sandmansister: (Scribble)
The nightmares stopped years and years ago, but there's still a hole in my heart that will never heal. Sure, other friends have come into my life and Grinch-like made my heart bigger so I could love them all, but that doesn't change the fact that my friend Scott is gone.

Can't believe it's been 20 years.

Don't know how I'm going to get through typing this post, but I have to. I don't know if anyone besides [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills and I remember, but I feel like someone has to mark the time, to somehow immortalize someone taken from us all too soon.

I know [livejournal.com profile] apocalypticbob can relate.

Loss is part of life. This isn't news. I have lost loved ones due to age, illness, accident, and suicide. They're all tragic—every one. I mourn. I grieve. But there's a pathology to losing someone to murder that makes healing exponentially different (if not outright impossible).

I've posted about him before, my sweet Scooter, trying to capture the bits and pieces of time when our lives intersected. All my photo albums are in storage; I'm hoping Jacque can track down a picture. I have an urgent need to see his face again.

I don't know if it was because I was just 19 when we met—such a drastic time of change in my life—that helped that time of my life make such an indelible mark on me. I was just starting to figure out who I wanted to be. No, that's not quite right. I was starting to see what was actually possible. Scott—my Scooter—was a big part of that. Hell, everyone that lived upstairs in those apartments on Oram was a big part of that, and I'm eternally grateful. Paula, Stace, Jennifer, Danny, Scott and Martha, Mark, and (heaven help me) Shawn.

Anytime I'm driving late at night in Dallas, I almost instantly feel like I'm back then/there—crazy nights when my blood boiled and I couldn't stay inside;I had to drive or die (or so it seemed). I just needed an open sun roof, air on my face and something good on the radio. Under the sodium glow of the street lights I could breathe again, like a shark needs to keep moving to stay alive.

I've mostly forced myself out of the habit of looking for him when I go to a show. It wasn't as extreme as Shawn where I'd miss him badly enough and he'd manifest, but I'd wonder how Scooter was doing and within a brief span of time I'd run into him at Clearview or Trees. It's a sucker punch to the solar plexus every time I realize I'll never see him again, all because some dumb ass dropped a couple hits of acid, freaked out and shot my friend thirteen times.

Aaaaand here we go. It's still so fresh in so many ways. I will never be completely out of tears to cry over this. They're not as debilitating or frequent, but they still flow easily.

Twenty years. It hardly seems possible.

I love and miss you still, Scooter. I haven't forgotten you. I never will.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

JULY 13, 1991

Grandson of ex-Baylor president among 2 fatally shot

Author: From Staff and Wire Reports

Edition: HOME FINAL
Section: NEWS
Page: 31A

Article Text:

A grandson of former Baylor University president Abner McCall was one of two Dallas residents shot to death early Friday in an attack at a San Marcos apartment complex.

A third person was critically wounded.

The dead were identified as Andrea L. Reynolds and Richard Scott Martin, both 20. Mr. Martin, a Baylor University journalism student, was Dr. McCall's grandson. He was shot 13 times with a .22-caliber semiautomatic rifle, authorities said. "It's just a young life cut short by a terrible tragedy,' said Nelwyn Reagan, a friend of the McCall family's who was answering the telephone Friday night at their Waco home.

A 23-year-old Southwest Texas State University student was arrested in connection with the shooting spree.

Todd Carman, a senior psychology major from Spring, was charged with capital murder and attempted murder. Justice of the Peace Macel Sullivan set bail at $50,000 on the attempted murder charge and denied bail! on the capital charge.

Travis County Medical Examiner Roberto Bayardo said Mr. Martin was shot 13 times and Ms. Reynolds three times.

The wounded woman, Shannon L. Roeder, 21, of San Marcos, was in guarded condition in the intensive care unit of Central Texas Medical Center, a hospital spokesman said.

Ms. Roeder, a junior at Southwest Texas State, underwent surgery for a neck wound.

Police said all three victims were found in the living room of an apartment that Mr. Carman and Ms. Roeder shared.

Mr. Carman remained jailed as authorities tried to determine the motive for the shootings.

Mr. Martin's mother last saw him Thursday night, when he dined with her and Dr. McCall in Waco. He left for San Marcos about 9 p.m. "All we know is he got to San Marcos about midnight,' Ms. Reagan said.

Ms. Reagan said police knew little about the shooting. Mr. Martin and Ms. Reynolds apparently were visiting San Marcos because she was considering enrolling in college there, Ms. Reagan said. -

1991 Copyright The Dallas Morning News Company
Record Number: 07*13*DAL1208371
sandmansister: (Scribble)
The nightmares stopped years and years ago, but there's still a hole in my heart that will never heal. Sure, other friends have come into my life and Grinch-like made my heart bigger so I could love them all, but that doesn't change the fact that my friend Scott is gone.

Can't believe it's been 20 years.

Don't know how I'm going to get through typing this post, but I have to. I don't know if anyone besides [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills and I remember, but I feel like someone has to mark the time, to somehow immortalize someone taken from us all too soon.

I know [livejournal.com profile] apocalypticbob can relate.

Loss is part of life. This isn't news. I have lost loved ones due to age, illness, accident, and suicide. They're all tragic—every one. I mourn. I grieve. But there's a pathology to losing someone to murder that makes healing exponentially different (if not outright impossible).

