Others become legends.

Sable Starr became something rarer.

 

She became part of rock-and-roll mythology.

Long before books, documentaries, and internet debates tried to define her life, Sable was simply a girl from Palos Verdes, California.

Back in the 1970s, Southern California felt like the center of the universe. FM radio stations like KMET and KLOS blasted from car speakers. Every week seemed to bring another great album. The music of David Bowie, Led Zeppelin, Alice Cooper, Rod Stewart, Elton John, and countless others provided the soundtrack for our generation.

At Palos Verdes High School, life revolved around a handful of places. There was The Wall, where students gathered between classes, and there was AC View, one of the most spectacular overlooks on The Hill. From up there, the Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

It was during those years that I first encountered Sable Starr.

I would often see her at my friend Cindy’s house while she was visiting Cindy’s older sister near AC View. She talked about adventures on the Sunset Strip and musicians whose names filled the pages of the rock magazines we all read. The stories sounded unbelievable.

Most of us didn’t know what to make of them.

Later I discovered that many of those stories were true.

While the rest of us were listening to records and dreaming about rock and roll, Sable somehow found herself living inside it on the Sunset Strip.

By the mid-1970s, she had become one of the most recognizable faces in the Los Angeles music scene. Her photographs appeared everywhere. She was seen at Rodney Bingenheimer’s legendary clubs, the Rainbow, the Whisky, and countless other places where musicians, artists, and dreamers gathered.

She crossed paths with some of the biggest names in rock history.

David Bowie.

Led Zeppelin.

Alice Cooper.

Rod Stewart.

And eventually Johnny Thunders of the New York Dolls.

For a time, Sable left California and followed Thunders to New York City, placing herself at the center of another musical revolution just as glam rock was evolving into punk. Few people ever get a front-row seat to one legendary music scene. Somehow Sable experienced two.

Eventually she returned home to California.

Like many stories from that era, hers was filled with excitement, adventure, mistakes, triumphs, and lessons learned.

Shortly after high school, my own road led north to Lake Tahoe.

Like countless young Californians before me, I arrived searching for adventure. Tahoe was a place where people reinvented themselves. Musicians, ski bums, casino workers, dreamers, and wanderers all seemed to find their way there eventually.

Before long, familiar faces from Palos Verdes began appearing.

One of them was Jay.

Back in PV, Jay had been known as “The Bodyguard.” He was taller than all of us, handsome enough to attract plenty of attention, and talented enough to back it up. Jay could sing, play guitar, and command a room without ever trying very hard. He and Sable had known each other since their elementary school days and eventually found their way back into each other’s lives in Tahoe.

Then Sable appeared too.

By then she was already a legend in certain circles.

What surprised me most was how different she was from the person portrayed in the magazines.

The wild-eyed teenage tornado who once seemed to rule the Sunset Strip had evolved into someone thoughtful and reflective. She spoke openly about the past, but without any need to relive it. There was a wisdom that comes only from experience.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore.

She’d become something more powerful than a legend.

She’d become a woman of depth.

A real lady.

Even after she and Jay eventually went their separate ways, they remained friends. Long before cell phones, text messages, and social media, if I was trying to track Jay down, I’d often call Sable. More often than not, she knew where he was. We’d catch up for a few minutes, she’d point me in the right direction, and life would move on.

There was never any drama.

Just friendship.

Above Lake Tahoe there was a place we simply called The Rock.

It wasn’t marked on any map.

Locals knew where it was, and if they trusted you, they might take you there.

The Rock sat high above the lake near Heavenly. In many ways it reminded me of AC View back in Palos Verdes. In PV we looked out across the Pacific Ocean. At The Rock we looked across Lake Tahoe.

From that perch, the casinos below looked like miniature toys. The lake stretched endlessly toward the horizon. At sunset, the water turned shades of gold and deep blue that seemed almost impossible to describe.

Over the years, a parade of characters found their way there.

Jay was there.

Sable was there.

Many others from Palos Verdes and Westchester found their way there as well.

Musicians, dreamers, lost souls, and adventurers all spent time on that overlook.

Sometimes there were guitars.

Sometimes there were stories.

Sometimes there was only silence.

Nobody seemed to mind.

When I think about Sable today, I don’t think first about the photographs, the clubs, or the legends.

I think about The Rock.

I think about watching the sun disappear behind the Sierra Nevada while old friends sat together above the lake.

I think about a woman who had experienced a remarkable chapter of rock-and-roll history yet remained surprisingly grounded.

One mystery still remains.

Recently I learned that Sable reportedly appeared on the first episode of Tom Snyder’s Tomorrow show, one of the most important late-night television programs of its era. The episode does not appear to be available on YouTube, and despite searching, I’ve never been able to find a copy.

Somewhere in the NBC archives may sit a forgotten piece of television history documenting a woman who became part of rock-and-roll folklore.

The search continues.

Sable Starr passed away in 2009 after a battle with brain cancer.

Today, many remember the legend.

I remember the person.

From the cliffs of Palos Verdes to The Rock above Lake Tahoe, that’s the story worth telling.