5-24-76

I had left World's End. I was still dealing blackjack a couple of nights a month, and I would soon begin a new job with Prudential Insurance, working in a warehouse of theirs in Allston. I’d seriously take up the bass guitar in a little while, giving myself a real shot at being a paid musician. I’d be spending one summer driving a cab and another summer working for the City of Boston, supplementing those incomes via gambling (legally and profitably) and by dealing drugs (also profitable, though certainly not as legal.)

A busy time was ahead for me after leaving that band. In the midst of this, though, I had one more gig to play. I would have rather not had to play it.

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There are some dates you never forget because they were the time of tragedy shared by millions of people - 9/11, for example, or for an earlier generation, December 7th, 1941. Then there are those dates that were a time of personal tragedy. The world doesn’t know them, but you never forget them. We all have them. May 24th, 1976, is one of mine.

That was the day Chuck Marotta died.

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Chuck was my bandmate in World’s End. He was a drummer, and one heck of a good drummer he was, too. A real sweet... kid. He was just a kid. We all were. The rest of us got to become men. Chuck didn’t.

He was a backseat passenger in a car that was totaled when a drunk driver ran a red light. Chuck died instantly. He never knew what hit him.

(At least, if there’s a God in Heaven he didn’t.)

He was 17. His high school graduation was one month away.

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I had left the band, as I say, and the remaining members gave it a go for a short while and then drifted off into other pursuits. Chuck, as well as Wayne Shockley (another member of World’s End, who joined them after I had left) had formed a new band, Destination. Chuck was on drums, of course. Wayne played the bass, and there were two guitarists. Chuck was also the singer.

I was in touch with the guys from World’s End, off and on, but with all of my other pursuits of the time, not nearly as much as I would have liked. I hadn’t spoken to any of them in over a month when, while watching the news at 11pm with my Dad, a report similar to the following aired.

“...and in Malden tonight, two are dead in a traffic accident. The two were teenagers, passengers in a car hit when another car ran a red light. Killed were Charles Marotta of Malden, and...”

I didn’t hear anything else. My stomach went hot and my head swam. I said, “Holy shit, no, oh, fuck.”

My Dad said, “What? What’s the matter?”

“I think... shit... I think it was Chuck, from the band... in that accident. Oh, fuck! Damn it! GODDAMN IT!”

I was coming unglued quickly. My Dad tried to keep me calm.

“Well, find out for sure first. Don’t get so upset until you know.”

He was right. I called Duane, our guitarist. The line was busy. I hung up and immediately my phone rang. It was Duane.

He said, “Red, did you see the news on Channel 7?”

“Yeah. The accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that Chuck? Our Chuck?”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ll try to find out and I’ll give you a call back.”

He called me back. He had found out. It was our Chuck.

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I had had other people in my life die. My grandmother - my Dad’s mother - died when I was 9. She was the first person I had known who died, and it took me a couple of days to really wrap my head around the fact that someone I knew and loved was gone forever. Aunts and uncles had died, as well as my grandfather from my Mom’s side of the family. This was a totally different feeling.

This was the first person from my own age group who had died. This was the first friend whom I’d never see again. It wasn’t right, not at all. He was more than a year younger than I was. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had kept a thought of Chuck being the drummer in another band with me. That would never happen.

I called one of our bass players, my good friend, Sean. I broke the news to him. He took it very hard, sobbing loudly. He had stayed in touch with Chuck more than I had recently. Duane had talked to his brother, Mark, our other drummer, and then he called the other folks who had played with the band at one time or another. There was nothing else for me to do, no one else for me to call. I went to bed.

I always listened to the radio when going to bed, usually music or a ballgame. This time I listened to the news station. I heard about it again, and then again twenty minutes or so later. It was still unreal, no matter how many times I heard his name.

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As with some of the other unhappy events from this period in my life, I have trouble recalling some of the exact details. I have very vivid snapshots of certain parts, but blanks for others. As to the exact details of the funeral, I have only bits and pieces of it - all extremely sad.

I have no recollection of the church service, or of how I got to the cemetery. I assume that I got a ride from Duane and Mark. I recall – God forgive me for my selfishness – I recall being upset that I wasn’t asked to be one of Chuck’s pallbearers. I had assumed that all of us from the band would be asked. Well, of course, Chuck had many friends and family. I hadn’t considered his life outside of our group.

At the cemetery, prayers were said and tears flowed. There were perhaps a hundred of his classmates and friends there, as well as his immediate family. As the casket was about to be lowered, Chuck’s poor mother collapsed on her knees towards the grave, crying loudly and saying, “My baby, my baby...”

He was her only child.

The Priest tried to gently clear us from the scene, while Chuck’s Dad helped Mrs. Marotta to her feet. We were all in shock, and the tears flowed without embarrassment.

We walked back to our cars. I grabbed Duane in a hug, saying through my own sobs, “We’ll always be together, right?”

He hugged me back and said, “Yeah, Red, of course.”

Mark and the other band members joined us in the embrace.

After Duane gave me a ride to the train station at Sullivan Square, I rode back to Dorchester in my black suit, eyes red and puffy. Duane and I saw each other again perhaps two or three times after that embrace. That's the way it goes. We all decide on different paths to travel. Duane's and mine just stopped intersecting.

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Destination had been booked to play a concert on July 4th. It was the Bicentennial year, so it was a huge deal. With Chuck dead, the remaining members of the band looked to replace him on drums and vocals for this gig. The plan was that they would play the concert and then surprise Chuck’s Mom and Dad, donating all of their pay to put towards the funeral costs.

They asked Mark and me if we’d fill Chuck’s spot, with Mark on drums and me singing. We were honored, of course, and said yes.

We were able to get together for three or four rehearsals prior to the gig, enough time for the two of us to learn our parts passably. The other band members were nice guys. They pretty much had to be; Chuck wouldn’t have been with them if they weren’t. Although it was a somber time overall, it was still fun being active in a band again.

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The concert took place as scheduled, on July 4th, at Trafton Park in Malden. There was a very large crowd, easily the largest I had ever performed in front of to that point. I’d estimate perhaps a couple thousand were there, both for the band and for the fireworks. The show went off without any major glitches. I growled, shook, screamed, gyrated, climbed on the furniture, and did all of the other stuff that passed for singing on my part. The band was hot. I had a blast, and the crowd dug it.

I hope Chuck liked it.

The day after, we collected our money and rode over to The Marotta’s house. We gave the cash, in a white envelope, to Chuck’s Mom and Dad. They were extremely touched by our gesture, but didn’t want to accept the cash. However, we insisted and they relented.

(I’m not positive of this, but I think they might have used the money to fund a small scholarship to Chuck’s high school.)

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I have no idea if the driver who killed Chuck is still living. As I understand it, he received a suspended sentence for manslaughter. He did no time. He may still be out there driving.

Chuck has now been dead for close to twice as long as he was alive.

Yesterday, I googled Chuck. Nothing.

Now, at least there’s something.