I've posted about him before, my sweet Scooter, trying to capture the bits and pieces of time when our lives intersected. All my photo albums are in storage; I'm hoping Jacque can track down a picture. I have an urgent need to see his face again.

I don't know if it was because I was just 19 when we met—such a drastic time of change in my life—that helped that time of my life make such an indelible mark on me. I was just starting to figure out who I wanted to be. No, that's not quite right. I was starting to see what was actually possible. Scott—my Scooter—was a big part of that. Hell, everyone that lived upstairs in those apartments on Oram was a big part of that, and I'm eternally grateful. Paula, Stace, Jennifer, Danny, Scott and Martha, Mark, and (heaven help me) Shawn.

Anytime I'm driving late at night in Dallas, I almost instantly feel like I'm back then/there—crazy nights when my blood boiled and I couldn't stay inside;I had to drive or die (or so it seemed). I just needed an open sun roof, air on my face and something good on the radio. Under the sodium glow of the street lights I could breathe again, like a shark needs to keep moving to stay alive.

I've mostly forced myself out of the habit of looking for him when I go to a show. It wasn't as extreme as Shawn where I'd miss him badly enough and he'd manifest, but I'd wonder how Scooter was doing and within a brief span of time I'd run into him at Clearview or Trees. It's a sucker punch to the solar plexus every time I realize I'll never see him again, all because some dumb ass dropped a couple hits of acid, freaked out and shot my friend thirteen times.

Aaaaand here we go. It's still so fresh in so many ways. I will never be completely out of tears to cry over this. They're not as debilitating or frequent, but they still flow easily.

Twenty years. It hardly seems possible.

I love and miss you still, Scooter. I haven't forgotten you. I never will.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

JULY 13, 1991

Grandson of ex-Baylor president among 2 fatally shot

Author: From Staff and Wire Reports

Edition: HOME FINAL
Section: NEWS
Page: 31A

Article Text:

A grandson of former Baylor University president Abner McCall was one of two Dallas residents shot to death early Friday in an attack at a San Marcos apartment complex.

A third person was critically wounded.

The dead were identified as Andrea L. Reynolds and Richard Scott Martin, both 20. Mr. Martin, a Baylor University journalism student, was Dr. McCall's grandson. He was shot 13 times with a .22-caliber semiautomatic rifle, authorities said. "It's just a young life cut short by a terrible tragedy,' said Nelwyn Reagan, a friend of the McCall family's who was answering the telephone Friday night at their Waco home.

A 23-year-old Southwest Texas State University student was arrested in connection with the shooting spree.

Todd Carman, a senior psychology major from Spring, was charged with capital murder and attempted murder. Justice of the Peace Macel Sullivan set bail at $50,000 on the attempted murder charge and denied bail! on the capital charge.

Travis County Medical Examiner Roberto Bayardo said Mr. Martin was shot 13 times and Ms. Reynolds three times.

The wounded woman, Shannon L. Roeder, 21, of San Marcos, was in guarded condition in the intensive care unit of Central Texas Medical Center, a hospital spokesman said.

Ms. Roeder, a junior at Southwest Texas State, underwent surgery for a neck wound.

Police said all three victims were found in the living room of an apartment that Mr. Carman and Ms. Roeder shared.

Mr. Carman remained jailed as authorities tried to determine the motive for the shootings.

Mr. Martin's mother last saw him Thursday night, when he dined with her and Dr. McCall in Waco. He left for San Marcos about 9 p.m. "All we know is he got to San Marcos about midnight,' Ms. Reagan said.

Ms. Reagan said police knew little about the shooting. Mr. Martin and Ms. Reynolds apparently were visiting San Marcos because she was considering enrolling in college there, Ms. Reagan said. -

1991 Copyright The Dallas Morning News Company
Record Number: 07*13*DAL1208371
sandmansister: (Scribble)
The nightmares stopped years and years ago, but there's still a hole in my heart that will never heal. Sure, other friends have come into my life and Grinch-like made my heart bigger so I could love them all, but that doesn't change the fact that my friend Scott is gone.

Can't believe it's been 20 years.

Don't know how I'm going to get through typing this post, but I have to. I don't know if anyone besides [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills and I remember, but I feel like someone has to mark the time, to somehow immortalize someone taken from us all too soon.

I know [livejournal.com profile] apocalypticbob can relate.

Loss is part of life. This isn't news. I have lost loved ones due to age, illness, accident, and suicide. They're all tragic—every one. I mourn. I grieve. But there's a pathology to losing someone to murder that makes healing exponentially different (if not outright impossible).

I've posted about him before, my sweet Scooter, trying to capture the bits and pieces of time when our lives intersected. All my photo albums are in storage; I'm hoping Jacque can track down a picture. I have an urgent need to see his face again.

I don't know if it was because I was just 19 when we met—such a drastic time of change in my life—that helped that time of my life make such an indelible mark on me. I was just starting to figure out who I wanted to be. No, that's not quite right. I was starting to see what was actually possible. Scott—my Scooter—was a big part of that. Hell, everyone that lived upstairs in those apartments on Oram was a big part of that, and I'm eternally grateful. Paula, Stace, Jennifer, Danny, Scott and Martha, Mark, and (heaven help me) Shawn.

