Jim “Levi Storm” Riordan standing in front of a building he was trying to secure to start a local teen center. Jim Riordan
We all have unique characters in our lives. Jim Riordan is one of mine. Jim is an accomplished New York Times best-selling author who has written more than twenty books. Break on Through, a biography of Rock megastar Jim Morrison, is recognized as one of the best Rock & Roll biographies of all time. I have great admiration for Jim and when I see him, I still have those moments of awe as if brushing up against greatness. I have known Jim for a long time and know him to be a normal guy, though with a “different” view of life than most people I know. He’s truly a breath of fresh air and he never fails to make me laugh.
Jim is much more than an author of note. He is still at heart a 1960s hippie. In some ways Jim is still raging against “The Man” and the “blood-sucking corporations” trying to turn us into money-spending purchasing zombies whose only purpose is to pad the pockets of fat white men smoking cigars and looking down on us little people from exquisite cherry inlaid boardrooms atop ivory towers in the world’s financial centers. He still warns of the military-industrial complex that loves war as a consumer of military hardware that must be repurchased from them at a profit. In his mind the 1960s may not have been the wonderful idyllic love-making time he vividly recounts, but in his heart Jim is forever at Woodstock, even though he was not actually there to begin with.
Jim “Levi Storm” Riordan standing in front of a building he was trying to secure to start a local teen center. Jim Riordan
When John Mueller’s song cast me off on this journey, one of my first thoughts was to call the only Rock oracle I know: Jim Riordan. But I couldn’t find his phone number saved on my iPhone. Strange . . . I was certain it was there before.
After a minute or so of searching I recalled that I had stored Jim’s number under the name Levi Storm—his alter ego. I touched my way down to the S listings and pressed call.
“Hello?”
“Levi Storm!” I yelled into the phone. It always makes Jim laugh.
“What kind of trouble are you causing today?” Jim asked.
“You know me, the garden variety, but that’s not why I’m calling,” I responded with my normal Gary enthusiasm. “I need to touch base with the only guy I know who may have the answers to my questions.”
“Speak to me. Ask the secrets of life and I will share all that is, but only what I sense you are ready to hear.” Seriously, that was Jim’s reply. That IS Jim. You could hear the big smile in his voice.
“What can you tell me about Buddy Holly?”
Silence.
Jim knows me, and at that moment he was surprised I even knew the name. His mind was probably tossing around the concept that this was the first time in my life that the words “Buddy” and “Holly” ever came out of my mouth in the same sentence, let alone back-to-back.
“Jim?”
“Yeah, I’m here for you. Buddy Holly? He was a pioneer and ahead of his time in so many ways.”
Another long pause.
I was certain he was ready to impart the meaning of Buddy’s life and his purpose in the larger galaxy. I eagerly awaited the knowledge and wisdom of the man whom I believed knew—and had lived—everything about music. I heard the Great One draw a long breath and then continue.
“I don’t know, man. He was a little before my time. Why do you ask?”
That was it? I felt as though all the air had been let out of my balloon. “Really? You don’t know more about Buddy Holly?”
“I know the Stones had a hit early in their career that was a Holly cover—‘Not Fade Away.’”
“The Stones?” I questioned.
“Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to,” laughed Jim. “That would be the Rolling Stones. You know. A British Rock group that was an early part of the British invasion in the sixties.” Jim paused for my reply. When I didn’t respond he added, “‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’? Remember?” I was beginning to hear a tad of irritation and disbelief in his voice.
Wherever Tim Duggan was at that moment, I’m sure he was sensing what was going on and shaking his head in utter disbelief.
“Of course I know the Rolling Stones,” I responded confidently. “The skinny guy with the big lips.”
Jim chuckled. “Yeah. That guy. What’s going on, man? Why the interest in Holly all of a sudden? What’s shaking?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it, really,” I began. “My mother-in-law is a fan. Arlene and I took her to a reenactment of the Winter Dance Party in Cedar Falls, Iowa, and something triggered this strange yearning to learn more. Not only about Buddy Holly, but also John Mueller and the impact they are both having—on me and millions of other people.”
“Who’s Mueller?” Jim asked. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“John Mueller is an actor and musician. He portrays Buddy Holly in this traveling reenactment of The Winter Dance Party. You know, the final tour for Holly, Valens, and The Big Bopper?”
“Sure, okay,” Jim replied. “I’m with you.”
“John is good. Really good. I never saw Holly so I have nothing to compare him to, but Mueller is really more than a musician-actor portraying Buddy Holly. He’s written a song about Buddy that is so beautiful and so deep and moving on so many levels. The song has impacted me in a way I cannot explain. I’ll send you the link.”
“Great. I’ll take a listen. But why this new found enthusiasm for Holly and Mueller?” Jim asked.
Let me be honest about something. I always feel insecure about my writing when I talk to Jim. He’s the real deal, a very accomplished author with a long and successful track record. I hesitated before answering him. “I think I’m going to write about it.” I said it as if Jim might laugh at my reason. He never does.
“Write about Buddy Holly? Really?” Jim was genuinely surprised. So was I. “I know The Beatles were big into Buddy. He was a big influence on McCartney,” Jim continued. “I know Gary Busey. Did you know he was my neighbor in Malibu? Busey was nominated for an Oscar for his role in The Buddy Holly Story.” Jim paused again. “You’re going to write this?”
Jim’s question made my insecurities rush in. “Not a biography,” I blurted as if I was apologizing for something. “Nothing like your Morrison book, but about my new and strange obsession and the journey I’m on to learn more. More about Buddy Holly, about John Mueller, and about all the music I’ve missed. I just feel driven to do this. I can’t really explain it better than that.”
“Cool, man.” Jim said.
I love it when Jim talks this way. Someday I’d love to respond to someone with that phrase, but it would sound stupid coming out of my mouth.
“Anything I can do to help?” I know Jim. When he asks, he means it.
“I’m certain there will be. Right now I don’t even know what I don’t know, so I have no idea what to ask.”
“Cool.”
I smiled. I wanted to say “cool” back, but my mouth would not cooperate. My subconscious screamed, “DO NOT SAY IT! IT WILL NOT BE COOL!” I know they (my mouth and subconscious) are right.
I began this conversation with the one and only Levi Storm with the full expectation that he not only knew everything about Buddy, but might even begin channeling the spirit of Buddy out of his mouth and into my ear. I was certain there was more and that Jim/Levi knew what others did not. But on that day, the magical and mystical Levi Storm was not pouring forth the answers I sought. Or maybe, just maybe, in his wisdom he knew I was not yet ready, not worthy to hear the truth. Yeah. I’d go with that rationalization. I wasn’t ready to accept that Levi was stumped. He was just holding back until my heart and mind were ready.
“Cool, man,” I whispered, more to myself than for Jim’s benefit.
Jim laughed. “What’d you say?”
“Pool man,” I responded. “Arlene wants me to call him today.”
“Cool. Okay. Let me know if I can help. That it?”
“That’s it.”
Jim hung up his phone.
“Levi Storm has left the building!” I announced as I clicked off my iPhone.