Skip to main content

Saying Good-bye...

Is there anything harder than suddenly, out of the blue, losing a friend? That's how today started for me and most of my friends here in Pittsburgh. We lost our buddy Osh. An early morning 2 car accident down in the South Side. It was over that fast.

I woke up already feeling like shit. Between my heart condition and sleep apnea, mornings suck for me in ways that, fortunately, most will never know. Imagine waking up feeling like someone has been suffocating you. That's how most of my days start.

I came downstairs, took my pills and flipped on the laptop to see what was going on on Facebook, while having my coffee. This is how I start most days. Today was bad. I saw a large number of messages in my inbox...rarely a good sign. The first thing I saw in my newsfeed was a post about a car crash. Right away, I knew it wasn't gonna be good.

I clicked on the post and read the article. Damn. Tommy Osh gone in a car crash. 47 years old...same as me. Way too young. For anyone. I just talked to him 2 days ago. He had a huge project that he was working on but wasn't talking about. He was worried he'd jinx it. He'd been asking me to help him learn a few different bass styles and how to make sense of chord charts for this project. Seriously...it was gonna be big. He was so proud of it too. It was his time and he was gonna make the best of it. He asked me not to divulge any details about the project...but let me tell you, I was jealous as hell and proud of my friend at the same time. We're talking Big Time stuff!

I met Osh back around 1990. Our bands used to gig together all the time...The Upstage, Decade, Zelda's, The Electric Banana, Anthony's...always seemed like we were doing a show together. And if we weren't, Tommy Osh was usually at the show anyway. Him and drummer Ang were ALWAYS out supporting other bands. Real Rock & Rollers, that's for sure.

But more than that, Osh was a character. He could be loud, obnoxious and crazy...but could also be the sweetest teddy bear you'd ever want to know. For as wild as he could seem to some, he was every bit as quiet and sensitive as a poet. He was a helluva songwriter and a bass player too. Any success his bands had was due, in large part, to Osh's determination and love for the music. Rock & Roll was more than his passion: it was his life's blood.

I remember back in our younger days, when we'd all go to a party after a gig. Osh was always there and always ON. He'd pick my brain about everything I knew about music. He'd ask about 'those fancy jazz chords' that I played or who originally did an obscure cover we'd played. If the guitars came out, of course we'd jam. Damn... I miss those days. I miss them even more now.

Osh was supposed to come over this week. I was looking forward to getting to hang out, just the two of us. We hadn't got to do that in years. Seriously...probably 15 years since the last time we got to hang out and just make some noise. Funny how life goes. It takes friends all over...but invariably, leads us back again. 

I've fielded calls from a number of our friends today. We're all just stunned, shocked, pissed off, and generally saddened by the loss of our friend. I guess what hurts most is in times like this, we're all filled with the woulda shoulda coulda's. What I think hurts us all the most is that we never got to say good-bye.

Good-bye Osh. Damn...I'm gonna miss you. Damn...

Matthew 5:4 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Clearing up the Great Gretsch/Rockabilly Sham!

I've had a long-standing friendly argument with a couple of friends about guitars. This has gone on for 20+ years. We're all pickers, and we're all usually lumped under the rockabilly category too. They both love Gretsch guitars. I can take them or leave them. Rockabilly fans have asked me many times why I don't play a Gretsch, which is often associated with rockabilly music.   First, I point out that what I play ain't exactly rockabilly. Sure, there's a definite rockabilly influence...but there's also blues, jazz, surf, garage, punk, country, Tex-Mex, and even some Gypsy & African influences in my music. A Gretsch just ain't gonna cut it. Don't get me wrong, Gretsches have their place and their own, unique sound. But...for a picker who is coming from the afore-mentioned influences, a Gretsch just ain't gonna cut it.   The new Gretsches, mostly reissues, are well-made guitars. MUCH better made than the original ones, which tended to ...
14 comments
Read more

The Alleged Life and Times of Wynn Rainey

Inspiration can come from the most unexpected situations. - MCM Everyone in town knew Wynn Rainey, but no one really knew Wynn Rainey. Even today, in and around Downey Bluff, the Rainey name will get folks to talking. As far away as Norwich, people still remember him. Everyone has a story, and more importantly, an opinion. Depending on who you talk to, some will say Wynn Rainey was a man of means. The Wenberg family, who owned and ran the local savings and loan, did a lot of business with him, if stories are to be believed. Oddly enough, there never seemed to be an active account in his name. The same people who told these tales were the same ones who’d tell you that assets are better than cash. Wynn Rainey always seemed to have the latter. Usually at least a pocketful. Some would tell you he was loose as a goose with his money. Some would tell you he could squeeze ten cents out of a buffalo nickel’s ass. Lots of the old timers will share stories of Rainey paying everyone’s tab at...
Post a Comment
Read more

How Much Longer?

 It smelled like rotting meat. The bite was starting to hurt like a sonofabitch. The kid that bit him couldn't have been more than twelve but looked practically feral. How long had it been since the attacks began; the bombs, the guns, the bioweapons? Six months? A year? Longer? Time no longer held the same meaning. Back then, time was measured by plans and productivity. Now it was a matter of survival. Make it one more day, another hour, another minute. Planning was impossible. The only plan was STAY ALIVE. The world had been reduced to what you could see in front of you.  In the best of times, a human mouth was a disgusting thing. Even the most hygienic smile harbored bacteria. He remembered when he was a kid, being told that a dog's mouth was cleaner. God only knows what came with the bite he received.  If there were any doctors left alive, they were stuck in the same hell he was. Poisoned air, poisoned water, dead bodies, and rubble. The weeds did their best to reclaim...
Post a Comment
Read more