Anytime I'm driving late at night in Dallas, I almost instantly feel like I'm back then/there—crazy nights when my blood boiled and I couldn't stay inside;I had to drive or die (or so it seemed). I just needed an open sun roof, air on my face and something good on the radio. Under the sodium glow of the street lights I could breathe again, like a shark needs to keep moving to stay alive.

I've mostly forced myself out of the habit of looking for him when I go to a show. It wasn't as extreme as Shawn where I'd miss him badly enough and he'd manifest, but I'd wonder how Scooter was doing and within a brief span of time I'd run into him at Clearview or Trees. It's a sucker punch to the solar plexus every time I realize I'll never see him again, all because some dumb ass dropped a couple hits of acid, freaked out and shot my friend thirteen times.

Aaaaand here we go. It's still so fresh in so many ways. I will never be completely out of tears to cry over this. They're not as debilitating or frequent, but they still flow easily.

Twenty years. It hardly seems possible.

I love and miss you still, Scooter. I haven't forgotten you. I never will.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

JULY 13, 1991

Grandson of ex-Baylor president among 2 fatally shot

Author: From Staff and Wire Reports

Edition: HOME FINAL
Section: NEWS
Page: 31A

Article Text:

A grandson of former Baylor University president Abner McCall was one of two Dallas residents shot to death early Friday in an attack at a San Marcos apartment complex.

A third person was critically wounded.

The dead were identified as Andrea L. Reynolds and Richard Scott Martin, both 20. Mr. Martin, a Baylor University journalism student, was Dr. McCall's grandson. He was shot 13 times with a .22-caliber semiautomatic rifle, authorities said. "It's just a young life cut short by a terrible tragedy,' said Nelwyn Reagan, a friend of the McCall family's who was answering the telephone Friday night at their Waco home.

A 23-year-old Southwest Texas State University student was arrested in connection with the shooting spree.

Todd Carman, a senior psychology major from Spring, was charged with capital murder and attempted murder. Justice of the Peace Macel Sullivan set bail at $50,000 on the attempted murder charge and denied bail! on the capital charge.

Travis County Medical Examiner Roberto Bayardo said Mr. Martin was shot 13 times and Ms. Reynolds three times.

The wounded woman, Shannon L. Roeder, 21, of San Marcos, was in guarded condition in the intensive care unit of Central Texas Medical Center, a hospital spokesman said.

Ms. Roeder, a junior at Southwest Texas State, underwent surgery for a neck wound.

Police said all three victims were found in the living room of an apartment that Mr. Carman and Ms. Roeder shared.

Mr. Carman remained jailed as authorities tried to determine the motive for the shootings.

Mr. Martin's mother last saw him Thursday night, when he dined with her and Dr. McCall in Waco. He left for San Marcos about 9 p.m. "All we know is he got to San Marcos about midnight,' Ms. Reagan said.

Ms. Reagan said police knew little about the shooting. Mr. Martin and Ms. Reynolds apparently were visiting San Marcos because she was considering enrolling in college there, Ms. Reagan said. -

1991 Copyright The Dallas Morning News Company
Record Number: 07*13*DAL1208371
sandmansister: (Scribble)
The nightmares stopped years and years ago, but there's still a hole in my heart that will never heal. Sure, other friends have come into my life and Grinch-like made my heart bigger so I could love them all, but that doesn't change the fact that my friend Scott is gone.

Can't believe it's been 20 years.

Don't know how I'm going to get through typing this post, but I have to. I don't know if anyone besides [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills and I remember, but I feel like someone has to mark the time, to somehow immortalize someone taken from us all too soon.

I know [livejournal.com profile] apocalypticbob can relate.

Loss is part of life. This isn't news. I have lost loved ones due to age, illness, accident, and suicide. They're all tragic—every one. I mourn. I grieve. But there's a pathology to losing someone to murder that makes healing exponentially different (if not outright impossible).

I've posted about him before, my sweet Scooter, trying to capture the bits and pieces of time when our lives intersected. All my photo albums are in storage; I'm hoping Jacque can track down a picture. I have an urgent need to see his face again.

I don't know if it was because I was just 19 when we met—such a drastic time of change in my life—that helped that time of my life make such an indelible mark on me. I was just starting to figure out who I wanted to be. No, that's not quite right. I was starting to see what was actually possible. Scott—my Scooter—was a big part of that. Hell, everyone that lived upstairs in those apartments on Oram was a big part of that, and I'm eternally grateful. Paula, Stace, Jennifer, Danny, Scott and Martha, Mark, and (heaven help me) Shawn.

Anytime I'm driving late at night in Dallas, I almost instantly feel like I'm back then/there—crazy nights when my blood boiled and I couldn't stay inside;I had to drive or die (or so it seemed). I just needed an open sun roof, air on my face and something good on the radio. Under the sodium glow of the street lights I could breathe again, like a shark needs to keep moving to stay alive.

I've mostly forced myself out of the habit of looking for him when I go to a show. It wasn't as extreme as Shawn where I'd miss him badly enough and he'd manifest, but I'd wonder how Scooter was doing and within a brief span of time I'd run into him at Clearview or Trees. It's a sucker punch to the solar plexus every time I realize I'll never see him again, all because some dumb ass dropped a couple hits of acid, freaked out and shot my friend thirteen times.

Aaaaand here we go. It's still so fresh in so many ways. I will never be completely out of tears to cry over this. They're not as debilitating or frequent, but they still flow easily.

Twenty years. It hardly seems possible.

