I have always been a massive Morrissey fan, I saw The Smiths twice and Moz solo over 30 times. I would spend countless hours as a teenager listening to his music in my bedroom in those ugly old houses dancing my legs down to my knees.
Morrissey's lyrics were the script to my life at that time and Marr's music was the soundtrack, a match made in heaven. Misery loves company and I couldn't get enough.
When I moved out to California back in 1988 The Smiths and Morrissey became pretty much my only connection with Manchester and I clung onto them for dear life.
I attended dozens of Morrissey shows here in the US and it would be almost a religious experience to find myself surrounded by thousands of like minded people.
I started buying Morrissey fanzines at his gigs, I became so wrapped up in them and the fact that I could easily find fellow Moz disciples that I eventually wrote a Moz zine of my own, "Arty Bloody Farty".
Unlike the typical US Moz/zines that put Morrissey on a pedestal, mine was an attempt at humour and would often poke fun at Morrissey but mainly his fans, I was one myself, so surely it couldn't hurt? A self hating Morrissey fan, now that's an original concept.
I eventually became connected with the L.A. Moz posse a group of younger fanzine writers, photographers and college students who followed him all over the USA. To them as a Mancunian I was connected to Morrissey by birthplace and therefore someone who really appreciated where he was coming from, they couldn't grasp the reality of growing up in a grey and filthy Manchester. To me it was normal and nothing special, to them it was a magical place.
But they were kindred spirits and gave me a real chance to finally meet the man, as they usually knew where he was at any given moment.
The first time I "met" Morrissey was when author Johnny Rogan was in L.A. to promote his Morrissey/Marr bio "The Severed Alliance". He was appearing at Book Soup on Sunset Blvd where he read an excerpt, answered questions and signed copies. Despite the controversial nature of the book and Moz stating that he hated it and wished an untimely death upon Mr Rogan the night was politely low key and going well.
Then all of a sudden as fans were lining up patiently to get their book signed, somebody screamed "Oh my God, Morrissey is outside"
Instantly chairs were knocked over, gladiola's flew through the air as young bequiffed Americans fought valiantly to get out of the store.
And there he was, sitting in the passenger seat (Where the leather runs smooth) of a convertible Mercedes Benz across the street in the Tower Records parking lot.
We descended upon him like locusts and the car was surrounded, various items were thrust at him to sign. I had him sign a copy of my fanzine.
"Are you here to see Johnny Rogan Morrissey?"
"Errr no", he replied coyly "Is he here?"
"Yeah" we all replied in unison.
"Oh, I had no idea"
(Of course nobody was buying that excuse but we all pretended to anyway)
"Okay, I have to go now"
And with that he had his driver whisk him off down Sunset.
We went back to the bookstore and Johnny Rogan looked a little embarrassed but he also seemed quite pleased that Morrissey had gone out of his way to upstage him, it gave his book the biggest endorsement possible.
The incident was reported a week later in the NME, but they said that Morrissey drove up in a Pink Cadillac for better effect. He didn't of course, I was there.
A week later I got a call from one of the L.A. posse saying that Moz was staying at the Sunset Marquis in one of the cottages. I drove down there and spotted the same Mercedes parked outside one of them. I staked out the hotel, staying for a couple of hours. It's embarrassing to talk about this now I'm in my 40's, but I was a lot younger then. To relieve the boredom I wrote a lengthy letter to Morrissey, boring him with such details of how his music changed my life, who I was, where I lived in Manchester etc, etc...
After a few hours it was clear he wasn't going to appear, so I put my letter in a big envelope along with copies of my "Arty Bloody Farty" fanzine and put them on the passenger seat of the convertible Mercedes Benz.
Later that night posse member Fawn Vu called me.
"Andy, I've just seen Morrissey on Sunset outside a coffee bar reading your fanzine"
"Fuck off"
"No really, he was reading your zines"
It took a while for this to sink in, but I never told anyone about me putting the fanzine in the car, so it might have had an air of truth about it. Besides Fawn was pretty sensible.
I called my friend and fellow Moz freak Chris and we arranged to go back the next day.
We arrived at the Marquis the next morning and sat on the sidewalk in front of Mozzer's cottage. After an hour or so Morrissey walks out and says hello. It was very surreal, the man you have worshipped for years, right in front of you within touching distance.
We start chatting, upon hearing my familiar accent he asks
"Where are you from?"
"Manchester"
"I know that, where abouts"
"Oh sorry, Middleton"
"Wow, have you ever heard of the Civic?"
I chuckled at the absurdity of the question.
"Yeah, have you been to it?"
"Oh yes" he replied, "I've seen many shows there"
"There's a famous tattoo parlour in Middleton" he continues "But you've probably never heard of it"
"Do you mean Louis Malloy?"
"That's the one"
Louis Malloy is famous tattoo artist from Middleton, all the rockabilly's in Manchester (and indeed all over the UK) would use him, I knew loads of people who had work done by him over the years. Maybe Moz took his band of rockabilly's or heard of him through Boz or Garry Day. Louis is more famous these days as the official tattoo artist of David Beckham, but even back in the 80's you would have to book weeks in advance to get one done.
We chatted further and then I asked Morrissey if we could take some pictures.
"Of course"
He grabbed my camera and inspected it, then set up the zoom ready for a shot. Chris and I each got pictures with him.
Then came the bitter sweet moment.
"So" he asked "what's your name?"
"Andy" I replied.
Moz put his hand on his chin, looked skywards and pondered.
"Gillespie? Andy Gillespie?"
"Yeah"
"Hmmmm" and with that he turned and walked away.
I was gobsmacked.
"Wow" said Chris "he knows who you are"
"That might not be a good thing Chris"
I speculated that he might have been offended by the content of ABF.
"Surely he can't be that sensitive" said Chris
"I'm sure he can be" I retorted.
I can never be truly sure that he was offended, 100's of Moz fans read it and loved the fact that it made fun of them, but Moz is an entirely different entity.
A few years later my friend Lori and I were at a Moz show in Thousand Oaks, we had front row seats. During the show Moz walked over and was shaking fans hands, he reached out to shake Lori's looked down, saw me, recoiled like he had just been shot and walked to the opposite side of the stage. Lori knew of my Sunset Marquis run in and blamed me for not getting to touch him, I suspect that over 10 years later she still hasn't truly forgiven me.
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