Whose Life Is It Anyway?

Eric's Bio

When the people at Paul’s Basement asked me to write an autobiography, I was surprised, honored, and humbled. I mean, what have I done that would warrant an autobiography? Could it be for some major accomplishment? Or could it be for my academic achievement? Perhaps it’s for my social life? I decided to look back on my life and see if I could figure it out.

First, as it would only make sense to go to the beginning, I decided to look at my place of birth. Born in Edmonds, WA, perhaps I had reached a stature of celebrity above anyone else. But then I remembered that Edmonds now has Rosalyn Sumners Boulevard, named after the famous figure skating champion and Olympic Silver Medalist. Well, I don’t have a boulevard named after me, not even a cul-de-sac. This got me thinking: those ungrateful bastards in City Hall are obviously bitter that my parents raised me in Mountlake Terrace, just across the freeway from Edmonds. I mean, I could see Stevens’ Hospital from the top of my street; what more do they want? Oh, well, who needs Edmonds?

I decided that the request for my bio must be for something else, so I moved on to my home of youth, Mountlake Terrace.

The next logical conclusion was school. I was, after all, two-time spelling champ at St. Pius X School. In addition, I was a pretty good altar boy and a damn good crossing guard. The more I thought about it, though, these just didn’t seem to add up to autobiography status. No, it must have come later, perhaps in high school.

I arrived at Mountlake Terrace High School in the fall of 1981, totally green in the ways of public education. This would seem like a major disadvantage, and at first it was: I was teased; I was awkward with the girls; I more or less sucked at sports—not horribly, mind you, I just was not at serious jock level. The only saving grace in high school was my discovery of drama. I was part of one of the finest cores of acting to have graced a high school stage. Over the course of four years, we took the lion’s share of awards at the annual Edmonds School District Drama Festival, or whatever it was called. Now, that’s great, terrific. But bio material? Come on, on that basis they could have asked Grace, Cami, Jason, John, Paul, or even Wade for that matter. But then I realized: they never won the “Most Improved in Jazz Vocal Ensemble” award! Aha! That must be it!

So, with a renewed sense of purpose, I set to work on my autobiography. I told about all that I have mentioned in minute detail, reliving old memories: joys, pains, setbacks, and those moments when those older than me would refuse to let me give up.

I wrote about my first attempts at college at North Seattle Community College. Generally a miserable debacle, I glossed over that time and went to my seven years of military service. I wrote about Basic Training at Ft. Dix, NJ, and my years in Germany as a private in the intelligence branch of the 8th Infantry Division. There was my time at Ft. Lewis in the early nineties and my brief marriage to Faith. I continued on to my work in Panama, where I served as a political and economic analyst for Honduras and Belize. I discussed my loves in Panama, and the pain of losing them, until I finally met Jolinda.

Jolinda, of course, erased those pains; they were increasingly like dreams, and the pains of the past gradually healed. We were married at St. James Cathedral on September 7, 2002, and honeymooned in Italy. Two years later, Ian Donald was born, and we moved to the Columbia River Valley near Lake Chelan. Jolinda and I are private music teachers and the founders of Pick-n-Hammer Studios, Inc., a music education and performance organization. It rocks.

So, I finally finished my 400-page manuscript, titled My Life, Not Bill’s. I brought it to the meeting of the guys at Paul’s Basement, and they were pretty stunned. Finally, Jason looked at me and said, “Uh, Eric, we just wanted a bio. You know, a couple pages or so telling everyone about who you are and what you’re about? Perhaps you could say that you play guitar and were in the band Fifi or something.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t even mention Fifi! I didn’t really say much about guitar and how I love bands like Zeppelin, Rush, Floyd, and Blue Oyster Cult! I’ll be right back!”

And so, this is why you have not yet seen my story. As soon as I get that stuff done, it will be a masterpiece, and you’ll find it exclusively on Paulsbasement.org.