August 29, 2013
It was exactly 46 years ago today, that my girlfriend, Angela McKay, called me at my parents home, to inform me that her cousin, and my close friend had blown his brains out at her brother, 'Mac' John McKay's summer rental on the sand at Hermosa Beach.
I drove to my best friend, Ed Lutz, on Menlo, just North of Broadway in Hawthorne, in my 57 Chevy wagon, we talked about it, and for some reason, decided to drive over to Steve Rush'es parents home to talk to Steve. Steve was the lead guitar player in a band in which I drummed, called the Barons. As we pulled in, there was Gary Gorman, Warrens younger brother who we used to call 'Pud" just to bug him. I remembered, now, that Gary had been dating Steves younger sister, Pam.
I went to Steve's parents, and told his father about the call I had received from his cousin, Angela, a few hours earlier. He called Gary, and told him his parents had called , and wanted him to come home. Gary smiled back at us as he turned from the driveway onto the sidewalk and headed home. I recall thinking that his world would change, when he arrived at his home, near the top of 131 st. Street in Hawthorne, on the East side of Hawthorne Blvd.
Within a week his father, Herbert Gorman, was on the George Putnam's show, reporting "ya George, it was drugs that did it".. I had to snort.
He did not mention the fact, from his humble North Carolina beginnings, he had married Helen, Warren's mother, and mother to older brothers, Phillip, Larry, and younger brother Gary but later married Helen's sister, Christine, also from North Carolina, who lost her husband John McKay, in a railway accident. Christine married Herbert, shortly after he divorced Helen.
I remember, however, with clarity, the night I stayed over at the house on 131st St. Herbert was going to take us to the beach to go surfing the next day. We did need to pick up my surfboard from my house on 118th St. After dinner Herbert gave Warren the keys, to start his station wagon, down on the dirt driveway. When Herbert and I walked down the path to the driveway, we were met by the neighbor, who said "Herb, I would appreciate it if your kids did not rev the engine, while in your driveway". Sure, he replied, then in an act to show the neighbor he was serious, he ordered Warren to go in the house. He would not go with us to pick up my surfboard. This seemed to really piss off Herbert.
As Herb looked over his right shoulder, to the rear, to back up the station wagon, he muttered disparaging remarks about Warren, and I could smell the thick scent of alcohol on his breath. We drove about 1/2 block, towards Hawthorne Blvd. when Herbert suddenly stopped muttering, became enraged, threw it into reverse, and backed up to the driveway and pulled in. 'Wait here, I'll be right back' he said. Then I watched him walk up to the house. I knew this was not good.
Sure enough, within minutes I heard wild screams from Warren, as Herbert worked out his social embarrassment on Warren's body. I felt helpless to help him, and hated Herbert.
Herbert climbed back into the wagon to make the 7 minuite trip to my house, but I remained silent. It was very awkward. I thought, I don't really care that much about surfing. Nevertheless he did take us to the beach the next day.
A few years later, watching Herbert on the George Putnam news, blaming drugs, as the reason for his son's self destruction. I had to laugh.
Godspeed, my friend Warren.
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