Always look on the bright side of life…
Brian George Walton Jr. was born on October 8, 1964, in Duarte, California, a small farming suburb of Los Angeles. His father, Brian Senior, was from California, while his mother, Virginia Ann Walton (Hess), came from the ethnically diverse East Side of Buffalo, New York. His father was the classic auto mechanic type, a religious beer drinker, and a womanizer. His mother, on the other hand, was rebelling against her German Catholic upbringing and looking for her easy rider.
By the time the stork dive-bombed Brian into their laps, his parents’ marriage was already in serious trouble, which improved only slightly whenever another mini-me arrived on the scene: sister Veronica (1966) and brother Robert (1969). By around 1972, it was splitsville, and the beginning of a 30-plus-year Rosenkrieg, rivaled only by the war of Brangelina.
Even in diapers, Brian would rather hammer away at the family organ for hours on end than deal with his clashing wards. His grandpa on his mom’s side, Norman, would often take the budding talent aside to teach him Lawrence Welk tunes. For a while, at least, then it was outside, falling out of trees, throwing rocks, and pitching M-80s into toilets like any other ’70s kid.
Grandpa Norman taught me how to play music. Dad taught me how to build beer can pyramids. – BGW.
During one of the slightly calmer phases of Brian’s parents’ rocky relationship, the Walton kids were living with their dad in Pasadena, California. Brian found himself enrolled at John Marshall Junior High School (JMJHS), known for its outstanding arts program. His homeroom teacher, Ms. Meriah Diehl, was super-enthusiastic, clearly loved her job, and took a special interest in him. Before long, Brian was diving headfirst into auditions for the band, drama, and even the checkers club?!
Acting wasn’t his gig at the time, and checkers was frigging boring, but music came to him like a drunk squirrel in a beer-nut factory. He became an expert on every instrument he picked up, especially the saxophone and violin. Within a few short weeks, he was the school’s soloist, but he was as humdrum as watching a geriatric munch dry crackers. Mrs. Diehl wasn’t having any of that, so she coerced his old man into letting her take Brian to a couple of live concerts so he could see how the pros do it. Yeah, that did the job…
During the 1972 Rose Bowl parade, the John Marshall Junior High School (JMJHS) marching band amazed spectators, especially when a chubby eight-year-old saxophonist (Brian) was seen weaving through the crowd, dancing to the music, and even serenading a random spectator along the route. The audience was utterly delighted, and Nancy Hanks, the director of the National Endowment for the Arts, who was watching, took notice. Impressed by Brian’s performance, she approached his homeroom teacher, Mrs. Diehl, at the parade staging area. As a result of that unforgettable day, Brian was quickly enrolled in the NEA music program and even made it onto the shortlist for a Juilliard scholarship!
Teleport ahead to 1978, and Brian could no longer tolerate his self-absorbed parents. He’d been in and out of juvenile detention facilities and group homes for some time before landing with his new foster parents, Dave, Diane, and Alex. With their help, he finished high school, got his driver’s license, learned to swim like a pro, and even earned his lifeguard certification. Thanks to Alex, he also developed pretty decent boxing skills, became a skilled pool player, and, most importantly, reconnected with his passion for music.
Alex heard through the grapevine that the local rock band Talas was looking for a roadie. So he struck a deal: as long as Brian kept up with his schoolwork, he could join the band on the road for their performances, with Alex as a chaperone, of course. Yeah, that was a no-brainer. In no time, Brian was tuning instruments, running the sound desk and lights, and jamming onstage with the boys whenever he could.
I never realized how big a deal Talas was until I saw our bassist, Billy Sheehan, in a 1991 music video with the band Mr. Big. Mind blown. – BGW.
