snobbingblog: Treepeople “Party” In a warehouse...

snobbingblog:

Treepeople “Party”

In a warehouse somewhere in Seattle, on a Tuesday. 26 June, 1990. The great lineup. Every person played a part, and when the parts are great, added up it equals a whole that is immense in its greatness. And they were great. I don’t use this term lightly. Such terms are imposed on memories, and soon they become legends. But, this is before circumstances splintered this group, bringing the members back to Boise one by one, with only Wayne staying out permanently. Perhaps by June 1990 things were beginning to fray a little. Moving to a biggerplace can be stressful.

The very first time I saw them was on the lawn at BSU, when Treepeople and the Dirt Fishermen played music before a showing of URGH! A Music War was screened outside on the quad. I hadn’t even moved to Boise at that point. But when I saw that band, I knew I was in the presence of something great. One month later, they were moving to Seattle, and 3 months later I moved to Boise from Eugene Oregon.

They have all done great things individually, and I am proud to know all of them by name. Wayne went on to form a great group named Violent Green, with a friend of mine from Eugene, Jennifer Olay. Doug came back to Boise to form Built To Spill. Scott soldiered on with Treepeople, which morphed, more or less, into a group called Stuntman. You can read more history here: Treewiki

But, for me, Pat was huge. He came back to Boise, enrolled in Boise State University, started ( or restarted, I’m not sure) a tabloid called Streetmag, started a band called Hive, set himself to the project of living in Boise, raising his daughter with Anna Fell, and living. He got drunk, he got arrested, he graduated, got married to Jennifer Schlender, moved to Seattle, worked at The Stranger as production manager. One day I called him up there, and they said he was gone, and no-one knew where he was. He ran aground, I guess. In November 1998 I was working Thanksgiving weekend, and he appeared in my office. He hugged me for a long time without saying a word. We talked for a hour or two, he bought the Beastie Boys. And then he was gone. I never saw him again.

There is not a day of my life that goes by that I don’t think about Pat Schmaljohn. The guy was immense. He made you SO MUCH BETTER by being around. And he couldn’t stay around. I failed him. We all failed him. HE failed himself. And he thought that was not alright, evidently.

I think about him often. For very selfish reasons. Because he made me better. He used to call me “The Great JohnO,” and I let him, because I knew who the really great one was. And every minute I spent with him I believed I could do great things. And I have let him down.

Trust me, he was no saint. He let people down too. He made mistakes, he took chances that were really unnecessary, he failed at marriage, he failed to stay clean. He failed to live. That is a tragedy. That is our tragedy. It is so disappointing. He doesn’t get to know his beautiful, cantankerous, and so like him, daughter. And I feel bad about that.

I wish that there was an afterlife, that I could get the chance to see him again, and fix it, but there isn’t, and I won’t fix anything. But maybe, just maybe, I can put myself out there again, and honor his presence and spirit, and do something. Anything.

It doesn’t even have to be great. It just has to be something.