The Story of Warren Kipner and Applejack
!!! Content warning: !!!
Internalized ableism (a constant theme), car crash, sexual assault of a disabled person (off-page, implied)
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Part One
Born on December 3rd, 1947 in New South Wales, Warren Kipner had a fairly normal childhood. He was an only child and never knew his father, but was often perfectly entertained on his own, daydreaming with his toys and exploring the outdoors. His mother, Lisa Kipner, was especially protective of her only son and would sometimes chide him for sneaking out. When she could, though, she'd take him swimming or to the beach an hour away. The two had mostly positive memories.
It was in 3rd grade that Warren first met Robert Henson. Seated next to each other in math class, the two would immediately become best friends, although in many ways they were opposites. While Warren was very quiet and performed just above the mark, Rob had many friends already and excelled in school. Somehow, though, Warren stood out to him. When class time was over, the two would frequently hang out with the odd sleepover or two over the following years. Their friendship remained strong all throughout primary school. Even as they went to separate secondary schools (despite Warren's relentless begging), they tried to visit each other as much as they could.
Going into their teens, they began to find specific interests of their own. But it was Rob who introduced Warren to his first rock and roll record in 1962. From then on, the two were hooked on exchanging new albums, discussing songs they had heard on the radio, and watching all the hit groups on television. It wasn't long before the idea of making their own band came up. With his part-time job, Rob soon saved up enough money for a guitar. Meanwhile, Warren honed his singing and songwriting skills, eventually finishing a particular tune called "Wings to Fly" among others. But without their own place, practicing together became difficult. Not to mention that the options were very limited where they lived. Nobody else in town seemed to have as much passion for rock and roll as they did. Rob decided there needed to be a change. London was the place to go.
In general, Warren had nothing bad to say about Australia. In fact, he was rather hesitant about leaving. His mother took a long time to finally agree to it. By then, Rob had the entire thing planned inside and out. All they needed was a plane.
On October 16th, 1967, the two finally brought all their things down to Sydney and went on the first plane to London that they could catch. Warren was only 19 at the time, unsure of what to expect, and mainly relying on Rob's confidence for assurance. It was only a few days after landing in London that they bought their first apartment. The place was slightly rickety, nothing grand, but the real trophy was outside. Everywhere the eye could see were young people just like them, and every night rock and roll shows filled the city air.
For a while, the two mainly acquainted themselves with the town, sometimes together on their errands, and sometimes apart. But at some point within those first few months, Rob changed. Warren couldn't quite put his finger on it. Suddenly, good old rock and roll seemed to matter less and less to him. In its place, he went on long tangents about society at large, the war, and this apparent new wave of music. Music, not just for listening, but driven to make a difference in the world.
For a while, Warren brushed this off as a minor interest his friend had acquired. He didn't really understand it himself. Music hardly seemed capable of flipping society on its head. But that didn't matter. He only wanted to make good music, music people loved, music people danced and sang along to. By 1968, however, the changes became harder to ignore. While the psychedelic scene was becoming increasingly loud, Rob's habits and views became more extreme. He grew his hair out. He started wearing beads and brightly-colored kaftans. But more importantly, he spent less and less time with Warren. Any time he tried to offer him a new song to practice or tickets to a show, Rob would always respond that he was too busy.
Warren was well aware that his best friend had found a new crowd somewhere, a crowd that was apparently too sophisticated to be introduced to him. He saw it in the way Rob became increasingly more irritable around him. And although it wasn't exactly in his own nature, Warren grew resentful himself and sometimes retaliated. This led to a strain in their relationship. They were still friends, if just superficially. But the dream of forming a band together had long gone on hiatus.
At one of the many local shows that he had attended during that time, though, Warren met Barnie Sinclair, a British chap who was piecing together his own band. It was from Barnie that he later became acquainted with Andy Fairfield and Gabriel Wild who had both recently emerged from the ashes of another local group. Unlike Rob, though, Warren didn't want to make any quick decisions yet. He continued to see more local shows, his dream of being on that stage himself, mic in hand, constantly in the back of his mind.
For a while, things stood still like that between Warren and Rob. The few times they were together by 1969 were rather tense. And the silence was no less awkward when Rob came by from another town to pick Warren up from the latest rock and roll show. Both of them had their own grievances with each other. Tangles that would have to be straightened out another time, another day, another week. But that stormy April night was about to change everything. As Rob took his car through a dark shortcut to their apartment, another car appeared from nowhere, drifting straight towards them from the other lane. In a panic, Rob turned the wheel. The rest of that night was a blur. Warren vaguely remembered waking up with smoke hissing all around, dirt pressed against the shattered windshield inches from his head. Then he blacked out.
The ambulance arrived to the car crumbled at the bottom of a ditch. After being hauled out, Warren was driven to the nearest emergency care. For the next few days, he drifted in and out of consciousness. Doctors gave frequent shots and ointments to keep him alive, and things looked pretty grim. At long last, though, Warren gradually began to recover. For brief periods, he was able to look around and speak, managing to sit up every now and then to eat. But in contrast to their relief, Warren was immediately struck by the absence of Rob. He soon also noticed the strange lack of feeling in his legs. The hospital brushed away his questions at first, but the truth had to come out sooner or later. At long last, a nurse gave him the painful news. Not only was Rob gone, but Warren himself would never be able to walk again.
By the time he had recovered enough to leave, Warren still wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Only that he wanted to go home. Upon being dropped off at his apartment with a wheelchair in tow, he made straight for his bed. He became so depressed that he could barely roll himself over. Even without the learning curve, he hardly ate or washed himself. A few weeks in, his mother flew all the way from Sydney to London herself to pay her son a visit. In a scene that he'd go on to remember only too well, she paced his dirty apartment, hardly even looking at him. "I shouldn't have let you go to England!: she repeatedly sobbed, fixing her appearance in between each line like an actress on the set of a drama. A drama where she was the star. And before he could muster a good response, exit Lisa Kipner.