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| Ben Beverly with Pennywise at the Summer Sonic 2004 Festival in Tokyo. |
What are you to do when someone too young leaves. Ben (Benny) Beverly was 39 years young when his body chose to shut down and check out a week ago Friday. We weren't prepared for this. Perhaps he was. We can only guess. By "we" I mean his family, friends and anyone else who knew him. He was too good. That dumb cliche, "the good die young," rang through my head like a clanging bell. You don't know what to think. How? Why? Or do. Just cry for a while. Then remember all the times you shared with him, and listen to those who knew him best tell stories about him. The thing is, the stories are basically all the same: He was a powerful, positive force, a kind soul, funny, sharp witted, helpful to a fault, no enemies, everyone who ever came across him remembered him that way.
I have three memories of Benny that I want to share. I'll keep it brief. They span from the time he was about seven or eight years old to last December.
Benny was the golden child of the Beverly family of Manhattan Beach. He was the first born of the Beverly children -- Barbara, Bill (Ben's father), Bobby and Brian -- the first grandchild of Sen. Robert (Bob) Beverly, aka RG, and his wife Bettelu. As first born, Benny received a great deal of initial attention. He was a young star in the family.
My first interaction with him was on his front lawn. He must have been seven or eight. It was just the two of us playing football. I would throw him the ball and he would attempt to run by or around me for an imagined touchdown. I was the adult and he was the child having a younthful experience. I feigned trying to catch him but allowed him to get by me and score. He had this big smile and wanted to do it again. I started making it more difficult for him by grabbing him. His response was pure joy and laughter. You love to see the pure joy of a child. I never forgot it. Benny would become a formidable offensive lineman and captain of his high school football team.
About 15 years ago he came to Santa Cruz with the punk/skater band Pennywise to perform at the Catalyst night club. Benny called, and Barbara and I went downtown to see him. He was in charge of promotions, and would occasionally fill in on bass guitar. Before showtime he introduced us to members of the band who were lounging around their large tour bus in the back parking lot. We knew nothing about the band. Benny was gracious and so were the musicians, seemingly polite, well-behaved young men. It was very chill.
For the concert, Benny set up a few boxes of Pennywise swag -- mostly T-shirts -- that he sold near the bar. When the music started a mosh pit formed in front of the stage. Soon you could see bodies being thrown around above the pit, like flames licking up from a fire, some diving head-first back down into it. A bloody face would occasionally appear from the audience in the back of the room where Barbara and I were posted. Between songs, the lead singer would shout a few expletives at the fans, followed by loud, pounding, scrambled music, the pit would form and the scene would repeat.
We watched for about 15 or 20 minutes. "I can't believe those are the same boys that we met in the bus," said Barbara. "They seemed so civilized."
I was awed by the scene. Benny made sure that I received a Pennywise T-shirt, which I kept and wore. One time I was wearing the shirt while shopping at our local community market and a young male clerk said to me: "You don't look like someone who would wear a Pennywise shirt." He was befuddled. I guess by my age. "My nephew gave it to me when they were in town," I said, proud of that fact. Benny wouldn't steer me wrong. I was cool.
Some time over the years Benny became Ben, the adult version of Benjamin.
Last December, Ben drove his grandma Bettelu, Barbara and me to a Lakers game at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. His uncle Bobby (Bob) was throwing a birthday party for himself, family and a few friends in a private suite at the game. Bettelu was 91 at the time and it was a big deal to get her out for the night game. On the way Ben and I talked NBA. He was a serious aficionado of the game with a wealth of knowledge. "How do you know so much about that?" Bettelu asked.
With Ben at the wheel, we were able to bypass long lines of freeway traffic and zipped right down to the venue, pulling a U-turn on the main street in front of the arena, in full view of police and security. He chatted briefly with the parking attendant, gave him the Benny hand signal, I guess, and we cruised up to the curb in front of the VIP entrance where his grandmother would be able to easily negotiate entry to the building. She required a walker. Ben had it all dialed.
During the game I was sitting next to Ben and I asked him if he had ever thought about acting, being in LA and all, and having connections. "I could see you playing the role of a wise guy, you know, a mobster." Ben was a big man, and although cherub-like, you wouldn't want to mess with him. He had been a football star. He nodded his head and said, "I'll accept that."
It was a casual aside and afterward I wondered if I had mistakenly type-cast or insulted him. Nah. Bigger than life and sweeter than an ice cream sundae, Benny would never hold something like that against anyone. You just hope he knew, inside that big heart of his, how special he was.
Final Note: Ben Beverly spent the last few years working for Brushfire, a music label started by Jack Johnson, who wrote the following after learning of Benny's passing last week:
"We've lost a special member of our Brushfire family. Ben Beverly was truly a classic . He was sincere and kind, with the biggest heart and most contagious smile. When he walked into the room, your day got better. He worked incredibly hard for every artist on the label and made the office and the studio feel more like a home. We shared many amazing and memorable experiences together. Ben, it was an honor to call you a friend, and you will be missed more than words can express. Aloha, Jack."
