I can't even begin to describe, much less fit in under 10 million words, the width, breadth and depth of the impact Greg Dwinnell has had on me. It's hard to remember much of my life B.G.D; like a gigantic meteor that changes the shape, speed and orbit of a planet, he completely transformed my existence in an instant, doing it all with just a simple phone call. Yeah, he started by changing my life completely, being the cause/catalyst for a cross-country vacation lark that turned into a rewarding c-c-career in Show Biz; but from the minute I hit the California soil, I had a new big brother who taught me everything a newcomer could need to know about the Southland, all with the worldly perspective and understanding only a fellow intelligent sub-urban observer and NY/DC exile could have provided. And after that, he taught me everything else I needed to know about life, how to observe the world, and how to extract the truth and find quality amid all the crap we're bombarded with in this life.

"Do you believe in magic?" asked John Sebastian, and although it's since been borrowed and used to sell Disney flix and McBurger clowns, the idea that the music is magic still appeals, and no one was a greater wizard than Mookie eggBERT. He was that kid who always loved turning people on to new groups, new artists, new songs and styles. eggBERT was making cut tapes long before anybody called them that, and the many artists he introduced to his listeners around the world through his cassette recorder in the 70s, 80s and 90s owe him a huge debt of gratitude, although most of those performers will never know him or what he did. But when I used to travel around the country playing rock & roll, nearly every stop would include at least one or two people who knew about us through Mook--in fact, on more than one occasion, the majority of the handful that had shown up were eggBERT tape recipients who had come to see us on his recommendation.

After sharing his exquisite and impeccable taste in music in this fashion for his entire life, in the 1990s, I somehow convinced him to start a label. (He always blamed me, and recounted the story several times, although I have no recollection of making the suggestion.) His first release was by his good friends and lifelong pals Action Figures, and from the minute he started doing it, he was completely hooked. Sure, he continued making compilation tapes, eventually and inevitably switching to CD-Rs, but he loved owning a record label. It was such a perfect extension of his natural proclivities. And although it was far more a philanthropic venture than a commercial pursuit most of the time, he kept it going for over 10 years, releasing some 20-odd CDs in the process and actually turning a profit in a few of those years, which is no small feat.

Every once in a while, however, it was fun to try and turn the tables on him, so to speak, and bring him some wonderful new song or band that he had never heard of (which was no easy task) and watch him listen, absorb, and smile. There was no greater gift than that grin he gave when he liked what you had brought him.

Considering our friendship was instantly all-inclusive, it's hard for me to believe we did everything we did together in only 17 years. We traveled, went to countless movies, nightclubs and concerts, and when we weren't going out, we watched TV together, with an ongoing conversation in between it all that covered every topic under the sun. Somehow, I found the time between those things to get married and raise a family, while he preferred a more solitary life...honestly...but ultimately, Mookie and I were closer than blood brothers for that entire time. He was my hero, my advisor, my conscience, my very best friend. We shared everything except our bodies.

I haven't even scratched the surface...but he really was the greatest guy I ever met...and I am going to miss him like I would miss oxygen or food.