Being a teen in NYC when Punk was birthing Newave, there were only two clubs. Max’s and CB’s. Depending on the band and how we wanted to end our night, me and my underage friends would run (literally) between the two to catch every drop of Punk n’ Roll we could. It was fun to pose at Max’s, but home was CBGB’s. I made a huge nuisance of myself constantly trying to scam my way in. Being 14 I was often referred to as a “punkette” being too cute to be wholly Punk. This would always annoy and inspire the most obnoxious behavior I could get away with. Sometimes the door would let me slide for being amusing in my not so subtle retarded attempts at being cool, and there would be Hilly sitting there with his silent but kind “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. I think Hilly knew everybody in the place, he had that look like he never forgot a face. No matter how colors my hair turned, he always knew me. For years we had this silent recognition, me really too frightened and intimidated born from my adolescent phoney bravado to be chatty. Even into my Thirties when my band was playing the club and I ended up stage managing until I was too pregnant to work, I was too scared! I was working in the club and Hilly still scared the shit out of me! By this time I could manage a “ hi Hilly, how are you?” my heart pounding I always felt I got through these interactions by the skin of my teeth. Ridiculous, because I knew he liked me, knew he knew I was the same obnoxious underage Punkette, a look in his eye like “ I know who you are, I know where you live”, but in a kind and silent acceptance. After the club closed in the days before the marquee came down, I went in to see Hilly sitting at the desk with the entire club gutted behind him. I went in with my 7 year old intending that she see were mommy grew up. A combination of nerves and emotion opened up the flood gates, and for the first time in 28 years, Hilly and I had our first lengthy conversation that lasted over 20 minutes. Introducing him to my daughter who spent half of her gestation in the club, he felt like family like some long lost uncle, and then it hit me that me and everyone of my generation who grew up in the club were a family and Hilly was uncle to us all, that CB’s was more then just a club, it was a place so stuffed with life that we were connected to it, and to him. I managed to squeeze off a shot of my daughter Lily and Hilly, got him to autograph to her the CB’s book I bought next door . When it got to the point where I couldn’t think of anything else to say but thank you over and over again, I knew it was time to go. But I will never forget that day, to me one of the most important days of my life. CB’s and Hilly may be gone, but he and the club live on in me and now in my daughter who pores over the book and the pictures every night as part of her bed time routine. To me he is one of the greatest men of the twentieth century, his contribution to music culture enormous and indescribable in its immensity. I tried to tell him that in my not so subtle, retarded attempt at trying to keep my cool that day, he changed the world and I was lucky enough to witness it. Again, thank you Hilly. Charlotte
Slivka |