May 2016, San Francisco. When the door of a small audio equipment store called Pacific Sound and Stage swung open, it took the man behind the counter two full seconds to realize who had just walked in. And those two seconds split the rest of his life in two. The man’s name was Liam Donovan.
He was 61 years old, and he had been sitting alone behind that counter for nine straight hours. Only two people had walked into the store that day. One was a tourist asking for the wrong address, the other was looking for batteries. When the third customer stepped inside, Liam lifted his head, and what he saw made him forget how to breathe for a moment.
The man was wearing round black sunglasses, a faded t-shirt, an old pair of jeans, and a black leather jacket. That face, the one that had been on stages, in front of cameras, on magazine covers for years, was now standing just a few feet away inside a small audio store in San Francisco.
To go back to that morning, Ozzy Osbourne had landed in San Francisco the night before. As part of Black Sabbath’s The End Tour, he was set to perform at Oakland Arena two days later, but Sharon had carved out that day for him to rest. Ozzy, however, had rarely been a man who rested. He had left the hotel at 10:00 that morning, along with his driver, Daniel.
“I’m just going to roam around the city for a bit,” he had told Sharon before walking out the door. “I want to see people, normal places. For once, let me be a tourist in the cities where I play.” Sharon had given him that familiar look, the “You’re a handful, but I love you anyway” look. Daniel had driven the black Lincoln Navigator toward the Mission District.
As it neared 1:00, Ozzy was staring out the window from the back seat when he suddenly leaned forward. “Daniel, mate, pull over at that corner if you would,” he said. “I’m going to walk for a bit. I’m bored.” Daniel wanted to object. Sharon’s instructions had been clear. Don’t leave him alone.
He needs to take it easy. But he knew that look on Aussie’s face. The look he had when he had made up his mind. 10 minutes, Mr. Osbourne. Then I’ll come find you. Was all he said. Aussie stepped out of the car, put on his sunglasses, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and started walking.
Mission Street was wide and a little dusty. He walked past a restaurant playing Latin music, past a cafe that smelled of coffee, past a little shop that sold old vinyl records. Nobody recognized him. The sunglasses, the dark hair, the slightly slouched shoulders. He looked like just another ordinary man. It was the thing Aussie had been missing the most for years.
Those rare moments when nobody looked at his face and asked, “Are you Ozzy Osbourne?” When nobody pulled out a phone. When nobody pointed a finger his way. After two blocks, he stopped because a familiar guitar riff was drifting out through an open door. It was a riff anyone who had ever heard it could recognize.
But when the man who sang that song was the one hearing it, the riff hit him like a memory trigger. Crazy Train. 1980. That immortal opening that had flowed from Randy Rhoads’ fingers. Ozzy stopped for a moment, right in the middle of the street, and smiled. Then he lifted his head and looked at the sign above the shop.
Pacific Sound and Stage. In the window, there were second-hand amplifiers, a guitar or two, speakers on the shelves. The sound was spilling out from inside the store through a door someone had left open. Right then, he said to himself, in that familiar Birmingham accent. Let’s have a look at who’s playing my song at this hour.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The inside of the store was cool, filled with a faintly dusty smell. The smell of old speakers, cables, the accumulated scent of technology that had built up over the years. Along the right wall ran a wall of speakers nearly 10 ft high. On the left, glass cabinets displayed used mixers, microphones, and preamps.
At the back of the store, behind the counter, stood a man. A graying beard, tired eyes, an old flannel shirt hanging off bony shoulders. In front of him was a half-finished coffee, his phone, and a slip of paper he was holding in his hand. Crazy Train was still playing through the speakers, just about to hit Randy Rhoads’ second solo.
When the man heard a customer come in, he lifted his head, and his world came to a stop in 2 seconds. At first, he said nothing, or rather, he couldn’t. His eyes never left Ozzy’s face. He let go of the slip of paper, gripped the edge of the counter as if he couldn’t stay on his feet. Ozzy hadn’t taken his sunglasses off yet.
He stood near the door, took a step up to inside. “This song,” he said in a playful tone, “is playing a bit too loud out on the street, mate. The neighbors might complain.” Liam’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He swallowed once. He swallowed twice. Then tears began to fall from his eyes.
Liam didn’t wipe them away. He just stood there looking at Ozzy Osbourne. The tears were sliding down into his beard, but he seemed almost unaware that he was crying. Ozzy had seen that scene a thousand times. At the end of concerts, in hotel lobbies, at the doors of restaurants, there had always been people who saw him and cried.
50-year-olds who had grown up listening to Black Sabbath, mothers who wanted to introduce their children to him, people who simply couldn’t hold back their tears. He had learned over the years to meet it all with grace. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing his blue eyes, and walked toward the counter with that familiar crooked smile. “Easy there, mate.
” He said in a soft voice. “I’m just a human being. I’ve only had a slightly more interesting life. Shall I get you a glass of water?” Liam shook his head. “No.” He finally said, his voice trembling. “No, I don’t want any water. It’s just you walked into my store. Ozzy Osbourne walked into my store.” Ozzy shrugged.
