Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

Ritchie Blackmore’s Birthday

April was a big month for school events. It was as if someone in the administration realized that unless a couple of jolts were thrown in early, the long slide toward June/Total Apathy might get mighty steep mighty quick.

There was the student-faculty basketball game, a heavy-pitched event that was the culmination of weeks of morning bulletin announcements on tryouts, practices, and challenges. The students won, and Steve Shasta took Coach Ramirez to the ground in one fight for the ball. Big news for two days.

April also brought PSAT exams, the Sophomore Circus, the Annual Lunch-Time Concert, the Chocolate Sale, college acceptance notices, and the first announcements for Grad Nite, coming in June.

Surely there was enough action there to touch on every Ridgemont student’s interests, but none of these special April events meant a thing to Randy Eddo the ticket scalper. Eddo, the man on whom most of the high school depended for their concert tickets, had his own reason to celebrate in April. To Randy Eddo, fifteen, April could tolerate no holiday other than . . . Ritchie Blackmore’s Birthday.

Who, the naïve and leaderless might ask, is Ritchie Blackmore?

Randy Eddo liked it when someone asked that question. “Ritchie Blackmore,” he said, “is the greatest proponent of pure, heavy rock music alive. He is the man to whom I dedicate my life.”

Eddo had found a true hero in Ritchie Blackmore. Blackmore was one of the first English guitarists to begin playing loud hard rock guitar in the late sixties, when Randy was still in the crib. Blackmore went on to form one of the most popular heavy-metal groups of all time, Deep Purple, before finally leaving the band in a fit of rage over the group’s commercial successes. He went on to form another, less accessible heavy-metal band, Eddo’s favorite, Rainbow.

Eddo had gone to the library and found every old interview with Blackmore he could. He knew every story of every time Blackmore smashed a camera, or threw a steak across a restaurant, or told an interviewer he could “cut any guitarist alive.” In making reservations at restaurants, Eddo used the name Blackmore. He had even petitioned Ridgemont High to officially recognize Blackmore’s birthday, April fifteenth, if only by playing his music during the two lunch periods.

Randy Eddo’s request was denied. So it was that every April fifteenth, Randy stayed home and celebrated Blackmore’s birthday his way.

At 8:00 on the morning of Blackmore’s birthday, Randy Eddo walked through the living room and threw open the imitation oak doors of his family’s Magnavox stereo. Then he began playing, one by one, and in chronological order, every record and bootleg record Ritchie Blackmore had ever made or had a hand in.

This year was Randy’s second annual observance, and he began as tradition dictated, with the Screaming Lord Sutch album. Blackmore, Eddo pointed out, was only sixteen when he performed his first recorded solo on that record.

Eddo’s parents had grudgingly decided to go along with the celebration of Ritchie Blackmore’s birthday. They simply asked Randy to keep it as low as possible, for the elderly neighbors next door, and take messages if anyone called. Randy himself did no ticket business on this day.

Mr. and Mrs. Eddo would arrive home from work at six in the evening, and Randy would just be getting into the great stuff: “Woman from Tokyo” and the Made in Japan live album with all those excellent five-minute screams from when Ian Gillan was still in the group.

“Randy!” his mother shouted. “Can’t you go anywhere?”

“No,” said Randy Eddo. “Suffer.”

It took about twelve hours total, but on the evening of Ritchie Blackmore’s birthday Randy Eddo could always look back on a fulfilling and wonderful experience.