Someone Got Their
Head Kicked In.

by P.G.


3 of us were sitting around Dykstra Hall at UCLA. The reason we tolerated each other while others didn't was because we all liked punk rock. We decided to go to the big punk gig that night - 'Youth Movement 82' put on by that punk rock label Better Youth Organization founded by that band Youth Brigade. I don't remember all the bands who played, but I remember besides Youth Brigade there was Wasted Youth, Social Distortion, TSOL and the Adolesents. We got there early, and my friend insisted we be right up against the front of the stage. The first sign of trouble was when one of the bouncers - some drunk hippie bouncer, started making fun of the punks. OK the bands start. The 1st 2 bands really sucked - I don't remember their names. The second band looked like a bunch of college kids - they even had their parents on stage watching them. On the last song their guitarist grabbed some old guitar and smashed. It looked real fake and contrived. They had the nerve to do an oncore. so I reached up and grapped the singers mic cord, some other punks saw me, and joined in ripping the losers mike from his hand. I always like to be a good influence on people.

The next band was Youth Brigade - they were ok. Social D was next, this was the 1st time seeing them - they really rocked. Next was Wasted Youth. Well, this was when the trouble started. I saw some punk kid, maybe 13 years old jump on stage. Some 40 year old bouncer graps him and punches him out cold, what a jerk. He even looked scared when this kids body went limp. Then comes out that drunken hippie biker bouncer I saw earlier. I'm up against the stage next to another punk who looked to be about 13. For some reason, this drunk hippie biker bouncer takes a disliking to the punk next to me. He's on the stage in front of us with his feet at our eye level. He moves his foot back to take a kick at the guy next to me like he's going to kick a field goal in some football game. I think to myself "gee, there's a foot coming towards my head - maybe I should move". OK - I move to my right - but you know what? I'm in a crowd - and I can't move to my right because there's people in my way. OK, going right is out - I know, I'll move to my left! That should work, right? OK - I starts to moving to my left - and you knw what? The damn hippies foot doesn't care and PING! My head just became that dumb bikers football and he's trying to kick a 40 yeard filed goal. I find my self on my knees, stunned, but still conscious. I figured out his foot missed the other guy and hit my head. I figure - hey, I'm still awake, let's enjoy the rest of the show. After some moments of struggle some people help me to my feet. I feel ok, but noticed that I feel wet on my head for some reason. I wipe my hand on my forehead, and gosh darn it, it's covered with blood. I reach my shirt up to cover my wound. I begin to stumble around. I notice some guy looking at me. I pull the shirt away from my head. The queazy look that came over his face told me something might be wrong. Some cute punk chick starts helping me out. Guiding me towards help and wiping blood of my chest. Now I know how to get chicks to pay attention to you - get kicked in the head! We walk up to some old lady. She says 'If you guys didn't fight all the time - this wouldn't happen". I pulled the shirt away from the my wound and the same queazy look came over her face and her attitude quickly changed. She directed us to some cops outside. The cop said that I'm not dead and will be okay and to go away. We went back inside and found the 2 friends that I came with. Now I didn't feel that bad - I wanted to stick around and see TSOL and the Adolescents, but my friends convinced me to go to the Hospital.

So here I am in the UCLA medical center emergency ward at 3AM. I'm laying on some table, 2 other people are next to me. One says he just got in an auto accident, and the other is a stabbing victim. I get up to go to the bathroom, I pass 2 people into the men's room, I look in the mirror and see a big inch long gash above my eyebrow and I can see right to the skull! It's a trip looking at your own skull. I get back to my table. A cop comes by to take a report. She says that I was a victom of a crime and that I should report it and she gives me a number to call. The doctor finally comes. Now, UCLA is a teaching hospital, so there is a student with him. He explains to his charge that the best way to check for injuries to the eye is to stick your finger in and feel it, so he does - sticks hid finger in the hole in my head and feels along my eye to check if its OK - it was. They stitch me up - 3 internal ones and 9 on the outside. They explain to me that I should have someone wake me the next morning to make sure that I can still be waken. I tell my frind driving me home that I'll just set my alarm. He agrees that this makes sense. Well, my mom called early next morning, and I did wake up. She asks 'what's new'. I say nothing much, except that last night I got kicked in the head and required 12 stitches. I guess that wigged her out because after talking to me she called my sister up all upset. Gees - If you were so concerned you could have at least expressed it to me. I decide to call the number the cop gave me. It was for the downtown LA division, they said, yes, I was the victim of a crime and should report, but to the Hollywood division where the incident took place. They gave me the number to call. I call that number and explain what happened, they interupt me and ask 'Wait, did this happen at that punk rock show last night?" I said yes and they transfered me to someone else. He said that that was no crime, but an accident. I got the message that the law only applies to some people. I really didn't care, I was only trying to do what the other cops said.

Well now my attention turns to suing. 1st I called Better Youth, the people putting on the show. They asked 'What do you want us to do about it?" I says find out who kicked me so I can sue their ass. They took my number, but I didn't expect anything. They did, however, name a compilation album they put out after that called 'Someone Got Their Head Kicked In". I call the Hollywood Palladium and spoke to some guy named Fred Otash. Fred eventually agrees to pay my medical bills and to send them to him. Now it turns out that this Fred Ottash is part of some Hollywood underground Organized crime. Fred Otash was sent by the Kennedys to Marilyn Monroe's home after her suicide to remove any evidence that Robert Kennedy had been there. Fred lost my medical bills and never paid them. Fortunately my health insurance did.