In Memory of Jeff "Mayhem" Thompson

A Detailed Account of the Week of Mayhem's Death and Funeral

by Sharon Wothke

(This is a reflective, 15-page account, which has a positive, surprise ending. If you are interested in reading the whole thing, I suggest that you print this out first.)

Randy and I had been in a twilight zone state of limbo most of that Thursday, December 9, 2004, since receiving a message earlier that morning from our friend, Kara Metzger in Dallas. She had heard about the deadly shootings at the Damageplan (formerly known as Pantera) concert in Columbus, Ohio where several people were killed or injured. I could hear the panic in her voice. "I heard on the local radio station that Mayhem got shot . . . if you can find out any information, please call and let me know," she pleaded. Friends of Mayhem knew that he was working security for the band's concert tour this summer. When Randy turned on his cell phone that morning, there was a message from Coy Sevier, General Manager of Scarborough Faire in Waxahachie, Texas. He wanted to know if Randy had a phone number for Jeff's dad. He said that the Ohio police had called him wanting to know it. "That can't be good," I said. "No," Randy agreed. "That means that Mayhem was probably killed, or at the very least unconscious." Randy called Mayhem's cell phone. "Hey, buddy. This is Randy. We're just calling to see if you are okay. We heard about the shooting at the Damageplan concert last night. Hopefully you're all right. Give us a call and let us know what's going on."

Kara and I were on the phone with each other all day long. We knew in our hearts that our friend had passed, and yet, we were still hoping that we might be wrong. The reports given on the news did not release two of the victim's names, pending notification of next-of-kin. Our friend, Steve Brownlee, called to say he had been in one of the on-line chat rooms and read that Jeff had been shot and killed when he confronted the gunman, who had just killed lead guitarist Darrell "Dimebag" Abbott. Our friend Ken Cannizzo, who has police contacts, heard the same thing from some Columbus police officers. We did several searches on the web, hoping to find more information, but to no avail. Finally we gave up. We had to wait, like it or not. We called the other band members to inform them. Nelson was distraught to hear the news and anxiously awaited for it to be confirmed.

Our phones, both cell and home, were ringing all day long. Around 4:00 pm I did a search on the Google website for "Jeff Thompson + Columbus, Ohio." It pulled up a response immediately, a news story that had been released just an hour before. With baited breath I read what I already knew to be true: our dear friend had been shot and killed by a maniac with a gun at the Alrosa Villa Nightclub the night before on December 8, 2004. What possessed this man to take the life of others, innocent people who had done him no harm? We knew our friend and we knew the kind of man he was. Before the details were confirmed, we knew that he had died a hero, trying to save the lives of others. He died protecting his friends in the Damageplan band.

Seeing his name in print just crushed me. "Four people were killed . . . [including] Jeff Thompson, 40, whose last known address was in Texas." How could it be? Randy had just spoken to him the day before he died. He was in the grocery story when Mayhem returned his phone call regarding his availability to fill in for Nelson in Louisiana that weekend. He said he wanted to do it but couldn't because he wouldn't be back to Texas until December 12th. They small talked a bit. "I bet you got stories to tell from being on the road, huh?" Randy enquired. "Oh, yeah. I got some. And I got a lot I can't tell you," he said. That was typical of Mayhem. He was extremely loyal and discreet when working for bands, including ours. He just didn't talk bad about his friends and he would never betray them. It would be the last phone call we ever got from him. He was due back that Sunday. He had almost made it home. Later, Randy wished he hadn't been in such a hurry to get off the phone to finish his errands. You never know when it might be the last time you will ever speak with someone.

That day the news broke was a horrible day. Randy and I cried on and off all day long. It is funny how grief will come in waves. One minute you are fine. You are in a state of disbelief, thinking that you will be seeing your friend again soon. Then reality sets in and your heart aches because you know you never will. One minute you're okay and then the next minute a twisting pain grabs you in the gut and heart and you feel the tears well up again. All day I kept repeating what many others must have been saying to themselves: "I just can't believe that he is gone." Randy and I would look at each other and suddenly embrace, tears in our eyes. There is nothing like a big hug to sooth your aching heart.

We stayed home all day Friday. We didn't feel like doing anything. I told Randy that I wouldn't be surprised if The Rogues started to receive condolences for Mayhem since we, and others at Scarborough Faire, were the closest he had to family in the Renaissance world. No one really knew Jeff's family or how to contact them. All we knew is that his dad lived in Arkansas. I didn't know how right I was about The Rogues being his surrogate family in Texas. The phone rang off the hook, several people left messages on the band voice mail, and e-mails started to come in by the dozens. Some were personal messages to us; many others were postings from The Rogues of Scotland Yahoo Group. Still others were messages from people who had signed the guestbook on the band's website. They kept coming in and I found myself obsessively reading each and every one of them. I started to copy and drag them into a word document in my computer. My intention was to share these with Jeff's family. These messages of condolence were for them, too, and they deserved to know what wonderful things people were saying about their son, their brother, their uncle, their nephew.

