 |
 |
|
| ::. Eddie's Links |
|
|
"18 With...Eddie Van Halen" (Page 3)
By: Ron Del Barrio with Andy Meisler
Maximum Golf (August 2001)
|
room and takes a few licks on his son's drums kit. (In a strange DNA twist, Wolfgang loves to play the drums, and Arie, 11, the song of Eddie's brother Alex, Van Halen's drummer, loves to play guitar. Who knows, maybe they'll end up swapping like Alex and Eddie; as kids, Alex played guitar and Eddie played drums.) "Wolfie's been playing for about five hours. It's like he's been playing for five years," Eddie says proudly.
He adds that he and Wolfie recently scheduled their first gig together. It's a benefit for Wolfie's school. He looks up and blinks a couple of times, lost in thought. "You know," he says slowly, "there's a reason Valerie's working right now. It's God saying, 'Now's the time for the kid to spend time with his pop.'"
You don't have to be the strongest link to figure out what everybody asks me these days: "How did you get to be such good friends with Eddie Van Halen?" The answer goes back to 1990. If you've been following the story so far (see "Nice Shots, Dude!" Maximum Golf, July 2000) you remember that Eddie was one of the alcoholic foursome--along with me, Tommy Lee, and Toto's Steve Lukather--laid out in the fetal position on the 15th tee at a tournament during that year's T.J. Martell Rock 'n' Charity Weekend. The way we played, it should have been called the Jägermeister Celebrity Open. Eddie says he doesn't remember that day. I believe him.
A year or two later, Eddie wanders onto the driving range at the Studio City. He's not drinking by then, and neither is Ron del Barrio. I reintroduce myself. Eddie tells me that since 1988 he's been fooling around on various golf courses while touring, A bunch of Tour pros, including O'Meara and Cook--and, oh Tiger Woods--are fans and show up at his concerts.
I give Eddie some lessons, nothing serious, maybe once or twice a month. He's...not great. He tends to spoil his fluid, natural swing by gripping the club too hard or swinging it too fast, which throws off his hand and body positions. But his poor technique is saved occasionally by fantastic hand-eye coordination; hours of poor shots are redeemed by 275-yard bursts of brilliance.
Then Eddie's friend Rick Dees gets him into the Bob Hope.
After Eddie's triumph at the second Bob Hope he played, in 1995, he's scheduled to leave immediately for his band's Balance Tour. He asks me to come along--and, when it's over, to fly to Europe to golf our way across the continent. Bizarre as it may sound, I turn him down. I can't leave L.A. and my then girlfriend (now wife) alone for nearly that long. Instead, a week or two later I meet Eddie and the band in Las Vegas, for the opening of the Hard Rock Hotel and the sold-out Van Halen concert at the Thomas & Mack Center. What was that like? Let's just say that when you sit at a blackjack table or stand around backstage identified as someone--anyone--tight with the members of a group like Van Halen, be prepared to fend off (or not) clouds of flying panties and hotel-room keys.
Eddie and I are in close touch for another year or two, when dives back into songwriting and inventing--he has a dozen patents and dozens pending for amps and pickups and other music-making gear--and gets away from golf. In November 1999, Eddie takes care of a long-running problem and has hip-replacement surgery.
Last winter, Eddie calls me and starts Wolfie on golf lessons. Eddie works with me on his game, again, too but we're talking less swing thoughts and enjoying each other's company a lot more. We speak on the phone at least once a day--tons of crapola and cartooning but lots of deeper conversations, too. One day Eddie tells me he has been claustrophobic since he was a kid--and then we laugh when we realize we were both scared s---less when we got on that jet in Burbank, only too much into being macho to admit it.
Eddie talks about what it was like growing up as an outsider in Pasadena, an immigrant kid--his mom worked as a maid and barely spoke English. He tells me some incredible stories about the lowlifes and parasites who crawl through the music industry. He tells me that he believes in God--or the Man Upstairs, or whoever gave him his musical talent--and how he feels responsible for working as hard as he can to make use of his gift.
Eddie also tells me about the initial fear and shock he felt when he was diagnosed with cancer, but says now: "I know I'm kicking its ass out. The way I look at it is like this, I've run too many red lights and gotten away with it for a long time, but it kinda caught up with me. I believe that God doesn't lay this on you unless you're supposed to learn something. And boy, I've learned more in the last year and a half than I ever thought I'd learn in a lifetime. Sometimes when things are right in front of your face, you don't see them. It seems simple, but all that really matters to me is my son and my wife. Everything and everybody else can pretty much kiss my ass. Even making music--which is pretty much my life--takes a backseat to my family and my health."
I open up wide and tell Eddie about Ron del Barrio's microscopic problems, like being responsible for my new family and my own craft and love of golf while dealing with the egotists and liars and deadbeats of La La Land.
Just before the Christmas holidays this past year, we're on the putting green at Studio City. Eddie pulls me aside and says the words that change my life.
"Ron I don't know if I ever told you this, but I was born with mensenkennis," he says.
"What," I ask. "Is it contagious?"
"No, moron. It's a Dutch word that means, 'knowledge of people.' I know you're unhappy being Mr. Golf Teacher to the Stars. I mean, people are using you, ripping you off right and left. What's your passion? What's your gift? What do you really think you should be doing?"
"Playing golf, working on my own game, competing," I say.
"So why not just do it?" asks Eddie.
I tell him how much money I need each year--$1 followed by too many zeroes--to quit teaching and try to earn a Tour card.
Says Eddie, "No, you don't understand. I know you can play. I've
::. Page 1 • Page 2 • Page 3 • Page 4 • Page 5
Top of Page
Interview © 2001 Maximum Golf Magazine
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
