Like our dad, Phil was in the military, which was somewhere he didn’t belong. He wasn’t a soldier. He hated blindly following orders, and he asked questions. He was drafted into the National Service by the British Air Force, and when he reported for duty, the officers immediately disliked him. The sergeant he reported to could tell Phil didn’t synchronize with the regimented military mentality. Before everyone in Phil’s training group was told where to report for duty, the sergeant called Phil into his office and closed the door.
‘Shulman, I’ve got great news for you,’ he said with glee. ‘You’re going to be stationed at Thorny Island.’
The condescending sergeant thought Thorny Island was a dangerous place somewhere in the Pacific, but Phil knew better. And, for him, it was great news. Thorny Island is a little island right near Portsmouth, a half-mile from where we lived. Phil wouldn’t see combat, and he didn’t have to go anywhere. He served there shuffling papers and was home every night in time for dinner. It was the best news a soldier who wasn’t keen about going into combat could get. He even met some girls around town who were turned on by men in uniform, and when he wasn’t working or at home, he spent much of his time with them. He was a good-looking guy and a soldier, so he always had a date and sometimes more than one girlfriend at a time.
One night, we were all home and there was a knock on the door. Mom opened the door and saw a girl standing there waiting to be let in. Phil was in the back room when she arrived. He gasped and loudly whispered, ‘Tell her I’m not here. I’m not here.’
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Mom replied. ‘Phil’s not here.’
The girl didn’t believe her. ‘I think you better tell Phil that I’m here and I want to talk to him. Right away.’
Phil, who overheard the brief exchange, came out of hiding and greeted her warmly. She was brassy, petite, and pretty, like a young Sandra Bullock. Her name was Roberta, and while Phil might have wanted to avoid her at first so he could continue to date, he never regretted his decision to talk to her that night. From the start, it was clear the two of them had strong chemistry, and from that moment on, Phil was smitten. Their love for one another grew over the months that followed, and in no time it was obvious that Phil would be with her for the rest of his life. He proposed, she accepted, and they got married in a civil ceremony. Ray and I were happy for him. We had a great time at the wedding, and, at least for a while, Phil’s affection for Roberta dulled his cynical edge somewhat.
About a year after they were married, they had their first child. As I now fully understand, having children changed Phil’s life. Nothing was more important to him than being a doting husband and father—maybe because our dad was MIA so often. To date, Phil and Bobbi have been married for sixty-plus years, which is impressive for any couple. They’re the kind of couple who are constantly together and complete each other’s sentences. Had Bobbi not come to the door that night and demanded Phil’s attention, his life might have turned out very differently, especially his young adulthood. Phil was twenty years old when he got married, and, as much as he cared for Roberta, it must have been a shock to go from being a bit of a playboy to being entirely committed to one person. Like the rest of the Shulman brothers, though, he had a strong moral compass, and he never dated anyone else, despite numerous opportunities. At the same time, being the only married member of Gentle Giant made him a bit of an outsider. He had no interest in drinking or taking drugs, and without girls to hang around with, he had too much spare time and didn’t know what to do with it besides sulk. He wasn’t with Roberta, so he was lonely, and he couldn’t hang out with Ray and me, who were having a great time playing the field with no strings attached. Phil never complained about being married, but when Ray and I went into secluded areas with attractive girls, I could see the frustration in Phil’s eyes.
As much as I will always be a faithful, dedicated family man as well, the one time it was good for me to not have a wife or be in a committed relationship was in the mid-to-late 60s, when our audiences grew from several hundred to several thousand kids a night. Our fans sang along with me and deified my every word and move, and I loved it. Teenage girls were especially excited by my stage persona, and it was satisfying to be desired. They were generous to us too, and when we didn’t have any place to go after a gig, these girls would often take us home and spend the night with us. It was frivolous, it was fun, and it was sometimes mind-blowing. But there was an innocence to it all. No one worried about catching AIDS or even the clap; in a worst-case scenario, someone would contract crabs, and the condition was embarrassing for sure, but it was easily cured with topical medication. Fortunately, that never happened to me.
Being surrounded by pretty girls was a welcome fringe benefit, but it was never a priority. Music always came first, and I would never sacrifice missing a rehearsal, band meeting, or—God forbid—a gig to get frisky with a female fan. I knew many, many musicians who were blinded by that side of the rock world, gave in to their libidos, and blew off numerous business appointments. But after a while I had had enough meaningless flings and no longer found them as stimulating as I once had. I had pretty much had my fill. I wasn’t exactly like a kid in a candy store who was suddenly tired of sweets, but let’s say I was suffering a bit of tooth decay, and my moral compass suddenly kicked in. I decided I would much rather be with someone that I could talk to, take out to dinner, and even take her home to meet the family. In a volatile industry, I craved stability. There was even a point in Simon Dupree when I had marriage on my mind.
I started seeing a girl named Jennie when I was seventeen. She was also from the Portsmouth area and came from a wealthy family. She was pretty in a wholesome kind of way—a poster child for the attractive Sephardic Jew. She had long black hair and a vivaciousness that was contagious. We enjoyed being together, and we were compatible in many ways. She was intelligent, chatty, and good in bed. Everyone in my family liked her, and lots of people thought she could be ‘the one.’ I certainly could have done a whole lot worse. She wasn’t short-tempered, selfish, or impolite. I guess you could say she was good marriage material. And yet, there were times when we were together and she wouldn’t stop talking, and I got irritated. I wanted to relax and be at peace, and she had to jabber away about something as if a moment of silence between us would indicate that we weren’t right for each other.
Whenever I had doubts about her, I shook them off. She’s great, I’d think to myself. She’s sexy and smart. Why wouldn’t you want to be with her for years? Why shouldn’t she be the mother of your children?
I had another incentive to marry Jennie. Her father, Harry Garcia, owned a big casino and bingo parlor. He and his wife liked me, and he wanted to look out for his little girl. At one point, he took me aside and we sat down on the living room couch.
‘Derek, if this music thing doesn’t work out for you, you know, as far as your livelihood goes, it’ll be okay.’ He said this as if he was striking a business deal, which, in effect, was his intent. ‘You know, when you’re in the family, you’ll always have the casinos to back you up. I’d be happy to help you and your family out, so, you know, you’ll never have to worry. That’s all I’m saying.’
I sat still and squirmed inside like a snake preparing to molt.
Harry patted me on the arm, and I thanked him, shook his hand, and left the room as quickly as possible. I had already made some money by that point, but I knew how unstable being in a band could be. As much as I wanted complete independence and didn’t care for a backup plan, being offered financial security from my potential in-laws was somewhat comforting.