at the door and the four of us walked to our cars. The night sky stretched over us as a drizzle sprinkled down in a light mist. No one spoke as the tragedy kept playing before our eyes. Ronnie slipped into his car and started it. “Later,” was all he could muster. Toney was second and didn’t say a thing as he pulled away, obviously shaken and heartbroken. Eddie and I stood in the Gazzarri parking lot for the last time, surrounded by the sadness. We leaned against my car, motionless. A long period passed without words.
Walk, Don't Run Page 11
