Jenn's Monster Memories
I met Chris a year or so before meeting Patterson and Cooley, when I fancied myself a writer and did horrible little reviews of silly little rock bands. Chris was playing with Stained Mecca at the time and I came to see them, then misspelled his name in the article. He ragged me mercilessly about it, and it was the beginning of one of the closest friendships I'd ever had. I nicknamed him Monster and he easily lived up to the name by playing the fuck out of any instrument he laid hands on.
Chris wasn't only the best musician I knew, he was also the most entertaining person on earth. He was rarely depressed or angry, and if you were, well he'd jerk you right out of it. Even my then-boyfriend Jimmy, a notorious grump and pessimist, had to give it up when Chris was around. In an instant he'd make you laugh - even when he was pissed off, he was funny as hell. I can't remember the times I found myself doubled over with laughter in his presence.
It was a strange place to be in, Muscle Shoals in the early 90's. Lots of small-time bands with nowhere to play, except for a couple of hole-in-the-wall clubs and Club XIII, where dance music hemmed in the band of the night's sets and getting 20 people to a show that wasn't a Whitesnake cover band was considered success. Quillen shone above all there, as did Cooley, Patterson, and Rob, all of whom Quillen would eventually introduce me to.
Chris fit into any situation as easily as he played any instrument. He was crucial in making things enjoyable. Everyone wanted to spend time with him - you'd call in sick if he wanted you to drive him to the river, or buy beer if it meant he would stick around another couple of hours. 'Never a dull moment' is an understatement when it came to that boy.
We had a falling out about a year before his death. Chris was playing below his level, I felt, and I wanted him to get out of Florence and find something better. I thought he shoulda been in Athens with Patterson, getting out of Florence, getting somewhere he'd be appreciated. He didn't think so, and was persuaded by others who had use for his talent to stay and turn from my preaching. I can't blame him much; he had everything he needed, and I took my own unhappiness with my situation out on him by expecting more from him than I did from myself. At any rate, we hadn't spoken much in a few weeks when one morning, about 3 am, he showed up on my doorstep with Rob Malone and convinced me to break out half a bottle of Boone's Farm and sit on the front porch swing with them. We spent the evening coming up with gross names for the colors the sky was turning as daylight came across the Tennessee Valley. With Chris, a fight lasted exactly as long as he wanted it to; you could not resist him when he decided to make up. I'll always be grateful for that night.
I was in Nashville, planning on a night of seeing The Posies, the morning we found out Chris had died. My friend Matt and I had run to the store and when we got back to the house where we were staying, my beautiful cousin Bethany called me onto the back deck and told me the news. I remember falling to my knees and literally blacking out for some period of time, and I don't believe I've fully recovered yet.
We went to the show anyway; I was in shock and Jimmy said it's what Chris would have wanted. I cried all the way through it and still can't listen to "Flood of Sunshine" without intense sadness.
Everyone in our close circle gathered at my house crying and staring at each other in shocked silence. Evan, who'd been on a camping trip and arrived home to see it in the newspaper. Matt, who'd been right by my side since I'd fallen to my knees in Nashville. So many people in and out, weeping with disbelief. It was a great, great loss.
It was the biggest funeral I still to this day have ever been to.
All I really remember is that huge line of cars going to the graveyard, and someone's mother pointing to me in my incredible grief and saying, "That's what happens when you don't get to say goodbye."
One day after his death I had a dream that he came and sat in my lap and hugged me, as he used to do when he was alive, and told me I was worrying too much. He was laughing, and said he loved me and that I should not cry. It was little comfort; I could in no way reconcile the pain of losing him with my dream Monster's wishes.
I was on my way to the graveyard to visit his grave two weeks later when a lady ran a red light, and I t-boned her Cadillac and spiralled into six months of pain pills and agony - broken wrist, shattered femur, and 18 stitches across my forehead. By the time I came out of it, most of my friends had gotten through the grieving process. I was alone with mine, and I don't think I ever really recovered. The pain is still fresh and I miss Chris as much as I ever did. I can hear his voice clearly to this day; he could be sitting right next to me.
Click here to listen to a track of Quillen jamming around with Rob Malone and Cooley, many years ago. That's Monster and Cooley joking around at the end. Thanks to Brad Futrell for that.