Styx "Come Sail Away"

You really shouldn't laugh in church.

And you really shouldn't laugh in church during a funeral.

But there I was, with a huge smile on my face, laughing in church.

The organist was playing "Sailing Away" by Styx and it just made me smile.

I was at the memorial service for my college roommate Teri.

I hadn't spoken to Teri in a few years, so the news of her death came as quite a shock. She'd had a very aggressive form of breast cancer that took her life within 6 short months.

The memorial was really such a great reflection on the friend I knew so well, way back when. It was quite remarkable to hear people who knew her when she was a young child, to the people with whom she'd become close to in recent years, speak about her in exactly the same way I would have. Meaning, her positive attributes, her foibles and her spirit were consistent, no matter what stage of life the various eulogizers spoke about.

I mean, a later-in-life friend talked just casually mentioned her need for Diet Coke and I can remember times 20 years ago, when we desperately needed to make a detour to pick up her favorite drink. Simple things to make you smile.

But what really got to me, was the music.

Ken, a later-period roommate of hers was a piano player, and, to give the service a breather between some of the speakers, he played instrumental version of songs that Teri loved, that somehow seemed appropriate for the day.

"Is that Duran Duran?" my wife asked, correctly identifying "Save A Prayer." Awesome.

And when he dipped into the opening notes of "Come Sail Away," I immediately knew I would be digging in the garage when I got home.

I remembered a letter she sent, where she excitedly wrote about meeting and interviewing Styx for the cable TV company she produced videos for. I remember how special and thrilling it was for her at the time, and it just filled me up to know that that experience and that love of the band made enough of an impression on her, that "Sailing Away" became a part of remembering who she was.

It's a sad thing to lose a friend, but it's a good thing when she can still make you laugh in church.

Below, I'll put a little excerpt from her letter, dated September 27, 2000. It might be fun to read, as the song plays.



So here's a cool rock and roll story for you: MediaOne, now AT&T (could I work for more of "the Man" than AT&T, I ask you) has this partnership with Music Choice. They have a featured artist every month and they produce a concert, which will air on our channel all month long. October artist? Styx and REO Speedwagon. "Hurrah!" I say to myself. "Get me an interview!" I shriek to my boss (Nicely, of course). She does, I go down last week with my bandmate, Jen, in tow and my buddy/co-worker, Jim, and we meet and interview all of Styx and two members of REO Speedwagon . . .

So the interview goes well, I'm happy, nearly delirious in my good fortune and we run to our seats that George, the manager, has secured for us. 20 rows back, excellent seats, rock out to the show. Styx plays first and Jen and I are in heaven . . .

At the end of the Styx set, Tommy Shaw starts throwing out guitar picks and slapping the hands of the fans. Jen and I bolt down the aisle to get a guitar pick for Joel. Tommy makes his way over to our side of the stage, recognizes us, points at us (the double point, one for each of us) and blows us this huge kiss! Jen and I sort of stop, look at each other and say, "That was for us, right?" and we're transported immediately into the land of 12-year-old geekiness Heaven!!! Tommy Show blew us a kiss! Very cool.

Tizzy "Cut Down Fight"

When I think about her, I hear this little giggle of hers, faintly coming through the speakers.

Before a show, she’d be getting her drum kit in order. Doing whatever drummers do to “tune up.”

And because she’d finally been coaxed into singing some back up, she had a vocal mic. But pre-show, it was pushed up high, away from where she was sitting, so when she laughed, it came out over the PA, but it seemed very far away.

The giggle was a nervous thing. Pre-show jitters. It was high-pitched and girlish.

It was kind of unexpected, in that she was not girly at all. She was not a frilly pink thing. Nor was she a bubble or a ditz. The giggle might’ve led you to think she was someone else, but no, she was sharp, smart, thoughful.

You only need to talk to her for about 30 seconds to realize that.

And neither the girlish giggle, nor her adult clear-headedness would have led to you expect what would happen next.

She’d count off the first song, and I swear to you, that when she wanted to, the only person I have ever seen hit the drums hard, or faster, was Dave Grohl.

The nervousness vanished, so did the gentleness, and Teri’s internal confidence, came out.

She could be an inventive drummer, keeping the beat without being boring. And she could rattle the whole damn stage, with pop punk power.

I loved watching other musicians see her perform for the first time, because her ability was so unexpected, and so overwhelming, that you could see their minds being blown, as her kit shook the room.


I got some unexpected news today.

Our friend Martin sent me an email with no details, only saying that he, like me, had lost touch with Teri these last few years.

The attached obituary was a complete shock.

41. Breast cancer. Gone.


She was my definition of cool.

Teri loved lots of very challenging, hip, indie rock music. Bands I never heard of, and often, who’s beat I could not catch. She also really loved Duran Duran and The Partridge Family.

You'd expect the too-cool-for-school indie rocker to eschew the pop drivel, or the Top 40 lover to not have the taste for the complex and fuzzy. The thing that made Teri cool is that she loved both, sincerely, un-ironically and without embarrassment or pretension.

If I learned one thing from her it was this. Like what you like. Don’t apologize for it. Don't wear it as a badge. Just enjoy it. Sincerely and un-ironically. Without embarrassment or pretension.

We had been college housemates at UMass in the early 90s. Collaborated on TV/Film projects. And became great friends.

She was an amazing letter writer. And in the post-college decade, as other, lesser friends drifted away, an envelope in the mailbox from Teri was still a sure thing.

But in the last few years, as she got married and I got married---and my days became more about my job and my family and building a life---I stopped writing, and she stopped writing.

I assumed that she was out there, in Western Massachusetts, doing the things she always did, making music, writing and producing TV and video pieces.


I came home and dug my out Tizzy discs to hear her playing (and occasional singing) again. And later, I’ll go in the garage and try to find that one picture I have of her (with me and my cat Milktoast) on the lawn of my rented Virginia farmhouse from that time Tizzy did an East Coast tour and played my town.

And I’ve been searching around the internet, looking at old record reviews, blog posts and interviews.

I don’t know what I’m expecting to find in all this looking and listening.

Answers? Peace? Relief from the guilt of not being there?

I don’t know. I’ll dig into that in the days and nights to come, I guess.

In the meantime, I’ll focus on the pride I take in having known, and learned from, someone special, and concentrate on sending those feelings to the people (like her husband, her sisters, her folks) who need answers and peace and relief right now, much more than I do.


Here's a Tizzy track called "Cut Down Fight," which features Teri rocking the drums and singing back up.