I love and miss you still, Scooter. I haven't forgotten you. I never will.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

JULY 13, 1991

Grandson of ex-Baylor president among 2 fatally shot

Author: From Staff and Wire Reports

Edition: HOME FINAL
Section: NEWS
Page: 31A

Article Text:

A grandson of former Baylor University president Abner McCall was one of two Dallas residents shot to death early Friday in an attack at a San Marcos apartment complex.

A third person was critically wounded.

The dead were identified as Andrea L. Reynolds and Richard Scott Martin, both 20. Mr. Martin, a Baylor University journalism student, was Dr. McCall's grandson. He was shot 13 times with a .22-caliber semiautomatic rifle, authorities said. "It's just a young life cut short by a terrible tragedy,' said Nelwyn Reagan, a friend of the McCall family's who was answering the telephone Friday night at their Waco home.

A 23-year-old Southwest Texas State University student was arrested in connection with the shooting spree.

Todd Carman, a senior psychology major from Spring, was charged with capital murder and attempted murder. Justice of the Peace Macel Sullivan set bail at $50,000 on the attempted murder charge and denied bail! on the capital charge.

Travis County Medical Examiner Roberto Bayardo said Mr. Martin was shot 13 times and Ms. Reynolds three times.

The wounded woman, Shannon L. Roeder, 21, of San Marcos, was in guarded condition in the intensive care unit of Central Texas Medical Center, a hospital spokesman said.

Ms. Roeder, a junior at Southwest Texas State, underwent surgery for a neck wound.

Police said all three victims were found in the living room of an apartment that Mr. Carman and Ms. Roeder shared.

Mr. Carman remained jailed as authorities tried to determine the motive for the shootings.

Mr. Martin's mother last saw him Thursday night, when he dined with her and Dr. McCall in Waco. He left for San Marcos about 9 p.m. "All we know is he got to San Marcos about midnight,' Ms. Reagan said.

Ms. Reagan said police knew little about the shooting. Mr. Martin and Ms. Reynolds apparently were visiting San Marcos because she was considering enrolling in college there, Ms. Reagan said. -

1991 Copyright The Dallas Morning News Company
Record Number: 07*13*DAL1208371
sandmansister: (Music lover)
It's been too long between substantial posts. Work, faire, life... they all conspire. But until I find brain space to update, I have a story to tell.

You see, I am a very fortunate girl who knows and loves amazing people. Fortunately, most of them return the sentiment and I get to have amazing experiences because of it.

On Friday, April 29th, I got to go to a private, back yard concert by Tish Hinojosa. She's a Latina singer/songwriter and of course, Jimmy was the one who introduced me to her. It's not my usual, but he taught me to appreciate the simple, true-to-life stories and heartfelt Tejana style.



He's been gone since February of 2004, but as Leslie so rightly pointed out, he still throws a great party. Here's the back-story:

Jimmy purchased the domain name "Tish.com" to put up a fan site, but never felt his offerings were worthy of publishing on the interwebs (as if!). So when it came up for renewal, someone else wanted to purchase it. Judy (Jimmy's mom) received the request and didn't feel right about letting it go without notifying Tish first.

Judy reached out through Tish's Web site and received a reply back. Of course she remembered Jimmy; he came to every Dallas show and always had a doll from his travels for her daughter. Tish was very upset to hear of his passing, and honored to know that A Song for the Journey was the closing song played at his memorial. She was going to be in Texas at the end of April and offered a private concert for Jimmy's friends.

I wish I had words for the experience. I am still processing the mix of emotions. The music was perfection - Texas songs under the stars on a warm Spring evening. Candle light. Good beer. Dear friends, and the notable absence of the one who brought us together.

It's so fitting that a performer on Tish's level remembers Jimmy. His passion for music (and, really, all of life) made him shine so brightly. What a wonderful confirmation for us who know and love him—yes, present tense usage is intentional—to realize that his special way of interacting with the world was noticeable and memorable to someone who meets so many people across the world.



Then there were the reunions. I haven't seen Jo since... Lordy, I don't know when. His memorial, maybe? That's a damn shame. But the hugs and laughter picked up as if no time had passed. I'd seen Shawn once or twice and we've kept in touch online, but I couldn't stop hugging him! I got lost in the hug, in fact. Time stopped and I cried. Sorrow of loss? Joy of reuniting? Both.

Chris, too. I will never forget the Von Ehrics show right after Jimmy died. It was my birthday and I decided to drown sorrows in a rockabilly show, not knowing my beloved Chris was the drummer. We couldn't stop hugging that night, either. Just a couple of schmoobly idiots grinning and snuggling in the middle of a mosh pit.

And let's not get started on his sister Carol. She hasn't changed one iota. It's unnatural. Jo & I agreed that she's luring virgins and sacrificing them in her basement. She just giggled and smiled. Wicked creature (and I love her for it)!








That night was also the first Red Star Reunion. See, Lesa & Leslie adopted a star for Jimmy. It rises on his birthday and is high overhead when he left us. They got star tattoos (in red, because if Jimmy were a color it would be passionate and vibrant red) to commemorate. Shawn did, too. And later, Judy & I joined the ranks.



It sounds like a pretty simple story, but if you could hear the music and love behind the lame words... I'll never forget the experience, and the people who shared it with me.
sandmansister: (Music lover)
It's been too long between substantial posts. Work, faire, life... they all conspire. But until I find brain space to update, I have a story to tell.

