Remembering Zechariah

Last Wednesday I got a message that one of my oldest and closest friends had died complications from Hepatitis C. It’s been a year for losses. Les Paul, an old school pal, Eddie Johnson, my sister-in-law, Kathy… It seems like every time I fire up the computer someone I know just died. Zech’s death hit me the hardest, though.

In the past few years his health had been in decline. He was living with his elderly parents in Las Vegas, an atmosphere that was anything but supportive. He’d trashed his body doing physical labor as a cement mason and his immune system was weakened by a bout with cancer in the late ‘70’s that he beat, but he thought that it was during his time in the hospital that he contracted the hepatitis. And he was anything but a candidate for a transplant.

In the last few years it seemed like he was a test subject for what ever drugs his doctors wanted to experiment with. He went through quite a few doctors and I think it took a while for him to get a proper diagnosis. And the drugs affected him in different ways. Zech would call me, usually on Sunday afternoons when his cell phone rates were cheapest and I’d listen to his latest adventures. You were never quite sure what you were going to get. Some conversations would be more coherent then others. And they left me in various states from sadness to hopefulness. He had a fighting spirit and was making plans for the future up until the end.

Another aspect of Zech’s personality was that he was always encouraging and positive, especially encouraging me with my music. He was always glad to hear when I was out playing and told me it was what I should be doing. The other side of that was that he could come down hard on himself. He could be your biggest cheerleader and his own worst critic. The last time we spoke was about two weeks ago. As we finished up the conversation he said something about his doctors giving him another five years to live. The thought that jumped in to my mind was that he wouldn’t be around anywhere near that long. But I had no idea it would be a matter of weeks.

I first met Zech on a trip to Tucson. One summer two friends, Dave and Frank, borrowed another friend’s ’59 Chevy Panel Truck and we went on the road driving from the bay area, to LA, Tucson, The Grand Canyon, Provo, Utah, Yellowstone, Seattle and back down the coast. Zech was the roommate of friends we had in Tucson. A bond was made and we kept in touch. A few years later we re-connected at a wedding and a few years after that, Dave brought him up to Eureka where I was living and we got a house together. That first night we got out the guitars and jammed.

Before long, we heard that we could sing for our supper at a place in Arcata called the International Peasant. Then we found out that not only could we get fed, but we could also get paid at Tomaso’s Tomato Pies in Eureka. That soon became our home base. As the King Salmon Nuke Spooks (believe it or not, at that time, no one could spell “nuke.” It was almost always misspelled “nook”), we became one of three or four ensembles who rotated on Friday and Saturday nights. We added Dan Berkowitz on bass and had occasional guests from other bands. The band name came from the fact that we lived in the village of King Salmon, right next to the Humboldt Bay Nuclear Power Plant. And when he’d been in the army, Dave worked on the electronics of the nuclear arsenal in Germany.

In Eureka, I was a sometime student and janitor, Dave was a fulltime student on the G.I. Bill and Zak had a number of jobs including Special Ed teacher and logger. One of Zech’s nicknames was “Skinner.” He was a skinny guy, anything but the typical lumberjack. He didn’t last long, but he gave his best.

It was a wonderful time to be young. There were many beautiful girls in our lives. Zech attracted many. He was a little pock marked but good looking and charming as could be. And when he sang that voice would just melt their hearts. There were a few he loved and lost that he could have probably settled down with. But that was never to be.

The music carried us. We could be cranky, depressed, over thinking a situation and we’d get together and sing and all of the BS would be gone. We weren’t the greatest band there ever was, but we made magic together. There were times we’d be playing and Zech would throw in a harmony that would make give you goose flesh. There was a spot in the set where he’d play two chords on the guitar back and forth, usually Am7 to Gm7 and he’d improvise lyrics while Dave, Dan and I backed him up throwing in lead licks or vocal fills. That was often the highlight of our show.

The Nuke Spooks were from the CSN school of music, acoustic guitars and harmony singing. Only we rarely worked out our vocal parts. And besides the sensitive singer-songwriter stuff, we played some songs that the Fugs might have found appealing. But it made people laugh and sing along. We never took it that seriously.

The show was arranged where we’d play a dinner set of softer songs, then at 10:00 PM, we’d take all the tables out and stack ‘em outside by the front of the door and play rowdy dance music. Our bass player, Dan also played Sousaphone for the HSU marching band. To begin the dance set we’d go out the side door of the restaurant and walk down the alley playing “When the Saints Go Marching In” entering through the front door and up on the little platform that was our stage.

