Face to Face

My thanks to Alice, who bought Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, and to the woman who purchased a book on Osama Bin Laden; and to the one who chose a work on child care and a large paperback romance whose title escapes me; and to the woman who took home a hardcover in Russian.

Here’s an excerpt from my rock n roll epic, Rising Star, approximately a 10–15-minute read. Each chapter begins with a song lyric:
56 “…To be a rock and not to roll….”
“Come in, Paul,” said Father Mahoney, rising from his seat behind the desk, extending a hand.
Paul grasped firmly and looked the man in the eye.
“Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a second.”
The chair was beside the desk. Father Mahoney, squat, balding, bespectacled, was studying a document. The room was small and spare of furniture. There were a few books on the shelves, all of which were of a religious nature. There was a crucifix on the wall directly behind the priest.
Paul’s chest tightened as he waited. The last time he’d spoken to a priest was as a teenager in the confessional. He’d never spoken to one man to man. He’d attended public school. He was irked that he was so uncomfortable in a house of God. He did not consider himself a terrible sinner. Suddenly he feared that having had sex with so many women had placed him on the highway to hell.
Father Mahoney placed the document into a folder and leaned back, hands folded atop his abundant girth. “Thanks for coming. I’m surprised you’re here.”
“I try not to disappoint my fans.”
Father Mahoney threw his head back and laughed. Paul was relieved the man had a sense of humor. He knew little about him. The parish had undergone an entire turnover in staff since the days he’d attended mass regularly, when Father Tahaney, hymnal open, patrolled the aisles, staring icily at anyone who wasn’t singing. His mother had been of no help, stating simply: “He’s a priest.” He was even surprised at the absence of a brogue. His mind had been in such a fog at the funeral mass.
“It’s funny how we’re able to laugh in an hour of sadness,” said the priest. “It’s testament to the human spirit. People are so resilient, especially those with faith in God.”
“Not a moment goes by when there isn’t sadness somewhere close by. We have no choice but to carry on. Life’s good.”
“But it’s especially tragic when the tragedy is self inflicted. I understand it when the young are afflicted with some dreadful disease, when God calls, but it’s always more painful for me to see life wasted so needlessly. I wasn’t here when Michael was a student. He has a brother and sister enrolled here. And he was married here, but I didn’t perform the ceremony, nor did I baptize either of his children. What was he like?”
“Average.”
Father Mahoney seemed surprised. “Average men don’t become so successful.”
“They can if they’re in the right place at the right time — with the right people around them. We came close to firing him more than once. We only kept him out of loyalty.”
“But I understand he was very popular with the young.”
“More through persona than ability.”
Father Mahoney raised an eyebrow. “I sense envy and resentment in your tone.”
“Resentment, not envy. I went out on a limb for him so many times — and look what happened. He was nobody to emulate, as his death proves.”
“What’ll you do now that he’s gone?”
“Hire a replacement.”
“Has it occurred to you that his death may be a message from above?”
Paul had expected something along this line. “If that’s the case, why didn’t He take me? I write half the songs. And why wouldn’t He do something more dramatic so we’d be sure it was Him?”
“His ways are usually subtle.”
He was unable to suppress a sniff. “That’s a mistake. People are usually so wrapped up in themselves they don’t see anything but the obvious, and even that escapes them sometimes, myself included. I know what you’re saying — we’re on the wrong path. I don’t believe that. In my mind Mike committed suicide, and where’s that leave us? We all should take responsibility for our own actions and stop pinning them on the supernatural.”
“Are you so bitter? Don’t you feel the least bit compassion?”
“I’m too angry to. Sure he had it tough at home, but he gained advantages that should’ve turned his life around. I have compassion for cripples, for the victims of crime and abuse, for people who die in accidents, but not for somebody who’d leave a great wife and two beautiful kids. What happened to Mike was no accident.”
“Do you feel responsible in any way?”
“Of course. We were thinking of ourselves when we knew he needed help. I should’ve fired him a long time ago. He might still be alive. I’ll have to live with that the rest of my life. Chances are he would’ve hit the skids anyway, maybe even faster, but we can’t know that for sure. Then again, would his life’ve been worth living?”