“My song was playing out on the street. I just wanted to see who was playing it. What’s your name, mate?” Liam took a deep breath. “Liam.” He said. “Liam Donovan.” Ozzy froze the moment he heard that name. His smile slowly faded. Somewhere in a very old corner of his mind, in a dusty chapter from nearly 40 years ago, that name was stirring something.
“Donovan.” He repeated quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “Liam Donovan. There was a Liam Donovan from Manchester once, a scrawny little lad who used to run the sound desk.” Another tear fell from Liam’s eyes. He nodded. Couldn’t speak. He just kept nodding, over and over, meaning yes. Ozzy took another step towards the counter. “Bloody hell.
” He said slowly, almost in a whisper. “You’re our Liam from the Never Say Die tour, 1978. You used to tune Tony’s amps backstage. You used to mix Geezer’s bass. I remember you now.” Inside the store, Crazy Train had come to an end. Another song had begun in its place, Sabbath’s War Pigs, as if someone, somewhere, had put together the right playlist at exactly the right moment. Liam’s hands were trembling.
“You remember?” He said, his voice cracking. “It’s been 38 years, Mr. Osbourne. 38 years. Among all those names, all those faces, all those tours, you remember me.” Ozzy nodded. “How could I forget, mate? You set up a microphone for me in Liverpool, remember? It was 3:00 in the morning.
Everyone was asleep, but my voice was shot, and I had no idea how I was going to make it onto the stage the next day. You got up, came over from the hotel, and worked my voice back into shape for 2 hours. Then you made me honey and lemon. I told you how my mom used to make it, and you went and made it the same way.
How many nights did you sleep in that booth on that tour, Liam? 30? 40? This time, Liam’s tears didn’t stop. They slid down into his beard. “Those were the best years of my life,” he said quietly. Ozzy caught the past tense in that sentence. Something had happened in this man’s life. Then he looked around the store, more carefully this time.
Old speakers, second-hand amps, a broken microphone stand by the door, boxes covered in dust on the shelves. Then he looked at Liam again. His beard hadn’t been trimmed in maybe a week, and there were deep circles under his eyes. There was no one else in the store, no customers, no owner, no coworker, just Liam behind the counter, weary from a whole lifetime.
“Liam,” Ozzy said quietly. “You left Sabbath in 1979, all of a sudden, no warning. I was already on my way out of the band around that time. I had a hundred thousand things on my mind, and I never saw you again. What happened to you in those years? Where did you go?” Liam lifted his head and looked at Ozzy.
And he prepared to tell the story he hadn’t fully told anyone in 38 years, but at that very moment, the door of the store opened again. Daniel had walked in. The 10 minutes were up, and he had come looking for Ozzy. Liam closed his mouth, lowered his head, and withdrew behind the counter. “It’s nothing, Mr.
Osbourne,” he said in a low voice. “Old stuff. You must have things to do now.” But that afternoon, Ozzy Osbourne had no intention whatsoever of leaving Pacific Sound and Stage because he knew that line, when a man says, “It’s nothing about his own life,” it means no one had told him, “You matter,” in years. And Liam Donovan’s life had broken in a place far deeper than Ozzy had imagined.
Ozzy turned to his driver. “Daniel, mate, I need an hour, maybe two. Park the car on that corner, go have a coffee, and call Sharon. Tell her to hang on a bit. I’ve got something to do here.” Daniel understood. It was a tone even Sharon knew not to argue with. “Understood, Mr.
Osbourne,” he said, and walked out the door. When the door closed again, Ozzy turned around, walked toward the counter, pulled the one small stool over, and sat down beside it. He was now eye level with Liam. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You tell me what happened in those 38 years.” Liam took a deep breath.
Then he started. “When I left the band in 1979,” he said, his voice still trembling, “I went to Manchester to see my mom. I was going to stay a week. It turned into 3 months. My dad had passed away 2 years before, and it was hard for her to manage on her own. She had heart problems in those years, and I’d turned down the new job offers because something inside me was saying, ‘Wait, help your mom first.
‘” Ozzy listened carefully as he spoke about his mom. “Then when she got a little better, I went out on other tours,” Liam continued. “I worked with Iron Maiden for a while, spent 2 years on Judas Priest’s tour, was assistant sound engineer on AC/DC’s Australian leg. I moved to New York in 1985. That’s where I met Karen.
We got married in 1989. Those were the years I thought my life had finally fallen into place. In the ’90s, I worked on a few of Aerosmith’s tours, did mixing for Metallica for a year. My career was at its peak. Then in 2002, my mom called. There was another break in Liam’s voice as he told that part. On the phone she said, “Liam, I went to the doctor. It’s cancer. Very serious.
What do I do, son?” I was in New York. My mom was in Manchester. Karen and I made the decision right there. Or rather, I made it. Karen didn’t want to, but she tried to be understanding for my sake. We moved back to Manchester. I took care of my mom for 3 years. Karen was with me the first year, but she had left her life behind in New York.
