Ruffhouse by Chris Schwartz

Author:Chris Schwartz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2019-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

TRICKS

OF THE

SHADE

At the beginning of 1993, Cypress Hill was completing their second record, Black Sunday, at the same time that Kris Kross was doing its second record, The Bomb. While we were mixing the Cypress Hill record in the studio, Donnie Ienner came down with David Kahne to listen to it. The first record was a masterpiece, and the second record gave you everything you were expecting. I felt like we were on top of the world, and there was more to come.

When it came to Philadelphia nightlife, I was the prince of the city. Restaurant and club owners let me park my Rolls Royce—or any number of cars I had been accumulating—on the sidewalk in front of their establishments. I had several vintage Jaguars, including a gun metal ’69 E-Type and a ’64 S-Type with wire wheels. And I bought a 1941 Harley Davidson WLA combat motorcycle. I also occasionally bought cars for employees who needed them. I bought a ’64 Thunderbird for Mike Tyler, a guitar player who played on a lot of our studio recordings. It was around this time in April of 1993 that I had a “lifestyle mishap” that could have ended it all. I was with some girls who were dancers, and we went to the home of a mutual friend in Center City to meet up with some other people. The guys went out to get alcohol while the girls and I waited behind. The girls went into the bathroom and were in there for a prolonged period of time. I knocked on the door, and they opened it up to reveal they were doing heroin. I had never done anything opiate related, but was I was curious, and my confidence got the better of me. Heroin was making a comeback as a new drug of choice. I was insistent about trying it and against their better judgment, they gave me some. I snorted a line and do not remember anything but falling back into a bathtub. The girls panicked and left me there. My friends arrived back at the house as the girls were running out the door. They were unsuccessful in reviving me and called an ambulance. I recall waking up with a tube inserted in my throat and trying to pull it out. The paramedics were cursing at me. They took me to Jefferson Hospital, where I had been born. It was probably the most frightening situation I had ever been in. Not to mention embarrassing. You would have thought this event would serve as a deterrent for things that would happen years later, too, but I wasn’t that smart.

That spring, I met Bobby DeDomenico and Tommy Connelly, who owned a restaurant on South Street, Philadelphia, called Lickety Split. I got to know Bobby particularly well because I used to frequent Lickety Split quite often. They showed me a space on the second floor of a building up the street from Lickety Split. They told me they wanted to

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