We called the Columbus Police Department to try to find out how to contact Mayhem's dad to see when and where the funeral was to take place. We left a message for a detective who was working the case to call us back. When he called he said he was not allowed to release any personal information, but agreed to call his dad and get back to us with the information, which he did. Randy called his dad and had a nice conversation with him. We started making plans to attend the funeral, which was that following Thursday in Newport, Arkansas, Jeff's hometown.

On Saturday we had to force ourselves to get up and carry on with band business, but our thoughts were preoccupied with Jeff. We had a six-hour drive to Louisiana, where The Rogues had a gig that night at O' Flaherty's Pub in New Orleans and another one the next day at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival in Hammond. Grief doesn't preclude your having to carry on with the day-to-day business of life. The band performed very well considering that we were missing two members. We had world-class piper Jeremy Freeman there, who was filling in for E.J. and Pam Brownlee substituted for Nelson on the bodhran. In the last set, the band dedicated "Amazing Grace" to Mayhem and I felt his spirit there in the pub with us. He loved The Rogues and we loved him. I imagined that before his soul went on to Heaven, he wanted to take in one last Rogues concert.

That night the band stayed with Steve and Pam Brownlee, who live in Mandeville. The next morning they made pancakes for us. We sat around the kitchen table reminiscing about Mayhem and trying to piece together what really happened. Steve and Pam remembered Mayhem from the Texas Renaissance Festival (TRF) and truly liked him. (Steve is responsible for getting us the pub and faire gigs in Louisiana.) There is the famous incident years ago at the TRF, when the pipers and drummers switched and attempted to play each others' instruments. Randy managed to get a note or two out of Jimmy's bagpipes, his face all red. Mayhem took Lars' pipes, and with a deep breath let out this loud, high-pitched squeal. It startled and tickled him so badly that he fell into a heap on a bench, heaving uncontrollably, lost in a fit of giggles, which lasted a good two minutes. I had never seen him laugh so hard and I do believe I saw a tear or two come out of his eyes!

The next day at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, the band again dedicated "Amazing Grace" to Mayhem at their last show. Randy started to make the dedication, but was too broken up to continue, so he asked Jimmy to finish it for him. I am glad none of us had to sing it, because we wouldn't have been able to do it. I felt the tears streaming down my face as I stood near the stage. I turned away from the audience. I wondered how I was going to get my composure back soon enough to continue sales. As the tune went into the Foxhunter's Jig, I wiped away my tears and turned back again to the audience. The show must go on even if we are grieving, I thought to myself. One of the ladies in the audience was visibly moved. Apparently, she had seen me and beckoned me over to her and her daughter. "Listening to ‘Amazing Grace' is very therapeutic, isn't it?" she offered. "Yes, it is," I agreed.

After the show, we loaded up the car and headed back to Houston. There were a lot of things we had to do in preparation for Mayhem's funeral. I was still collecting and compiling messages to put in a memory book Jeff's family on my laptop as Randy drove. I wanted to be sure that they got every single remembrance and condolence that the many friends and fans of Mayhem offered us, including phone messages. There just wasn't enough time. Compiling and editing condolence messages, posting updates on the website, communicating with our webmaster Tigger and sending him Mayhem pictures and tribute messages, and corresponding with a Dallas reporter who was doing a special on Mayhem took every waking minute of the next three days.

Brett Shipp, a reporter for Channel 8 News, an ABC affiliate in Dallas, had contacted me by e-mail. He wanted to get in touch with Jeff's family and send a film crew to do a piece on Mayhem's funeral. I put him in touch with his dad, who gave his permission, but the station did not approve the travel, so he ended up doing a local piece about a memorial service being held for Mayhem, the day before his funeral, at one of the clubs where he worked. One our supporters had recorded a DVD of a show the Rogues did last May. I put Brett in touch with Stephen Van Hecke, who had a video of Mayhem performing with the Rogues at Scarborough Faire last year. (He told me later that he had gotten it from Mongo, Damageplan's other security guard who was working the night of the fatal concert.) It has Mayhem doing his famous line: "please tip the pipers or I will have to get my daytime job back as a school bus driver. Really! I can show you my license!' It also has Lars making an announcement that the audience should "stick around because half way through the show the big guy gets naked." All the Rogues are shown stepping back and pointing to six-foot-seven-inch, 300+ pounds Jeff, who runs over and tries to hide behind Randy, who is half his size. It's memories like that that will make us laugh for many years to come. I think laughter is one of the greatest gifts that one can give to others and Jeff gave a lot of those kinds of gifts.