You see, I am a very fortunate girl who knows and loves amazing people. Fortunately, most of them return the sentiment and I get to have amazing experiences because of it.

On Friday, April 29th, I got to go to a private, back yard concert by Tish Hinojosa. She's a Latina singer/songwriter and of course, Jimmy was the one who introduced me to her. It's not my usual, but he taught me to appreciate the simple, true-to-life stories and heartfelt Tejana style.



He's been gone since February of 2004, but as Leslie so rightly pointed out, he still throws a great party. Here's the back-story:

Jimmy purchased the domain name "Tish.com" to put up a fan site, but never felt his offerings were worthy of publishing on the interwebs (as if!). So when it came up for renewal, someone else wanted to purchase it. Judy (Jimmy's mom) received the request and didn't feel right about letting it go without notifying Tish first.

Judy reached out through Tish's Web site and received a reply back. Of course she remembered Jimmy; he came to every Dallas show and always had a doll from his travels for her daughter. Tish was very upset to hear of his passing, and honored to know that A Song for the Journey was the closing song played at his memorial. She was going to be in Texas at the end of April and offered a private concert for Jimmy's friends.

I wish I had words for the experience. I am still processing the mix of emotions. The music was perfection - Texas songs under the stars on a warm Spring evening. Candle light. Good beer. Dear friends, and the notable absence of the one who brought us together.

It's so fitting that a performer on Tish's level remembers Jimmy. His passion for music (and, really, all of life) made him shine so brightly. What a wonderful confirmation for us who know and love him—yes, present tense usage is intentional—to realize that his special way of interacting with the world was noticeable and memorable to someone who meets so many people across the world.



Then there were the reunions. I haven't seen Jo since... Lordy, I don't know when. His memorial, maybe? That's a damn shame. But the hugs and laughter picked up as if no time had passed. I'd seen Shawn once or twice and we've kept in touch online, but I couldn't stop hugging him! I got lost in the hug, in fact. Time stopped and I cried. Sorrow of loss? Joy of reuniting? Both.

Chris, too. I will never forget the Von Ehrics show right after Jimmy died. It was my birthday and I decided to drown sorrows in a rockabilly show, not knowing my beloved Chris was the drummer. We couldn't stop hugging that night, either. Just a couple of schmoobly idiots grinning and snuggling in the middle of a mosh pit.

And let's not get started on his sister Carol. She hasn't changed one iota. It's unnatural. Jo & I agreed that she's luring virgins and sacrificing them in her basement. She just giggled and smiled. Wicked creature (and I love her for it)!








That night was also the first Red Star Reunion. See, Lesa & Leslie adopted a star for Jimmy. It rises on his birthday and is high overhead when he left us. They got star tattoos (in red, because if Jimmy were a color it would be passionate and vibrant red) to commemorate. Shawn did, too. And later, Judy & I joined the ranks.



It sounds like a pretty simple story, but if you could hear the music and love behind the lame words... I'll never forget the experience, and the people who shared it with me.
sandmansister: (Music lover)
It's been too long between substantial posts. Work, faire, life... they all conspire. But until I find brain space to update, I have a story to tell.

You see, I am a very fortunate girl who knows and loves amazing people. Fortunately, most of them return the sentiment and I get to have amazing experiences because of it.

On Friday, April 29th, I got to go to a private, back yard concert by Tish Hinojosa. She's a Latina singer/songwriter and of course, Jimmy was the one who introduced me to her. It's not my usual, but he taught me to appreciate the simple, true-to-life stories and heartfelt Tejana style.



He's been gone since February of 2004, but as Leslie so rightly pointed out, he still throws a great party. Here's the back-story:

Jimmy purchased the domain name "Tish.com" to put up a fan site, but never felt his offerings were worthy of publishing on the interwebs (as if!). So when it came up for renewal, someone else wanted to purchase it. Judy (Jimmy's mom) received the request and didn't feel right about letting it go without notifying Tish first.

Judy reached out through Tish's Web site and received a reply back. Of course she remembered Jimmy; he came to every Dallas show and always had a doll from his travels for her daughter. Tish was very upset to hear of his passing, and honored to know that A Song for the Journey was the closing song played at his memorial. She was going to be in Texas at the end of April and offered a private concert for Jimmy's friends.

I wish I had words for the experience. I am still processing the mix of emotions. The music was perfection - Texas songs under the stars on a warm Spring evening. Candle light. Good beer. Dear friends, and the notable absence of the one who brought us together.

It's so fitting that a performer on Tish's level remembers Jimmy. His passion for music (and, really, all of life) made him shine so brightly. What a wonderful confirmation for us who know and love him—yes, present tense usage is intentional—to realize that his special way of interacting with the world was noticeable and memorable to someone who meets so many people across the world.



Then there were the reunions. I haven't seen Jo since... Lordy, I don't know when. His memorial, maybe? That's a damn shame. But the hugs and laughter picked up as if no time had passed. I'd seen Shawn once or twice and we've kept in touch online, but I couldn't stop hugging him! I got lost in the hug, in fact. Time stopped and I cried. Sorrow of loss? Joy of reuniting? Both.

Chris, too. I will never forget the Von Ehrics show right after Jimmy died. It was my birthday and I decided to drown sorrows in a rockabilly show, not knowing my beloved Chris was the drummer. We couldn't stop hugging that night, either. Just a couple of schmoobly idiots grinning and snuggling in the middle of a mosh pit.

