No Regrets (41 page)

Rachael accompanied me to the ceremony, along with my manager,
Dave Frey, and my assistant, John Ostrosky. It was a star-studded event, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I walked out with my Ace Frehley Signature series Les Paul and explained to the audience that it was one of Les Paul’s creations—with a little help from me. It was a night to remember. And I know Les was up in heaven, looking down at us with a big smile on his face.

New York City

October 5, 2010

Now here’s a curious moment.

I’m wandering around backstage at Carnegie Hall—
Carnegie fuckin’ Hall!
—waiting to take my turn at the mike. How improbable is it that I’m here, participating in something called Redemption Song, an event billed as “an evening of conversation and performance exploring the relationship between artistry, dependency, recovery and longevity”?

How unlikely?

How remarkable?

Not that I don’t belong…

Artistry, dependency, recovery and longevity.

I certainly know a few things about the first couple of items on that list. And I’m learning about the third. It’s the last one—
longevity
—that still has me a little stumped. There are times I wake up in the morning and feel like I can easily ponder the inner workings of quantum mechanics, but other mornings I’m lucky if I can find my ass with both
hands. Regardless, I toss off the covers, greet the new day with a smile, and get on with the business of life. God knows I’m trying to do it right this time around.

I personally believe this: We have only
today;
yesterday’s gone and tomorrow is uncertain. That’s why they call it the
present
. And sobriety really is a gift… for those who are willing to receive it.

A few years ago I made an appearance at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, where they were honoring Les Paul, shortly before he passed away, with a weeklong celebration of his life achievements in the music industry. I had met Henry Juszkiewicz (CEO of Gibson USA) about twenty years earlier and we had become good friends over the years. I got up in front of all these people, talked about my career and my sobriety, and told them about the last time Henry and I had spent any time together.

“Henry is a very generous guy,” I said. “He threw a big birthday party for me. I was supposed to be there are at seven-thirty, and I think I showed up around one o’clock in the morning.”

The audience laughed, which was fine, but the memory made me cringe—all those people waiting for me to arrive, but I was just too wasted and kept missing my flights. Henry and my other friends at Gibson had taken the time to organize a birthday party, and I was just oblivious to all their hard work.

I apologized publicly that night at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. “And now that I’m sober,” I added, “I don’t have to worry about things like that happening anymore.”

I paused.

“I mean, I’m still late all the time… but at least I’m straight.”

Everyone laughed again, then burst into applause. It felt good to get that off my chest, since I’d been holding it inside for years.

I still work on my sobriety and attend meetings when I can. I need to remember what I used to be like, and how lousy I felt both physically and mentally toward the end. How irresponsible I was, and how it affected my coworkers and loved ones. I believe all the mistakes and
dangerous detours were things I needed to go through to get where I am today.

I draw strength from the pain I went through, and only now am I beginning to realize it was part of a much larger plan that is continually unfolding, every day. I’m very thankful I was given a second chance at life. Today I enjoy performing live, writing and recording, and traveling more than ever before. I feel like my eyes have been opened.

After attending Bill Aucoin’s funeral last year in Florida, Rachael and I decided to go on a road trip and drive cross-country back to Los Angeles. Even though I’d been to most of the places we visited while on tour with KISS and the Ace Frehley Band, I saw everything in a different light, and made discoveries that totally blew my mind! Visiting Monument Valley and Mount Rushmore made me feel like I was ten years old again; now we’re planning a trip to visit the Pyramids at Giza.

Which brings us back to Redemption Song and Carnegie Hall, and a night I never could have imagined. My sponsor, Jimmy, also is in attendance, offering a little monologue about the night we met following my wrong-way trip through White Plains back in ’83, and the unlikely friendship that arose from that encounter. The story is by way of introduction. That’s the format for the evening—a little talking, and a lot of music, performed by an eclectic group of artists: Rickie Lee Jones, Guns N’ Roses drummer Steven Adler, Run DMC frontman Darryl McDaniels, and me. We’re very different people, of course, with different backgrounds, different tastes in music, and different points of view on any number of subjects. Our commonality—our bond—is that we all are addicts.

But we’re musicians, too, and now it is my turn to play the part. The crowd applauds warmly as I take a seat on the stage, guitar in hand. There are only two of us out here, me and my buddy Eddie Ojeda, from Twisted Sister, also on guitar. I start to tune up a little, when suddenly it dawns on me: this is the first time I’ve performed this song live, with just acoustic guitars.

“We’re gonna need your help on this,” I tell the audience. “Because we don’t have a drummer.”

Everyone laughs. It’s a friendly room, that’s for sure. Suddenly the laughter melts into applause as Steven Adler appears to my right.

“What am I?” he blurts out. “Chopped liver?”

I give Steven a little nod, then slowly begin to tap my foot. Eddie does the same. The tapping grows louder as Steven takes up the cue and stomps about the stage, pumping his fists in time, and finally putting his hands together. The audience joins in, and soon the entire room is rocking.

I look over at Eddie and smile, and together we begin to play. I can’t remember how many times I’ve performed this song in my hometown, but that night seems magically different. I’m overcome with emotion and my eyes begin to water as I glance around the entire room. I start singing the first verse, and the energy in the air becomes electric. As I approach the chorus I am filled with a new sense of accomplishment and pride in the message, which, as always, is open to interpretation.

Here I am, again in this city,

With a fistful of dollars

And you’d better believe… I’m back!

Back in the New York Groove!

And a California suntan doesn’t suck!

Awk!

I would imagine almost everyone who’s ever written a
book about their life experiences has remembered stories after the fact, thinking,
Shit, I forgot to include this story,
or
I should have told that one differently.…

I’d like to take the opportunity now to thank my publisher, Simon & Schuster and MTV/VH1 Books, for being very patient with me and extending my deadline several months. The additional time allowed me to do some major rewrites with the help of my assistant, John Ostrosky. (Thank you, John.)

Let’s face it—my memory isn’t what it used to be. Speaking with old friends and coworkers jarred my memory, allowing me to recapture the true flavor of some of the stories within these pages.

I’d also like to thank my fiancée, Rachael, for putting up with all my mood swings at home and while vacationing in the Bahamas.

My manager, Dave Frey, and his assistant, Debi, never stopped believing in me and gave me positive feedback and support when I hit a brick wall mentally.

And last but not least, I’d like to thank my coauthor, Joe Layden!

All photos courtesy of the author unless otherwise noted.

Baby picture, 1951

1st grade

Age twelve