“Sounds as if the devil’s been at work.”
Paul smirked. “We were negligent, Father, not malicious. We weren’t there urging him to fill his veins, no matter what you may believe. He loved his vices. They made him feel big. Deep down he knew he was nothing. He knew he was a fraud, and he couldn’t handle it.”
“Can you? Can any of the others? How long will it be before the devil drags you down too? Why cultivate him?”
“We don’t do that. I’d be the first to admit I’ve succumbed to temptation. I’ve seen every form of it on the road, but I’ve never encouraged anyone to follow the devil and you’re wrong if you think I have.”
“But your songs.”
“Have you ever listened to any of them? Have you ever listened to the infamous God and the Devil?”
“I tried to. I didn’t want to pass judgment blindly, but the screaming and the volume made it impossible. It sounded as if it’d been composed by the devil himself.”
“I’ve heard people say that about songs I think are beautiful. A lot of rock is vulgar, I grant you, but so is a lot of the world. Rock just reflects that, maybe more than any other art form. And bad’s always more alluring than good. I’ll send you copies of our lyrics so you can decide for yourself without having to listen to the music. I’m not gonna pretend we’re great writers, but we are sincere. We try to show the bad as well as the good in people.”
“Evil should never be glorified, my son.”
“We don’t glorify it. We try to point it out in hopes that it might be changed.” He looked away. “But I’d be lying if I said our goal was to educate. We want fame, fortune and a good time, and the freedom to express ourselves.”
“The young are misinterpreting you. They’re being misled.” His tone was urgent. He was leaning forward, hands folded atop the desk, eyes trained on Paul, challenging him.
“Even if that’s true, it’s not our intent.”
“But it’s the result. An intelligent young man shouldn’t be misusing his God given talent.”
“D’you really believe evil’d be eradicated if rock ‘n roll were abolished?”
“No, but it’d be diminished considerably.”
Paul shook his head. “I couldn’t disagree more. When I was ten my father had a drinking problem. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to stay out of trouble if it wasn’t for music. It communicated to me better than anything else. It helped me sublimate my anger and pain. Kids need that, especially kids with a troubled home life. They need an outlet for their hormones. They need a safe form of rebellion and they get it through us because we communicate an illusion of complete non-conformity. Rock ‘n roll helps a kid adjust to the harsh realities of life, I really believe that. No kid ever committed a crime because of it. Things’re not that simple.”
“But it enflames them. It becomes more than vicarious for some. A young man was murdered at one of your concerts.”
“Over drugs. We’ve never written a song that encouraged anybody to get drunk or high. Any band that’d do that is stupid. But is that reason enough to condemn all rock ‘n roll? There’re so many powerful anti-drug songs. And people are murdered at other events too. The world can’t be shut down because of the actions of a violent few. Rock ‘n roll works, Father. For some kids it works better than the church does.”
“Nonsense. Even if that were true it would be only a tiny percentage that were affected positively, the rest….”
“With all due respect, Father, I’m sure I’ve thought about this a lot more than you have. I’m sure you’ve heard of Black Sabbath.”
Father Mahoney rolled his eyes heavenward.
“If they’re such fiends, why does the singer scream for God’s help in one of the songs? Is he talking out of both sides of his mouth? Ask any kid what his favorite Led Zeppelin song is and most’d say Stairway to Heaven. You know what the last line of that song is?” He recited it. “A ‘rock’ like ‘Upon this rock I will build my church.’ And there are people who play a part of that record in reverse and swear they hear: ‘I love Satan.’ No artist can help how his work is interpreted. Even Stryper, who sing songs praising Christ, catch hell from their critics. Even if their primary concern is filthy lucre they’re no worse than television evangelists. When Jim Jones’ followers committed suicide, was the Bible at fault? Of course not. It was a perversion of interpretation. The Klu Klux Klan isn’t patriotic — they’re a perversion of patriotism. Terrorists aren’t God’s agents — they’re murderers. People who bomb abortion clinics aren’t doing it for God — they’re looking to get away with murder themselves. Look at Mike’s father. Is he truly a religious man? He didn’t even come to the funeral or let any of his kids come. That doesn’t mean faith’s at fault — he is.”
