The Day I met Johnny Rotten or The Day I bought Johnny Rotten
Long Beach California, April 12, 2002,

By Brad "Boogie" Scott

A true story except; Some facts about my past have been altered or condensed to make me look cool but everything about meeting Johnny Rotten is true and verbatim. by Boogie To start with. I am a product of Punk Rock. If the name Johnny Rotten doesnÕt mean a thing to you quit reading. However if it or The Sex Pistols resonatesÕ deep within your soul read on. Either way you might learn something about Rock-n-Roll. I can devide my personality by the year 1977 when everything changed for me forever. Time can be divided by punk rock. Before Punk Rock. After Punk Rock. Much like the birth of Jesus Christ. Punk rock shaped history for me and alot of people. Pop music, Rock-n-Roll and the media in general would never be the same. In 1977, the year many consider to be the birth of Punk Rock I was 13 years old and in that year I heard 3 bands on the radio and on vinyl records that would forever alter my life, good or bad or indifferent. Those bands were: The Ramones, The Clash and The Sex Pistols. The trinity of Punk Rock. Within weeks I was transformed from a long haired, cute, nice, blonde, surfer boy into a snarling, sneering, spitting, rubber lipped, foul mouthed, spiked hair, leather jacket wearing, cigarette smoking, neo thug. ÒFuck this and Fuck that,Ó dominated every conversation I had. The nice young boy with a future was suddenly dispised and hated. Punk rock had arrived on the scene and it was considered to be the end of western civilization and if you were a punk you were an agent of the Devil. With my new persona and look people were afraid of me like. I was some kind of new breed of lunatic and other people just beat me up because I was weird. One individual in particular was mainly responsible for this transformation. A man named Johnny Rotten. Leader of The Sex Pistols. The most notorious Punk Rock band in the world. Because Punk Rock so affected me and fueled my passion for music I eventually performed as a clown and front man in a pseudo iconoclastic band and reached some mild success but more importantly met most of my heroes in the process. Over the years I had successfully performed with, stalked and partied with most of my punk rock heroes including members of the Ramones and The Clash. I felt satasfied. If the truth must be known I rated The Clash as the greatest band ever. And still do. Before meeting Johnny Rotten meeting the members of the Clash was my greatest accomplishment. However, The Sex Pistols eluded me alltogether. Mainly because they self destructed allmost as instantly as they had arrived on American shores. There career like them was loud, fast and brief. Of Course Johnny Rotten went on as Johnny Lydon leader of Public Image but he despised his fans anyways so he was a tough one to get too. I once was on a motorcycle ride with Steve Jones, guitarrist for the Sex Pistols but by the time I figured out this tan, muscular, long haired British dude on a Harley was the same Steve Jones I remembered as a pasty looking, drug addict, it was too late. He was gone. My last great encounter with a true Punk was with Joe Strummer of The Clash, Friday November 5, 1999. Fifteen years after The Clash had broken up! But it didnÕt matter. Me and Joe hung out backstage. I drank with Joe talked with him laughed with him. He called me Boogie. I called him Joe. I cut my hand wide open and bled all over the place opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. I joked with his wife talking about having babies. It was fucking cool as I was a father now like Joe but it was allmost too domestic. Not Punk Rock. I figured this was the end. I had come full circle.

My days of stalking my heroes were over. I was an adult man now with my own child and responsibilities and my own bussiness. I didnÕt care about such things anymore. Or so I thought. Of all places, minding my own business I went to the Long Beach Grand Prix like I allways do every year. Ironically I have been going since 1977. The year of Punk rock. My passion for race cars born simultaneously along with punk rock. Go figure. Anyways. AND THEN. You have never been to the Long Beach Grand Prix????? Let me give you a little back gound info first. For those of you who have never been....ItÕs a party! A spring time party in the streets of Long Beach in perfect sunny weather. A beautiful modern, cosmopiltian city on the Pacific ocean. The worlds fastest cars rocketing thru the streets and along the Harbor and the ocean with the deafening noise of screaming race cars echoing off the downtown high risesÕ as the most beautiful people of Southern California including all of Hollywood watch, drinking and partying, cavorting and fuckinÕ around for 3 solid days and nights. The one time a year you can legally drink in the streets. ItÕs fantastic fun even for the lowliest of tourists. But there is a certain heirachy and pecking order to the whole affair. The average ticket buying folk can only wander the outskirts of the track and must be herded thru endless vendors booths