Another part of our show was the Hoky Poky where we’d sing, “You put your crotch in, you put your crotch out, you put your crotch in and you shake it all about…” And we also played musical chairs where the winner got a pitcher of beer. After a little while we realized that we could rig the results. We tried to be fair, but there were those nights when you thought to yourself, “which one of those girls would I like to see drunk?” and we’d stop the music appropriately.

Zech was the first to leave Humboldt County. I don’t remember the circumstance, but I think he got his heart broke and shipping out was his way of dealing with things. Dave and Dan and I played a few gigs afterwards, but it wasn’t The Nuke Spooks anymore. Dave bought a mandolin and moved to Arizona where he started playing old time string band music, which led him to Celtic music. He’s since become one of the best Celtic Mandolin players on the planet.

Since then our paths crossed. I ended up in Tucson on and off and Zech was living there some of that time. After living in Minneapolis, Dave relocated there too bringing his soon to be bride, Jean, with him. Though we played together from time to time, we never had a band again. Zech had little self-confidence in his abilities as a musician, I wanted to play rock ‘n’ roll and Dave was playing the contra dances.

After a difficult break up, it was my turn to runaway and join the circus. I hooked up with the Elkins, WV band “Trapezoid” and worked for a couple of years as their touring sound-dude, merch peddler and assistant office manager. One tour brought us to Arizona. We were playing up in Tempe and I made sure that Dave and Zech were on the guest list. Only it was real hard to get Zech to go out. So Dave called him up and said, “Let’s go out for a burger.” That was something Zech could relate to. So Dave picked him up and they got to talking and driving and around Casa Grande, Zech turned to Dave and said, “Just where is this burger place were going to?”

It’s interesting to note that Dave used this same ploy to get Zech out of the house (and town) at least two other times!

Zech was Polish. He made Dave and I honorary Polish Brothers. He was proud of that part of his family heritage, even though he rejected a lot of other aspects of it. His parents had a strong influence on him, not always positive. I don’t know the details so I’ll refrain from saying more. One story I do know was that Zech was pressured to play golf as a teenager. By all accounts, he was great at it. Only he hated golf. So he never developed his talent.

One game he was good at and liked was billiards. Besides a little herb dealing he made his way through the University of Arizona as a pool hustler. During our time in Eureka, Zech entered a pool contest in Arcata. We used to have the chart of the matches and the outcomes on our wall. Starting at the bottom of the list he ended up winning it all. During his last match, he cleared the table. His opponent left the bar whining, “He didn’t even give me a chance to shoot.”

Zech was a compassionate soul. He’d help you in any way he could. But if you crossed him, or he felt you burned him, then you no longer existed. He was also psychic. His abilities got strongest right before he started taking medication for his illness while living in Las Vegas. In one instance, he gave a women he knew the numbers that won her a substantial amount of money at a casino. The next time he was in that casino for the buffet, two burley guys escorted him out and told him in no uncertain terms that he was unwelcome there, or any other casino in Vegas. Yes, it was related to the woman’s winnings. How they found out, I never knew.

He was good at predicting things. He predicted things about my partner Laura’s brother’s life that were dead on. He told Laura some thing’s as well that were scary accurate. I’m not sure how to came to be but his doctors diagnosed him with psychosis and the drugs they gave him diminished his gift and he gave up his powers. He wasn’t psychotic, he was psychic. And “Medical Science” doesn’t yet recognize the difference. Yes, they still burn witches in the 21st Century. Only they burn them from the inside out with anti-depressants and mood-altering chemicals. Living in Las Vegas he didn’t have a support network he could trust to practice his gift openly. And he suffered for it.

He could be one of the funniest people, too. There were things he said that I’ll never forget. Little one liners, comments, descriptions. Some I could write, others I shouldn’t use in polite company. I could go on with Zech stories. But I’ll save them for another time. I regret that I didn’t get to say goodbye. I couldn’t get to Las Vegas in time for the services and the last time I talked to him, I thought there’d be another chance.

I’ll miss those weird Sunday phone calls, his laugh, but most of all his voice soaring along with mine. One night Zech and I sang with Belle Weil, a dear friend and one of Zech’s loves at a little restaurant/bar in Arcata. I played guitar and there was an amazing bassist and drummer backing us up. We played “Wooden Ships.” We sang that song like a prayer, like our lives depended on it. CSN or Jefferson Airplane couldn’t hold a candle to us that night. Those are the moments I’ll forever keep in my heart when I think of Zech.

I’ll miss you, my Polish Brother. God Speed.