January 5th 1980. I had completed a huge HalFlat project earlier in the day, and I had planned to head out to The Dirty Rat for a drink to celebrate. However, snow was in the forecast, and I always avoided being out in the snow at all if I could help it. So instead, I started pulling apart my Christmas tree.

My first December in New York, I had been feeling a little down, so I had started a little holiday tradition for myself. I had gone out and bought the smallest tree I could find, along with a single string of colored lights, and put the tree up in the corner of my living room. And while doing that, feeling a wave of nostalgia, I had played both Chipmunks Christmas albums. I've since learned that many families with children have made it a tradition to play those albums while trimming their Christmas trees every year. That's something that still makes me very happy. Perhaps it will make you happy to know that at least one of the Chipmunks does the same thing every year.

I'm guessing it's less of a tradition to take down the Christmas tree while listening to The Wall by Pink Floyd, but that's what I was doing this particular night. I can't claim to be a huge Pink Floyd fan, but this album was sort of The Big Thing, album-wise, right at the start of 1980. So I had bought a copy, and then let it sit there for a week or so until I could find a time to "really listen to it". Some albums seem to demand you give more attention to them, at least for the first few listens. And it didn't seem to make sense to try to "get" the new Pink Floyd album while sawing and hammering in the work room. But dismantling the Christmas tree seemed like the ideal time to give it both fuzzy ears, so I cued up the first side and got to work.

I was only a couple of songs in when the phone rang. I turned the music off, and since it was late, I didn't answer it with my work spiel. I just said, "Hello?"

There was a slight pause, then I heard a quiet voice say, "Hello, brother."

"...Alvin?!" It was the first time I'd heard his voice in over a decade. "How the hell are you, brother?"

"Good. Good," he said automatically. Then he stopped, probably because he realized his answer didn't sound convincing in the slightest. "Actually...not so good."

I sat up straighter on the couch. "What's going on? What's the matter?"

"It's...everything. See, I've got this landlady, and..." Alvin stopped and sighed heavily. "It doesn't matter. Theodore, she's going to kick me out."

"How come?"

I heard Alvin swallow, hard, even over the long distance line. "Because...uh...because I can't make rent."

"You can't make rent? Not even with...?"

Alvin was instantly angry, although it was clear that he was far more upset at himself than he was at me. "Yeah, I'm broke, OK? Your screw-up brother done screwed it up big this time."

Alvin says now, "People like to say the seventies was the worst decade ever. But they're usually talking...what? Watergate, polyester pants and 'Afternoon Delight'. For me, it really was a terrible decade, pretty much from start to finish.

"The seventies opened with me still living with that groupie in Boise. She was nice enough - or, let's be honest, a big enough chump - to let me stay there way longer than she should've. I was in a band, sure, but we rehearsed once a week, and maybe played one gig a month. I wasn't even making enough to pay for my share of the groceries. Not that I offered.

"Finally, she'd had enough. Told me I had a month to get another place to live. Luckily, I found a job right after that, so I told her to fuck off and moved out to a cheap hotel until I got my first paycheck. Great payback for two years of free room and board, huh?"

Alvin sighs, then goes on. "A local UHF channel had been looking for somebody to host their afternoon cartoon show. And as luck would have it, The Alvin Show was one of the featured cartoons. So who better to host than Alvin himself? But after they hired me, they decided that since I didn't look much like the cartoon Alvin, it would confuse the kids if they introduced me as Alvin." Alvin spread his paws open. "I guess that makes sense. So in September 1971, I became Chester Chipmunk, host of Cartoon Junction. Every afternoon, I was there wearing this black T-shirt with a white star on it - it tied into the station's branding somehow. They gave me something like twenty of the things - still own a couple. I'd chat a bit, show drawings and read jokes that the kids had sent in, and introduce the shows. And yeah, it was pretty weird having to introduce myself. 'Now it's time for my favorite chipmunk pals - Alvin, Simon and Theodore!' It felt really hokey at the time, but they treated me well, and the pay was pretty good. Once in a while, I'd do a public appearance at a bowling alley or library, and the kids were pretty cool.

