Who The Fuck Is Johnny Thunders

(Written by special request. Here ya go Sue.)

My brother, James, was walking down Haight Street in San Francisco with our boss, Spike (of Spike and Mike's Festival of Animation.) James blinks twice and rubs his eyes, finally accepting that he really does see David Johanson AKA Buster Poindexter AKA the one and only frontman for true architects of punk and saviors of rock and roll, The New York Dolls.

James ducks into a record store in a mad dash. He knows I'm a huge fan and he simply must get me this autograph. He grabs the first Dolls album he finds, pays and is back out on the street in time to catch Johanson. "Excuse me, sir, I hate to bother you but my brother is a HUGE fan of your music. Would you, please, sign this record for him?" and with that James hands over a record sleeve bearing a picture of NY Dolls guitarist Johnny Thunders, with the words 'The New York Dolls featuring' in tiny print above 'Johnny Thunders' written larger than life in a cursive font.

"Johnny Thunders!" Johanson scowls. "Who the fuck is Johnny Thunders?"

James looks at the record for the first time. "Oh! Shit! It was the only record they had. Please!"

The gravel voiced rock star takes the record and signs his name on his dead former bandmate's image. "There ya go kid."

Mission accomplished. That night James is outside Spike's room at The Phoenix Hotel. He'll crash on the couch and drive Spike back to San Diego sometime the next day. The door to the next room opens and outsteps Spike's neighbor du jour, David Johanson. Once his door is locked he turns and comes face to face with my brother. "What the hell?"

"We're staying here. We've been here all week, I mean, my boss has. Really." James is starting to wonder if he can take the grandfather of punk in a fight.

"That's fine kid." and he's gone, off to play some Hot, Hot, Hot and Personality Crisis for some old punks and eager to be hip yuppies at whatever club has booked this night of his never ending tour.

James doesn't figure on seeing him again, but of course he does, at about six am the next morning. The door to Spike's room opens and the sunlight floods in. "God Damn, you people are slobs."

'What the hell is David Johanson, the singer for the New York Dolls doing in my hotel room at six o'clock in the morning?' James is up, Spike is up, and Johanson is continuing his tirade. "You sleep all day and live in filth? Is this what entertainment is all about? Get up. Clean up this shit hole."

"Uh." James blinks in the morning sun. "What do you want?"

"I wasn't gonna leave without saying goodbye. Goodbye." and the man who apparently isn't affected by hotel room door locks wanders off into the morning sun. Many hours later when Spike wakes up again James confirms that he didn't dream it all. That Christmas he gives me one of the coolest presents ever, an autographed New York Dolls record made a thousand times cooler by the great back story. Thanks James. Thanks David Johanson.


More Phoenix/Celebrity encounters

I myself met The Mad Professor at The Phoenix. "I'm a big fan." I told him.
"I'm a big fan of yours too." he replied without missing a beat.

I also met Dave Alvin of the Blasters. He was in SF to play at some church, he was nice and friendly as he explained that he couldn't say where out of respect for the church service.

"Wow, are you guys touring to support your greatest hits cd?" I asked. It was one of my goals in life to see The Blasters, the real Blasters, with both of the frequently feuding Alvin brothers. The Alvin now speaking to me turned mean.
"Kid, I aint played with The Blasters in over ten years." he snapped at me.
"So, no tour?"
He leaned toward me, his famously huge face just inches from mine. "Not if you put a gun to my god... Damn... HEAD!"
My dad took me to see them play a few years later. They were amazing.