When we left on Wednesday afternoon, to head toward the funeral, I started assembling the memory book in the car. Lining up and carefully placing little gold letters on a bumpy road at night was quite a challenge, but I had to do it if the book was going to be done in time. As I looked at the pictures and read the Mayhemories, I thought of my own memories. When I think of Jeff, I think of his going behind the scenes to count and split up the tip money, and then patiently waiting, sometimes as long as an hour for The Rogues to return to the stage. Often he would go looking for them and would even hold Nelson's tip money, from the last show on Sunday, to give to him the next weekend. When we would play an extra show at the front gate, the sellers would come back in the dark to count out the sales money. Mayhem would stay sometimes as long as an hour, while we counted, recorded and paid everyone out. He didn't have to do it, and we never asked him to either. He just did. He was always very protective of us. That was another gift he gave freely, without asking anything in return.

That night, when we arrived at my parents' house in Longview, I wasted no time in setting up a makeshift workshop in the guest bedroom. I sat on the bed cutting and gluing the Mayhemories and condolences into the 100-page, leather bound scrapbook. This was going to be a gift from all of us and I wanted it to be as nice as possible. Even though I printed everything in small text, and placed as many remembrances on a page as I could, there were still 33 pages of messages! (Since that time, I have continued to collect condolences and tributes to give the family, which will add another 25 pages to the book.) I bought a big book because I was certain that the family could use extra pages for their own mementos. My mother came in to see what I was doing and was touched by the photos of and condolences for Mayhem spread out all over the bed. One by one, she brought family members into the room to see what I was doing and to share the photos of Mayhem. "See what a sweet person he was," she said. "Look at all these messages. I bet his family had no idea how many people loved him."

Randy was ready to go to bed so I moved everything onto the kitchen table. I would spend the next four hours gluing some of the best pictures we had graciously received from fans onto tartan and argyle memory pages, along with some inspirational statements and words which I felt described the true nature and character of our dear friend. I grouped the pictures together by themes: the funny ones with him goofing with Nelson and other members of the band went on the "friendship, love and laughter" pages, the ones with Mayhem being kind to young children went on the "children/being young at heart" pages, the group photos went on the "friends and loyalty" page and the ones of him standing alone, in front of the band, giving his tip walk speech or introducing the band members went on the "let your light shine" pages.

One of my funniest memories of Mayhem, who looked for his opportunities to contribute to the show without usurping The Rogues, was when he spontaneously took some Moresca padded horns (worn on a ladies head for adornment) from one of our friends in the audience and put them on his own head. He then imitated a bull by snorting and stomping his "hoofs." He was responding to a joke made by Nelson about cowboys in Texas. The next thing I remember was Nelson jumping on his back and "riding" him around the stage. Of course, the audience completely cracked up with this ridiculous visual image. We still have the picture of him wearing those silly horns. He didn't mind making a fool of himself to get the audience to laugh. Jeff was a team player, both on and off stage.

Included were a couple of pictures of Mayhem with his hair down, taken on the one and only day he had ever taken his ponytail out of a braid. His long, soft wavy hair was such a contrast to his big size, but so symbolic of the gentle spirit that dwelled within his large frame. Looking at the picture brought back the memory of me asking to touch his hair that day, which was baby fine. As I went through the pictures they made me laugh and cry. I was so grateful that people had captured those moments with their cameras. Otherwise, we wouldn't have had anything to remember him by.

The cover of the album reads "In Memory of Jeff Thompson" and the cover or title page has a small head shot and reads "Jeff 'Mayhem' Thompson, September 21, 1964 to December 8, 2004." The next page has a colored printout of the lyrics from the Annie Lennox song, which someone had posted to the Yahoo group. The page after that has a full size shot of Mayhem playing the bodhran in his bright yellow MacLeod kilt and green shirt. Around this picture I posted words like courage, bravery, integrity, honor, and loyalty.

When I finished assembling the picture pages, I went to bed. Three hours later, way too soon--the alarm went off. We loaded the car and were on the road by 6:10 a.m. We couldn't waste any time if we were going to get there in time to catch part of the viewing. I continued working on the book all the way Newport. As we pulled into the hotel parking lot, I was just putting on the finishing touches. Nelson was already there. He had managed, against all odds, to be there for the funeral. He said he would ride over to the funeral home with us.

After getting dressed, we drove to the funeral chapel with Nelson. We got there in time for the last hour of the viewing. I recognized many faces there: Lisa Sanford (Lars' friend), Larry Fowler (he and Mayhem used to write their motorcycles together), Angelo (drummer "Jimmy") and his mother (from Scarborough Faire), Rabbit (Jennifer) and her boyfriend were there from Colorado, Bull and his wife, Hilton Jackson (Sholo), Keith Huddleston (Shadow) and many others. Later Jeff's dad estimated there were about 500 in the chapel. Not a bad turn out for a weekday funeral in another state!

