Occasionally - the press will run news bites about Beach Boy Carl Wilson - band member of the musical phenomenon, the Beach Boys.
Usually, there's a lot of fodder about dependency, or curious tales about an unethical psychiatrist who pulled the member's strings for a short period.
And, just maybe, reports muse about the band's overall illustrious musical past.
In contrast, Dennis Wilson remained out of the unpleasant glare of the spotlight during his short dance on the face of the Earth.
Save for the Charles Manson association, of course!
Years ago, through acquaintances, I became friends with the drummer with the steady catchy beat, in a round-about way.
Although Dennis was separated from his wife - Karen Lamm - he constantly longed for the woman who got under his beautifully-tanned skin.
Not unlike the "Burton's" in their day, Wilson & Lamm tried to work out the intricacies of their tempestuous relationship. In the end, the pretty charismatic twosome called it quits, in spite of the fact they were married and divorced twice.
On occasion, Dennis would drop by unannounced for an impromptu visit - at some un-Godly hour like 3 a.m. in the morning - for instance.
Within minutes after alighting on my couch, he'd produce a miniature antique spoon from within the confines of his fashionable outerwear. With a couple of quick precise maneuvers, he'd be snorting up a mound of white powdery stuff.
Ah, cocaine!
In spite of the fact he was addicted to the high - for the most part - the laid-back beach boy managed to remain in control of his faculties.
In my presence, anyway.
But, he had his melancholy moments, when he'd pine for the love of his life, Karen Lamm.
Their sad demise was something difficult for him to fathom.
An elusive dream, that slipped away forever.
But, the talented musician didn't want for company; after all, Dennis was an attractive, sexy man.
Usually, he dashed around town sporting a pair of doctor's scrubs, in vogue at the time.
Slight of build, he wore a scruffy beard with surprising style, topped by a mane of healthy shaggy hair.
But, he was a madman on wheels, that's for sure.
On a couple of occasions when I rode with him in the black Corniche Rolls Royce at his disposal, he squealed through the Hollywood Hills burning rubber like he was behind the wheel of an expensive hotrod.
At the time, he was half-way into an affair with Christine McVie.
The whole scenario was not disimiliar to the tale that was depicted in the remake of the classic film - "A Star is Born" - which starred songstress Barbara Streisand and Kris Kristofferson.
When McVie was off on tour with Fleetwood Mac racking in the glory and the big bucks, Dennis shuffled around her Manse in the hills - stir crazy - and in need of an emotional fix.
He was obviously discontent, but what made him tick?
One day, after brooding a little, he angrily noted that his father had sold all the rights to the Beach Boys' early hits.
At the time, I was naive, and not too familiar with the ins-and-outs of the record business.
So, his angst soared over my head, failing to hit its intended target.
Certainly, I was capable of feeling his pain.
But in the great big scheme of things, my head was in the clouds.
Years later, when a classic Beach Boy hit turned up on a tacky taco commercial, it suddenly hit me smack dab in the gut.
Yeah, the Wilson boys' father sold 'em out.
Tough for a young man to face up to, even when the reality of it all stares him in the face.
When Dennis wasn't at McVie's elegant palace in the hills, he'd lull away hours on his yacht moored in a slip at the Marina.
Ah, he loved the majesty of the great sea!
Out-of-the-blue one day, a news report blared out from the TV, and it upset me.
Apparently, Dennis dove in for a refreshing swim one fine morning, and failed to reappear at the surface of the still waters.
Ironic, that.
A beach boy, king of the California sun and sand and surf, spirited away by the powerful currents of the ocean lurking below the surface.
Maybe, it was appropriate.
The California dreamer is at peace, at last, in his true element.
