I never got to experience what it was like to have a big brother.
Well, actually, I do have a big brother... my half-brother Rob, Dad's son from his first marriage. The thing is, thanks to Mom feeling threatened by Dad's past, I didn't know Rob even existed until 1982! And I didn't meet Rob until 2012, a full thirty years later. (Luckily for him, he met me when I'd matured into the sophisticated international traveler and award-winning Hollywood screenwriter whose every word you're currently hanging on.)
So although Rob existed, he wasn't around when I was a dumb kid. I didn't have that sibling who was a year or two older, separated by just enough age to give them a completely different existence than I had.
That means I didn't get the benefit of a big brother's take on life. His cool friends. His favorite pop culture discoveries. His advice about stupid kid things. No, I soldiered on solo, making my own mistakes and figuring things out as I stumbled along.
Everything changed in college, though. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by a diverse collection of incredibly interesting people who had lived lives completely different from mine. Peers who had a host of opinions and thoughts that had never occurred to me. People that loved music and movies and books I'd never heard of.
And that new, inclusive, expansive environment eventually brought me into the orbit of an amazing human being. A guy who looked at this dopey Southern kid and didn't see a pathetic nerd, he saw a pathetic nerd who was worth hanging with. A friend who unknowingly neared the "big brother line" without stepping completely over it, treating me like an equal instead of a charity case.
When we were hanging out together, I felt like there was nothing we couldn't accomplish. We were young. We were full of optimism. We thought we could have it all. And as we charged out into the big wide world to make our fortunes, our spirits were buoyed by the sounds our official anthem. An epic song of victory bestowed upon the world by the greatest band in rock and roll history...
QUEEN.
When my second year of college started in August of 1985, I strode back into the dorm a man-boy much more changed than the one who left three months earlier. I'd celebrated my nineteenth birthday. I sported a sassy Mr. Mister-style New Wave 'do. I carried a new double-cassette boom box. (With detachable speakers, no less!) And I had rid myself of all that pesky virginity. I was truly different. I was, in so many ways, New Don.
The thing was, I hadn't counted on all the people around me changing too! I knew Iñigo, my first roommate, was moving off campus, so that wasn't a surprise. But man, it's like the dorm got turned upside down and shaken hard.
The biggest shock was discovering that Kevin, my across-the-hall friend from the previous year, wasn't coming back at all. It never occurred to me that someone would start college... and then drop out. But he did. And I felt a real sense of loss because of his absence. It was an unsettling way to start my sophomore year.
And it just got weirder from there. Unbeknownst to me, lots of people on all three floors had graduated. Again, stupid naive idiot that I was, I never even considered that all those older kids would be moving on to bigger and better things. Julio, my old R.A., was no longer next door. Several guys from the first floor, who I'd seen on a daily basis, had been reassigned to the second floor, and vice versa. And as for the situation in room 114, I had been paired with a new roommate, a Pakistani electrical engineering student who made it clear he was not happy to be in the States. (More on him very soon...)
So that was my first day back, a day of upheaval and surprise. Everything and everyone I was unconsciously expecting to be firmly in place from before, was knocked into a cocked hat.
And thank God for all that change, because otherwise I might never have met Frank.
Look at that face. It’s the face of an angel! (Thanks to Ann Harper for the photo.)
The computer system in the Student Housing department had placed Frank in the room next to mine, along with David, the new R.A.. And the irony of that random assignment was colossal, because whereas David was an uptight stickler for rules, Frank was a hurricane of controlled chaos. And I don't mean that in a bad way!
Frank... Frank just was. Even though he was a year older than me, he was a century ahead of me with regards to being secure in his identity. He was always upbeat. He was funny. He was whip-smart. He was effortlessly confident. He was friendly to a fault. Frank wasn't weighted down with the doubts or hang-ups or pressures that a normal human being would have. He seemed to greet each day energetically, eager to see what new person or experience that life would bring his way.
Frank followed whatever muse was tickling his fancy at the time. He was majoring in philosophy, and minoring in aerospace engineering. He was teaching himself martial arts moves with a pole he'd swiped from the gym. He decided to join the university fencing team. He was all over the place in the most glorious of ways. Frank was, as the kids say, totally rad.
And I fell head over heels in bro-mance with him.
I'm not ashamed to admit it: I was in complete awe of Frank. He was like a big brother and mentor and life coach and party planner, all rolled into a lanky James Spader doppelgänger package. When he entered the room, the energy level went up by a power of ten. He was, without a doubt, the coolest guy I'd ever met.