And let's not get started on his sister Carol. She hasn't changed one iota. It's unnatural. Jo & I agreed that she's luring virgins and sacrificing them in her basement. She just giggled and smiled. Wicked creature (and I love her for it)!








That night was also the first Red Star Reunion. See, Lesa & Leslie adopted a star for Jimmy. It rises on his birthday and is high overhead when he left us. They got star tattoos (in red, because if Jimmy were a color it would be passionate and vibrant red) to commemorate. Shawn did, too. And later, Judy & I joined the ranks.



It sounds like a pretty simple story, but if you could hear the music and love behind the lame words... I'll never forget the experience, and the people who shared it with me.
sandmansister: (Music lover)
It's been too long between substantial posts. Work, faire, life... they all conspire. But until I find brain space to update, I have a story to tell.

You see, I am a very fortunate girl who knows and loves amazing people. Fortunately, most of them return the sentiment and I get to have amazing experiences because of it.

On Friday, April 29th, I got to go to a private, back yard concert by Tish Hinojosa. She's a Latina singer/songwriter and of course, Jimmy was the one who introduced me to her. It's not my usual, but he taught me to appreciate the simple, true-to-life stories and heartfelt Tejana style.



He's been gone since February of 2004, but as Leslie so rightly pointed out, he still throws a great party. Here's the back-story:

Jimmy purchased the domain name "Tish.com" to put up a fan site, but never felt his offerings were worthy of publishing on the interwebs (as if!). So when it came up for renewal, someone else wanted to purchase it. Judy (Jimmy's mom) received the request and didn't feel right about letting it go without notifying Tish first.

Judy reached out through Tish's Web site and received a reply back. Of course she remembered Jimmy; he came to every Dallas show and always had a doll from his travels for her daughter. Tish was very upset to hear of his passing, and honored to know that A Song for the Journey was the closing song played at his memorial. She was going to be in Texas at the end of April and offered a private concert for Jimmy's friends.

I wish I had words for the experience. I am still processing the mix of emotions. The music was perfection - Texas songs under the stars on a warm Spring evening. Candle light. Good beer. Dear friends, and the notable absence of the one who brought us together.

It's so fitting that a performer on Tish's level remembers Jimmy. His passion for music (and, really, all of life) made him shine so brightly. What a wonderful confirmation for us who know and love him—yes, present tense usage is intentional—to realize that his special way of interacting with the world was noticeable and memorable to someone who meets so many people across the world.



Then there were the reunions. I haven't seen Jo since... Lordy, I don't know when. His memorial, maybe? That's a damn shame. But the hugs and laughter picked up as if no time had passed. I'd seen Shawn once or twice and we've kept in touch online, but I couldn't stop hugging him! I got lost in the hug, in fact. Time stopped and I cried. Sorrow of loss? Joy of reuniting? Both.

Chris, too. I will never forget the Von Ehrics show right after Jimmy died. It was my birthday and I decided to drown sorrows in a rockabilly show, not knowing my beloved Chris was the drummer. We couldn't stop hugging that night, either. Just a couple of schmoobly idiots grinning and snuggling in the middle of a mosh pit.

And let's not get started on his sister Carol. She hasn't changed one iota. It's unnatural. Jo & I agreed that she's luring virgins and sacrificing them in her basement. She just giggled and smiled. Wicked creature (and I love her for it)!








That night was also the first Red Star Reunion. See, Lesa & Leslie adopted a star for Jimmy. It rises on his birthday and is high overhead when he left us. They got star tattoos (in red, because if Jimmy were a color it would be passionate and vibrant red) to commemorate. Shawn did, too. And later, Judy & I joined the ranks.



It sounds like a pretty simple story, but if you could hear the music and love behind the lame words... I'll never forget the experience, and the people who shared it with me.
sandmansister: (Wee Me)
Saw a headline that Eminem re-married Kim... and they did it at Meadowbrook Hall in Rochester, MI. My family lived across the street for the year-and-a-half or so before we moved to Tejas.

Funny how that little blurb took my brain hostage for a few minutes, in a direction that had nothing to do with the story.

Meadowbrook Hall is an amazing Tudor Revival--part of Oakland University now--that's the 4th largest museum home in the US. We used to go there quite a lot. Tours were free then, and we could just walk a mile or so to get there. I wasn't much of a Pretty Pretty Princess little girl (partly, I think, 'cuz I didn't feel I could pull that role off), but Meadowbrook Hall definitely made me rethink that stance a time or three.

Take the virtual tour and you'll see what I mean.

I'll be off tiptoeing through the caverns of memory, looking for the secret passageways and hidden doors, playing on the lush lawns of home, and thinking of Aunt Lu with great affection.
sandmansister: (Wee Me)
Saw a headline that Eminem re-married Kim... and they did it at Meadowbrook Hall in Rochester, MI. My family lived across the street for the year-and-a-half or so before we moved to Tejas.

Funny how that little blurb took my brain hostage for a few minutes, in a direction that had nothing to do with the story.

Meadowbrook Hall is an amazing Tudor Revival--part of Oakland University now--that's the 4th largest museum home in the US. We used to go there quite a lot. Tours were free then, and we could just walk a mile or so to get there. I wasn't much of a Pretty Pretty Princess little girl (partly, I think, 'cuz I didn't feel I could pull that role off), but Meadowbrook Hall definitely made me rethink that stance a time or three.

