Death
On the evening of February 2, 1979, a small gathering to celebrate Vicious having made bail was held at the 63 Bank Street, New York apartment of his new girlfriend, Michele Robinson, whom he had started dating the day he got out of Bellevue Hospital the previous October. Vicious was clean, having been on a detoxification methadone programme; he detoxed from heroin during his time at Rikers Island. However, at the dinner gathering, his mother (who was once a registered addict herself) had some heroin delivered, against the wishes of Sid's girlfriend. The person who delivered it, Peter Kodick, came and stayed for a while. Vicious overdosed at midnight but everyone who was there that night worked together to get him up and walking around in order to revive him. At 3:00 am, Vicious and Michele Robinson went to bed together. He was discovered dead late the next morning.
A few days after Vicious's cremation, his mother found an alleged suicide note in the pocket of his jacket:
We had a death pact, and I have to keep my half of the bargain. Please bury me next to my baby in my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye.
Since Spungen was Jewish (although non-practicing) she was buried in a Jewish cemetery. However, Vicious was not Jewish so he could not be buried with her. According to the book Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, Vicious's mother and Jerry Only of Misfits scattered his ashes over Spungen's grave.
Read more about this topic: Sid Vicious
Famous quotes containing the word death:
“Do but consider this small dust, here running in the glass,
By atoms moved.
Could you believe that this the body was
Of one that loved?
And in his mistress’ flame playing like a fly,
Turned to cinders by her eye?
Yes, and in death as life unblest,
To have’t expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.”
—Ben Jonson (1572–1637)
“A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep, careless, reckless, and fearless of what’s past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“For, surely, surely, where
Your voice and graces are,
Nothing of death can any feel or know.”
—Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)