We had a relationship, which started in the late '70s and continued into the 1980s before we eventually lost touch with each other.
When we first met, she was calling herself Roxanne Ratt, and I was still known as Bilbo Bizarro, which worked OK during glitter daze but thinking I needed a more punk sounding name, she christened me with my new alias, Bill Bored. Shortly thereafter, she went on to rename herself Roxanne Hershey, and then just Hershey.
With the distance between Burbank and Whittier being what it was, combined with the fact that we were both transportationally challenged, we were mostly limited to arranging time together on the weekends, at Clubs like the Masque, Whisky, Club 88, etc. With e-mail and texting not yet invented, We frequently wrote letters to each other during the week to keep in touch and coordinate our weekend events. Recently I came across some of those old letters.
We reconnected years later, through Social media in 2012, and were able to catch up with each other.
I was pleased to learn that she had worked her way through school, ending up with a Masters Degree, and was happily married, living in Ventura with her beloved Beagles. Apparently she had become quite the animal advocate, and specifically, a champion of the Beagle Rescue effort.
It turned out she was suffering from a debilitating condition, and was keeping it a secret. It eventually took her away from us, and she died in her sleep on April 3rd, 2015.
For those who love and miss her, and for those interested in the musings of a teenage punk in the early days of the West Coast Scene, I'd like to share a few of those letters in the following post.
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