One of my most favorite persons died.
Huh. This thought culminated minutes of not knowing what to say. As with my Paul McCartney moment, Guy was an inspirational charge. He'd get a kick out of things. On one 1976 weekend visit to his Tampa school the three of us went to a Morrison’s Dining Cafeteria with a No Smoking section. The smoke could drift but Guy liked that the business tried something and we were there before the smokers anyway.
When we saw Gentle Giant in the University of South Florida gymnasium, afterward talking about the concert, Guy appeared to show as much joy over the woman behind us yelling, “Your voice is beautiful” to the next band Renaissance’s lead woman singer as he had for all five Gentle Giant members simultaneously leaping over the drum kit and various objects to land at symmetrically placed guitar stands across the front of the stage. Playing. That was something. And Guy had heard they’d been rehearsing the move. That weekend I was invited down from my university to be surprised with the Gentle Giant concert.
The last time I saw Guy was the fall of 1978 and he was immersed in ending his senior year and working live band weekends for midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. While I was a touch manic strangled by my senior thesis and the idea that we should film some music for when a music channel makes it to television. I hadn’t heard anything in the boonies but the talented Tampa committee knew there was something in the works and record companies would control what’s shown. Did I want to take on that struggle? Guy said write it down anyway and I drew up some utopian dribble that was impossible to approach on $10,000 and besides, Rocky Horror was paying the bills. I was just a too tight producer that should have hustled, but that wasn’t the point. Art was.
I’d rather be talking to you, Guy.
^
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