A Tribute To A Roadie (2002)

A Tribute To A Roadie (2002)

 

(This goes back to January of 2002, following the passing of someone very dear to us.  Still miss you, Chopper.)

My apologies for this, it's written more for myself than anything else.

If you'll indulge me for a minute, I'd like to talk a little about someone you've all seen when attending a concert but probably didn't give a lot of thought to: "The Roadie." They're the first to arrive at the show, the last to leave at the end of the night, do all the heavy lifting and pushing, probably do most of the driving too, and definitely get the least sleep of anyone involved in the concert you're attending. They also don't get nearly as much of the glory, partying and chicks that everyone thinks they get, either, but I digress. I mainly want to talk about one roadie in particular.

Kevin Weremychik, or "Chopper" as he was known, was The Smithereens' long time guitar technician, which basically meant it was his job to keep all of the guitars and basses set up, strung, and tuned (and re-tuned multiple times) before and during the show. He did a lot more than just tweak the guitars, but that was his job title. Chopper was the thin guy in the t-shirt, shaved head, razor stubbled face and round glasses who'd switch guitars for Jim Babjak when he'd bashed it out of tune mid-song, or gave Pat DiNizio a dry microphone when he'd gobbed it to the saturation point while singing. Most often, DiNizio would shout a curt "Get the fuck off my stage!" at Chopper for his troubles, but it was all part of the act, and they were close friends. If you love The Smithereens' great song "Only A Memory", you can thank Chopper for having a micro-tape recorder handy at the soundcheck where Pat came up with the song's main riff and shouted "Chopper! Tape this!"

I met Kevin in 1994 in Allentown Pennsylvania, where The Smithereens were performing at a club to support their A Date With The Smithereens album. I'd become a familiar face at Smithereens gigs, though at that point, I don't think anybody from their camp really knew me. Now, when I attend a Smithereens show, I'm right up front, almost literally hugging Babjak's monitor, air guitar in play, and singing along with every lyric. After the show, as I used to do back then, I'd hang around outside the stage door, hoping to get whatever the latest item in my Smithereens collection was signed by the band members. This particular evening, the stage door suddenly flies open, and I see Chopper and drum tech Ira pointing at me and shouting "That's him! There he is!" Now, as you can imagine, I didn't know whether to offer to shake hands, start running, or get up against the wall. They ran up to me and asked "How do you know all those lyrics?" The Smithereens' latest album had only been out for a couple of weeks, and frankly hadn't been a very big seller, but I loved it and had been playing it constantly, so I was able to sing along with even the new stuff. I don't know if they were impressed, appalled or a bit wary of me at that point, but it was quite an introduction.

Over the next year or so, I was fortunate enough to get to know The Smithereens and many of the people who work in their organization a little better. Around Thanksgiving of '95, The Smithereens played a quick three night tour, all at venues that were within driving distance of my home. Of course, we were up front for all three nights, and Chopper always seemed to be not only ready to greet us, but kind of looking out for us as well. The first night, seeing us already tired and parched after a couple of lame opening cover bands, he and Ira handed down some cold beers from the band's supply to we regular front liners. Probably the best tasting beer I've ever had, and a lot better than the club's warm brews. Only a few minutes later, when I'd tried to snap a photo, and was immediately pounced upon by a pack of overzealous, mag-light packing yellow shirts (at a little damn club, mind you!), Chopper was the one who jumped into the fray and told them to back off. That I was "with them." He was always there with a leftover bottle of water after the encore (these shows are hard work, even for those of us in front!). "Have you got Pat's latest pick?" he'd ask, supplying me with a couple of them, imprinted with DiNizio's mug, for my collection. "Your cousin wants a drumstick? Cool, here's one!" He even gave me one of those rare heart shaped Mike Mesaros "Blood And Roses" picks. I never figured that one out…Mike's the bass player, and I've never seen him use a pick, but he had some, and I've got one thanks to Chopper.

Regretfully for me, Chopper soon moved on to other jobs with other bands, and stopped traveling with The Smithereens. I saw him one last time in '96 at the Court Tavern in New Brunswick, NJ. Jim Babjak and Dennis Diken were trying out a side project, then called "The Don Wands", which later evolved into "Jim Babjak's Buzzed Meg." Jim thought the gig important enough that he'd hired Chopper for the night to set his guitars up. As I stood watching another lame cover band open the show, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find a smiling Chopper, who shouted in my ear "Get the fuck off my stage!"

This past Christmas eve, I got an e-mail letting me know that Kevin was very ill, in the hospital in NYC, having had surgery to remove a very large tumor from his brain. It was very sudden, apparently he'd had no previous indications that anything was wrong. The outlook wasn't very good either, the operation had left Kevin blind an unable to move. The news cast a bit of a pall on our holiday celebrations, but we drank a Christmas toast to him, and hoped for a miracle. I later heard that Moby, whom Chopper had been working with recently, visited his hospital bed, bringing along a boom box and Smithereens CD's, which Chopper sang along with as best as he could.

This morning, I was saddened to learn that Kevin "Chopper" Weremychik, passed away on Monday. I'd always kind of held out this fantasy that some day, my own band would be playing somewhere, and I'd be able to have Chopper whip my Rickenbacker 12 string into shape and I'd suddenly sound like Roger McGuinn. Or maybe he'd work some magic on that green SG I bought from Babjak, and suddenly I'd be able to play some of those Smithereens solos. Never happened, but it's nice to have a guitar that was under his care passed along to me.  So though I didn't know him as well as I wish I had, it feels like I do have a little part of him. If you ever enjoyed a Smithereens record or show during those years, so do you, even if you only saw "The Roadie" up there fixing a bad lead.

Rest well, Chopper.