It’s been a week since we got the news that Chuck Berry had finally passed away at the age of 90. The news was broken to me a little after six on that Saturday evening by a softly spoken Scotsman named Paul Coletti, who announced in a very calm, gentle way that he was calling from the BBC in London and had I heard the news?
I told him I hadn’t, wondering all the time how the hell he got my phone number.
“Well, Mr. Pegg,” he continued in his reassuring burr, “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but news is coming over the wires that Chuck Berry has died in St. Charles, Missouri.”
I’d like to say I was overcome by emotion. I’d like to say that the tears were rolling down my face as I sank to the floor in disbelief. Except, that’s not what happened.
No, my reaction was far more pragmatic. “Shit,” I remember thinking to myself. “My life just blew up.” Continue reading
