Little Daniel Richard a.k.a. "Rex" Narducy came home to 3634 South Union and the world was never quite the same. His parents made Dan pay his way through a parochial education by stocking shelves at his grandfather's candy store at the corner of Emerald and 36th Streets and mopping up at De La Salle Academy. He was an avid reader, but hard as he tried, Dan couldn't fully vanquish the tedium of school, where the nuns pronounced him possessed for (among other things) his irrepressible roaring laughter, inappropriate attire (what were then only available at Sears as "dungarees"), and for bringing The Who's first album [My Generation - 1965] to Music Appreciation class.

When it wasn't in use for betting, 3634 South Union was also home to Duce's basement, where many a first kiss was had and discussed. Even as a baby, Dan was as one with The Music. His mother kept a radio in his crib because "it always shut him up right away." Dan went to every concert he could, from Elvis at the Stadium, to Jimi Hendrix at the Amphitheater. Dan's jailbreak from Bridgeport followed his high school graduation, and he worked as a driver for Hayes Mechanical and Dodge Chicago, riding the "L" at 5 A.M. each weekday from the far-North Side apartment he shared with childhood sweetheart, Sofia.

Dan broke out of the nine-to-five and into a wacky Rock 'n' Roll Life working as a Bouncer at La Mere Vipere, Chicago's infamous first Punk discotheque which burned to the ground after just a few months of disturbing the neighbors, including the nuns who still live across Halsted Street. Once La Mere was gone but never forgotten, its migrants quickly relocated to several bars and live-music venues from which a vibrant local scene emerged, launching the careers of such bands as the Smashing Pumpkins, Waco Brothers, Nicholas Tremulis, Ministry, B.B. Spin, and Heavy Manners.

Dan was never without some stray animal who had followed him home. Feline Pieter had raced the hallways, climbed the curtains, and knocked down objects from every surface of "The Rockpile" a house at Racine and Wellington Dan shared with John Molini and Ray Shanahan. Pieter quickly grew fat and happy with Sofia after the landlord's hand was forced by the End of The World Party, which brought in a wild throng straight from Navy Pier, where Cheap Trick had just played Chicagofest, the City's first open-air music and food extravaganza from which a nascent Taste of Chicago sprung.

Nothing escaped Dan's observant gaze, whether a hundred-dollar bill in the middle of Clark street in a New Year's Eve snowstorm, or an ad for the Penthouse of the historic apartment hotel at Diversey and Racine "The Nuclear Arms" which ran just days before the Sheriff arrived at The Rockpile. Dan lorded over his domain ("I run it, rule it, own it!") from his Nuke Arms corner studio, leaping up from the couch only to rush to his bedside window to get a straight, clear view to Comiskey Park, where fireworks marked every home run.

Dan had been working as a stagehand for JAM Productions for several years when he got the chance to work full-time at the Park West. He kept working other venues' shows while being the P-Dubs' Mr. Everything, serving as stagehand, sound-and-light deputy, DJ, and caterer to the numerous eye-popping headliners that made the early 80's a musical era unto itself. Musicians and stage crews from around the world would arrive at the hall having already heard about Dan's professionalism and patience, which seemingly was tested daily, whether by the Peyton Place comings-and-goings at the club or having to hold up with one hand a PA stack during one Specials show where the crowd's frenetic dancing caused its wheel locks to slip.

And the talent often returned the favor, as James Brown did after two sweaty sessions, staying afterward to set his hair for a picture with Dan, who had insisted that James play the Park West for a series of unforgettable performances. The Godfather's late-night snapshot with Dan and Gregg Kincaid, whose work on the sound board made that particular night live forever, can be viewed with others here. Things naturally change, and people move on, but Dan continued to work shows while bouncing at Cassidy's and the Wrigleyville Tap, later working full-time on the reconstruction and maintenance of the historic Riviera Theater.

Congestive heart failure on Christmas Eve of 2000 only slowed Dan down somewhat until his kidneys failed, forcing him to stop pushing cases around and let the "young pups" do the hard work. He admonished many a novice to "slow down, don't hurt yourself," and insisted that everyone wear gloves, the stagehand's seatbelt. When he wasn't working, Dan played guitar and wrote his own songs, performing them only for "certain people." A rampant sports fan, the only thing that could have brought Dan more joy than the Bears' Super Bowl season and the Mighty Bulls' six Rings, is the White Sox' 2005 season, [which proved to be the best ever in baseball history ending gloriously with sweeping the World Series after an 87 year hiatus from the top].

Having finally been set free on Cinco de Mayo [05/05/05, ironic, poetic, and VERY Duce-like], Dan now has a perfect seat for every game. Dan was predeceased by his dog Moses and by his parents Joyce and Leo Narducy ("the Bard of Bridgeport"). He is survived by his niece, Amber Rogers, a sister and brother (Celine and Eugene), his beloved and long-time companion and friend, Leslie Matlaw, plus numerous professional colleagues who remember him as a devoted kinsman, patient mentor, always-reliable troubleshooter, and raconteur extraordinaire.