Then we walked to the chapel area. The funeral home had printed nice programs, in Rogues-style parchment, with the same picture of Jeff that I had chosen on the front. Below this was the dedication we had written for Mayhem on the opening page of band's website. We were touched and honored they had used it. Nelson, Randy and I paused for a minute at the chapel doors. Randy didn't particularly want to view the body. He wanted to remember Jeff the way he was when he was alive. I can understand that. But Nelson and I needed to see our friend one last time. We agreed it would be easier to walk in with someone, so we walked in together.

As we entered, I noticed that they had a slide show going on, which depicted Mayhem in his various guises at faire, and competing at the Highland Games.

When we got to the casket, we wept openly. I turned around to see Randy, standing behind us. He looked briefly into the casket and noticed Jeff's face and hands, but this is all he could manage. It was much too difficult for him to see Jeff that way. Everyone has a different way of dealing with a viewing, and in my opinion, none are wrong.

I had to remind myself that it wasn't really Jeff lying there, but his mortal shell. His face looked different, but he still had the same fine nose and lips that I remembered. I noticed something new since I last saw him: he had dyed his goatee a deep burgundy. His hair was pulled back into his usual ponytail. They had dressed him in a nice black shirt, with a black suit coat, in his yellow MacLeod kilt. No belt or sporran. Too, bad, I thought, as I recalled the long horsehair sporran he was fond of wearing. I guess they didn't have access to those items. The guys at the funeral home admitted to us, as we came in, that at first they didn't know how to put his kilt on him. The casket was open from the waist up, and it was left open throughout the whole service; something I had never seen before.

While Nelson, Randy and I were standing there, Donnie, Jeff's paternal grandmother, came up to greet us. She embraced us, total strangers, as if we were family. It was the love we shared for Jeff that made us family now. She said how grateful she was for all the nice things we had said about her grandson on our website and for coming all the way up to Arkansas from Texas. She said the whole family was very touched by that. I told her that we were representing hundreds of people who would have come up if the service had been held on the weekend. "There would have been so many people here that there wouldn't have been enough room in the chapel for everyone," I assured her.

Then Frank Thompson, Jeff's dad, came up. He, too, thanked us profusely for coming and said that it was a great testament to how much loved his son was to have so many people willing to travel so far to pay their respects. He thanked Nelson for the wonderful tribute he had written to Jeff on our website. He thanked Randy for his call and concern for his family. And also, he thanked me for the memory book. Then he personally invited us to visit with him and his family at his home later that evening. We invited him and his family to the wake, which he promised to stop by for. "I have to warn you," he said. "I don't drink, but I will come for a little while."

We walked back into the reception area. Each of the Rogues and Pallbearers were given yellow rose boutonnières wrapped in black tape (symbols of Texas and of Mayhem's yellow and black kilt). They lined us up for the procession. Jimmy and Lars (the pipers); then Nelson; then Randy and myself. Next came the pallbearers in groups of two, which I understand were: Keith Huddleston (Shadow), Claude Baxter, Aaron Woods (Bull), Bryan Blaylock, Angelo and Thomas McGluaflin and Kevin Cothran. (Hilton Jackson was also a pallbearer, but was sitting near the podium going over his notes for the eulogy.)

As we entered the chapel, I could see that everyone else, with the exception of Jeff's immediate family, was already seated. It was suddenly apparent to me that we were representing Jeff's friends from Texas in the procession. I was honored to be a part of this. The Rogues and myself were given the privilege and great honor of sitting in the front pew on the left. The pallbearers, and their significant others, sat in the two pews behind us. As we found out later, behind them were the band members and crew from Damageplan (as well as people from other bands Jeff had worked for). The whole left side of the chapel comprised Jeff's Texas friends. Collectively, we were referred to as the "Texas Family." Then Jeff's family entered the chapel and took the front two pews on the right side. None of us thought to look behind us, but Larry Fowler, who was sitting in the back pew, said that the chapel was pretty full.

A minister friend of Frank (who by the way is a minister himself) opened the service. He began by stating he did not know Jeff Thompson, but that he gathered by reading the e-mails sent to the funeral home, family, and from the Rogues website how many people loved Mayhem. He started the introduction by reading the dedication on the cover of the program, followed by the biography inside. I could hear sobbing coming from behind me. It sounded like one of the ladies from Damageplan that I had noticed at the casket earlier. All of us had tears streaming down our cheeks and I was glad I had brought a packet of Kleenex with me, which I shared with Nelson and Randy.