"I was there for six or seven years when they let me go. I think they were dropping The Alvin Show, so maybe when those chipmunks went, I had to go, too. Anyway, I got a bunch of headshots from the station's promotion department, and I sent them out everywhere looking for a similar job. Heck, it was the only job I'd ever had, so may as well keep doing it, right? Didn't hear anything for a while, and I started to get worried. But then I got a nibble from a TV station in Montana. I immediately bought a bus ticket to Billings, and had my stuff sent after me."

Alvin shakes his head. "Originally, I was supposed to host afternoons Monday through Friday, just like I did in Boise. But at the last minute, they changed their minds. I ended up just doing their Saturday and Sunday morning blocks, so the pay was less than half what it had been in Boise. As if that weren't enough, they also got really paranoid about possibly violating a copyright by having Alvin Chipmunk host their show. I reminded them that I had hosted as Chester Chipmunk for years with no problems, but they were really freaked out about this for some reason. So they came up with this really stupid solution." Alvin pauses to rub his eyes. "They had me dress up in a clown suit. With a red nose and everything. And they had me drop my voice way down, like I was trying to be the Jolly Green Giant. 'Ho ho ho, good morning, kids.' Just so nobody would see this rodent clown on TV and say, 'Wait - isn't that Alvin Chipmunk?' Like anybody ever recognized me, ever.

"'Cartoon Carnival with Chippy the Chipmunk'. God, it was terrible. They were really big on stupid crap like pratfalls and pies-in-the-face. By the end of the first weekend, I was really starting to miss the quiet dignity of being Chester Chipmunk." Alvin grins. "And try finding a rock band that wants to hire you when they find out you're the damn clown taking a pie to the face before introducing Huckleberry Hound every Sunday morning." Once again, Alvin becomes grim. "Things were pretty tough for a while. I was making just enough to pay rent on a small room in a boarding house. But finally, I got a bit of a break.

"I found a band called the Flaming Zeros that needed a guitarist right away. They had to play a wedding reception in two days. I practiced my tail off to learn their entire repertoire, played the wedding, and was given a permanent slot in the group. They were a cover band, and mainly played weddings and events like that. Kind of boring, slow pop songs most of the set. And the group kept me in back next to the drummer - didn't want to freak out the wedding party by having a rodent too close. But they played a lot of gigs, and the pay was a lifesaver." Alvin takes a deep breath. "But then things really fell apart."

"In the fall of 1979, the Flaming Zeros played a wedding. It went fine, and I was feeling pretty good afterwards, so I had a couple drinks at the open bar. Afterwards, some woman was giving me that 'ugh, vermin at a wedding' look. At least, I think she did. Ordinarily, I'd ignore it, but I guess I had one drink too many. I said, 'what are you looking at, ya fat bitch?'. Ends up it was the bride's sister. Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of the Flaming Zeros right then and there.

"The very next morning, I was in my clown get-up doing Cartoon Carnival. Two hours into the show, they did the pie-in-the-face gag. And the stage hand sort of hit me wrong, pushing the edge of the pie plate right into my eye. And I yelled, 'Goddamnit! Watch it, asshole!' Live. On a children's program. As soon as the show finished, I was told that was it, and not to come back. That's both of my jobs lost in twenty-four hours."

Alvin sighs again. "So now I'm unemployed. No prospects. And then I get this...idea." He pauses and rubs his face with his paws. "God, this is way more embarrassing than even Chippy the Chipmunk. But I'm thinking, hey, I'm AL-VIN, of Alvin and the Chipmunks! That's something worth seeing, right? And the holiday season is about to start - perfect! So I put together a holiday pageant. A Chipmunk Christmas With The Real Alvin And The Chipmunks. The whole thing is literally just me lip-synchng to a bunch of our old records. Mainly just the Christmas ones. I added a little dialogue between the songs to try to make something like a story out of it, but...ugh, it was terrible. Absolute crap. I found this frustrated actor in town to play Dave. And there are no other rodents in Billings, so I just go solo. I get two young kids to yell a few lines from off stage, and that's supposed to be you and Simon. They never even appear on stage - it's just me and Dave. But my ego has me convinced that this is going to be huge. I mean, it's AL-VIN! Live on stage!

