Spencer’s Story | from Mary Pagniani

Words From Spencers Father
From the beginning, Spencer couldn’t wait to experience life.....He couldn’t wait, so he didn’t wait.

He was born several weeks early (a trick he somehow also taught his brother, Brady, four years later - who would be even MORE premature than Spencer was!).

Spencer would wake when the sun arose every morning, stand in his crib and sweetly speak down the hall to his parents, “awake now”! ”sunsine bight”! which was Spencer’s way of saying that he was ready to start the day. Cathy would sometimes wait until Spencer’s little voice became louder and more emphatic, ‘AWAKE NOW!!!!! SUNSINE BIGHT!!!! before venturing into his room to greet him for the day. It was great entertainment to keep him waiting sometimes - though Spencer usually got the last laugh.

When his Dad used to take him downtown Seattle on weekends to ride the monorail over to the Space Needle, three and four year old Spencer would elbow his way to the front of the train to see as far down the tracks as possible. On time he and dad got separated as the throng of people exited the train and while Dad was frantically searching for him, Spencer calmly (but loudly) kept repeating his Dad’s first name until they were reunited. Asked if he had been afraid, Spencer answered, “No, were you afraid Bill?” Bill was, indeed, sweating bullets. Spencer assured him that he would never get lost.

Spencer wasn’t barely five years old when he asked if he could move his bedroom downstairs to the newly remodeled basement in their Seattle home because he wanted to be more on his own rather than right down the hall from his mom and dad. His folks were fearful because they wouldn’t be as close if he needed them in the middle of the night. Again Spencer assured them that, if he needed them he’d come and get them.

Of course, there was some early evidence that Spencer was drawn to music. He formed his first band when he was six years old along with a neighbor kid. They didn’t need real instruments, just things from the garage that made cool noises (that’s the Brian Wilson influence, we think). They called themselves, “T-Bone and a Rib”. Spence was the T-Bone, of course, since he wrote most of the music and played most of the tools and implements. “The Rib” kept rhythm on a mop bucket.

When he was seven years old and living in Michigan, his parents suggested to him that he might try sleep away camp at Spring Hill for a week. No problem. When he was let off at his lodging accommodations he simply said, “bye Bill and Cathy”. Mom couldn’t stop crying for her baby, of course, and dad couldn’t help but wonder if Spencer was even aware that he wouldn’t see his parents for six full days. His dad was convinced that they’d get a call in the middle of the night from a homesick Spencer. The answer came the following weekend when his mom swooped him up in her arms and he responded by asking if he could stay another week.

The stories go on. But fast-forwarding to Middle and High School we see Spencer still in a hurry to experience life and never afraid to fail. Sure, he had self-consciousness like most teens. And, sure, Spencer often got in over his head without thinking like all of us. But never, not once, did he ever believe he couldn’t handle it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know how to do something, Spencer figured he’d learn as he went. What mattered to him was getting to the imagined end-result. Details were for suckers. Facts could be made up, if necessary, but nothing would stop Spencer from pursuing and achieving that end-result as quickly as possible.

Naturally, doing things the hard way often came with a price. But paying the price or paying his dues were important to Spencer even back then. Nothing wrong with learning the hard way if you learned. And there is honor in earning your bumps, bruises and scars.

In Middle School Spencer had friends of all shapes and sizes. He tried football, he tried wrestling and then he discovered the Drama Teacher at BH Middle School. It was like he’d found the very key to the rest of his life. And that key was Creative Expression.
No surprise, then, that when his Dad offered over his six-string acoustic guitar that Spencer began to teach himself how to play. There were sporadic lessons from friends and teachers, but he was so focused on the end result, nothing was going to stop him from learning to play. His way.

The same can be said for writing. From the moment he could form words Spencer had something to say and was going to say it his way - and people were going to have to listen. Sometimes it was painful as he searched for the right words to make his point or tell his story. But tell his story he would. And listen we would.

When Spencer returned to public school after a year and a half at Interlochen Arts Academy, he had been changed forever. He had been exposed to other extraterrestrials like himself. Others with something to say and the overwhelming need and desire to express those things through words, music and art. He knew through the inextricable and irreversible bonds he’d formed with certain people there that his path (though not known) was the right one. “The Road Less Traveled” had some new footprints to deal with and they were size 13.

The bonds formed run far and wide, but the depth is what is most impressive to us. So many of those extended family members from Interlochen were with him those last days in the University of Wisconsin medical center, and so many made the trip to be here today. Far......and wide......and deep. Spencer’s parents keep saying to themselves that they’ve never seen the likes of it. And they keep saying to each other how lucky they were to feel it themselves with and for their son.

But the transition from Interlochen to Lahser isn’t a straight line for someone like Spencer. His counselor knew it and saw a better fit for Spencer in Model High School where he, again, found kindred spirits and lasting relationships to complement those he’d made at Interlochen. Those friends were also with us in Madison this past week and are here today. Again, his parents are speechless at the reciprocal love and respect each has for the other. It’s of spiritual depth and quality not usually found in youth.

While back home in Bloomfield, Spencer’s musical interests blossomed as a member of Sheer Funk and Misery, and the band eventually laid down some of their best music into an album called, “Early Morning Hours”. They played a few gigs and made some great music, but it wasn’t to last. Guys had to go their separate ways.

Besides, Spencer had decided that his goal was to be living in New York by the time he was eighteen years old. In order to do that, his parents said, he had to graduate high school - AND he had to do it a semester early. He did it (thanks again to a creative academic counselor). And one week short of his 18th birthday he was living in New Jersey....(Okay, not quite Manhattan, but details are for suckers, remember?)

Spencer hooked up with some Interlochen friends who were attending college and/or working (or trying to work) in their chosen Arts arena(s). In the couple of years he was in or near the Big Apple he bused tables, he built fences, he fell in love, he moved to Brooklyn, he attended the New York Film Academy and he joined a band that eventually called themselves, CACTUS. The chemistry and love between the members of this band is felt here today and is forever recorded for us to listen to and enjoy in an album soon to be in our hands. Thank God for that.

Of course, being one who doesn’t wait very well, Spencer got tired of trains, subways and (particularly) walking for hours every day and made plans to join his friends in Madison (his band mates had already made the move). By July this past summer, Spencer had driven his beloved (yet dilapidated) 1987 Buick Skylark to Madison and moved in with his Cactus mates where they wrapped up production on their record and were to, ironically, have played a gig just a week ago last Tuesday.

More music was in the works for this coming January and, just like Spencer, he had plans well down the tracks beyond that. Just like looking out the front window of the Seattle monorail, Spencer wanted to know what was around the next corner. In fact, just three weeks ago Spencer told his dad what he’d already announced to some of his friends - that he was making plans to move out of the Cactus House once the lease was up next year because he wanted to drive a motorcycle to South America ala the Motorcycle Diaries (a recent movie about the early life of Che Guevera).

No matter that, a) he’d never ridden a motorcycle before, b) he didn’t know how he’d get a motorcycle and, c) he probably wouldn’t have any money to do it anyway.
Those are just details....and details are for suckers, remember.