The theme of his talk was "choices" and how the choices we make can effect what happens to us in life. Those of us who knew Mayhem well knew that on that fateful night, during the moment of truth, he had only two choices he could make: to act or not act. He chose to act, to intercede, to put himself in harm's way in order to protect his friends. He made the only choice his conscience would let him. The gunman was holding a hostage: a friend of his, in a headlock. He instinctively went to his friend's aid. As he grabbed the gunman, he took three slugs, one in the right-front side of his chest, which caused him to fall down, and two in his back, which emptied the gunman's clip. His act of bravery bought some time-- "a few precious moments"--just long enough for the police officer who entered from the back of the stage, to shoot and kill the deranged man who had just earlier shot and killed Darrell (Dimebag) Abbott, one fan, one club employee and critically wounded the tour manager. Not only did he save the life of his friend; his selfless sacrifice probably saved the lives of three others, three people who would not be alive today if Jeff had not interceded.

Then someone from his Texas family, Hilton Jackson (better known as Sholo at faire), gave an incredible eulogy. It must have been hard considering how good of friends they were and how difficult it is to speak clearly with such great emotion welling up inside. He spoke with passion, and in a manner befitting a true hero, from one peaceful warrior to another. He talked about Hope, Faith, and Love and how of these Love was the greatest quality. We should have thought to record it. But even if we had, something would have been lost. It was the energy with which it was delivered that made it so powerful. And the message was true: given by someone who knew our Mayhem well. Hilton spoke for all of us who knew and loved him, and thank God he was willing to do so. I am hoping that Hilton will be able to share his eulogy so we can post it on our website.

Then Lars and Jimmy got up to play "Amazing Grace" in front of the casket. How do you speak or sing or play an instrument when you are so overcome by emotion? You must have to go to a place where you can set aside those emotions to get through it. And that is what they must have done, because they both closed their eyes as they played. I suddenly noticed that everyone behind us was standing up in respect and we stood up as well. It was beautiful and so sad. We all lost it and we didn't care. Honest to goodness, soul-bearing grief is not self-conscious. It is truthful feeling at its purest level.

The last minister delivered a personal message to us from the family thanking us all for coming. He also quoted a couple of lines from Nelson's beautiful tribute and some words from the 13th Warrior, which were printed on the back of the program. The same minister would also give the parting words at the burial. We filed out of the chapel and gathered near the exit door. People were hugging each other whom had not spoken to one another in quite a while. That's the positive side of someone's passing, if there is a positive side, that people will put aside their past differences to show how they really feel about one another. Even in death, Jeff was bringing people back together, or at least, allowing people to say what they needed to say to one another. But Jeff was that way in life, too. He had a way of making people feel like they belonged and what they had to say was important.

Somehow I just knew he was watching this and smiling.

It was a cold day and I was wishing I had worn an overcoat to the chapel, as the wind whipped through our kilts and skirts. I felt sort of numb, though, standing there, holding the memory album with the bereavement card from the Rogues, a generous donation to the family, tucked inside. "It's almost over," I told myself. Not that it would really be over. Those of us who knew and loved Jeff will never forget him, but hopefully, there would be some closure for us when his body was laid to rest.

The pallbearers lifted Jeff's casket, which was covered in a spray of red roses, which had been hand-tied in the old style by his Dad, into a nice funeral van. A police escort led us to the Walnut Grove Cemetery, only a couple of miles away. I don't remember much about the procession there. I always imagined that if I were in a funeral train, I would notice the cars that had stopped on the shoulder of the road to pay their respect, as is our custom in the South, especially in our home state of Texas, but I didn't. My mind must have been in a fog. I vaguely remember Randy, Nelson and I sharing Mayhem stories. Even after all the talking of the good times with Mayhem, we still had things to share. That in itself is a testament to a life well lived.

Randy and Nelson got their drums out of the trunk, and Randy took a moment to adjust his snare drum. I took a moment to call a friend back in Houston, who was devoted fan of Pantera (whose members formed into Damageplan). She had called me the previous Friday to send her condolences about Mayhem. She was also in mourning because she said that Dimebag (Darryl Abbott) had been her idol. I called to tell her that her favorite band was there to pay their last respects, as evidenced by the two huge tour coaches parked behind the burial plot. All I could think of was it must have been very hard for them to have made that journey from Texas on the heels of burying one of their own only a few days before.

We walked to the blue canopy with Jackson's printed on it. A large crowd was gathered around. The funeral home minister was giving the last rites and again we heard the words we had heard before: "Jeff was an extraordinary human being, who gave his life while protecting others. He died as he lived, with honor, integrity, and loyalty. He will be greatly missed by everyone who knew him."