With a high school diploma in hand and the undying support of his foster parents, Brian was emancipated, and he decided it was time to cash in on his newly acquired Juilliard scholarship. But there was a problem. Although Brian worked throughout his time in the group home, he had nowhere near enough money to survive in NYC, let alone pay for the bus ticket. And there was the added complication that he didn’t know anybody he could couch surf with. Well, once again, his foster parents stepped up…
Dave and Diane sponsored a bake sale and rallied support from friends, family, and even other foster kids to raise funds for the bus ticket and a little spending money. Alex contacted his cousin in NYC, who just so happened to be the night manager at the renowned Trude Heller’s in Greenwich Village. The nightclub had a couple of small apartments in the Brownstone where it was located, which were used to house visiting musicians, so a deal was worked out: Brian would help out in the kitchen evenings and play piano in the wine bar every weekday during happy hour, in exchange for the rent on one of the apartments. He could keep the tips he made and raid the kitchen as long as it was reasonable. The nightclub was only a subway ride away from the school campus.
Sure, it was a great deal to stay above the nightclub until you consider that the walls were thin and the noise was deafening. I learned to sleep with headphones on and to power nap between classes. – BGW.
It was a crisp autumn morning when Brian stepped out of the 66th Street–Lincoln Center subway station and made his way to the Juilliard auditorium for his audition. He was dressed in his high school graduation clothes and jacket, with a loose-leaf notebook of hastily written notes tucked under his arm, Assignments scribbled across the top. He’d been in NYC about a week and had been up most nights rehearsing his musical assignment, Beethoven’s Für Elise, on the piano. He felt he had that down, but it was his drama assignment as Cesario in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night that had him worried. He’d be playing a woman pretending to be a man in old-world English with a British accent, and if that wasn’t bad enough, other auditionees would be playing the other parts, and who knew how good or bad they would be.
Brian arrived early so he could find a quiet place to sit and rehearse his lines, but first he had to sign in at the reception desk. The reception area was crowded and noisy, with auditioners practicing lines or singing loudly while waiting in line to sign in, which made Brian even more nervous. Then, to his delight, he heard three very familiar voices. His foster parents were up front, arguing with the receptionist. Brian excused himself and cut to the front of the line, where his foster parents were, and surprised them with a nonchalant “What’s Up!” (The infamous Wassup! didn’t exist yet). At first, they were confused. Before them stood a sharply dressed, neatly trimmed, clean-shaven young man, a far cry from the hippy-dippy, unruly-haired hooligan they had raised for the last two years. The four embraced loudly, which nobody else in the reception area appreciated, so Brian apologized, signed in, and they left the building to catch up.
Nobody was more influential in my early years than my foster parents. They didn’t blow sugar up my ass; they kept me busy, which was exactly what I needed. Each was a character in their own right. Dave was outgoing and goofy, Diane was patient and nurturing, and Alex was a general all-around badass. They didn’t just help me; they helped me work through issues with my parents and siblings, too. My foster parents stayed in touch with us long after my time in the group home. Alex was a Veteran and he encouraged me to join the Army. Soon after, my sister Veronica and brother Robert followed suit. To honor him, the three of us posed for a photo in our dress uniforms and sent it to him. He never stopped talking about how much he loved that photo to anyone who would listen.
While they were grabbing coffee and looking for a place in the green area on campus to sit and smoke, Brian explained his anxiety about playing a role normally meant for a woman. That’s when Dave snatched Brian’s notebook, passed out lines to the rest of the group, and began acting out his hilarious take on Brian’s role. At first surprised, Brian, Diane, and Alex soon joined in, shouting lines in terrible British accents that drew spectators, loads of laughter, and even a surprising bit of applause. When it was time for Brian to go to his audition, his face hurt from laughing so much, but he definitely felt better about playing the role.
I aced the music part of my audition, but had to improvise so much of the drama part due to the other actors’ varying abilities. I thought I was a goner until I saw the judges smile. – BGW.
After his audition, Brian and his foster parents spent the next twenty-four hours reminding New Yorkers why they hate Buffalonians so much. When it came time to say goodbye, there were the obligatory promises to visit during the holidays and stay in touch, and then Brian’s foster parents were off back to Buffalo. A few short days later, he got the exciting news that he’d been accepted to Juilliard. Which brings us to our next chapter…