I didn't feel like I, nerdy schlub that I was, had a lot to contribute to Frank's world of wonder. But apparently I was wrong! Because in a very short amount of time we became inseparable pals. Not that he took me under his wing as some sort of teacher, but I was definitely eager to spend time in his presence, soaking up whatever oddball thought or "let's put on a show!" idea came to him.
We had fun. Stupid, simple, fun. For instance, while showing me some of his aforementioned martial arts self-education, he performed a particularly clumsy kata and shattered the overhead light fixture, showering the room with glass. We went to the beach right before spring finals with Frank's friend Phil, camping out in tents and making mixed drinks by feel and sound in the pitch black night. (Phil proclaimed that I made him the perfect White Russian. Great success!)
I came to Frank for help one morning when a friend was thrown in jail, and we spent the next few hours sauntering around downtown before bailing him out. We broke into the dorm's attic and climbed around in the rafters, discovering two large rusty sets of abandoned gears that used to power elevators that no longer existed. Frank got the idea to put his giant Cerwin-Vega speakers in his window and play sound effects records at full blast while kids were changing classes. We laughed our asses off watching people duck for cover as phantom jet airliners roared by overhead.
Like I said, it was all dumb fun. Which has been scientifically proven to be the best kind of fun!
Frank had this hand-made marvel on his door for years and years, and passed it on to me. Face by fencing legend Giorgio Santelli, body by Lamborghini.
Frank wasn't as big of a movie nut as I was, but when I told him about the trailer I'd seen for this science-fiction film called Highlander, he was up for a day at the theater. Frank was jazzed because of all the sword fighting. Me, I was giddy with anticipation because my beloved Queen was providing the soundtrack! Action, special effects, Queen... a perfect storm of cinematic catnip for a geek like me.
So that's how Frank and I found ourselves traipsing to the sad little multiplex on the south side of campus on a cold March afternoon. We settled into our seats a few rows from the screen. The lights dimmed. We were ready for a good time.
(I can't believe I have to say this for a thirty-five year old movie, but in case some of you tender young things get triggered... SPOILER ALERT!)
I almost passed out when I heard the first few bars of Queen's triumphant opening song, "Princes Of The Universe". Then we laughed at the antics of the Fabulous Freebirds during the wrestling match at Madison Square Garden. We sat up and took notice when two guys pulled swords in a parking garage. We were thrown when one of the swordsmen was beheaded, and the other one was bathed in the electrical discharge of what appeared to be his opponent's soul. So much happened in such a short amount of time, we barely had time to register it all.
And then, as the victor roared out of the parking deck in his car, the camera slowly rose, disappearing into the blackness of the garage's ceiling... only to suddenly emerge in fifteenth century Scotland!
As if on cue, our heads slowly swiveled towards each other. We both had the same "what the f--?!?" look plastered on our faces. It was like a beat in a comedy movie, but it happened spontaneously, in real life.
If there's anyone younger than thirty reading this, you'll probably be appalled to find out that there was a time when big twists in movies weren't spoiled ahead of time by movie set spies and overeager ginger webmasters. The Empire Strikes Back is probably the most famous example of this, but various other films laden with secret plot points benefited from being released in the pre-Internet era. And Highlander was a member of that elite group. I knew what I'd seen in the trailer, and I'd probably seen some photos in Starlog, but other than that... I went in completely cold. So almost every moment was a revelation.
And that goes for the music, too! Queen was all over the movie's soundtrack. Brian May got to indulge his harder rock guitar tendencies on the Kurgan's theme. There was a driving techno-style cue during the Kurgan's escape after his fight with African swordsman Kastagir. Freddie Mercury lamented the loss of an immortal’s true love in an emotionally epic operatic show-stopper. There was even a saxophone solo during the bar scene song, a first for Queen! All the kinetic action and quiet drama was complemented by another excellent set of tunes by my favorite band.
Frank and I were a rapt audience for the rest of the movie. And it resonated with us for weeks afterward. (I went back and saw it two more times myself.) We began using the Kurgan's insult - "You'll always be weaker than I" - incessantly. We'd pretend to brandish swords at each other as people were trying to make their way down the hall. Highlander was a big surprise, a movie tailor-made for my sensibilities.
Forget Darth Vader… this is the biggest bad-ass villain ever. It’s better to burn out than fade away!
So there I was, all amped up with new Queen music goodness ricocheting about in my empty head, and I needed a fix. I needed it bad! And the only way I was going to get any relief was by making a run to the record store.
