Frankie Venom R.I.P.

Frankie Venom (a.k.a. Frankie Kerr) and his family lived across the street from me on a dead end road that ended at the bottom of the Hamilton escarpment. My sister and I used to play with his much, much younger sister- God what was her name again? Aileen I think. We were best buddies as kids and not a day went by when we didn't call on her to play.

Frankie never really engaged with us, except to smile with detached humour at the marvel we displayed upon entering the presence of a rock star. Teenage Head was only a local band at the time, its biggest gig our annual street party but we worshipped him nonetheless.

I recall one particular street party – before he hit it big – when Teenage Head was the entertainment. The band drove onto the street in a station wagon, it's windows covered with towels. The neighbours stood in a row on either side, clapping and cheering as they rolled in. The band sat in the car till everyone got really rowdy – finally sauntering out when they felt we'd earned it. It was the first time I realized it was cool to keep people waiting. Yes, they knew how to play us but they also knew how to give back – we got a private rock concert right on our front yards!

I also remember Frankie’s bedroom. It was a source of a lot of education for me. When he'd leave home for band practice (his parents outlawed rehearsals in the house) we'd sneak into his bedroom and explore. It was pretty impressive, even now as I think about it from my adult designer eye. On his walls, he had wallpapered, collage style, from floor to ceiling, thousands of pictures of naked women. Not poster size pictures but small cutouts – like the ones (I imagine) you’d find in Playboy or Hustler style magazines. He was meticulous in covering every inch of his walls. No space was too small to support a nude. He had the odd picture of an idol singer (I recall Rod Stewart) but mostly it was naked women. A single bed (at the time, it didn't register with me what a juxtaposition of modesty that was given the rest of the room) but it had a shaggy black blanket on top of it (I think pretty much everything else in the room was black) – and I thought that was cool. I remember his concert outfit – hanging on a small hook off the closet door. A purple velvet suit jacket with sparkly trim and a white ruffled tuxedo shirt was considered gold. Touch it and we die!! We respected his wishes - actually we were just afraid of getting in trouble - so no dress-up parties to boast of.

I had other memories – like the time he found me under his bed after a particularly good game of hide-and-seek – God was I terrified – but mostly I recall Frankie rushing out the door for band practice, leaving us to play Nancy Drew in his room. It’s one of those childhood memories that stands out for me with its’ variegated colour and intrigue. I imagine Frankie Kerr was much the same.

Rest in Peace Frankie. Your memory lives on.