Jimmy then played a beautiful slow air called "Going Home," which I have heard played for police and firemen's funerals. As was the case in the chapel, the right side of the crowd was Jeff's family and friends from Arkansas; the left side was comprised of his friends from Texas. Standing to my left, with his long black hair, tied up in a blue bandana headband, was a face that I had seen on the internet. I knew it was the drummer, Vinnie Paul, Dimebag's brother. Who everyone else was I could not tell you, but I knew by the black leather jackets and chains hanging from their jeans pockets, they were with Damageplan. Those tough-looking heavy metal rockers, deeply grieving and in shock, looked so fragile‹their black sunglasses hiding their eyes, their women holding them from behind.

The Rogues then played two upbeat tune sets: The Jolly Beggerman/George Allen set (which used to be nicknamed the "Jolly George" set, but which they now nicknamed "Jolly Jeff") and the "Gravel Walk" set. It was perfect. Sending Jeff off with a bang, the way he would have liked it. Not knowing whom anyone was, I had shyly invited a couple members of the other band to our wake, asking them to pass along the word. I was relieved when Bryan Blaylock made an official announcement to the whole crowd inviting everyone to Kelly's restaurant afterward.

I realized I had not taken any pictures yet, so I hurried back to the car to get my camera. On the way, I noticed one of the young men in black leather, with a bandage on his hand, talking to Randy. He was in awe of Randy's skill on the snare drum and asked him questions about it. Later I would find out that he was the guy who had been taken hostage and was shot. His name is John "Kat" Brooks. He is the drum tech for Damageplan, but he had never seen a Scottish snare drum up close. He was fascinated by its double snare construction, which Randy was explaining to him. I also passed by Vinnie Paul and Jeff's father in an embrace. He was sobbing on Frank's shoulder and Frank was consoling him. Clearly, he was a broken man. I could tell that he truly loved Mayhem. I came back to get some shots of the casket and the many beautiful flower arrangements, including the large white and red rose arrangement, with a tartan bow, that The Rogues had sent. Taking pictures in the chapel had seemed inappropriate to me, but at the gravesite I wanted to capture some of this solemn occasion for those who were not able to come. I looked out at what was left of the crowd. Many had dispersed already. Nelson told us he had been invited to ride over with the band to the wake. We were hoping he would get more details of what happened.

So many cars had parked at the cemetery that we had to wait awhile before we could leave, which made us late for the wake. When we arrived at Kelly's, we noticed they had set up a buffet table near the meeting room (the easiest way to feed so many people at one time). There were quite a few people in the bar and some in the meeting room, where everyone would eat their dinner. We passed around the Mayhem Memory book for people to view. I have to admit that I was not very hungry, but I forced myself to eat something. Nelson, Jimmy, Randy, and I sat at the end of the table together.

Jeff's dad showed up and talked to us for a while, reminding us to drop by at his house later. I presented him with a gift bag of five "Made in Texas" double CDs and five DVDs (which, of course, have Mayhem on them) to pass out to members of his family. After most people had eaten something, The Rogues got up (joined by Bryan and Angelo and couple of others) and played music for the crowd. Myself and two other ladies got up and did some dancing. John (Kat), the drum tech, was thoroughly grooving to the beat, so I went to the car to get him a "Made in Texas" CD and decided this would be a good time to get the whole basket of CDs. We had agreed, beforehand, to sell CDs to raise money for Jeff's family. I am happy to report that we were able to add another $185 to our donation for the family that night.

I went into the bar and chatted with some people, including Rabbit (Jennifer), one of Jeff's best friends. She had spoken to Jeff only three or four hours before he died. He had told her he was on an errand to pick up some Mexican food for the band before the concert. (If we Texans don't get Mexican food on a regular basis, we go into withdrawal, especially on the road!) Rabbit said, "We didn't talk about anything special. He just called to say hello. But something told me to say ŒI love you' before I hung up with him and I am so glad I did." Her sentiment seemed to reflect what I have heard other people say: if they had only known it would be the last conversation they would have with their friend or loved one, they would have said something more profound. I can certainly understand this reasoning, but I have concluded, that in the end, it is the relationship you had with that person that counts the most. If that person knows you loved

and cared about him, no words are really necessary, are they? Nor could any words be profound enough to truly embrace this sentiment.

With the wake still going on (which had mostly moved into the bar), we left for Jeff's parents' house. We arrived at the Thompson's house and spent the next three hours visiting with Jeff's family: his father, Frank, his step-mother, Marilyn, his three half brothers (triplets Micah, Seth, and Martin) and their significant others, and one of his nieces--a cute little baby. It was a pleasant visit. They kept offering us servings from the abundant supply of food on the kitchen counter top, but we were stuffed. Still, we managed to sample a few bites of cake.

We spent time getting to know one another and Frank shared some stories of Jeff when he was younger. Nelson, who had sacrificed a lot be there, shared that he still had a message from Mayhem on his cell phone voice mail, which he had saved. Mayhem had been in Toronto with his band and was hoping that he and Nelson could get together while he was there. To Nelson's regret, his schedule had not allowed him time for a visit. He would listen to his messages to hear Mayhem's voice one more time, now a precious recording.