Take the virtual tour and you'll see what I mean.

I'll be off tiptoeing through the caverns of memory, looking for the secret passageways and hidden doors, playing on the lush lawns of home, and thinking of Aunt Lu with great affection.
sandmansister: (Wee Me)
Saw a headline that Eminem re-married Kim... and they did it at Meadowbrook Hall in Rochester, MI. My family lived across the street for the year-and-a-half or so before we moved to Tejas.

Funny how that little blurb took my brain hostage for a few minutes, in a direction that had nothing to do with the story.

Meadowbrook Hall is an amazing Tudor Revival--part of Oakland University now--that's the 4th largest museum home in the US. We used to go there quite a lot. Tours were free then, and we could just walk a mile or so to get there. I wasn't much of a Pretty Pretty Princess little girl (partly, I think, 'cuz I didn't feel I could pull that role off), but Meadowbrook Hall definitely made me rethink that stance a time or three.

Take the virtual tour and you'll see what I mean.

I'll be off tiptoeing through the caverns of memory, looking for the secret passageways and hidden doors, playing on the lush lawns of home, and thinking of Aunt Lu with great affection.
sandmansister: (GIR spin)
Swiped from several... and since I'm commenting in others I best play along, yeah?

Leave one memory of you and me together. It doesn't matter if I know you a little or a lot, anything you remember! Next, post this in your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you.
sandmansister: (GIR spin)
Swiped from several... and since I'm commenting in others I best play along, yeah?

Leave one memory of you and me together. It doesn't matter if I know you a little or a lot, anything you remember! Next, post this in your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you.
sandmansister: (GIR spin)
Swiped from several... and since I'm commenting in others I best play along, yeah?

Leave one memory of you and me together. It doesn't matter if I know you a little or a lot, anything you remember! Next, post this in your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you.

A Sad Day

Jul. 12th, 2004 09:43 am
sandmansister: (GIR crying)
The nightmares have (mostly) faded, but the pain? It's abated a little in terms of frequency but when it comes, it's full force. Even after 13 years it is keen as ever. Such losses have no "use by" date.

Thirteen years ago today my Scooter was murdered, shot thirteen times in the chest. He and his girlfriend Andrea, shot nine times by the same pitiful excuse for a human-shaped carbon unit, were at San Marcos looking into transferring to the university there. Her friend's boyfriend took 2 hits of acid... and the lives of two wonderful people.

My friend, Scott Martin, dead at 21.


A gentler soul you could never want to meet: soft spoken, mellow and kind beyond measure. Though he spoke rarely to people he didn't know, he chatted [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills' ear off immediately. Go fig.

He loved REM with a passion I didn't quite understand... but it suited him somehow. Scott's short hair to contrasted Shawn's light brown sunstreaked tresses, but his bangs were a foot long, ending in this endearing curl. His standard posture found him inclining his head ever so slightly to the right, almost coquettishly. We bonded and formed the unofficial Hide-Half-Your-Face-Behind-Hair Club. I was an honorary member, having lopped off my mass of permed curls for a Joan Jett spiky do—I got in based on photo evidence of my previous look. Maybe that's why, upon growing out my locks, any other style gives me pause to this day. It's a fitting tribute.

So many of my Scooter memories intertwine with those of my First Real LoveTM, the aforementioned Shawn (they went to high school together). But they're not really the kind of memories I can share. There's not much narrative, no real anecdotes with neat, clean beginnings, middles or endings. They're more a montage of random snapshots, interspersed with certain scents (patchouli and sandalwood, mostly), textures and, more than anything, songs. It wouldn't make sense to anyone, with the possible exception of [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills, outside my own head. When I try to quantify it I find myself mystified. So I try to let it roll and crash over me like waves, like thunder, like cymbals until the feeling stops eclipsing all other experience and my mind scrambles to bring it back... only to chase it further, lost to the inexorable ebb and flow of tides in my mind.

To this day, I can't hear "Shiny Happy People" without thinking of him. The B-52s are one of my favorites (loyal fan since '81) and that song brought together two loves from two divergent people in one musical lovefest. I swear when those first jangly, quirky chords hit my eardrums I feel his arms wrap around me, telling me he's OK, he's one of the people who are both shiny and happy now.

But as I write this, at my office desk, no less, I find myself welling up with tears all over again. Had to pause several times to keep from losing it... that can wait until I get home. My surly betta won't care if my mascara—or my nose—runs.

It's unconscionable to think of such a thing befalling him... or anyone, really. People get sick. Accidents happen, and they are tragic, to be sure. But murder?!?!? No, not in my world.

There's something in me that will never quite mend, knowing that someone snuffed out two lives—that he willfully brought about the demise of someone I love. I can't reconcile myself to that. Moreover, I don't want to.

I remember that dreaded voice mail from our friend Paula, then-wife of Stace (of Skin and Bones fame). We were all neighbors, in this funky 8-unit apartment on Oram. I was living with [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills when I got the call, because Paula didn't want us to hear it on the 6pm news. So much of it is a blur. I'm sure I cried with [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills. A lot. Shawn and I, long since parted, managed to find each other (like we always did) to share the sad news, though we never got to just hang out and chat over a beer, to play catch up and remember. At some point I went to our spot at White Rock Lake to pour out my heart. A summer storm rolled in as I stood on the pier, shaking my fist at the heavens.

