Remembering Gene Clark

Gene Clark in the early days of fame.

It was early October 1984—Friday, October 5th to be exact. The evening before I had gone to see Gene Clark, founding member of the Byrds and one of the most overlooked singer/songwriters of the boomer generation. He had played the Belly Up in support of his next album Firebyrd. I had waited years to see this guy—folk troubadour, pioneer folk-rocker, cowriter of “Eight Miles High,” country-rock originator, and possessor of one of the most distinctive voices in rock’s history.

I had just gotten home around five in the afternoon. I went inside the house only to go back outside to get something from my car. Back on the sidewalk, who by chance was walking up the opposite side of Nautilus Street toward La Jolla Blvd. but the man himself—Gene Clark!

“Hey, Gene! Gene Clark!” He stopped and looked in my direction. I trotted across the street, stuck out my hand, and boldly introduced myself.

“I saw you play last night at the Belly Up. Great show! I was wondering when and if you’d ever play in San Diego.”

Gene performing at the Belly Up, 1980s.

Right off he was very amiable and didn’t seem a bit uncomfortable as he listened to a complete stranger carry on about his musical contributions and artistic virtues. I asked him what he was doing at Windandsea. He told me he was spending the weekend at a friend’s house a few doors down. I was expecting that he would politely excuse himself at any moment to continue his walk down the street, probably gathering grist for another musical gem. But he didn’t. Instead, he asked in a slightly apologetic drawl, “Can I borrow some money for aspirin and a pack of cigarettes?”

“No problem,” I responded, and we walked up to the old Arco AM/PM that used to stand on the corner of Nautilus St. and La Jolla Blvd. Once in the mini-mart I was rather surprised that no one else recognized him. “What’s wrong with these people?” I thought to myself.

Upon our return, he asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a teacher. At that point he started telling me about his two sons, Kai and Kelly, with a warmth and affection that only a father could muster.

Back at my house I asked if he would mind me introducing him to my wife, Ellen. Of course, he didn’t. We went inside and I called for her to come down. She emerged from upstairs, and I introduced them. At that time she was more astounded by this coincidental meeting than by the fact that we had a living legend in our midst.

I was cooking that night, frying up fish that I had caught a few weeks previously. Why not invite Gene to dinner?

Gene with Lyle Duplessie (left) and Jim Wakefield. Photo by Ellen Duplessie.

“Gene, would you like to come over for dinner? I’m cooking up some fish that I caught right from the shore.” Then I cautiously added that after dinner some buddies and I were planning a jam. I was surprised when he said it sounded good and he’d try to come.

Right around then my long-time friend and music partner, Doug Giacomazza, drove up in his little white Fiat. He, too, had gone to see Gene the previous night. Following introductions, Ellen grabbed her ever-present camera and quickly organized an impromptu photo session. After that Gene excused himself and said he’d try to make it over later.

By 7pm the fish was fried, and dinner was served. Other guests had arrived, including our good neighbor and long-time Byrd-watching buddy, Jim Wakefield. About that time the doorbell rang and there stood Gene Clark, guitar in hand, along with his friend Kerry Yianilos. Adjustments were made around the table to accommodate our new arrivals. Following dinner and a lot of good laughs, we moved over to the living room.

Gene Clark at the Duplessie home, jamming with friends. Photo by Ellen Duplessie.

By then “Guitar Tim” McFarland was present, plugged in, and ready to rip. We played every song we knew that night, from blues, to rock, to country. But the night belonged to Gene. Between songs we’d ask him questions and he was free with his responses. Of course, we asked him about his tenure with the Byrds. He spoke of his family and his numerous siblings. There were mentions of crooked managers, his rise to fame, and years of substance abuse. We discussed the state of music in 1984, and he predicted a country-rock revival that indeed came about roughly two years later. He spoke of his desire to get the original Byrds back together and expressed pride in his new album. There was talk of Europe and how his music was better accepted there than in the states.

That night Gene came across just like his music—that is to say approachable and real, without any hint of pretense. We saw his warmth, open nature, humor, sincerity, perceptiveness, and depth. He would come back and visit periodically for the next few years when he performed locally; occasionally he would even stay the night. Likewise, he invited us to his home in Sherman Oaks and made us feel welcome. None of us who were there will ever forget that evening, and I don’t believe Gene ever did either.

Reprinted from the San Diego Troubadour, April 2002.