It was 99 cents (if I remember right) at Payless, which had previously been Wigwam. Today, it's Longs Drugs (Mo'ili'ili). It was a big deal for me, a 10- or 12-year-old kid. Even my little brother was with me that day, and we walked home down Isenberg Street with a little bit of a strut. I was proud as hell about my first album, could barely wait to unwrap that cellophane and play it on my Checkers & Pogo mini-player.

The excitement died down pretty fast. Disco Gold was a forgettable record, never bothered to save it. At one buck, it was dirt cheap even back then in 1970s, obviously Payless' desperate strategy to unload those unwanted vinyl discs. Oddly enough, "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word" by Elton John was on the album. Not a disco song.

The second album I ever got was something I cherished: Marvin Gaye's Greatest Hits, from Sears in Ala Moana. My friends laughed at me as they carried their Iron Maiden and AC/DC albums off. I didn't care for heavy metal. I knew a few of Marvin Gaye's songs from the radio -- a very limiting experience. Listening to that album was one of the things that changed my world view as a high-school kid. It was about four years between my first and second album purchases, but the Checkers & Pogo player was still there in me and my brother's room, and played Marvin's album over and over and over.

Then, suddenly, not long after I graduated from high school, he was dead. Shot by his father. It made no sense, not then and not for 25 years since. Tonight, PBS aired a documentary about Marvin Gaye in its American Masters series, and my eyes have been opened, to say the least.

If it's true that Marvin just could not reconcile the battle between his demons and angels, what does this say about the rest of us? It's saddening and maddening to see how someone with so much talent, such a gift to touch people -- millions and millions -- couldn't be at peace. It makes me wonder, is achieving simplicity and fulfillment that improbable? Impossible?

I can't help thinking how much more he had to give. But as one of his closest friends said near the end of the documentary, Marvin had nothing left to give, not spiritually, not physically -- his drug addiction was off the tracks in the worst way -- and not mentally. Marvin Gaye, the friend said, wanted his life to end.

After 25 years, I can't say that this knowledge soothes me or brings a sense of closure. I spent hours listening to his words and music, both off the album and the homemade cassette tape I had a friend dub for me. (I wore that tape out pretty good.) It won't hurt any less that he's gone and we have more information about his death and everything that led up to it. There's no peace here. None. Sometimes, the truth just doesn't have that effect -- giving us contentment. It just doesn't.

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