Love Her Madly: Jim Morrison, Mary, and Me

Product Description

A riveting memoir that works its magic like a slow-acting drug, revealing the story of Jim Morrison’s first love, a long-lost friendship, and the man who existed before the Doors.

In the spring of 1965, Bill Cosgrave was smuggled across the border into the United States after receiving an irresistible invitation from his captivating friend Mary Werbelow. When he made it to her apartment in Los Angeles, Mary introduced Bill to her boyfriend, Jim Morrison. The two young men quickly bonded.

When Jim and Mary’s relationship faltered, Jim headed for Venice beach with his notebook. Bill and Jim spent endless days together, enjoying the aimlessness of their youth and the freedom of the times, fuelled by Jim’s unlimited supply of dope.

Jim’s writing would morph into iconic hit songs, rocketing him to international fame as the hypnotic lead singer of the Doors. Beautiful Mary would set off on her own journey. After years of futile searching, Bill finally tracks down the woman he had secretly loved. He’s dying to know where her life has taken her and stunned by what he discovers.

Review

Engagingly written, Love her Madly is one of those books you feel compelled to devour in one sitting. ―
Riviera Buzz

For die-hard Morrison acolytes ―
Kirkus Reviews

It’s an intimate, funny and ultimately heartbreaking book. ―
Gonzo Today

Throbbing with life…
Love Her Madly is a memoir that’s filled with adventure, love, and loss, distilling the hopes and dreams of a generation. ―
Foreword Reviews (starred review)

The words of a confident writer, someone who’s lived through the eye of a hazy hurricane and emerged buffeted and battled, but better for the journey. ―
Ormsby Review

About the Author

Bill Cosgrave was born in Toronto. After his vagabond days in Los Angeles, he settled down and co-founded a national travel company which he named, appropriately, Fun Seekers. He lives in Kelowna, British Columbia.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1. Dream Girl

Florida, 1963

Alligator Alley slices through the prehistoric Everglades, a straight cut from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic. I have my thumb out in the torrid heat. Destination: Fort Lauderdale.

A battered pickup truck pulls over, with rusted, mud-caked shovels in the back. I climb into the filthy cab. The driver is wearing a dirty T-shirt and faded jeans. He’s balding, with stringy black hair slick along the sides of his head. Crooked, yellow teeth, tobacco-stained fingers, nails chewed to the quick. He reeks of stale sweat and cigarettes. He looks at me with dull eyes. I ask him how far he’s going. He mutters “Fort Lauderdale.” It’s going to be a long drive.

Hot air blasts through the windows. The baked dashboard is cracked, the windshield peppered with rock chips. The guy doesn’t talk, he broods. The asphalt surface quivers in the visible heat.

A half-hour later, there’s a major furor on the road.
What the hell’s going on? Brooder slows down. Crimson-headed vultures are furiously devouring a crushed alligator that has met a semi-truck.

“Look at that!” Weirdly excited, Brooder brakes and pulls up beside the frenzied feast. Cutting the engine, he leans out his window. The vultures jerk their heads up from the festering corpse. A dozen cold, beady eyes stare at him, then plunge back into the carcass. It’s dead quiet except for the sound of their beaks frantically tearing flesh, yanking out white strands of sinew. Horrible snapping sounds. Bits of blood and flesh spattered on their faces. Jesus, the stench.

“That’s a nine-foot ‘gator, probably four hundred pounds.” He’s murmuring to himself.

The guy watches too long.

The hot air is filled with the putrid odour of death. I start gagging. Brooder stares at me while slowly reaching for the ignition, a strange look in his eyes.

Who, or what is this guy?

We drive on in an eerie silence through seemingly endless swampland. Finally, a hint of civilization appears: a faded “Al