I was 15 when I had my first drink. It was a few days after February 28th 2006, a day in which hundreds filled in the Greek Amphitheater that SAMOHI is so known for. The masses gathered to grieve the loss of the eternally missed Eddie Lopez, a friend to all, who on the night of February 28th was gunned down less than a mile from where I sit currently with the many memories shared rolling down my cheek. An improvement I’d say from the weeping and wailing from the day of my first drop.
I learned early on that loss will leave you with a litany of unanswerable questions so I’ve become aplomb at bifurcating in favor of solutions. Blame hood movies, or hip hop or my cousins and uncles that taught me the best way to show love and reverence to the dearly departed is to line the streets with liquid gold in their memory.
I made my way through the quaint Mar Vista neighborhood, Ludacris’ “Growing Pains” on repeat on my Walkman, headed straight to the oasis in the desert; Beethoven Market.
Having only lived in the area a few months and more importantly not having any fucking money, I hadn’t spent too much time in the place that over time became a haven for me. I walked in and can immediately hear that the man behind the counter, M****l, was watching the Laker game. Behind him were bottles I have battled and beat over the years but then, at that time, they were just warnings from my mother, pushing the notion of generational curses far before I even knew what the fuck they were.
I beelined to the counter to catch the game and talk Kobe. He still wore the 8 then. Eddie comes to mind with the thought of him hitting jumpers in my grandparents driveway calling himself the Mexican version of the Mamba. The sadness quickly gripped me. Sadness surely is vitriolic with impeccable timing, and it fucking ages you. No better proof than me being able to walk out of the market with a plastic flask of Jim Beam. See in that moment I wasn’t a 15 year old kid trying to have a good time, I was a 15 year old kid trying really hard not to have a bad one. I like to think M****l noticed that.
Maybe it was the extra $10.
That moment is the catalyst of an 18 year relationship between myself and the brick and mortar of bliss. I did more mourning there, some celebrating too. At one point I even had a tab. I was sure to never let it get above $25, but it’s hard to say when its only purpose was for sour belts and booze.
I walked into Beethoven for the last time the other day on its definitive last day. It was fucking weird, the shelves were bare and the way the sunset was shining through the windows made it feel cinematic and shit. Like early A24 shit on a widescreen. I don’t know I was high as fuck from enjoying a joint on the drive through the Westside. I walked around for a bit, doing my best to allow recall to come up from the concrete. I remembered drunkenly and passionately making out with some girl by the wine, so I grabbed a bottle. I saw a sign that said “40% off” so I grabbed 2 more. When I walked by the beer I could do nothing but laugh at the fact that if you blindfolded me at the entrance, I could get to the fridge with no issue and grab a couple tall cans.
The line was long. It felt like the line to view an open casket. At the counter stood M****l and his longtime partner L**s, along with their families. I stopped to chop it up with them just as my brother Chancho walked in. The 4 of us did some shit shooting, reflecting on stories from all the angles. Like the time I shot a music video outside with no mention that it would be a staged drive by and L**s ducked when the passengers side window rolled down. Or the time they opened a half hour early for me because I was walking probably more stumbling home from a heater.
They rang up the beer, the bottles wine, some mezcal and scotch. I threw in paper of 2 varieties, rolling and toilet, some dish soap and incense and it all came to $70. I looked at them and their wives and their children and smiled, I paid for it all with my card and slid a $20 bill with it.
“For all the beers I never paid for.”
They laughed and took it and I was happy. After 40 years in business, 6 days a week, they found a way to laugh as it met its end. It was fucking awesome to see. It reminded me that shit keeps going and regardless of the level of loss it is imperative to smile or laugh again.
To allow it to happen.
After Eddie died and I got drunk on the side of my house by the trashcans off shitty whiskey, I thought laughing was something that had fled forever. Then a couple weekends later I found myself at some party in some place and I was laughing, really laughing, from the gut and soul. I was with my brothers from Warm Brew and my life changed for the better forever.
I’ll forever miss Eddie.
I’ll forever miss Beethoven.
I’ll never miss an opportunity to tell those I love and appreciate exactly that.
RIP Eddie.