I’ve waited a long time to write this because everytime I started, I had to stop. I write honestly because it’s the only way I know how, and sometimes I let too much show. I hesitated writing this because tradition dictates that I write that Mitch was a fantastic drummer, one of the best I ever played with, that he was a wonderful human being, had a great and fulfilling life, was a loving husband, father, brother and son and that I have nothing but good memories. But that’s not so, and people are around who know it isn’t so, so without being a jerk about it. I’m going to put down my honest thoughts and remembrances. People have read other stuff I put on this site and said “wow, I didn’t realize you felt that way!” so it’s probably good just to lay it out there.
Mitch was my brother and part of Vengeance before it was ever thought of. I can vividly remember the two of us miming to Wings’ “Rock Show”, bugging our parents to get us instruments. I had an acoustic guitar, but it was hard to play, and I was in love with the fuzztone sound of songs like “What is My Life” by Harrison. Mitch always wanted to be a drummer, bashing it out on cardboard boxes until we finally got real instruments for Christmas. We had a gig by Valentine’s Day, no one sang, so we played them all with a rhythm guitarist who played with a bassy sound and I played the melody line. The little girls loved it and we were hooked.