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Pipeline: Remembering Mikey Dee
by Brian WestbyeThe Face Magazine
http://www.facemag.com/features/index.php?article=149
Yeah, this time it's personal.
There's no way I could be detached from this one. Mikey Dee was one of the best friends I'll ever have, and his passing leaves a tremendous void in my life, and in the life of the Boston music scene. Mikey suffered a brainstem stroke on February 7th, 2000, after a routine heart procedure at Children's Hospital in Boston. For the next three years, he lived in a "locked-in" state: cognitively all together, but unable to speak or move. During this time, he fought harder than Tyson, and a group of friends came together to form Team Dee, visiting daily, researching, implementing treatment programs, organizing singalongs, breaking the patient out for field trips to rock shows, and giving from an untapped well of love. I was honored to have a small contributing roll on Team Dee, so forgive me if I prattle on a bit in first person.
I'm still having a hard time getting used to using past tense. Mikey was, he did. I've been using past tense to talk about Mikey for over three years now, but it still seems wrong. Nobody as full of life as Mikey Dee could ever really be gone, could they? It's not part of the plan to have a stroke at 37 and pass away at 40, right? It shouldn't happen that way.
If you worked in The Business in Boston, New York, El Lay, Austin and beyond, you probably at least heard the name Mikey Dee mentioned. Maybe you received a call from Mr. Dee asking where the new Letters to Cleo single was charting. Or perhaps he was writing, "I have found my new favorite band!" about your latest EP in The Noise. If you were a Bostonian, the chances were good that you were somehow in frequent contact with Tha Dee. You spent a good ten minutes weeding through his "Mikey's Pals" e-mails to see who was playing that night at The Milky Way. You religiously tuned in to WMFO Tufts on Wednesday nights for On the Town With Mikey Dee ("The best in local and live!"). You hinted that you'd like a plus-one on whatever guest list he put you on. Or you stood by at the club as Mikey assumed his regular position front-and-center, air drumming like a maniac. Mikey Dee was (again with that past tense!) the Fiorello La Guardia of the Boston Rock scene: he was everywhere at once.
Mikey was so much more than just his titles: Director of Triple A (radio) Promotions with the Planetary Group, DJ, Editor and Writer, Actor (Boston Rock Opera, ACME Theatre Company), cheerleader, stroke survivor. Somehow he seemed to transcend any label and bring you along for the ride.
I met Mikey in November 1999, when I was a 27-year-old shell-shocked rookie on The Noise staff. Instantly Mikey took me under his wing and ample schnoz, and we were out schmoozing, making the rounds, and becoming fast friends and confidants. I had spent years hoping to someday revisit my dream of making it as a working writer and musician. Mikey made me feel like I had made it, and encouraged me to go further. That's the effect he had: positive to the end, but willing to give an honest bitchslap. "You could be great. If..."The list of artists that benefited from Mikey's stamp of approval would kill a number of trees. The cool thing is that it didn't matter if you were Mark Sandman from Morphine or Joseph Blow from the Nobodies: Dee would give you an equal shake and make you feel as if your work was the greatest ever. If Mikey liked it, he'd be in your corner (and if he didn't like your band, he'd play you anyway). Good music should not know favoritism, and there was none of that in Mikey's world.
At the end of the day, Mikey was an just an amazing personality. Anecdotes? I only knew the guy for three months before the stroke, but I could fill up pages from that short time (and many pages of http://www.mikeydee.com/ have been filled). That shrieking laugh (the same laugh that would greet visitors to Mikey's room at Spaulding Rehab in Boston and The Greenery in Andover, MA). Doing a conga line through the lobby of the Somerville Theatre chanting "You don't win friends with salad!" ala Bart and Homer. In a moment of self-depreciation I once stated that I felt old. Mikey replied, "You're what, 27? Well I've got ten years on you, and I'm still rocking." Get busy living or get busy dying. Dee, returning from a trip to the Apple, raving about the cheesecake at Lindy's: "Two fiddy and a whole cake!" Pulled-pork samis from Redbones. Mikey's take on, shall we say, "interactions" with the opposite sex: "I'd pack a lunch and stay all day!" Those famous Sunday morning breakies (notice a food theme developing?), his exuberance at tackling the New York Times crossword, and at the end of the day, The Sopranos. Sunday was about the only night that Mikey wasn't out in club-ville. "It's a day of rest!" Frolicking in a playground during a light 2 AM snowfall, a million pinpoint flakes cascading from a soft purple sky. Innocence. That was one of the last times I saw him before he went in for that routine procedure. And in a lifetime of images cultivated over a three-month relationship, that one still stands out.
Monday, February 6th, 2000: Mikey had a congenitally narrow aorta, so a procedure was scheduled to put in a shunt. An overnight stay, two weeks recovering, in and out. He made it through the procedure, ate dinner (naturally), and went to sleep. The stroke happened about 4:00 AM on the 7th. Right away a collection of Mikey's closest friends came together. Tina. Lifelong friend Val, who flew in, and eventually moved from, California. Mary, Mikey's former girlfriend. T Max, publisher of The Noise. Eleanor from Boston Rock Opera. Former roommate Joe. Boston Rock Opera co-conspirator Linda. Old friends Pete and Roberta and Chris and Deb. This group stayed with Mikey non-stop through the critical first 36 hours, and beyond. The days went on, and Mikey continued to hang on, even as the extent of his condition was revealed: three massive brainstem strokes, locked-in syndrome, prognosis unknown. We knew that he was in there, and that he knew we were there. Communication was achieved through yes-and-no questions and corresponding eye movements. Blink once for yes, twice for no became look up for yes, look down for no, and eventually he was able to spell out words via blinks and a letter board. It was a constant battle, but he did it.
Within a month the website was up and hundreds upon hundreds of cards were up on the walls. Within two, the Mikey Dee Musicians Benefit Trust was established to help take care of Mikey's expenses, and to help other uninsured musicians who suffer from catastrophic events. The first round of benefit shows took place, and hundreds of bands volunteered a gig (and hundreds more were turned away due to time and venue limitations). By July, we were able to make arrangements to break Dee out. Mikey's favorite band, The Sheila Devine ("Too good for Boston!"), was playing at the venerable Hatch Shell. Time to get the wheelchair in the van! It was a beautiful summer night, and we had a spot reserved off to the side. It was hard for Mikey: he didn't want people he used to know to see him. But he really wanted to see the Sheilas again, so we busted him out for the first time. And Dee rocked, and it was wonderful.
The days and weeks went on, the visits and therapy went on, the progress was measured in imperceptible increments. Hope never faded. Monthly singalongs occurred on Sundays, live from the 8th floor. Mikey kept abreast of what was happening on his beloved Boston scene. Hundreds of CDs showed up, and Mikey always requested what he wanted. More fieldtrips were arranged. Team Dee never faltered, never gave up. Not after the first day, not after the first year, not ever.
Right now I'm listening to The Long Winters When I Pretend to Fall (amazingly brilliant pop out of Seattle, right up Mikey's alley). I was going to pick up a copy for Dee when I was in Seattle last month. But we were short on funds, and I had seen the disc at Newbury Comics. No problem, I'll pick up a copy here and pop in for a visit. Now I can't, and I never will be able to. It's okay, though. I'm sure that Mikey is grooving to "Stupid" right now with a big pulled-pork sami and a cold Pabst (no snob, Dee). One of the great lines from the tribute board on the website was Corin Ashley (The Pills) depicting Mikey standing at the pearly gates and saying, "I believe I'm on that list." Not a doubt in my mind about that.
You are free to air drum again, Mikey.