Marilyn, who is remedial math teacher, looks much younger than her age. She told me that Jeff would call them faithfully every Christmas, on their birthdays and a few days before his own birthday. "He never once forgot to call," she said. "I worried about him because he was forty and wasn't married yet. I just wanted him to be happy." The last time they had spoken to him was on Thanksgiving Day. He had called from the road. "He seemed happy, like he was enjoying what he was doing." She recalled all the times they might have been too hard on him or had let him down in some way. I think this is perfectly natural when someone close to us passes. But I knew Jeff was a loving person and I assured her that he would not want her to feel this way. Sometimes we just need to hear that we did the best job we could.

It was during our visit that we learned that Frank (who also had owned a successful local floral business), with the help of Keith Huddleson, had hired actually several plain-clothes policemen from the Jackson County Sheriff's department to act as undercover security guards to stand watch over the chapel and the burial site. "I didn't want to take any chances," he admitted. "Sometimes violence begets violence. Some of the people you were visiting with today were not who you thought they were." We could plainly see where Mayhem had gotten his looks, humor and gentle spirit, though Frank is not tall like his son was. "Jeff's mother was six feet tall. That's where he got his height from," he informed us. His mother, Christine, had died in 1991.

Finally, it was time to leave. Frank invited us to stay over any time we were passing through Arkansas. He said that he considered us like part of his family now. That meant a lot and we told him we felt the same way.

"Look at all the good that has come of this, in spite of the tragedy. Jeff has brought us all together. Otherwise we would have probably never known each other," they said. Again, Marilyn was thinking about the past with tears in her eyes. "Christmas will never be the same again. We haven't even put Christmas lights up." We all gave each other a hugs good bye.

We left their house saying to one other what nice people we thought Mayhem's family was, and how much Frank reminded us of Jeff. We all agreed, that in spite of their different lifestyles, they were very much alike. Their outlooks might have been different, but some of the best of who Jeff was had come from his father. Visiting with his family and being invited into their home was a very special gift that we will always cherish.

We all stayed at the same hotel that night. Nelson had an early flight back to Canada the next morning. He had already missed a day's worth of work, but was hoping to get back in time for the latter part of the last day of school. His students' had a concert that afternoon. Randy and I slept in (we needed it) and had breakfast at Kelly's. We saw Rabbit and her mom as they were leaving the restaurant. They were heading back to Colorado, where she now lives. She said that she planned on getting back to Scarborough Faire this year.

As we headed back toward Texas, our thoughts were on Mayhem. As I sat with the computer on my lap, working on the journal entry, tears started to well up again. "What's wrong? Are you thinking about Mayhem again?"

"Yes. I just can't believe he is gone, that we will never see him again. It's just not fair," I said.

The next moment I caught a flash of something in the corner of my eye. "Oh, my God! Did you see that Randy?" I yelped.

"See what?" he asked.

"That sign! It said ‘Mayhem' on it! I think it was an advertisement for a radio station, or something."

"No, I didn't see it. Do you want me to turn around?"

"Yes! Yes! We got to get a picture of this!"

We found a place to turn around and went back to the billboard I had seen. We could both see it: "Mayhem in the Morning." I laughed and cried at the same time. It was like we had just received a message: "Don't worry about me. I'm just fine. You may not be able to see me, but I will always be near."

I truly believe that I received a blessing that day. Now every time I think of Jeff and feel like crying, I remember that sign from Heaven and I smile instead. Finally, I was able to let go. Even though I have been sad and missed our friend, I haven't cried since that "morning with Mayhem." He wants us to know he's just fine. We may not be able to see him like we did, but he's around. There's a new guardian angel looking out for us now.

God bless you, Mayhem, as you continue to bless us even now.

Thank You

We would like to thank Tigger for the outstanding job he did of putting together the Mayhem Memorial Page: "Definition of a Good Soul." Tigger was going through some difficult times himself, including his basement being flooded, where he keeps his computer equipment. He had to move his computer and reconnect everything and put it together in very short order for the barrage of information he would have to research, compile, create, and post. Plus, he was dealing with his own personal difficulties, which he humbly explained as being "nothing compared to what you guys are dealing with." He also graciously offered to make limited and numbered memorial plaques of Mayhem to sale to raise money for the Jeff Thompson Memorial Fund. Tigger, we know how difficult this time has been for you personally and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for setting aside your own needs and for the wonderful memorial page that you put together in Jeff's honor. His family and friends greatly appreciate it.

