Mickey Leigh - I Slept with Joey Ramone: A Family Memoir

Touchstone

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Copyright 2009 by Mickey Leigh and Legs McNeil

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First Touchstone hardcover edition December 2009

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Designed by Joy OMeara
Artwork from iStockphoto.com

The names and details about some individuals have been changed.

Manufactured in the United States of America

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Leigh, Mickey.

I slept with Joey Ramone : a family memoir / Mickey Leigh
with Legs McNeil.1st Touchstone hardcover ed.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

1. Ramone, Joey, 19512001. 2. Rock musiciansUnited StatesBiography.
3. Ramones (Musical group) I. McNeil, Legs. II. Title.

ML420.R2832L45 2009

782.42166092dc22

[B]

2009022791

ISBN 978-0-7432-5216-4
eISBN-13: 978-1-45163-986-5

DEDICATED TO MY MOM, CHARLOTTE LESHER.

If her everlasting love werent greater than my heartbreak, Id be a goner.

It took me, with the help of Legs, many years to finally tell the story of Joey Ramonefrom his origins in the suburbs of Queens as Jeff Hyman to the glitter rock scene; the Ramones; CBGB; and his incredible music, energy, and innovation. To tell the story, we interviewed dozens of our family, friends, colleagues, and industry professionals both to aid our narrative and to give the perspective of those who were there as Joeys life unfolded. Weve included some of these first-person accounts throughout I Slept with Joey Ramone, and while they offer a twist to something billed as a memoir, I also feel they help give the fullest picture of his life that I can offer. I hope that in these pages youll share in the spirit of my brother, a true punk rocker, Joey Ramone.

It was one of those crystal-clear evenings in the late winter of 1969. My mother, my brother, and I had recently moved into a new high-rise apartment building in Forest Hills, Queens, with a spectacular view of Manhattan.

I was sitting in our new bedroom with Arlene, a friend whod stopped by after our last class at Forest Hills High School. We could see the entire skyline from my bed by the window and watched the sun set over Manhattan. Arlene gazed at the city lights as I passed her the joint.

All of a sudden, on the other side of the bedroom there was a stirring beneath a huge, homegrown pile of rubble. It was as if this unidentifiable mass of a mess had taken on an animated life of its own.

Whats that!? Arlene asked in a hushed but urgent tone; she was ready to bolt should the inexplicable commotion continue.

Oh, thats my brother, I answered, deadpan.

On one side of the bedroom by the window was your average teenage mess, plus a few oddities: a skinny ten-inch-long mirrored hash pipe made by Mexican Indians; an eight-track tape deck; an issue of the East Village Other; a copy of How to Talk Dirty and Influence People by Lenny Bruce; and some guitar picks.

On the other side, my brothers side, was the pile.

It had levels, or more like tiers: clean and dirty shirts; pants, socks, and assorted underwear; a pair of brown suede, calf-high fringed boots (like the ones Ian Anderson wore on the cover of the Jethro Tull album Stand Up); all covered by a huge Afghan shepherds coat. Below, in another layer, were records, newspapers, rock magazines, and wrappers and boxes from various food groups, all surrounded by dishes, cups, and glasses that doubled as ashtrays, containing liquids that had created multicolored foambeer-mug-type heads that had risen up to and above the rims of the glasses.

Sheets and blankets snaked their way in and out of the living sculpture. An unseen mattress lay on the floor supporting the escalating geological wonder that was my brothers side of the room.

Uh, are you sure thats him? Arlene asked, somewhat confused, in that I hadnt even glanced over in the direction of the mysterious mass. I dont see anybody.

Yeah, thats him, I replied, unless theres a new tenant in there that I dont know about.

Arlene giggled, half genuinely, half nervously.

Hearing our voices, my brother cleared through enough of the debris to pop his head up and see what was going on.

His sunglasses were already on.

They were rarely off.

Hey, how ya doin? he said to Arlene. Theyd seen each other around the neighborhood.

Im okay, Arlene said to my brother. Did we wake you up?

Looking out the window and seeing that it was almost dark, my brother replied, No, no, thats okay, I was up.

As he started to clear his way out of the heap, we realized he didnt have any pants on.

Arlene said, You know, I kinda gotta get goin. I told Alan Id stop upstairs.

Yeah, I said. My mom will be home soon, anyway.

I moved to the middle of the room to shield Arlenes view.

I didnt have many girls come over after that.

My brotherthe guy without the pantslived on to become Joey Ramone, with quite an amazing story.

I lived on to tell it.

Our parents, Charlotte Mandell and Noel Hyman, grew up within a few miles of each other in Brooklyn, New York.

Oddly enough, they met for the first time over a hundred miles away at the Nevele Resort in the Catskills. The upstate resort area, also known as the Borscht Belt, had become a postWorld War II hot spot for young Jewish singles looking to hook up.

Fortunately for my brother and me, not to mention millions of Ramones fans, our mom and dad did hook up, on New Years Eve in 1946.

They met when my mother, Charlotte, was nineteen. By the time she was twenty, shed married Noel: I wanted to get out of the house, she said.

Our fathers parents were born in Brooklyn of European Jewish descent and humble means. Moms parents were also born in Brooklyn and Jewish, but were more affluent. Charlottes family wasnt sure about the match.

I wasnt living up to my fathers expectations, Charlotte explained. In the beginning, Noel was fun. He was an older guy with a convertible. I wanted excitement in life, and so did he. We had a good time together.

After their wedding, the couple moved into a modest flat on Ninety-fifth Street on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.