and temporary food establishments to get to all points on the race circuit and pay outrages prices for a bottled water or a beer or a coke. Meanwhile the rich famous and priveledged relax in comfort, in hospiatality tents and special areas along the track which are cordened off from the average folk where drinks are free from an outdoor bar with a personal bartender and buffets and catered meals are served and you have your own private place to piss rather waiting twenty minutes in line for a stinky little green outhouse that is nearly overflowing from excrement. Sunday Race Day. is Hell. You canÕt fuckin move let alone breathe. Saturday is nearly the same as Sunday. Friday is perfect. The crowds are much smaller and you can get in for free and bring in your own booze. On Friday the cars run TWICE and everybody is so relaxed and friendly you can actually cavort with the drivers and chit chat with some of the celibrities. It was on a Friday in a hospitality tent that I spotted Johhny Rotten. Litterally. You canÕt miss spotted polka dot hair. Yes. ItÕs true. Johnny Rotten was in a hospitality tent. Among the rich priveledged and spoiled rotten. The beautiful people. The famous. The special people. Those that could not be bothered. They sat at perfect little tables with a center bouguet piece with immaculate table cloths and gourmet meals being cooked and prepared behind them in outdoor kitchens while at the same time high power meetings were takeing place everywhere, everyone talking on cell phones, everyone busy yet relaxed and sipping wine. Us average folk stare on in awe and jealousy seperated by elegant velvet stanchions and non-challant allmost invisible security guards. ItÕs very academy awards. The American version of Royalty. You can look but you canÕt touch. WhatÕs Johnny doing here? I am here with a 10 year old boy. He is my daughters brother but not my son. Figure it out. He is my bud. My pal. We do guy stuff because his dad is a no where to be found and he is a great kid. We go to hockey games and races, ride motorcycles, play James Bond videos see Spider man movies etc. On this day I am getting drunk and he is listening to my history and version of racing. ItÕs allmost his birthday so I buy anything for him in site; racing patches, chilli cheese fries, die cast ferraris, pennats, anything. We are collecting autographs of race car drivers and anybody remotely famous.ItÕs a fun little game. Like bug collectors. We spot Ôem call em out and get an autograph. And in most cases the autograph dissapears into a drawer or closet to be resurected some years later to say Hey look! So far we have tagged Mario Andretti, (self absorbed) Ivan ÒIron ManÓ Stewart, (Cool) ÒMad Max,Ó Papis (Way cool), Chris Pook, Creator and President and grand maestro of this whole circus, (way cool). Cameron Diaz comes into focus but she eludes us. The boy has only a vague concept of who these people are. I explain everything in way too much detail. He keeps asking me, ÒSo ALL these people are legends?........How come everybody we meet is a legend?Ó And then we come to the hospitality of hospitality tents. Top of the pyramid race team. Multi world champions. Everything in shinny red. A perfect beautiful set up straight out of any glossy magazine of wealth and priveledge. A race car driver emerges from the stanchions. I spot him. I say to the boy, ÒThatÕs Bryan Herta!!!Ó ÒWhoÕs he?Ó ÒThe victim of the greatest pass in motorsports history among other things.Ó I say. ÒLetÕs get his autograph.Ó A hord of people recognized him at the same time and converge in on him. But we get there first. We are talking and chatting with him when................ ..... out of the corner of my eye I spot a character sitting among all the other priveledged folk behind the barrier. He has multi color polka dot spiked hair and his face is as familiar as my own reflection in the mirror. I fucking freeze in my tracks. Stop chatting mid sentence. He really hasnÕt aged all that much. I canÕt fuckinÕ believe it. And most unbelievably he is wearing a team outfit of the mega buck super champion team. He is sporting all the colors and race ensignas and sponsers etc. as if he were a member of the pit crew or part of the PR team. I say to super race car driver Bryan Herta. ÒWhatÕs Johhny Rotten doing here?Ó Super race stud Bryan Herta rolls his eyes, chuckles and walks away disgusted leaving a hord of autograph seekers thinking what just pissed off Bryan Herta and why is he leaving????? JOHNNY ROTTEN PISSED HIM OFF. HE STILL HAS THE POWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Meanwhile nobody spots or recognizes Johhny Rotten!!!!!!! Nobody!!!! I grab the boy and we back the fuck up from the crowd and re-group. Thank god my beer is still full. I get down to the boys level eye to eye allmost sitting down so I can explain the gravity of the situation that we are in. I say, ÒLook Tyler. Little buddy. Listen to me for a second. See that guy over there drinking a beer from a plastic cup with the differrent color spots in his hair?Ó ÒYeah. I see him.