Kate & Pam, plus anyone else into the Doors: here is a quasi-related post involving Pere Lachaise. In addition to travel reporting, I am also a classic rock historian. Enjoy.
1) *an excerpt from our TR/photo essay from four years ago ('En Pays Villefranchois'):
'At Pere Lachaise, we dodged raindrops, got lost within (testing the strength of our bladders) and found ourselves visiting Jim Morrison's grave for the very first time. At that notorious site, we struck up conversation with other visitors, including American TV personality Drew Carey and his young posse. Playing the role of 'Classic Rock Historian Emeritus', I innocently commented on among other things, Jimbo's alcoholism. I sincerely hope that others present didn't assume that I was tryna embarrass them.'
2) Those interested in The Doors may want to check out Bill Cosgrave's recent book Love Her Madly. Cosgrave was once a runaway teen who left Canada to eventually live with a classmate in Cali. That female classmate just happened to be pre-fame Jim Morrison's girlfriend. It is a great read. One remarkable takeaway: Morrison was then known as a poet of sorts but never, not even once, did anyone in his orbit recall him ever even humming a tune, much less think of himself as a vocalist.
3) I have studied the circumstances of Jimbo's death. We even took a facade photo of the Marais apartment that some claimed was where he passed away, taking that shot only coz we were passing en route unawares and someone (the frustrated property manager? the residents?) had posted an angry sign outside: 'JIM MORRISON DID NOT DIE HERE!'
While in Paris, Jim Morrison had apparently been in the habit of buying his girlfriend Pam's heroin for her. After that final fatal purchase, he visited a rock club (the Left Bank 'Crazy Horse') and went down to the basement washrooms. There, he sat in a toilet stall to have at a taste of the drug. What he did not realize was that the particular batch of tainted dope that he then possessed, had already been responsible for the OD deaths of a number of Parisians that week. Morrison died on the spot.
Another club patron with a full bladder had noticed the body, then alerted the young, American ex-pat manager of that club. That manager raced down to view the body, but given the corpse's posture with the head drooping down did not at first recognize whom it was. But soon that same manager spied the dead man's belt, an arty Navajo item that he had earlier been shown proudly by Morrison as a new purchase just weeks earlier.
Mortified, that manager then told his French mafia bosses upstairs (see 'French Connection') about Jim's demise. Those upper-level French dealers did not want any extra attention on their activities and immediately waved that American manager aside, while having their own men take Jim's body away to be later posed naked in that apartment, having supposedly 'had a heart attack' in the bathtub. The American club manager was basically told, "Monsieur, if you ever speak one word of this..." About a decade ago, that same club manager finally felt obliged to announce the truth to the world.
I am done. the end
