By John Murphy
Outside of famous athletes, I have met precious few celebrities, for lack of a better word.
One exception is Martha Davis of The Motels. She grew up in Berkeley with my former girlfriend from long ago, Mary McGrath (now Blyskal). We saw the Motels perform around 1979 or ’80 in Berkeley and did the whole backstage thing. It was pretty cool.
Then there was the professional cheerleader, Krazy George Henderson. George was living in Capitola (near Santa Cruz) when I was in Watsonville. I wrote a story about him for the Watsonville Register-Pajaronian. His tale is memorable.
As a San Jose State student, he was into judo and became an All-American. He also followed Spartan football and one game with the aid of a bottle of tequila and a snare drum, he caused a ruckus at Spartan Stadium and sowed the seeds for his professional cheerleading career – a career that by the mid-1980s was netting him a six-figure annual salary. Hey, it’s good work if you can get it.
That leads me to the third character in my I-knew-them-when trilogy.
George Henderson took some of his cheerleading money and bought this joint in Aptos that had experienced several reincarnations, including an Irish pub I had frequented a time or two. He dubbed it “Krazy’s” and it became one of the early prominent sports bars in the Monterey Bay Area.
I lived not too far away and happened by there one afternoon. I was sitting at the bar minding my own business when I noticed a bearded guy to my left who looked interesting. So we started chatting and he was surprised to learn I was a sports editor at a nearby newspaper and I was stunned to learn he was … Doc McGhee, the manager for Motley Crue!
McGhee had also managed or went on to manage such acts as Pat Travers, Bon Jovi, Guns N’ Roses, Kiss, Night Ranger and too many others to mention.
“Hmmm, Motley Crue,” I thought to myself. Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars and Tommy Lee … is this the bloke who’s really in charge of these reprobates?
Well, Doc or whomever bought me a refreshment. Then another. He explained he was in town to ask Krazy George to introduce the Crue in his inimitable fashion at an upcoming concert. It sounded plausible.
Quite the storyteller, he regaled me with tales from the road and his difficulties in managing the boys. I especially recall a story about Vince Neil or one of them roaming the aisle of a bullet train in Japan with a half gallon of whiskey, spilling it on innocent folks on purpose. Now that’s not safe distancing! And it wasn’t real cool in Japan in the mid-1980’s either, getting him bounced off the train.
My head was spinning now as I turned the stories over in my journalist head. It all sounded rather fanciful, then again the gent had just bought me several expensive refreshments. Finally, I shook his hand and thanked him, rose to my feet and headed into a bright Monterey Bay afternoon.
And when I did, there parked diagonally in the Krazy’s parking lot was possibly the largest limousine I had ever seen in my life, waiting to whisk Mr. Doc McGhee away! Go figure.
Main Street Dog 