I made promises and bargains with Fate, swearing that I would get it right next time, that I would wait to have a son until Scooter could come back. I would love him unconditionally so he'd never have to drop out of school, deal drugs for a living, clean up his act and get a GED only to have the desperate act of a coward him take him out of the game. I would keep him safe. I'd give him the kind of life he deserves... if only I got to see him again in the flesh, hold him and let him know how much I love him still. I'm sad that I may never have the proper circumstances to make good on my promises. But when I hear that song and feel his arms around me I think he knows I love him still, with all my heart.

The annual onslaught of nightmares has stopped, for the most part. I no longer labor under the illusion that I could have stopped it. The pain still lingers, though I find it comforting these days. It reminds me of what is still true:

I love you, my sweet Scooter.

A Sad Day

Jul. 12th, 2004 09:43 am
sandmansister: (GIR crying)
The nightmares have (mostly) faded, but the pain? It's abated a little in terms of frequency but when it comes, it's full force. Even after 13 years it is keen as ever. Such losses have no "use by" date.

Thirteen years ago today my Scooter was murdered, shot thirteen times in the chest. He and his girlfriend Andrea, shot nine times by the same pitiful excuse for a human-shaped carbon unit, were at San Marcos looking into transferring to the university there. Her friend's boyfriend took 2 hits of acid... and the lives of two wonderful people.

My friend, Scott Martin, dead at 21.


A gentler soul you could never want to meet: soft spoken, mellow and kind beyond measure. Though he spoke rarely to people he didn't know, he chatted [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills' ear off immediately. Go fig.

He loved REM with a passion I didn't quite understand... but it suited him somehow. Scott's short hair to contrasted Shawn's light brown sunstreaked tresses, but his bangs were a foot long, ending in this endearing curl. His standard posture found him inclining his head ever so slightly to the right, almost coquettishly. We bonded and formed the unofficial Hide-Half-Your-Face-Behind-Hair Club. I was an honorary member, having lopped off my mass of permed curls for a Joan Jett spiky do—I got in based on photo evidence of my previous look. Maybe that's why, upon growing out my locks, any other style gives me pause to this day. It's a fitting tribute.

So many of my Scooter memories intertwine with those of my First (Only?) Real LoveTM, the aforementioned Shawn (they went to high school together). But they're not really the kind of memories I can share. There's not much narrative, no real anecdotes with neat, clean beginnings, middles or endings. They're more a montage of random snapshots, interspersed with certain scents (patchouli and sandalwood, mostly), textures and, more than anything, songs. It wouldn't make sense to anyone, with the possible exception of [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills, outside my own head. When I try to quantify it I find myself mystified. So I try to let it roll and crash over me like waves, like thunder, like cymbals until the feeling stops eclipsing all other experience and my mind scrambles to bring it back... only to chase it further, lost to the inexorable ebb and flow of tides in my mind.

To this day, I can't hear "Shiny Happy People" without thinking of him. The B-52s are one of my favorites (loyal fan since '81) and that song brought together two loves from two divergent people in one musical lovefest. I swear when those first jangly, quirky chords hit my eardrums I feel his arms wrap around me, telling me he's OK, he's one of the people who are both shiny and happy now.

But as I write this, at my office desk, no less, I find myself welling up with tears all over again. Had to pause several times to keep from losing it... that can wait until I get home. My surly betta won't care if my mascara—or my nose—runs.

It's unconscionable to think of such a thing befalling him... or anyone, really. People get sick. Accidents happen, and they are tragic, to be sure. But murder?!?!? No, not in my world.

There's something in me that will never quite mend, knowing that someone snuffed out two lives—that he willfully brought about the demise of someone I love. I can't reconcile myself to that. Moreover, I don't want to.

I remember that dreaded voice mail from our friend Paula, then-wife of Stace (of Skin and Bones fame). We were all neighbors, in this funky 8-unit apartment on Oram. I was living with [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills when I got the call, because Paula didn't want us to hear it on the 6pm news. So much of it is a blur. I'm sure I cried with [livejournal.com profile] buffalobills. A lot. Shawn and I, long since parted, managed to find each other (like we always did) to share the sad news, though we never got to just hang out and chat over a beer, to play catch up and remember. At some point I went to our spot at White Rock Lake to pour out my heart. A summer storm rolled in as I stood on the pier, shaking my fist at the heavens.

I made promises and bargains with Fate, swearing that I would get it right next time, that I would wait to have a son until Scooter could come back. I would love him unconditionally so he'd never have to drop out of school, deal drugs for a living, clean up his act and get a GED only to have the desperate act of a coward him take him out of the game. I would keep him safe. I'd give him the kind of life he deserves... if only I got to see him again in the flesh, hold him and let him know how much I love him still. I'm sad that I may never have the proper circumstances to make good on my promises. But when I hear that song and feel his arms around me I think he knows I love him still, with all my heart.

The annual onslaught of nightmares has stopped, for the most part. I no longer labor under the illusion that I could have stopped it. The pain still lingers, though I find it comforting these days. It reminds me of what is still true:

I love you, my sweet Scooter.

May 2015

S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
17 181920212223
24252627282930
31      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 10:17 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios