It was 1984, I was 21 years old, and I knew everything.
At Cuddin, he was working for Prince, who, at the time, was still a major and promising recording star. I had already traveled to New York and now I was staying in Los Angeles. When I first arrived in Los Angeles, I vividly remember driving down Santa Monica Boulevard. I weighed 220 pounds of muscle and bravado, had a lot of money in my pocket, and was behind the wheel of a new red Porsche 944 Turbo, and George Burns pulled up at the stoplight next to me in a Cadillac Seville. . I know my kids will wonder, “Who is George Burns?” But back then, George was the embodiment of California celebrity, and I knew my parents would love to hear that I saw him, up close and personal. I was amazed.
I was in Los Angeles because the premiere of “Purple Rain” was scheduled there. The city was full of excitement. I remember Donna Mills outrageously flirted with my good friend Bob Brooks at the after party. Beautiful cars, beautiful people, money, money, money. And always warm. It was obvious to me, a 21-year-old with world wisdom, that Los Angeles was the best place in the world. Paradise. Prince once said to me, “Why don’t people like Minnesota?” I had to laugh. His Minnesota experience was May through October, the best six months of the year. Come to zero below the wind chill, monstrous snowfall and black ice, it is lodged in the land of palm trees and string bikinis! Of course he loved Minnesota! There is no place like this … in summer.
All of Prince’s entourage stayed at the Westwood Marquis. In preparation for the premiere of “Purple Rain”, the hotel was filled with celebrities who had arrived to attend what promised to be the most popular ticket in the city. In fact, before the screening, I remember walking out of my room into the hallway and seeing Peabo Bryson. Now of course I looked at it twice because I didn’t expect to see it. Apparently he was afraid that I was a crazy fanatic or asked him for an autograph or something, and he immediately lowered his eyes and tried to cover his face. I found it funny, so I told Prince about it. Well, wouldn’t you know? Later that day I was in the elevator with Prince on the way back to his room, and Mr. Bryson gets on the elevator. He looked at me and realized he was with Prince … and Prince quickly caught his eyes and tried to cover his face. After we got out of the elevator, Prince gave me his notorious devilish grin. I still laugh at it!
Mann’s Chinese Theater (the famous Grauman’s Chinese, built in 1927) hosted the premiere and, in preparation, had adorned the venue with purple accents, including a “purple carpet.” I remember Peewee Herman came in a go-kart. Stevie Nicks, Eddie Murphy, Little Richard, John Cougar, Lionel Richie and a host of other celebrities walked the purple carpet, eagerly anticipating the screening. Warner Bros. had a custom purple limousine take Prince to the theater and when he disembarked, sporting his best glam-rock-funk, the crowd went absolutely CRAZY. That entire night, and the weeks surrounding that time, were without a doubt the most exciting and interesting of my young life as a bodyguard.
When we had time to ourselves, Brown Mark and I would go out and enjoy the city. We would go to Larry Parker’s, a lively 1950s Beverly Hills diner famous for Haagen-Dazs shakes and booth phones. One night we saw two beautiful Stella sitting in a booth across the road. There was a little problem: they were dating. Mark, I called him Roger, I arranged for our mutual friend Lance to call from an outside line to the phone in his booth, so these two guys wouldn’t see us on the phone flirting with their girls. The ploy worked and his booth phone rang.
The expression on the girls’ faces is priceless. One would have thought the phone was possessed in the same way that a girl tentatively took it and said, “H-hello?” So Lance is telling the girls on the phone that “the two guys across the street are interested, and you two should leave the guys you’re with.” The girls laughed out loud, and then one of them came up and gave us points for originality … but they declined the invitation to join us. At the end of the night, we are getting ready to leave. Each of us drove a Ferrari 308, Rog’s was purple, mine was red. These girls saw us, saw the cars, and quickly dumped their boys. Clearly, they thought that we must both be “someone” and therefore deserving of their attention now. They actually asked “Hey, who are you?” “Prince’s Bassist and Prince’s Bodyguard”. The looks on their faces as we walked out, leaving them standing in the parking lot, were priceless … again!
So there I was, five years later, living life in Los Angeles. He was driving through the mountains to Ventura when he wanted to get away and have a quiet moment. Prince had me fill up, wash and drive in his custom turquoise blue 1989 BMW, the first in the line. I turned on C&C Music Factory until the tinted windows shook. Life was beautiful and perfect. LA was how he had seen her on television. However, I discovered that not everything is how you see it on television. My first clue was when I searched in vain on Sunset Boulevard for the famous address “77 Sunset Strip”. It does not exist in real life.
I remember the day I drove Prince’s car to visit some cousins who lived in Compton. It was my first time there. I was so happy and proud to be rolling in that blue B-Mer. My cousins saw me park in the driveway in that car and said they thought I must be out of my “freaking” mind … I was in the heart of “Blood” territory driving a blue car. What had once been a pretty neighborhood had been invaded by gangs. I was lucky they didn’t shoot me. They said that due to the dark windows, the gang members couldn’t tell how many people were shooting with me, or that I might be a famous person.
I was surprised to learn that in this peaceful, normal, respectful-looking neighborhood with all those palm trees, friendly people, including children, were victims of random shootings. Much tragedy had happened in this neighborhood, as well as in Watts and Inglewood. This was the Los Angeles that many residents were experiencing. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t perfect. THIS was real life. This was the LA that belonged to the residents. I was just a lucky visitor. He had a lot to learn about life.
After all, he was only 21 years old.