“I visited him too, at your mother’s request. God help him if he ever realizes the fool he’s been.”
“‘Fool’ is too polite a word.” He looked away, fighting bitterness.
“If you’d forgive Michael you must find it in your heart to forgive his father too, or be condemned to be just like him.”
Paul was stung, realizing it was true.
“You argued so eloquently on your behalf, but I still believe your music’s intention is to enflame. It’s a perversion of music. It encourages mayhem and promiscuity. To compare it to a misinterpretation of the Bible is wrong because the Bible’s intention is too soothe and enlighten. I regret that I’m not a scholar who could argue more persuasively on his own behalf. I’m just a simple parish priest who follows his instincts and his faith, and my instincts tell me your music is responsible in large part for drug abuse, crime, promiscuity and, subsequently, abortion.”
“Rock ‘n roll came along long after the invention of sex.”
Now Father Mahoney was angry. “You see no correlation between the dwindling of morals and the rise of rock ‘n roll the past twenty years?”
“It reflects the decay. It doesn’t incite it. If the world were a sane place there’d be no need for rock ‘n roll.”
“Do you believe in God, Paul?”
He shook his head, not in denial but disappointment.
“Do you believe in His only begotten Son?”
He feared the discussion would deteriorate to fire and brimstone. “I’m not sure what I believe.”
“The church has done and still does many great things.”
“I know. My father was raised in a Catholic orphanage. I have no argument with the church. I respect anyone’s beliefs. I’m not a threat to you. Neither is rock ‘n roll. The only quarrel I have with you is you scaring my mother.”
“She was scared when she came to me. That’s why she asked me to speak to you.”
Paul looked away. “This’s so unfair. You went to her first a few years ago when the devil worship nonsense first started.”
“You’re the one who’s being unfair. A young man has died an ugly death and you’d have us believe everything’s all right, that there’s nothing to worry about.”
“What d’you want us to do — quit? Does a priest quit when another priest dies or leaves the priesthood or submits to his demons? We have to go on just like everybody else.”
“How many young people in your profession have to die before you’ll admit there’s something terribly wrong? In what other walk of life do so many people die so young?”
“I have no answer for that. I’ve seen what happens in the business. I know there’ll be casualties because of the temptations, but I want it to go on. I know I’ll survive it.”
“At what price?”
Paul made a face. “I haven’t sold my soul, if that’s what you mean.”
Father Mahoney paused. He was twiddling his thumbs, apparently unconscious of it, hands now resting in his lap. Paul suppressed a chuckle. It seemed so human.
“How long’s it been since you’ve been to mass? We have folk masses with electric guitars now, just for young people like you.”
“Even the church understands the power of rock ‘n roll. I mean no disrespect, but that’s not for me. I love what I do. I’m so lucky. Very few people in the world’ll ever know what it feels like to play a packed house at the Garden.”
Father Mahoney sighed. “I’ll pray for you and the others.”
“Thank you, Father, but I think you should save your prayers for the afflicted and the abused, not a privileged character like me.”
“I have room for everyone in my prayers. He understands. I’ll pray especially that no young people are negatively influenced by your music.”
Paul resisted the urge to rebut. There was nothing to be gained. It was an argument that might be waged forever.
“Thanks for helping my mother,” he said, rising and offering a hand, no longer able, however, to look the priest in the eye.
“She’s a fine woman. Remember her when temptation calls. A good family is a man’s salvation. My only regret is that I may have to lie to reassure her. The truth would’ve been so much more joyous had you seen the light.”
Again he stifled himself. The interview had gone much better than he’d anticipated. He did not want to end it on a sour note. He was glad he’d come. He respected Father Mahoney and regretted having disappointed him. He suffered a pang of conscience at having lied about having never written a song about drugs, although few realized what Unmasked actually involved. He did not know how he would have defended his desire to sample LSD.

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