He grew up with an alcoholic dad, then became an orphan by the age of 16. Now, for the first time, Goo Goo Doll John Rzeznik shares his painful story.
First off, I would like to apologize for the oversaturation of "Iris"
last year. Although it wasn't the Goo Goo Doll's first hit-"Name" was,
in 1995-it did bring us a giant slice of fame that we never imagined
possible.
Recently, my band mates, Robby Takac and Mike Malinin, and I performed
at the American Music Awards and found out that we're up for three
Grammys. That's insane to me. When I think back on the first half of
my 33 years on Earth, sometimes I can't believe that I've made it here
intact.
I don't want to sound like I'm bitching about my upbringing. Now I
understand it was brilliant in many ways. My sisters (Phyllis, 41;
Fran, 39; Glad, 36; and Kate, 35) and I are so close today because of
the tumult at home, in our tight-knit working-class neighborhood in
Buffalo.
For as long as I can remember, my dad, Joe, divided his time between
his clerk job at the post office and local bars like the Three Deuces.
When he did come home, drunk and depressed, he'd pass out in his
chair-or wouldn't make even make it that far. Once, when I was about
12, my sister Kate and I had to drag him inside, take off his clothes
and put him to bed. Anyone who doesn't realize that alcoholism is an
actual illness-not just some character flaw-never met my father.
During my childhood, he had three heart attacks. A man in his
fifties,
he was overweight, diabetic and he smoked and drank whiskey. (To this
day, if I smell whiskey on somebody, it sends shivers down my spine.)
He just couldn't stop. I hated him for a long time.
But I loved my mom, Edith. She played the flute and got us well on
our
way to reading and writing before the first grade. She took a job as a
teacher at my Catholic grade school, Corpus Christi, so we could go
there tuition-free. When I was about seven years old, she turned me on
to music-first, accordion lessons, then a few years later, the electric
guitar.
My mom was hard on my dad, and there was a serious violent phase in
their marriage. He would come home drunk when we were little kids, and
they would start fighting. Once when I was 14, he hit her, and I
punched him so hard in the face that he fell to the floor. But my
mother turned on me, hitting me for not respecting my father. Like I
said: It was insane.
I had more than my share to rebel against, so I became a troublemaker.
I'd get back at my dad through vandalism (once, in my early teens, I
smeared blacktop fluid all over a funeral parlor) and by stealing money
from his wallet.
When I became a sophomore at Buffalo's McKinley High School, my
already-shaky home life completely shattered. At 55, my dad got
pneumonia, fell into a diabetic coma and died. My sisters were upset,
but I was too angry to grieve. That emotion set in more than a year
later, but by then it wasn't for him. As my family was struggling to
recover from my dad's death, by mom (who was also overweight and a
smoker) died suddenly of a heart attack, at age 53.
It was the most horrifying experience. I remember thinking, "What am
I
going to do? Where am I going to go?" I had my sisters, but they were
just kids, too. We had no other family.
My sister Phyllis became my legal guardian and found an apartment for
me in the neighborhood around Buffalo State College. Glad kept the
house; the other two moved in together elsewhere in town. So, at 17, I
was on my own. With a small, monthly Social Security check from my
deceased parents, I budgeted my rent, my grocery bills, my clothes. I
was totally self-reliant, but I was also a total wreck-and it showed.
Friends to the rescue
Throughout high school, I was a punk; I even showed up to gym period
in
combat boots so I wouldn't have to participate. I was always skipping
school-who did I have to answer to? And three or four nights a week, I
would drink beer until I blacked out. I was too young to have learned
from my father's mistakes.
But this isn't a story of doom and gloom. What happened next is the
basis for why I believe in God-or at least, a greater being than
myself.
Just as things started to get really dark, somebody was sent into my
life to help me. In retrospect, I see there was a plan. You don't
make
it through a nightmare like mine and end up with this kind of success
without figuring that out.
During my sophomore year, Joey O'Grady became my best friend and
introduced me to people who were into the same kind of music that I
was,
punk bands like The Clash, The Damned, The Sex Pistols. I started
playing with them in garage bands, and for the first time in my life, I
had something I really cared about: songwriting and playing music.
After I graduated from high school, my girlfriend, Laurie Kwasnik,
helped me apply to and get into Buffalo State College. Academia didn't
stick-I dropped out after freshman year-but that's when I met another
student and musician Robby Takac (who's now 34). When we were about
19,
we formed the Goo Goo Dolls (along with then-drummer George Tutuska),
taking our name from an advertisement in a magazine.
Coming to terms
By the time I was 20, we had a deal with Celluloid, a small label. I
wish I could tell young musicians that a record deal equals success,
but
I can't. The Goo Goo Dolls didn't have a hit for nine years (by then
we
were with Warner Brothers). We put out five records, went on brutal
van
tours and did everything we could to keep going. Not to say there
weren't good times. In 1990, I met Laurie Farinacci; she became my
wife
in 1993.
With the double-platinum success of our fifth album, 1995's A Boy
Named
Goo, we quit our day jobs. After hearing our hit "Name," the music
director for the movie City of Angels asked us to write a song, which
became "Iris." Then, last September, we released our sixth album,
Dizzy
Up the Girl.
Every day I'm reminded of my dad and his alcoholism, and my struggle
with his legacy. In every city we play, there's a party. Radio
programmers, record executives, friends-everybody wants to buy you a
beer. When I was in my teens, I could have drunk them under the table.
But I'm ever-conscious of what happened to my dad. When you realize
the
amount of destruction it can cause to not only yourself but the people
around you, it's like, why bother?
A few years ago, I visited my dad's sisters, Frances and Irene, in San
Diego. They told me something I never knew about my father. They
explained that their dad-the grandfather I never knew-died when mine
was
just nine. He'd owned a bar, and my dad had looked forward to taking
over the business. But while my father was in the Navy, my grandmother
sold the bar, robbing my dad of his dream. They said he was never
quite
the same after that.
The other night, I dreamed that my dad was sitting in his chair, and I whispered in his ear, "I got enough money to buy the bar back." He started laughing. When I woke up, I realized that it was the best closure I could ask for.
Captions under the pictures:
A boy named goo-"I'm amazed I'm here and in one piece," says singer and guitarist John Rzeznik, relaxing in LA. "Every day, I express my gratitude for having what I have, because I know that it can all be taken away from me at any time."
Father figure-"He had this personal nightmare that we didn't know about until we got older," says John of dad, Joe, pictured with him around 1974.
Road trips-Left: John on tour with the Dolls in 1995, the year the band finally found success with the single "Name." Below, left to right: John, drummer Mike Malinin and bass player Robby Takac last summer at A Day in the Garden, a three-day concert at the site of the original Woodstock.
Under pressure- "All my sister were really smart," says John. "The humiliation of having failed something was not tolerated in our house."
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