Across from the college library was the legendary Schoolkids Records, a small indie store that had been around for many years. I went right to the "H" section, expecting to find the soundtrack front and center. Yet... it wasn't there. So then I made my way to "Q", but once again... bupkus! The clerk wasn't any help, so that meant I had to walk all the way over to Cameron Village, the outdoor mall, and give some business to Record Bar. But they didn't have it either!
(Not being a member of Queen's fan club, or an employee of their record label, I had no idea that the plans for a Highlander soundtrack had been scrapped, so Queen took over and assembled their work into A Kind Of Magic, which was set to be released in the summer of 1986. If I'd know all that, I wouldn't have been so frantic.)
All I could scare up was a 45 single for the theme song, "Princes Of The Universe". That was better than nothing, so even though all I had was a tape player, I scooped it up and ran back to the dorm.
Luckily Frank had a turntable, and over the course of the next couple of weeks, we played that single dozens of times. DOZENS! We were driving everyone on the first floor crazy. But we didn't care one bit. We were drunk with immortal Scotsman fanhood.
As the semester was winding down, and Frank and I were spit-balling what last mischief we could get into, we got the wild idea to run for president and vice-president, respectively, of the dorm council. We did it mostly as a lark, just another stupid stunt that made us laugh, if no one else.
Well, as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for... because we actually won! When we found out that at the start of the next semester we'd be the dorm's new benevolent tyrants, Frank decided we needed to throw a victory party. With only a few hours notice, we put up posters, hauled all Frank's stereo equipment (including those unbelievably heavy speakers) down to the dorm basement, and set up for an epic dance-a-thon.
With the benefit of hindsight, it's painfully obvious that we misjudged how excited our fellow dorm residents were about our big win, because over the course of two long hours, we had exactly three attendees. Three. And two of those celebrants were me and Frank. Oh well. At least we tried.
Yet despite the anemic turnout, we didn't let it dim our spirits. Frank and I celebrated in our own inimitably geeky fashion: the song we both opened and closed our poorly-attended victory party with was "Princes Of The Universe". We threw our arms around each other in solidarity and sang along with Freddie Mercury at the top of our tin-eared lungs. Another notch in the hetero bedpost of our friendship.
To paraphrase Connor MacLeod: "There can be only two."
Best buds for life.
Over the years, even as we "grew up" into strapping young men, our friendship matured as well. I got married and divorced. Frank had a kid. Work and life took me all the way to the opposite side of the country. Frank's career took him from CEO to globe trotting consultant to IT manager. Yet we never lost touch with each other. When was back in town, we made time to hang out, sometimes as a duo, sometimes as a group of dorm alumni. Any chance to see Frank, to bask in his overwhelming awesomeness, I'd take it.
In fact, it wasn’t long after I'd moved to California that Frank got that consulting gig, working for a big banking conglomerate. His new big-money position took him on regular jags to London, Hong Kong... and Silicon Valley. So for the next couple of years, I got to see one of my best friends on earth every few months. And it was all on the company dime, to boot!
All this newfound adultiness didn't put a damper on our inherent nerdiness, however. We were still big kids at heart. Every get-together was filled to brim with food, laughter, drinks, recollections, and geekiness.
And that's how Frank and I found ourselves at a theater in Berkeley one rainy spring day in 1999, buying tickets for a new science-fiction movie we'd been hearing good things about. A couple of minutes into the film, a cop watched in awe as a leather-clad woman leapt up into the air, and hung there suspended in mid-jump, as the camera wheeled all the way around her in slow motion.
In unison, our heads slowly swiveled, and we looked at each other goggle-eyed. Thirteen years after having our minds blown by Highlander, we were pummeled with another mutually mind-altering movie surprise thanks to The Matrix. Once again, I'd shared an awesome pop culture milestone with the same awesome friend.
Every time I see the cover of A Kind Of Magic, or hear even one note from any of the songs, a big dopey grin breaks out on my face as the memories come flooding back. In a nanosecond, I'm transported back to that theater, watching Highlander for the first time, and having my mind blown at the same time my dear friend was sharing the same experience.
I can't wait to see what experiences I'll share in the years to come with my soul brother.
BIO
Don Stroud is not the famous actor and world-class surfer of the same name. He is the non-famous California transplant who became an award-winning film editor and - finally - an award-winning screenwriter. He loves cats, sushi, comic books, movies, music, and Cherry Coke. What's that, dear? Oh yes: and his wife. You can follow him on Twitter, where he pops up sporadically, at @DonStroud2.