And she was unhappy. The second year she went back to America on her own. The third year she sent the divorce papers. Ozzy lowered his head. He understood. He wasn’t judging Karen. Wasn’t judging Liam. He just understood. “My mom passed away in 2005.” Liam continued. “When I buried her, something inside me was buried with her.
That day I realized that I tried to go back to my old life, that man didn’t exist anymore. That 22-year-old sound engineer who used to sleep backstage was gone.” Another Sabbath song was now playing through the store’s speakers, N.I.B. As if the playlist was moving along with the story.
“I came back to America in 2006.” Liam said. “Karen and I couldn’t work things out. We got divorced that year. We didn’t have any children. At least there was none of that pain. I tried to get back into the industry. The producers who used to tell me, ‘Liam, we’ll work with you again.’ weren’t picking up the phone anymore. The industry had changed.
Digital mixers, software, a new generation of engineers. I had grown up in the analog world. They had grown up in the Pro Tools world. Maybe a course could have fixed that, but I didn’t have the money or the hope to take a course by then. I moved from New York to San Francisco in 2008. It was cheap.
I had an old friend out here. He passed away two years later. I walked into this store in 2011. The old owner was an acquaintance. He told me, “Sit at the counter. Help the customers.” He retired in 2014 and a new owner bought the place. But, he took me on more like a piece of furniture. My pay is minimum wage.
The store is barely staying afloat as it is. I pay my rent. I eat. And there’s nothing else left in my life. In the evenings, I sit in my little apartment, listen to old tapes, then go to bed. I wake up in the morning. I come back here. That’s all there is. Liam went silent. He had poured out 38 years of a story in 10 minutes and now he seemed out of breath.
Ozzy didn’t speak for a while. He just looked at him. Then, he reached his hand across the counter and placed it over Liam’s. “Liam,” he said slowly. “My mom passed away in 2001. Lillian. In Birmingham. I wasn’t there for her, Liam. All my life I was on tour. Somewhere on the other side of the world.
I never even got the chance to speak to her one last time. But, you sat by your mom’s side for 3 years. You were there for every moment of it. That’s not losing your life. That’s life itself. Do you understand me, mate?” Liam’s eyes filled with tears again. He nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Ozzy went on. “Now, listen to me. Listen carefully.
You brought me honey and lemon in Liverpool at 3:00 in the morning. Now, I’m going to bring you something.” Ozzy pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, dialed a number, and hit call. She picked up on the second ring. “Sharon Love,” Ozzy said. “Listen to me. This is important. I’m in an audio equipment store over in the Mission District. Pacific Sound and Stage.
The fellow here is Liam Donovan. Remember him? Late ’70s. That scrawny little Manchester sound engineer on the Sabbath tours. Yes, him. He’d left when his mom got sick, and then life backed him into a corner. I’m talking with him right now, and I’ll tell you what, this man is coming back to our team. Liam couldn’t hear Sharon’s voice on the other end of the line.
He just read the expressions on Ozzy’s face. A moment of thought, a flicker of a smile, then that I know I know look. Sharon, we’re bringing this man to the show at Oakland Arena. I want him to see Tony, Geezer, and Bill, too. Then there’s a position in the technical coordination team for the end tour. Please talk to Mark.
A mentor role. He’ll pass his experience on to the next generation. Liam’s knowledge isn’t lost. It’s just fallen behind the times. A pause. Yes, I know, love. I love you, too. Ozzy hung up. He looked at Liam. Liam was shaking his head. “Mr. Osbourne, no.” he said, his voice anxious. “No, I can’t accept this.
I haven’t been in that line of work for years. I’m 61. I don’t even have the strength to stand backstage anymore. It’s a very kind offer, but I don’t deserve it.” Ozzy stood up, got off the stool, walked around the counter, and came over to stand next to Liam. “Liam, mate, listen to me.” he said firmly but gently.
“When you brought me honey and lemon backstage in 1977, did I ever ask you, do I deserve this? I didn’t. I took it, drank it, and the next day I walked out in front of 10,000 people. Now it’s your turn. I’m bringing you the honey and lemon. You take it, drink it, and tomorrow you go back backstage. It’s that simple.
This isn’t a favor. This is a debt. A debt for what you gave me 38 years ago.” Liam’s eyes filled with tears again. This time, they were different. They were the tears of something he had been holding inside for 38 years finally being let go. That afternoon, half an hour later, Sharon called the owner of the store, had a brief conversation, and paid off Liam’s two week notice period in cash.
That night, Liam moved into the hotel where Sharon and Ozzy were staying, into a small room of his own, but far cleaner and far warmer than the little apartment he had been living in for years. The next day, Mark Hudson, the technical coordinator of The End Tour, came to the hotel and sat with Liam for 3 hours. For the first half hour, Liam was hesitant.
Then Mark asked him about an old analog mixer. Liam answered, and suddenly the old man surfaced again. As Mark was leaving, he whispered to Ozzy, “This man’s a goldmine, Ozzy. Our boys pulled 30 years of knowledge out of him in half an hour.” Two days later, they were at Oakland Arena. Liam was backstage behind Tony Iommi’s amps after 38 years.