"I scraped up some money to rent a small theater for a week at the beginning of December. A hundred and fifty seats. I'm picturing standing-room-only crowds, the show being held over until mid-January, and all my money woes being over."

Alvin pauses a bit before continuing. "You want to know many tickets we sold for the first performance? Twelve. And most of them left before the show was done. The opening number was 'Christmas Don't Be Late', and the sound guy played it at the wrong speed - 33 instead of 45. It sounded like drunk humans singing. Not that it mattered. The show was doomed from the start. We didn't even bother trying to put it on again the next night. It obviously was dead on arrival.

"And my problems still weren't done. The guy who played Dave wanted to be paid for the full week of performances. I told him I didn't have any money left to pay him. He actually threatened me in the parking lot with a tire iron. I gave him what I had on me, which wasn't much, but it was literally the last money I had. He took it, then kicked me in the face. At least he didn't use the tire iron. I laid there in the snow for a couple minutes, then staggered home, grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey, and drank until I passed out.

"I spent the next few weeks trying to raise money. I sold everything I could. My furniture, stereo, record collection, everything but my guitar - couldn't bear to part with that. And it still wasn't enough to pay the rent I owed. Landlady gave me two weeks before she started the eviction process. I just lay on the floor of my place for an entire day, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do. And I finally made a move - I called you."

Alvin pauses, and looks down. "Here's the really sad part. My ego was still fighting me. I was trying to think of some story I could tell you. So you wouldn't know how bad things had really gotten, or so you wouldn't think it was all my doing. But then I heard your voice. And I remembered. You'd seen me play with the Benson brothers. You'd seen through my bullshit once before. And despite all that, you stuck with me. We were still brothers, y'know? Even though I hadn't talked to you in ten years, you sounded happy to hear my voice. So I thought, forget it - I can't bullshit Theodore. Not anymore."

Simon picks up the story from there. "You telephoned me after your lengthy conversation with Alvin. And at the risk of sounding unduly pessimistic, your recounting of Alvin's last eleven years was not unexpected. Given his temperament, and his techniques of dealing with adversity, it was perhaps inevitable that he would have some very difficult and painful life lessons to learn."

During that phone conversation, Simon and I discussed what to do. We could send Alvin money, sure, but what about next month, and the one after that? In the end, we both agreed that getting Alvin to New York, and helping him get a job, would be the best move. I then suggested I could revamp one of my HalFlat rooms in my apartment into a little room for him. Simon didn't answer for a while.

"You don't think that's a good idea?" I asked.

"It is the simplest, and easily the least expensive. But I feel it is fraught with potential problems."

"What do you mean?"

"A potential scenario. Six months from now. Alvin is still unemployed, laying on your couch, playing your records at high volume, with a kitchen full of dirty dishes."

I thought about that for a second. "I'd tell him to go out and get a job."

"Say he refuses. Or states that he is unable to find one. Would you have the fortitude to turn your brother out onto the streets of New York?"

I mulled that over. "...I don't know, Simon. Is that really what I have to do?"

"If circumstances dictate, then yes. But ideally, it will not come to that. Let us bring our brother to New York, and see if his life might still be salvaged. It will be imperative to implement some rather stringent rules for him to follow."

We sent Alvin a bus ticket to New York, along with some money for food and incidentals for the trip. We also wired some money to his landlady, so he could leave on somewhat decent terms with her. Then I ordered a bed, a small dresser and curtains, and revamped my reading room into a small bedroom. It wasn't ideal, but it would do for the time being.

About ten days later, I stood at the depot waiting for his bus to arrive. When Alvin began coming down the steps, struggling with his guitar and suitcase, I ran up.

"Brother!" I yelled.

He looked over at me, and grinned. "Brother!" We hugged, which was a bit unusual for us, but hey - it had been eleven years. Then he looked me over. "Wow, brother, you look good."

I looked Alvin over, and realized I couldn't exactly say the same. He looked thin, and his eyes were a little sunken. And most of all, the over-confidence that had always surrounded him was gone. Now, his shoulders were kind of slumped, and he looked defeated. But that didn't mean I wasn't happy to see him. "Damn, it's good to see you again. C'mon, let's get your stuff in the truck."