The postings I made to the Yahoo e-group came from information given to us by Daniel Penz, who works for Channel 11 News (CBS) in Dallas, and who is also a performer at Scarborough Faire. We would like to thank Daniel for sending us updates and details of Jeff's death, the memorials and benefits being held in his honor, information about contacting the family, and for helping to plan and film the memorial to Jeff held at the Scarborough site on Sunday, December 12th. He is planning to compile a DVD of the memorial, the footage from the news broadcast done on Channel 11, which featured the Damageplan tragedy, and a tribute to Mayhem, and along with newscasts and events. At the Scarborough Memorial he was able to raise over $1200, which the family has received and deposited into the memorial fund in Jeff's name.

If anyone would like to contribute to this fund, please send it to:

Jeff "Mayhem" Thompson Memorial Account
First Community Bank
200 Olivia Dr.
Newport, AR 72112

(870) 523-3611

Acct #: 225200811308

Also, Jeff, Mayhem's family would still love to hear from you. They are collecting all of your e-mails, cards, letters, and pictures. If you wish to contact them, here is their information:

Frank and Marilyn Thompson
2705 Ivy Drive
Newport, AR 72112

(870) 523-2808

fthompson@cox-internet.com

We would also like to thank Kara Metzger, our friend and CD seller in Dallas. She was our lifeline to what was going on in Dallas, and was responsible for getting messages to us and putting us in contact news people and Daniel Penz. She and I were in contact from the moment that the news broke to the day after the funeral. She was the mouthpiece for the Scarborough crowd. Talking to her was helpful in processing all of this.

Thank you for your friendship and support, Kara. Now I know why we love you so much!

For specific details of the heroic deeds that night, please go to:

http://www.roadie.net/heroes.htm, which gives a firsthand account from two Columbus roadies.

**********************************

Post Script:

Frank Thompson came to Texas to gather Mayhem's personal effects and gave Mayhem's drum to Coy Sevier, GM of Scarborough Faire to give to Nelson. Randy and I picked up the drum from the Scarborough office on the way to our gig in Ft. Worth on Friday, January 28th. When I first saw the drum, I burst out into tears. It was the first time I have cried for Jeff since the morning after the funeral. I lovingly cradled the drum on the way to Mc Henry's Pub. It was almost like touching the man himself.

I noticed what good shape the drum and the tipper were in. Jeff obviously had great respect for the music he made with us as evidenced by the condition of the drum. He had made a one-inch wide, brown leather strap for the drum to hang on his shoulder when he wasn't wearing it. The strap had been carefully pierced with equally spaced, alternating small and large metal studs along the length of it. The leather was thinner and wrinkled where the strap had rested on his shoulder. The side of the drum frame had cracked, which he had carefully glued back together so that it was not obvious there was any damage. The drumhead was smooth and relatively unblemished, unlike the Rogues' drumheads, which see a lot of use in a year's time and have to be replaced on a regular basis. The tipper head was also remarkably smooth and not cracked, like Randy's tipper is. Randy explained that his tipper gets splintered as a result of clicking the tipper's head against the metal edge of the drumhead for a certain sound effect.

When Nelson got to the pub, Randy presented him with the drum, which totally delighted him. He played the drum that entire weekend and vowed to continue to play it at all of The Rogues shows in the future. As someone said at the Ft. Worth show, "as long as Nelson plays that drum, we will always have Mayhem with us." We would like to thank Frank Thompson for honoring us with his son's drum. I spoke to Frank recently and he said that he and Marilyn consider us a part of his family now. I told him that we feel the same way about them. In fact, many of you who have never even met Mayhem, have welcomed his family into the greater Rogues family. I told him that is very typical of Rogues supporters. If we care about someone like he or she is a part of our family, that person is welcomed in with open arms by the Rogues family and treated with the same affection and respect. Frank received a letter from a young fan in Maryland, who sent a sweet note of condolence and enclosed three dollars she had saved up to contribute to his son's memorial fund. He was very touched by that. I have always said that Rogues people are good people!

Many of you have suggested putting up a memorial plaque at Scarborough Faire to honor Mayhem. We asked the faire, and though they would like to oblige, have declined. They said that they have to consider that there will be other requests for memorial plaques in the future, and they cannot honor everyone's request, as that would add up in years to come. So, as an alternative, Kara suggested that we have a traveling memorial plaque, which we would display on stage at the various shows where The Rogues perform. After a year's time, we will probably retire it by giving it to his family.

So come up when next we see you. If you have something to share about Mayhem we will be glad to hear it. Jeff's dad may come out to Scarborough Faire this year. He has never been to a Renaissance Festival before. We hope that his whole family can come out and we can show him what a fun place the faire is and why Mayhem loved it so. Also, I think they would be amazed to see, in person, how much Jeff was loved by the Rogues "family" of friends and supporters, and what a positive influence Jeff had on so many people.