The Worst Gigs Ever Part 3

The Brooks Brothers – Loch Ness Pub 198? 

   The Brooks Brothers had a long San Gabriel Valley history as a band starting in 1977 in Sierra Madre. An adjunct to Snotty Scotty and the Hankies (which only did oldies) the Brothers did much original and “novelty” material, some springing from the writing team of KROQ d.j. Bob Sala and Scott FInnell. By the 80’s what was left of the original band (Sala had departed) added more players and material which they presented on Sunday afternoons at the Pub. During this period they usually opened with “Eggs” by Martin Mull followed by their version of the Beatles “Yesterday” which they had rewritten as “Scrambled Eggs”. The finale song was always Freddie Blassie’s “The Hammerlock” during which they would attack and “wrestle” each other until they and all the equipment would go down. So, a totally silly and whimsical band playing for beers on Sunday afternoons in a bucolic setting. What could go wrong?

   From New Jersey (allegedly) the Policari twins Johnny and Jimmy were what would be called bikers on the West Coast but didn’t seem smart enough to park one. Outside of their almost unintelligible dialect their most distinctive features were their very large arms which they would frequently windmill to demonstrate the validity of anything they had to say. There was plenty of first-hand evidence that they could not feel pain. So, anyone outside of a stranger challenging them was inviting his own peril. Generally, they were given their own grazing space and discounted as being easily deterred.    

   Imagine then the general shock when Johnny (I believe, who could tell the difference?) stepped toward the stage as Scott Finnell was mumbling a non sequitur and essentially punch, rip or pull one of his eyes out. This produced two instant reactions. First, Scott disappeared out the door with attendants whisking him to the Emergency Hospital. Blood all over. But this was hardly noticeable next to the melee of people tackling the Policari whose guns were flying frantically and occasionally connecting with another innocent bystander. Roughly eight or nine guys finally pinned him sideways against the bar- holding him flat with all their might while he spit in their faces and cursed them.

   There were two guys on each arm with a third alternating from one to the other as it would begin to raise and then be thrust down again by six hands. Johnny bellowed, grunted and repeatedly tried to free an arm or leg against the surge pinning him. Every other minute suddenly three guys would wobble and then determinedly slap the errant muscled limb back against the wood. People who knew him attempted reasoning which only made him madder.