Alvin didn't say much on the trip back to my place. He mainly just took in the sights and bit his foreclaw a bit. We got him set up in his new bedroom, then I gave him a few coins so he could take the subway over to Simon's place. I had to finish installing a project, but I promised I'd join them when I was done.

"That worked out, because Simon wanted me over there before you," says Alvin. "He wanted to talk to me alone. It wasn't a talk so much as a lecture. But let's face it - I had definitely earned a lecture.

"He wasn't angry, but he was...firm. He laid down some rules, and they were strict. I was to get a job as soon as possible. I was to turn my paychecks over to you two, and you would budget my money for me. I was to give you wide berth at your place, keep everything clean - 'immaculate' was actually what he said - and help out wherever I could. And if either of you felt I wasn't abiding by these rules, you would kick me out." Alvin takes a deep breath. "Hearing all that was...well, it was a lot of things. Humbling. Humiliating. But I agreed to them. What choice did I have, really? I had hit bottom, and now I had to try to start crawling my way back up."

I got to Simon's place around seven. Simon had put together a really simple meal of a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery down the street, and half a bottle of Chianti. We talked about pleasant stuff at first - the old days, the Little Rocks, and all the music that had come out over the past eleven years or so. But soon the bread was gone, and we had poured out the last of the wine. Collectively, we moved to the living room, and Simon smiled at our brother.

"So, brother, perhaps we should discuss our next musical endeavor."

"Yeah!" said Alvin, suddenly very excited. "You know, the Chipmunks name is pretty much ours now, so we can do what we want with it! So I've got this idea - 'Disco Alvin'! What do you think?"

Both Simon and I stared at Alvin like he'd lost his mind. Finally, Simon spoke up. "Brother, the Chipmunks has essentially been buried. I see no need to exhume it."

"And disco is kinda dying, don't you think?" I added.

"And you are presumably unaware that your brothers are already involved in another musical project."

Alvin went from excited back to glum. "Well, so much for me, then."

"Actually, you'd be perfect for it!" I said. "It's just the two of us - Simon on bass, and me on drums. And we have different musicians join us on stage, each for a short set."

"And we have left a slot open for you, if you care to fill it," Simon added.

Alvin perked up at that. "Really? Wow. OK. Uh, what would we be playing?"

"Anything we want," I said. "Old Little Rocks songs, or something else."

"It might behoove us to prepare something a bit more current," pointed out Simon. "All of the Little Rocks material is now fifteen years out of date."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," I admitted.

Simon pointed at Alvin. "But no disco."

"Oh, come on, Simon," Alvin groused. "There's nothing wrong with disco."

"It is nothing but mindless drivel," complained Simon. "And furthermore, it is ill-suited for our three-piece line-up. There are some excellent Emerson Lake and Palmer compositions that I feel we could perform..."

"Ugh," said Alvin, making a face. "You're into that stuff?"

"There is nothing wrong with adding some intelligence to rock and roll," Simon huffed. "Although I can comprehend why you might object."

I hated seeing my brothers getting into an argument so soon after getting us three back together, so I spoke up. "Brothers! Come on! It's not like our only options are prog rock and disco." I stood up and idly began flipping through Simon's record collection. "There are plenty of other songs to choose from..." Suddenly, I stopped. Sitting between a John Coltrane record and ELP's Tarkus was a nearly brand-new LP. I slid it out, and held it up for them both to see.

Simon looked embarrassed. "What?" he said defensively. "It has that insidious 'Sharona' song on it, and I couldn't get it out of my head..."

I held up a finger, and he stopped. I slid the Get the Knack album out of its sleeve, and put it on the turntable. We listened to the first minute or so of the first song "Let Me Out", and then I pointed at the turntable. "How about this? Can we do this?"

Simon shrugged. Alvin tried miming the guitar part, then said "I think so. I'll need to practice, though."

"We've got until Thursday," I said, smiling.

"Then let's see what's worth learning here." Alvin grinned back and rubbed his paws together.

The Chipmunks were officially back together.