Mickey Leigh, Joey Ramone's brother CBGB, 4/30/01, Photo by Spyder Darling Photo © 2001 NY Rock, more photos

Though none of the band members were related, they called themselves the Ramones and were soon nicknamed "Da Bruddas" (translated as "The Brothers" for anyone who wasn't raised within a train ride of Shea Stadium or watched an episode of "The Sopranos"). Tommy dominated the drums while Dee Dee beat up his bass and Johnny grimaced on guitar. And Joey – their street-lamp tall, pipe-cleaner thin front man – sang thirty-song shows from behind tiny rose-colored sunglasses, keeping one hand on the microphone and the other pumping into the spotlight at center stage. Two-minute songs like "Sheena Is a Punk Rocker" and "Rockaway Beach" became anthems to their fans as chants of "Gabba Gabba Hey" and "Hey Ho, Lets Go" inspired everyone from first generation punks like the Clash and Buzzcocks to modern upstarts like Green Day and the Offspring.

Jesse Malin of Bellvue (formerly of D-Generation) CBGB, 4/30/01, Photo by Spyder Darling Photo © 2001 NY Rock

The Ramones lineup changed over the years. Drummers and bassists came and went like drummers and bassists do. But what never varied was their endless energy, the devotion of their fans and the holes in the knees of their jeans. Finally, they broke up in 1996, saying "Adios Amigos" after yet another triumphant world tour. It seemed unthinkable that the Ramones, a band that could pack an 80-thousand seat stadium in South America would call it quits, but they did. Maybe they were tired, maybe there were no stages left for them to conquer, maybe there was another reason.

For a long time it was one of the best kept secrets in rock 'n' roll. Few outside of a tight circle of his friends and family knew and they weren't talking. Until late winter of this year when a press release stunned the rock 'n' roll world, Joey Ramone had cancer. Specifically, Lymphoma, a cancer of the lymphoid tissue that keeps the body from fighting off infection. Since the mid '90s, Joey hung on like Muhammad Ali rope-a-doping George Forman and it looked like he might not be going down for the count after all. But a little more than a month after the official announcement, on Easter Sunday, Joey lost the fight of his life.

Eight days after his passing, "Remembering Joey: A Brother's Tribute" was held appropriately at CBGB, the dingy dungeon where punk began. The night was arranged by Joey's brother Mickey Leigh (ex-Rattlers and lately Stop), a tall, thin front man with punk-rock credentials that go back to day one. He is truly his brother's brother. Co-hosting the evening was Handsome Dick Manitoba of the Dictators, a primal punk metal band that came up with the Ramones and is now enjoying its biggest success after reuniting a few years ago. The third co-host of the evening was writer/punk rocker George Tabb of Furious George, as big a Ramones fan as they come, and after a few beers, certainly one of the most obnoxious.

L.E.S. Stitches, CBGB, 4/30/01, more photos Photo by Spyder Darling © 2001 NY Rock

The tribute was a well-attended, loosely organized gathering of Joey's musicians, fans and family. Outside, befitting Joey's status as a fallen member of punk rock's first family, flowers, photos, tubes of glue and pizza boxes had been left as tokens of loss. While inside, on stage, there were rollicking and respectful reminiscences by punk rock luminaries such as Joan "I Love Rocky Horror" Jett, Deborah "Blondie" Harry, and garage guitar hero, Lenny Kaye, who played a solo version of former collaborator Patti Smith's "Ghost Dance" that never sounded more spiritual. Also seen paying their respects were Andy Shernoff and Daniel Rey (Dictators' bassist and producers par excellence). Joined by drummer Pat Carpenter, the three backed up Mickey Leigh and performed heartbreaking versions of the Ramones' "I Remember You," "I Want You Around" and "Danny Says." So emotional was the moment that by the middle of the second song I had to drink just to hold back the tears. Hey, whatever it takes, right? But, by the first chorus of "Danny Says" my bottle was empty and I was a goner. Not since the end of Gladiator had my heart hurt so much. But this wasn't Hollywood, with limousines, movie stars and red carpets. This was the Bowery and CBGB and Joey wasn't coming out to accept an award. He's gone and we gotta live with it. I knew there was a reason God made alcohol.

Not to make the evening sound completely grim. There were many happy eulogies by business partners, collaborators and casual acquaintances, all unanimous in their testimony to the generous, talented, inspiring and generally "fucking great guy" that Joey was 'til the very end. One story told of him jumping over snowdrifts at Christmas time to talk to fans who had wished him well. Groovy Gita Gash, a fan from the first gig, talked about how she and Joey had traveled to an Ashram for spiritual guidance and how the Hindu teacher looked at the punk-rock girl and her gangly pink-spectacled friend and said "Ah, musicians." Perhaps it was a dude named Drew, co-manager of Joey's favorite underground band the Independents, who put it best when he said, "Some have a friend in Jesus. We have a friend in Joey."

The night went on as a long line of friends shared their memories of Joey and two other bands, L.E.S. Stitches and Meat Depressed, played short Ramones inspired sets. At last call, the evening ended where it should, back at the bar where this whole punk rock mess began. Original Misfit Bobby Steele was there, paying his respects before his band the Undead head off for their European tour, as was ex D-Generation singer Jesse Malin, who didn't have quite as far to go, as he headed back to his own club, Niagara on Ave. A. Finally, one and all dribbled out of CBGB and back onto the glitzy grit of the new Bowery, back to the traffic and tribulation of ordinary life. We left, still savoring the night, like the last slugs from a bottle of fine cheap wine, a vintage that, like Joey, is much more rare than we realize, until it's gone.

Since many have asked, Joey’s mom Charlotte has requested that anyone wishing to make donations in her son’s name, earmark them “In Memory of Jeff Hyman” and send them to New York Hospital Cornell Medical Center, 525 East 68th Street, Box 123, New York, NY 10021.

Those who missed the CBGB memorial, but still want to pay their respects and have some fun can look forward to the “Life’s a Gas” party in honor of Joey’s 50th birthday, May 19th at the Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th Street. The event promises musical guests both notable and notorious, but is strictly BYOG (bring your own glue).