Jewell Case

Richard Jewell died yesterday. I hadn't thought about his story in years, but his death at the young age of 44 of heart problems, while suffering through diabetes and excruciating kidney problems, is an unfair end for the poster boy for unfairness. He was, you'll recall, the security guard who saved countless people from an explosion at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta before being accused of planting the bomb and suffering a 3-month trial by media. Television sets broadcast the raiding of his home. He was mocked as much for living with his mother as for his heavy frame. His collection of porn was seen as evidence of a disturbed mind. Actual doofus Jay Leno dubbed him the Una-Doofus. His mother was harassed. The story was that he had planted the bomb to have the chance to be the hero he actually was.

Let's not run past the fact that lives were saved because a security guard was ACTUALLY DOING HIS JOB and reacting to a suspicious package. Or the fact that he probably did get some pleasure out of his brief hero status before it was pulled out from under him. But do move on to the fact that just over ten years ago we lived through a crystal clear example of the purpose of the presumption of innocence and the need for media discretion and yet Guantanamo and Nancy Grace exist.

Hero: Morrissey

Last week, Morrissey was offered $75 million to get back together with Johnny Marr and play 50 shows as the Smiths. He declined. I don't know if it was over integrity or foolish spite, but as a measure of your unwillingness to sell out your principles, 75 million is a big number.

Hilly: Not Alive

Two days ago, CBGB's owner and key punk figurehead Hilly Kristal, 74, died of complications from lung cancer. His living legacy, sadly, was shut down the year before but his actual legacy persists in the very existence of punk music. After opening CBGB's as a home for New York country, bluegrass and blues, he became an accidental patron of punk rock through a combination of destiny and financial necessity. The club, for which the word seminal could have been invented, is well-known as the joint that put dangerous music on the map in the 70's. Household names were made out of the Ramones, Patti Smith and Debbie Harry, so that their attitude (punk) was more important than their sound (diverse.) If it hadn't come together at CBGB's, the scene would surely have emerged elsewhere, but bands as different as the Dead Boys and Television latched into a collective and gained infamy under the punk umbrella at Hilly's bar.
I visited CBGB's one time-not for long, but long enough to attest to its reputation as a bar more famous for its history than for its upkeep. Some band with a name like Scabrous Blisters had been scheduled but didn't show and they were closing early. I hopped next door, bought a T-shirt and never got a chance to go back. It really doesn't matter. At some point in the 80's it stopped breaking bands and existed more as a place to see nominally talented kids rock shamelessly. Did anybody even go? Now it's gone and Hilly is too. An attitude, raised, sheltered and fed by Mr. Hilly Kristal, remains.