Man of the Hour

I was nine years old when I first saw Stand By Me. My oldest brother was visiting us and he made us rent it. I remember being completely disgusted at the puking scene and freaked out at the dead kid’s eyes. I remember being riveted by River Phoenix. Growing up, I was never what you’d call an avid fan of River’s. I knew who he was and while I was completely mesmerized by his performances each time I had a chance to see one of his movies, he wasn’t an actor I sought out. He wasn’t an actor whose movies I would sit through or go see just because he was in them. If I did happen across one of his movies, though, I almost couldn’t stand his talent. It was a force projecting itself from the screen and I never felt quite worthy to be in its presence. I was in awe of this man. Maybe that’s why I was so devastated when he died. I don’t remember where I was when I first learned the news. I think I was watching TV after school or maybe I saw the headline in the paper or maybe my friend Wendy told me. I honestly can’t pinpoint the exact moment I learned he was gone. I do remember lying down on the floor and just bawling from the sadness and confusion. I cried into our shag carpet, afraid of and confused by the strength of my sorrow. I was only 15, but I could understand what a tragedy it was to lose River even if I didn’t understand why I took it so personally. That’s why when the opportunity semi-presented itself to see the place where he died, I latched onto it. The doorway of the Viper Room has been on my list of places to see since the moment I heard of River’s death. For almost ten years, I have waited for a chance to go and pay my respects to one of the most complicated souls I ever had the privilege to see. I had a connection to River that I still don’t understand. I had never met him, never had any contact with him, never even wrote him a fan letter but somehow I felt bonded to this man who died far too young. I was being driven down Santa Monica Blvd through Beverly Hills, just killing time until it was time to dump me at the airport so my tour guide and I could be free of each other forever. (There is a back-story here, but it will just have to wait). My tour guide, Newton, had the annoying habit of only caring for mainstream popularity. He didn’t care that Casey Kasem had a star on Hollywood Blvd. He didn’t know who David Bowie was and when I asked him if we could go by the Viper Room he said that it was just a boring little club that didn’t matter. The only interest he showed in the place came when I told him Johnny Depp owned it. "I have been there several times and I never saw him there. I’d recognize his pirate hair anyplace." Yes. This was pure Newton. He only cared about seeming like some celebrity magnet. Of course he wouldn’t care about the Viper Room. We bickered back and forth, me falling silent when he told me, in an incredibly annoying patronizing tone, that if the Viper Room were worth seeing it would be big and important people would hang out there, like some club whose name I can’t remember that apparently he goes to all the time and where Selma Hayek has been known to stop in. After a stony silence, in which I screamed at him in my mind, I told him that it was really important to me to see the club. I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to stop (which is not entirely true, more on that later). I just wanted to drive by it and get a look at it. For reasons I will never know (although I’m guessing to just shut me up and take up more time), Newton agreed and we drove back to Hollywood. We took one left and then another left and then a minute later For a split second There it was. I almost gave myself whiplash from turning in my seat trying to hold the building in my gaze. Chills were worming in my spine and I felt my body temperature drop. Pulling my sweatshirt on, I whispered to myself "There it was." Newton thought I was talking to him."Yes. Now you see it’s boring and not special." And we sped further down Sunset blvd, Newton now determined to drop me at the Burbank airport as soon as possible. I didn’t bother to correct him for a minute. I was to busy shoving down a wave of emotion threatening to wash over me. I was intensely glad that I hadn’t tried to talk him into stopping so I could get out and stand at the door of the club. The sighting of the building had only reinforced my need to do just that, but I didn’t want to do it with Newton there. There is a can of worms that will be opened when I stand in that place and when I do finally get the chance to lay my flower on the concrete I want to be with somebody I trust who will understand. I digested all of this realization and tuned out Newton’s mutterings. When I felt I could speak, I spoke up. "That’s where River Phoenix died." "Who is River Phoenix? I haven’t met him." "No, you wouldn’t have. He died ten years ago at the Viper Room. He was an actor." "Oh he was a movie star? " "Yes Newton." I sighed. "He was a movie star." "Oh that is important." No kidding.