Upon learning of Dan's passing, his comrade Jolly Roger echoed the Just Guys Association [JGA] sentiments with a classic Dan-ism: "It'll all be malfanktin'd now without the Duce." Dan considered 18-hour days and splitting headaches to be small prices to pay; even after 27 years, he still couldn't get over the fact that his life's "work" was listening to live music and getting paid for it. The one thing Dan never did was go out on the Road, no matter how lean times got in the off-seasons. He just wouldn't leave Chicago, even for a brief visit to New Orleans, despite years of nagging. He'd never actually seen one, so a second-line funeral just wouldn't make sense for Dan; instead, his friends are asked to honor him with their stories at a not-exactly-formal Memorial on Thursday, May 12th, 2005 at 4 P.M.

My letter to Leslie, written Wednesday, October 26, 2005 ~ The same day our Sox swept the World Series

Dearest Leslie...

I just got off the phone with Jolly Roger. The poor man had the terribly unfortunate task of dropping the bomb about Dan. Jolly went on to say that he tried in vain to contact me during what must have been those most awful days while Dan lay in hospital in a coma; but Jolly had no last name, and only knew me as Laura Lee.

It's funny, whenever I have needed to find out the most up-to-the-minute contact information about the Duce, it would be Jolly, Paul Natkin, or the kind folk at the JAM office that would point me in the right direction. This time I wanted to call him and shoot the breeze about the Sox's run for the big one this year—we've all waited so long for this moment. Most times I always tried to phone Dan on his birthday, April 11th, but this year I was right in the middle of moving house with my husband and our then-two year old daughter. And now I am grieving that missed opportunity more than words could ever describe... He passed two days before my 43rd birthday.

I met Dan at the "Rockpile" when I was 17-years-old. The previous evening I had attended a Kinks concert at the Aragon Ballroom. My friend Lisa and I went to an after-hours party where BB Spin happen to be playing. I ended up going home with Johnny Molini and sleeping with him in his basement room. Moe was only the second guy I had ever been with in my life; and that following morning he tossed me aside and left for work. Me: silly teenager acting all grown-up and sophisticated was heartbroken to be treated as such (naïve or what?). As I was downstairs crying and wondering where my friend Lisa was (in the attic sleeping with drummer Louie B.), I heard this guy singing Nick Lowe's version of Mickey Jupp's joyous Switchboard Susan loudly and totally off-key upstairs without accompanying music. Curious, I cautiously climbed the steps to the first floor and crept through the kitchen. He did not notice me at first because Dan was wearing a pair of those wild, totally 70s, cover-your-entire-ears headsets, attached with a very long, curly cord to the stereo. He was dancing by himself in the living room and singing without a care in the world. When he finally did notice me standing mournfully in the doorway, he stopped, removed the headphones, and promptly blurted out, "Not ANOTHER one!??!" I burst into fresh tears and, to my complete surprise, Dan suddenly became very kind to me. He said he was just kidding! Had Moe left for work so soon? Not to worry 'bout it as Johnny was a natural born jerk to chicks. Was I hungry? And finally, he asked how old I was...

Needless to say Dan very sweetly ensured this jailbait and her buddy made it home to the deep Southside Chicago 'burbs safely. From that moment on we remained friends forever: Through a thousand concerts of the hippest gigs, through my time in the Army, through my first marriage, through my years in London, through my serious long-term non-marriage, through the death of my beloved sister Kathy, through my second marriage, and finally the birth of my daughter at age 40. Every time I returned to "my kinda (home) town" we would meet and hang out, take in a show and, whenever possible, enjoy some Mexican chow. I was looking forward to presenting my now 3-year-old daughter Sophia to him the next time we met. Dan always said I should be a mother because he believed I could pull it off as my greatest achievement.

Last time I spoke with him was shortly after Jerry's wedding [that would be Jerry Mickelson of JAM Productions fame]. He went on and on about how absolutely splendid you both looked in your formal attire, what an excellent time you shared that evening, how happy he was you two had somehow found each other again, and that you both seemed to be (I quote him directly here) "joined at the hip these days." I was SOOOO happy for him, Leslie. I know you and I have never met (yet we've surely known about each other for decades), but I wanted to tell you I know for absolute sure that Daniel Narducy loved you with all his heart; and that you were for him, in his undeniably unique Dan-like manner, the only one.

So, as you can imagine: right here, this very moment as I type, my wound is fresh and my face is a mess with tears. But I did want to send you a WAY long-overdue virtual hug for all you've ever enjoyed with, been through, and done for Dan. He was a great friend, fellow music fanatic, loyal beyond all reason (for a straight guy!), one of my greatest mentors, my big brother, my protector from the "randy rock-lads," and my eternal champion. I loved him dearly and can't believe he is gone...

You take care, Leslie. I cannot thank you enough for helping make what would be Dan's last years with us probably the most settled and happy of his life.

All the best,
Laura Lee MacMahon

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