Three weeks into my freshman year of college, I was feeling right at home.
I'd met and settled in with a good bunch of guys. And then there were the young ladies. I'd met an attractive one in the school cafeteria that Thursday afternoon, and we'd hit it off so well that I was feeling pretty darned good when I returned to my dorm room.
I happened to see my buddy Ross, my neighbor two doors down (and today a corporate executive). He didn't appear to be as happy as I was.
"Well," he announced. "Led Zeppelin's not coming to Pittsburgh."
"Why not?" I mean, we'd all been looking forward to the return of rock's biggest act, three years after their last American tour, which none of us had been able to catch.
"Because John Bonham died."
"Oh."
John Henry Bonham - Bonzo, as he was known and revered - was the band's high-energy drummer. We had seen him performing in celluloid form just a few nights before during a screening of the Zeppelin film "The Song Remains the Same" in IUP's Fisher Auditorium. He looked healthy enough in that, percussing away during shows at Madison Square Garden seven years before.
But on Sept. 25, 1980, a quarter of a century ago, he apparently imbibed a bit too much and met his demise. His band, which still is regarded as king in many circles, decided a few months later against soldiering on without him. (They probably learned a lesson from the Who when they tried to replace the late Keith Moon. Nothing against Kenney Jones, but ...)
I can't admit to being a Zeppelin fan these days, although I kind of enjoy the band's acoustic-based material you don't hear too often, songs like "Thank You," "Hats Off to (Roy) Harper" and "The Battle of Evermore." And thanks to it playing in the background during some romantic interludes of the distant past, Side 3 of "Physical Graffiti" always holds a special place.
But back in '80, we couldn't get enough of Page, Plant, Jones and Bonham, spinning their records until the needle nicked them to oblivion. And they day Bonzo died was a shock we wouldn't get over any time soon ...
... at least until the dark night of Dec. 8 of the same year. But that's another story.
I'd met and settled in with a good bunch of guys. And then there were the young ladies. I'd met an attractive one in the school cafeteria that Thursday afternoon, and we'd hit it off so well that I was feeling pretty darned good when I returned to my dorm room.
I happened to see my buddy Ross, my neighbor two doors down (and today a corporate executive). He didn't appear to be as happy as I was.
"Well," he announced. "Led Zeppelin's not coming to Pittsburgh."
"Why not?" I mean, we'd all been looking forward to the return of rock's biggest act, three years after their last American tour, which none of us had been able to catch.
"Because John Bonham died."
"Oh."
John Henry Bonham - Bonzo, as he was known and revered - was the band's high-energy drummer. We had seen him performing in celluloid form just a few nights before during a screening of the Zeppelin film "The Song Remains the Same" in IUP's Fisher Auditorium. He looked healthy enough in that, percussing away during shows at Madison Square Garden seven years before.
But on Sept. 25, 1980, a quarter of a century ago, he apparently imbibed a bit too much and met his demise. His band, which still is regarded as king in many circles, decided a few months later against soldiering on without him. (They probably learned a lesson from the Who when they tried to replace the late Keith Moon. Nothing against Kenney Jones, but ...)
I can't admit to being a Zeppelin fan these days, although I kind of enjoy the band's acoustic-based material you don't hear too often, songs like "Thank You," "Hats Off to (Roy) Harper" and "The Battle of Evermore." And thanks to it playing in the background during some romantic interludes of the distant past, Side 3 of "Physical Graffiti" always holds a special place.
But back in '80, we couldn't get enough of Page, Plant, Jones and Bonham, spinning their records until the needle nicked them to oblivion. And they day Bonzo died was a shock we wouldn't get over any time soon ...
... at least until the dark night of Dec. 8 of the same year. But that's another story.
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