R.I.P. Charlie Shannon

That last time I saw you was maybe three years ago at CJ’s open mike at Lucy’s Laundromat on Sunset. I said, “Tell that brother of yours I should have married him when I had the chance.” Way back then, you hadn’t yet come to California, your brother and I were together, sweet and young, he was twenty six, I might have been nineteen, lying about being twenty, and we lived those years, happy and beautiful at times, unhappily at times, ecstatic at times, especially the nights stolen in Paul Provenza’s apartment on Navy where Huggy would sleep in the other room, and I always had Hot Tamales in my pockets. I wore a yellow hoodie and black shorts, and his hands were always digging in the pockets. How I loved your brother then. But I was too young, and had no idea how to love. It is a skill that takes many tries, whys, drive-bys to get the hang of. I wish I had the knowledge then, but then was then so the opportunity was lost then and is as irretrievable as time. As irretrievable as you.

I was always thinking that you were already my brother in law, and the idea just tickled me. Maybe it was about that rush of growing up, having a real boyfriend, who’d go to bed with you and wake up with you, and then the idea about him having this whole life you would learn about, the family that he came from, his friends, the clothes in the closet, the books by the bed. Like a Beach Boys song, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older.”

Our apartment cost $333 a month, and he took care of it, like he would, as he was a man, and I was a girl then. The apartment building was full of standup comedians, and it was named “The House of Cards.” There were rotating headshots in the lobby, of all the funny and unfunny people that lived there. One woman, a particularly odd tenant, had a cardboard cutout of a woman’s body, about to be flung from the window. Why would you use that as a window treatment? I have no idea, but that is where we lived.

All the pictures that flash through my mind are of the Shannon brothers. At your memorial last night, there was a short film you made with T. Sean, “Jogger,” where you both played the “Deliverance” dudes. My favorite part was when you removed your overalls. You did it one strap at a time, sexy but playful, “come hither,” yet somehow predatory, like Morgan Fairchild. Had I seen that movie then? I don’t know. But I guess I remember the whole of it pretty well. There were those build ups and the gossip beforehand, all the preludes and the anticipation, then finally meeting the Shannon boys. You were the funny one, the smart one, and then your brother – he was the looker with ambition and the kind of gumption that would get him places. He did go places didn’t he? I am proud of him, and I was always proud of you.

I remember another rumor spreading all around, this change in the way you were, how you had trimmed your hair. Because, there was this woman you had met. You had met someone very special and when I saw you at that Laundromat, no one would stop teasing you about it. I guess because it was thrilling and sweet to see you happy. I imagined she was pretty, soft, funny, and I was glad for you, thinking that you were not alone nights, like so many of us comics would end up being.

There was a tape Gene gave me, one of you at a memorial for Bill Hicks, and you were making fun of the guy who’d gone on in front of you, who’d brought on stage a white bowl that you said looked like something for fruit cocktail. I laughed long and hard and then cried and missed Bill, even though I knew him less than I knew you.

I just found out now that you died on December 21st. There is a sadness here in my heart that I cannot seem to get to the bottom of. We were not close, not in the ways that I knew all you Houston comics were. The dynasty of Texan comics, like the Cash-Carter Family, but instead of Johnny Cash, it was ruled by Sam Kinison and Bill Hicks, and I was the most distant relation, not even Carlene, but I knew that your brother once loved me, and that maybe by proxy you once loved me too, because that is the way life is.

I met you before I met your brother, Timothy Sean, nobody calls him that, but I always enjoyed that his name is Timothy Sean. You’d said he’d come to Hollywood looking for me, and he did. You told me when we met there at Spellbinder’s, and you were so funny, and it was tremendously exciting to watch you and the audience laughing uproariously at you and wondering how you did it, how comics got to be so good. Charlie Shannon is the funniest, nicest boy, I would think to myself. You were older than me, but I thought still, you are just a boy.

You were just a boy. How does that happen? One day you are just a boy, and then you are gone. Does the world just fill up the space that was once you? The ground that you stood on, that air that you held yourself up in the middle of? Where are you now? I hope that you are well, I wish you so much love, and for the family who I didn’t know, but I knew loved you so so so dearly, especially your brother, T. Sean, I wish them peace and solace. For the fiancée that you left behind, I say a prayer for she has lost someone so mighty.

Charlie Shannon, you may not have been so tall, but you were so mighty, and mightily loved. Heaven has opened up for you now, and there is nowhere better to be, probably the best comedy shows, rock shows, Austin in the open clear blue sky, everything you would ever want, right there. Sam and Bill are there, glad as hell to see you. And we will all join you someday, so I hope that you remember me when you see me.

Good bye Charlie.

3 thoughts on “R.I.P. Charlie Shannon

  1. Charlie was my best friend back in Meadowcreek in the St. Augustine Catholic school days. We were in second and third grade. I remember his family well. Everything Charlie said even back then was funny. And the lisp even made it funnier. (no offense intended). I should have known he would end up a comedian. We lost touch, as often happens, until my wife and I went to see him at the Laff Stop in Houston. After probably fifteen years without seeing him, he recognized me immediately. I freaked out at his waist length hair. He chastised me for paying to see his show. T-Sean was there, and they both did sets. His parents were also right there in the front row. Unfortunately, this was the last time I saw Charlie, but he left an impression on me that I will never forget.

  2. When I turned 18 I got a fake I.D. and started working as a floor-seater at the Funny Firm in Chicago. I wanted to be a comedian. I figured to put myself smack dab in the middle of it, I would really learn ‘It’. However instead of writing and crafting, I be came an appreciator. I was really intimidated by the people I was seeing. I met so many wonderful people in that period and the nicest, coolest one was Charlie Shannon.
    I had met his brother T.Sean first, a very cool guy but always had his headphones on,didn’t talk much. Maybe I was just a pain in the ass always asking questions. From the minute I saw Charlie I knew I liked him. We talked about music, he knew all the obscure stuff I did.I had mentioned Shakin’ Stevens, and he started to tell me about a kind of retro comic shop he was just in and saw a Shakin’ Stevens lapel pin ! We marveled at how bizarre it was for him to have just seen that and then I mention him. The Very next night at the club, Charlie walked up with his big Texas grin and said “Here Man, I got you that pin”. I have never forgot that and I will never forget Carlie Shannon. Fuckin’ Shakin’ Stevens.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *