Steve Z. was someone I liked and admired: talented, successful in a creative business, well-travelled, and knowledgeable, all while being a personable Chicago-sort of guy. More than just a Man of the World, I'd call him a "Mensch of the World."
Certainly, many of us recognized Steve's knowledge and skills in gastronomy and photography, but here I get the chance to reveal a lesser-known accomplishment of his, one that most of us were unaware of...including me for quite awhile.
Around 1969, while I was still in high school, I became associated with a band called
Stonehenge--two electric guitars, amped-up drums, and a female lead singer. Having a miniskirted girl up front and no bass player on stage was a bit atypical for an acid-rock band at that time, though the lack of a bass line in most songs was largely hidden by cranking-up the volume to level-10 and injecting massive amounts of feedback. (Hey, this was acid-rock in the late 60's; it wasn't mere noise, it was, like,
Psychedelic Power, man!)
Anyway, the reason there was no bass player when I first got involved with Stonehenge was because, until shortly beforehand, there *used* to be one, but he'd recently left the band. Being a couple of years older than me, he'd already just finished high school, and was getting ready to move out west to Seattle. So then the band had to shift to performing without a bass in the mix.
Incidentally, I did briefly meet the guy once, when he stopped by to visit the band one last time before he left town. In fact he even wrote down his address in my little address book just in case I also made it out to Seattle sometime. It was cool of him to do that for someone he didn't really know...although he couldn't recall what his new address was right then, so he put his current Chicago address in my book instead, assuming any mail would get forwarded to him. But it didn't matter because I never tried sending any mail, and it wasn't long before I simply forgot about the whole thing, distracted by the glamour of doing weekend gigs like the Young Republicans Convention and hiding their beer in our equipment cases when the cops showed up....
Fast-forward to 2018, now, and picture me in my basement perusing some old address books that I'd packed away long ago, and had just rediscovered: I'm idly turning pages, remembering people whose names I hadn't thought of for decades. Then, on one of the last pages of the book from my high school years, I'm startled to see "Zaransky, Steve"! It's in unfamiliar handwriting along with an unrecognized address and phone number (which Steve will later verify as having belonged to his parents back then.)
"That's amazing. I was the bass player...Small world!" Steve said to me when he realized we'd had that momentary crossing of paths, so many years ago.
Small world indeed. And sadly for us, it's now even smaller with the loss of our amiable and respected compatriot...
and one-time acid-rock bass guitarist in a not-quite-world-famous Chicago band, circa '69.
Still, to his lasting credit, and to our continued benefit for having had him in our lives, Steve Zaransky will be fondly remembered and valued--a vivid and richly varied thread in the weave of our mutual fabric.
--mhl