Ó ÒDonÕt stare at him.....You know all day how IÕve been saying this guy and that guy is a living legend and you donÕt believe me?Ó ÒYeahÓ ÒWell that guy with the fucked up hair is the biggest fuckinÕ legend here.Ó We are talking like dudes now. I am not the adult figure anymore. We are talking like two buds. HeÕs not getting it. No comprehension of Johnny Rotten. HeÕs been sheltered. ÒOk. Ok. Ok. LetÕs see. How do I put this?.....Who is the coolest dude in film TV or Music for you? I mean who is your hero. ?Ó ÒThe Rock.Ó ÒOk Cool. This guy I am pointing out is fifty times better than the Rock. The rock owes everything to this guy. This guy was The Rock before there was the Rock. He was the wwf of Rock-n-roll. before there was a WWF!!Ó The poor kid is overwhelmed. I try a new approach to try to make him understand. Ò Do you know who Elvis is?Ó ÒYes.Ó ÒThis guy is better and cooler than Elvis. but 50 times better!!!Ó The Kid looks at me confused. I take a sip of beer. I explain some more. ÒAll these other fags your mom listens too like Limp Bisquit and Rob Zombie and Pink ????? owe there whole fuckinÕ careers to this guy!Ó ÒWell how come no one recognizes him?Ó ÒDunno. Good question. Were just quicker than the rest I think. Nobody expects to see him here. This is not a place you would expect him to be.ÓWe have to get his autograph. Nobody will ever believe this. We need proof.Ó ÒJust go ask him for it?Ó Ò No no no little buddy, you donÕt understand. We donÕt want to yell out his name and let everyone else in on our little discovery besides heÕs libal to flip us off or ignore us or yell fuck you.Ó ÒReally?Ó ÒYeah. Seriously.Ó ÒWhat;s his name?Ó ÒJohnny Rotten. His name is John Lydon but I will explain more about this guy later. Let me think here.Ó Hmmm. I think. I stand up. I take 4 more sips of beer. I stare at Johnny Rotten. He looks amazingly youthfull. Last time I saw him he was a fat pregnant looking fuck performing on the one and only Sex Pistols reunion tour 9 years ago with original bassist Paul Cook replacing the very dead Sid Vicious. He looks like his old trim self. He sees me staring; he turns his back on me. Talking to another obviously British guy. ÒTyler. I have an idea. Watch this. Stay with me.Ó We barrell thru the crowd walking straight up to the red velvet stanchions and with all my confidence I say. ÒHey Johnny?? His buddy looks first and says something to Johnny and Johnny turns and looks at me with absolutely no expression whatsover. Johnny turns his back on me. He is snubbing me. And here it is. The brilliant idea. The day I bought Johnny Rotten. I whip out my wallett and pull out a 100 dollar bill. This is money I set aside to buy the kid birthday gifts but all that doesnÕt matter now. Waving it in the air. He turns again looks looks, looks even deeper squinching his eyes trying to focus, recognizes the denomination, grins like a chesser cat. ÒJohnny. Would you sign THIS?Ó He getÕs up slowly and stretches. He approachs me. He doesnÕt look happy. HeÕs gonna punch me. ÒSure I will.Ó He says. And he smiles looking me in the eye now as he grabs the bill turns his back and walks away. ÒThanks.Ó he says. ÒAhh. Come on Johnny.Ó He comes back laughing like the devil. A very British devil. I am not afraid of the devil. I challenge him. ÒWhat are you doing here?Ó I ask him. ÒHaving fun like you. Of course. Ò Johnny Rotten says. Pure genious. ÒYou gotta a pen?Ó he asks me. ÒHell yes.Ó I hand him a blue sharpie. He signs my 100.00 $ bill.( Picture enclosed)
And hands it back. I look at it. It doesnÕt have my name on it. I ask him. ÒCan you make it to Boogie.?Ó HeÕs pissed now. DoesnÕt like requests or taking orders. ÒBoogie Woogie? Like The Boogie man?Ó ÒYes. Exactly. ThatÕs right. Exactly.Ó He does it and hands it back to me. He looks down at the boy. Reaches out rubs his blonde spiky hair gives the boys head a little shove and says to the boy. ÒYour as ugly as I am.Ó and laughs and walks away amused by himself. The ultimate compliment. The boy is in shock, afraid. In pure awe I utter the following words saleing my soul and my favorite band down the river, ÒJoe Strummer is a fag. And The Clash suck!Ó He really laughs hard this time. IÕve tickled his funny bone. ÓStill?Ó he says. ÒI thought they wouldÕve matured by now.Ó I usher tyler off quick saying, ÒOh my god, do you have any fucking idea how cool that was??!!Ó like a giddy little girl I am. ÒJohnny Rotten just told you you are as ugly as he is.Ó We are off in our little world ignoring everybody walking away as I tell him all about the history of Johnny Rotten. Next thing I know Johnny Rotten yells to me. ÒHey Boogie. Can I barrow your pen?Ó ÒYeah. Sure of courseÓ I walk over and give it to him. ÒKeep it.Ó I say feeling cool. ÒI donÕt need any more autographs.Ó There is a bunch of really cool kids, skater kids and even girls now figuring out that this is Johnny Rotten. They surrround him, asking for his autograph. The future is secure. But it cost me $100.00. Later on I realized I had a camera in my pocket the whole time. I could of snapped a picture. Fuck it. I got the only $100.00 bill autographed by Johnny Rotten in exhistence.