The Phoenix Hotel, San Francisco

When I Say I'm In Love, You Best Believe I'm In Love L U V

My brother, James, was walking down Haight Street in San Francisco with our boss, Spike (of Spike and Mike's Festival of Animation.) James blinked twice and rubbed his eyes before finally accepting that he really was seeing David Johansen AKA Buster Poindexter, the one and only frontman for the architects of punk and glam, the saviors of rock and roll, The New York Dolls in front of him casually window shopping.

James ducked into the nearest record store in a mad dash. He knows I'm a huge fan and he was determined to get me this autograph. He grabbed the first Dolls album he found, paid and was back on the street in time to catch Johansen. "Excuse me, sir” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I hate to bother you but my brother is a HUGE fan of your music. Would you, please, sign this record for him?"

"Johnny Thunders!" Johansen scowled. "Who the fuck is Johnny Thunders?"

James took a good look at the record for the first time. The words 'The New York Dolls featuring Johnny Thunders' were printed over an image of NY Doll’s guitarist Johnny Thunders on stage. "Oh shit! Sorry, it was the only Dolls record they had. Please?"

The gravel voiced rock star took the record and signed his name over his deceased former bandmate's image. "There ya go kid."

Mission accomplished. James would definitely win Christmas that year. That night he was outside Spike's room at The Phoenix Hotel, a place known for housing the kind of musicians and artists who made more critic’s choice lists than best seller lists. He would crash in Spike’s room and drive him back to San Diego the next morning. The door of the room next to Spike’s opened and, to James’ absolute amazement, out stepped David Johansen. The rocker locked his door and as he turned to leave he suddenly found himself face to face with my brother, again.

"What the hell?"

“We're staying here. We've been here all week, I mean, my boss has, really. I stay at a cheaper hotel mostly but I’m gonna crash on his couch tonight. I’m not stalking you." James started to wonder if he’d be able to take the grandfather of punk in a fight.

"That's fine kid." and David Johansen disappeared into the San Francisco night to play some Hot Hot Hot and Personality Crisis for aging punks, and SF Hipsters.

James didn't figure on seeing him again as they’d pack up and leave before check out the next morning. At 6am the door to Spike's room opened letting the sunlight flood in. "God Damn, you people are slobs!" James opened his eyes to the site of the lead singer of The New York Dolls standing in his boss’ hotel room berating him in his signature growl of a voice. "You sleep all day and live in this filth? Is this what entertainment is all about? Jesus Christ, Get up and clean up this shit hole."

"Uh..." James blinked in the morning sun. "What do you want, David Johansen?"

The rock star smiled. "I wasn't gonna leave without saying goodbye. Goodbye." and then he was gone. Many hours later when Spike woke up again James confirmed that he didn't dream it all. That Christmas I got one of the coolest presents I’ve ever received, an autographed New York Dolls record made a thousand times cooler by the great back story. Thanks James. Thanks David Johansen.