Scotty Hard, aka, Broadway Sol Goodman, aka The Mag, aka My Best Man.
I searched high and low for this photo, which he sent me last year. I was fortunate enough to be able to speak to him today. He has topped my heart attack, and once again, captured the hearts and minds of a few generations of incredibly wonderful and cool people.
We are all pulling for you, brother, at this time.
29 years ago, this high school kid came up to me at an AKA gig at the laundromat with the Subhumans, with his brother Mike. We helped get him into the Commodore to see Captain Beefheart and AKA, even though he was under-age. And a few months down the road into one of those years, so many years ago, he became my musical writing partner, and best friend of all time. Which is not to belittle any of my other "best" friends, but Scotty Hard, as he became known later, was and is the guy that Susan Fiedler says should be giving the course on how to be a best friend.
Scott played with me in Rhythm Mission for 9 years and we formed the Jazzmanian Devils one night in Nancy Smith's apartment watching Creepshow (episode The Crate). We traveled across this great land many times in a cramped van with many other charmed musical icons.
Sgt. Dad and the KFC in Calgary, the night in the emergency room after Scott lay down on his hotel bed at the National, and cut his arm open on the broken glass left by the previous guest, the night in Regina when he forgot his gear at the club, Pony Hips- nickname he developed for magical way he danced across the stage playing the Snake Guitar, more booze consumed than one could humanly think possible, ( We called ourselves The Hardest Drinking Band in Show Business), and while, not technically true, the abuse was more than needed, and always what we wanted, the goodbye party we had for him in Vancouver when I had to let him go to NYC to pursue his dreams.....Like yesterday.
The day I finally convinced the love of my life to marry me there was only one choice to be my best man. My best man, my best buddy, was there for me. The day of the stag party must be told. We awoke in Whistler about 5 am by Madeleine Morris, who wanted to get back home, and had the car to take us there. Never mind that we had just got to sleep from a night of music and mayhem, when Mad wanted to go, she went. So we went too. And when we arrived in Vancouver, we got a call from the rest of the band saying that the keys to the Van were in Finn's coat, and well, Finn was now in Vancouver, so Scott and I had to drive back to Whistler to give the rest of the band the keys to get themselves and the gear home.
Now Scott could not drive in those days, so I drove the Le Baron with Scotty by my side back to Whistler, gave the maggots the keys and then we drove back. I kept nodding off from exhaustion, as Scott would try to keep me awake. We actually hit the curb coming around the bend in Stanley Park into Vancouver, which woke me up, and we arrived "safely" home. I then slept for a few hours, then got up to go to an Italian restaurant in East Van for the start of my stag. Highlights include the famous pictorial created by Michael Turner and Skully Goodman (Ike Eidsness) of Lester B, in various stages of flagrant indelecto, a cut and paste smear job that will never see the light of day. We proceeded to the Penthouse and then on to the back room of the Railway. I ended up on the roof of the Manhattan feeling fine, waking the next day to the dry heaves. The pain we endure prior to the bonds of holy matrimony.
Through it all, BSG-Scott, was by my side. In May we turned back the clock for a week, and he put me on the plane to Atlanta, where the heart attack I had started in NY, was diagnosed. My bad. A genetic accident waiting to happen, I didn't need the push, I would have found the way there no matter what. It was only a question of time. Needless to say, Scotty felt horrible that this had happened on his watch; I assured him from the start that there was no blame, only love.
He was, is, and will always be my best buddy and friend, and f- anyone who says different.