Welcome to My Jungle (18 page)

While we were waiting for Sabrina, an Israeli soldier walked up to our group, walked over to me, and asked, “Are you a Kansas City Chiefs fan?”

I proudly responded, “Yes I am.”

He responded back, very joyfully, “So am I.”

So we talked about football and how great the Chiefs were at the time.

Just a side note: I wish I could say that I put a note in the Wailing Wall asking for the Chiefs to win the Super Bowl the next year. I didn’t. I did, however, say a prayer for them to win the Super Bowl while standing at the Wailing Wall.

I know, I know. All you non-football fans are thinking to yourselves, what an idiot to waste a prayer on a football team while standing in Jerusalem.

Touché.

But, all I know is this: The Kansas City Chiefs had their best season in the past thirty years in 1993 and almost made it to the Super Bowl.

Ah, the power of prayer. The way the Chiefs have been playing lately, I think it’s time for me to go back to Jerusalem.

I asked the Israeli soldier if I could get a picture with him.

He said, “Of course,” and we took a picture.

Then he asked, “Can I take a picture wearing your Kansas City Chiefs hat?”

I responded, “Absolutely,” and I gave him my hat.

We took the next picture.

Then I asked something that when I look back on it, I think could have been the stupidest question I ever could have asked a foreign soldier.

I jokingly said, out loud, in front of all my friends, “Can I get a picture of you and I, with me holding your gun?”

My buddies were stunned. I’m sure they were all thinking, “Are you serious, dude?”

Although I knew nothing about guns, I could see that his was one badass piece of machinery, and if I had to guess, I would say it was an Uzi submachine gun.

Without a beat, he took off his gun, over his head, and handed it to me.

And we took a picture.

That’s it. It was as if he just handed me a stick of gum. That’s how nonchalant it was.

I didn’t want to hold the gun for too long for fear another soldier, maybe one having a bad day, would see me, a long-haired dude, holding a gun, think I was a threat, and pop a cap in my ass.

So as soon as the picture was shot, I handed the gun back.

But the trust—the incredible trust this soldier had—made me feel great about being part of the human race. Gushy, I know. But I got this overwhelming feeling of brotherhood, probably because I was in a spiritual place. But it felt awesome. Yes, there are a lot of things wrong with the world we live in today, but there are also many great things about it as well.

And just so everyone out there knows, the note I wrote, and crumpled up, and put into a crack in the Wailing Wall? Well, I wrote what any good beauty pageant contestant would say. I asked for health for my family. And although my wife, Natasha, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma cancer in 2006, she is completely healthy now.

So, in a way, all my prayers were answered.

The next day was the show. One of the highlights of the concert was when the band and Axl, wearing a Guns N’ Moses shirt, broke into a rousing rendition of “Hava Nagila.”

THE PHOTO SHOOT

There was a portion of the tour in 1991 when Axl would photograph everything. He bought a new camera and really got into photography. He even had a special road case built to hold and protect his new camera. One “photo session” really stands out in my mind.

It was about two in the morning and we were leaving a show. As our limo pulled out of the backstage area Axl saw a pretty woman among the thousands of fans lining the driveway. Uncharacteristically, Axl rolled down his window and asked her if she wanted to come with us back to the hotel. In my years of touring with Guns N’ Roses, that was the only time I can remember him doing that.

Of course, she agreed and jumped in the limo. At the same time the 3,727 other women wanted to follow, so Earl had to put his security hat on and handle the situation. We drove on, unscathed.

After an awkward moment of silence, Axl grabbed his camera. Without a word, he started taking pictures of the girl, and she started smiling for the camera. Innocent poses—really cute stuff.

Axl, a photography enthusiast, admiring his photographs … using binoculars?

Axl continued to take pictures, and she got much more comfortable, and began to really get into it. In fact, all of a sudden she started to pose as if she were doing a
Playboy
shoot.

Robert and I looked at each other and smiled as we pressed as far against our windows as possible so she had more room to get more creative with her poses.

This went on for a few minutes. Axl was just clicking away.
Click, click, click …

For some reason the windows in the limo began to fog up. Maybe it’s because she began to unbutton her shirt.

Axl continued to take more pictures.

Then Robert mouthed to me, “I don’t think there’s any film in the camera.”

I just smiled.

This was 1991, and in 1991 cameras could only take thirty-six pictures at a time using film(!). No digital yet. So while Axl was clicking away, we’re wondering if the woman was going to ask why Axl’s camera was able to take so many pictures without reloading. We figured by now he must have clicked at least 300 pictures.

But no, she continued to lose articles of clothing, and Axl continued clicking away.

I figured she knew exactly what was going on, but just didn’t care. She was in a limo with Axl Rose, and her friends weren’t.

I’m sure she told that story to everyone she knew for years.

RED LION RESTAURANT & BAR, NEW YORK CITY

I’ll probably never be allowed in another Red Lion Bar for the rest of my life after telling this story, but I really don’t care. I don’t drink anymore, so it’s not an issue. Even if I did drink I would never go there again because the bouncers there in the early 1990s were obviously trained to hurt first and ask questions later.

We stayed in a hotel in New York City because for the next three nights Guns N’ Roses would play at the world’s most famous venue, Madison Square Garden. Since I’m originally from New York, I loved that I was going to get a chance to be part of a group playing Madison Square Garden. I would get to go backstage, and stand on the court that Walt Frazier, Willis Reed, Bill Bradley, Dave DeBusschere, and Dick Barnett stood on in 1969 when the New York Knicks won the World Championship.

I had been to the Garden numerous times in my life to watch the Knicks, The Big East Basketball Tournament (I’m a huge Syracuse fan), and to watch the New York Islanders, when they played on the road against the New York Rangers. I hated the New York Rangers, and obviously the bouncers at the Red Lion Restaurant and Bar in Greenwich Village knew that.

Kidding.

Maybe.

Anyway, because I’m from New York I felt I had an obligation to get as many tickets as possible for my family members to come see one of the GNR shows at the Garden.

My parents went to the show, and my aunts went to the show. Yes, forty-five to fifty-five-year-old men and women sat in the first few rows among the head bangers and teenagers who frequented Guns N’ Roses concerts. Just to be safe, I had some of our security guys keep an eye on my family during the concert. The thought of my mom and my aunt slam dancing with a bunch of teenagers was a little too much for me to handle.

We did two shows in a row, and then we had two nights off before the third and final show. On one of the nights off, Robert and I headed into the Village to partake in a few cocktails.

The Village was a favorite place of mine from my college days. There’s a gay community within the Village, and even though I’m straight I fit right in because I had an extensive background in theater. My two mentors throughout college and way into my adult life, Mark Cole and Ron Medici, were both from the theater department. Ron passed away while I was writing this book.

Robert and I took a taxi from our hotel to Bleecker Street—the heart of the Greenwich Village nightclub district. We first went to The Bitter End, a place I had frequented in college and my years after college, and then we hit a few other bars, before we ended up at one of my favorite places, The Red Lion Restaurant and Bar.

By then it was almost four in the morning, so this was going to be our last stop. We had met a couple of new lady friends, and we all were sitting at the bar having one last drink.

The entire night up until this point had been great. A couple of GNR crew guys and a few guys from the band were also on the street as well, and we had all seen each other hopping from bar to bar. It was an awesome evening. But it was time to leave. The lights were turned up in the bar, and the bouncers were asking everyone to grab their belongings and to take the last sips of their drinks. Robert got up to go to the bathroom, and I remained at the bar with our two lady friends until he returned.

People were starting to leave, and a bouncer walked over to where I was standing in the bar area and asked us all to leave.

“Bar’s closed, let’s go,” he barked.

He had a job to do and I understood that, but I wanted to wait for Robert. The streets get packed at four in the morning because everyone spills out into the street from all the bars at the same time.

I will be the first to admit that I probably had a little too much to drink that night. But I also know that I was being singled out because of my hair and my “look.”

Robert and I were on tour with Guns N’ Roses, and after a while, you all start to look like each other because we’re all together 24/7. It’s like a married couple. After about fifteen to twenty years together you start looking like each other. It’s uncanny.

Anyway, Robert and I were pretty much the only guys at the restaurant with really long hair, and we looked like rockers. We had the leather jackets, and we definitely stood out. The Red Lion Restaurant and Bar had more of a preppy crowd. Usually I would have fit in with that crowd, but not while I was touring with Guns N’ Roses. We all dressed a little different.

So the bouncer focused all his attention on me.

“Let’s go, we’re closed,” he said.

“We’re just waiting for my buddy, he’s in the restroom,” I said.

“We’re closed, come on.”

“It’ll just be a minute,” I reiterated. “Can we just wait here?”

Getting in my face, the bouncer said, “I said, let’s go.”

“Dude, there are still tons of people in the bar. I’ll leave when my friend gets out of the bathroom. I don’t know what the big deal is.”

You know how everyone has a trigger button? Well, I had just hit his. He immediately grabbed my arm, violently escorted me out of the bar, and tossed me into the street.

I had seen the “bad guy” get tossed to the pavement in movies and in cartoons, but I never quite knew this took place in real life until that moment.

I was pissed—drunk and pissed off. Not a good combination.

Our two lady friends came out to make sure I was okay. I was. But they knew I was pissed.

The bouncer who threw me out then stationed himself right outside the front entrance of the establishment.

I gave him the evil eye. He shot me the evil eye right back.

It was war, and it was on.

I started pacing back and forth in front of the restaurant, taunting him the entire time.

“You made a huge mistake, buddy.”

He smirked.

“Seriously, dude, huge mistake.”

Stiff as a board. He reminded me of the soldiers that guard Buckingham Palace. They never move, no matter what you say.

“I’m glad I’m not you. I have friends, dude.”

I was saying all the BS that you just don’t say after you’ve been thrown out of a bar. Textbook stuff.

I could see that I was getting to him, though, because other people heard what I was saying to him, and it looked as if he was getting embarrassed by my taunting.

Finally, Robert came out from the restroom and saw that I was pissed.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“You want to know what’s going on?” I replied.

Well, I told Robert, loud enough so that the bouncer would hear my every word.

Pointing: “This guy threw me out of the bar, that’s what’s going on.”

Robert turned to see the bouncer, a six-foot-four, probably 300-pound guy with his arms folded.

I’m sure Robert thought to himself let’s get out of here, because we don’t want any part of that guy.

He tried to reason with me, but it was too late. I had been ridiculed in front of my two lady friends, and the alcohol was really affecting my judgment.

I continued, “There were tons of people still left in the bar, but he wouldn’t let me stay and wait for you, so he threw me out into the street. Didn’t you, Mr. Bouncer Man?”

Again, no movement.

“That’s right, you know I’m right, that’s why you can’t say anything because you know I’m right.”

I was just digging deeper and deeper.

“Isn’t that right?”

Again, no response.

“You’re scared to answer me, aren’t you.”

Nothing.

Finally I said, “You’re an asshole.”