Joey Ramone was one of the world’s most recognizable rock stars. He was tall, thin, pale and oddly constructed, and his unusual appearance was amplified by bright pink granny glasses and neon-striped shirts atop tattered jeans. “I don’t fit into any mold,” Joey told Musician magazine in 1983. “To me, rock 'n roll is the art form most about being yourself.”

The journalist who wrote that story, Charles M. Young, noted that Joey had, “utterly, completely, absolutely, beyond the slightest chance of quibble from any sentient being in the entire universe, no ass.” Further observing that the whole band, in fact, looked like they needed to be “slapped around and made to play basketball with the rest of the boys for their own good," Young echoed the thoughts of many who laid eyes on the Ramones. The foursome looked freaky, even cartoonish. They wore black leather motorcycle jackets and sported heavy Lower East Side accents and attitudes. But somehow, the effect was more endearing than menacing, and a lot of that was due to their charismatic lead singer, Joey.

I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on Joey Ramone, back in the early '80s. As a kid with an airshift on a small radio station in Kansas, I scored a real coup when I scheduled an interview with one of the Ramones, and I watched the car pull into the station lot with great anticipation. The guy that emerged from the passenger side of that car looked as though he’d been stretched like taffy. Joey teetered a foot above everyone else, and when he turned sideways, he almost disappeared except for the midnight-black cloud of hair that surrounded his pink glasses. Before that day was over, I would witness the station manager chew him out for using the word "crap" on the air and for chewing gum during the interview. And Joey and I would become instant but long-lasting pals.

After my initiation, his appearance ceased to strike me as quite so odd, but I witnessed people having lots of strange reactions to him in everyday situations. For example, we got lost driving around in Dallas one night after a recording session; after I got directions from the counter guy at a convenience mart, I turned around to see everyone in the store lined up with their faces pressed against the window, staring at the guy in my Honda.

The Ramones [ tickets ]' road manager spoke to Creem Magazine in 1978: “We’re at this rest stop and this middle-aged woman is looking at all of [the Ramones] and then she comes over to me and says, ‘Are you the gentleman that takes care of these retarded boys? I think that’s real nice.'” But Joey liked meeting people on the road. “All the truckers know me,” he was proud to say.

The oddness of Joey Ramone ran much deeper than his appearance. His voice was just as unusual, when singing and when speaking. And his sense of humor was perhaps his most unique aspect; intrigued by people’s darkest sides, he would often write songs about the worst parts of humanity, but putting a spin on the topic so that it would somehow emerge as interesting, passionate, even funny. Creem magazine’s Cynthia Rose noted that he could “seize on subjects like arson, shoplifting, decapitation, drugstore dope abuse, matricide, kill-happy mercenaries, lobotomy, and the dangers of foreign food, then still manage to come out ahead as the most compassionate brand of visionary.”

The Ramones had a fascinating 22-year career, never becoming household names, but never going down in flames. From their bar-band beginnings in 1974 to 1996’s “Adios Amigos” tour, there were label changes and personnel changes, but the band’s vision never changed and the members' commitment never wavered--the Ramones always gave it their all. They never scored a top-40 hit or even a gold album (except for the 1988 best-of set "Ramones Mania"). Most people, it seems, just didn’t get it. Even industry types were confused most of the time; the Ramones have played bills with Foreigner, the SOS Band, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, and even one strange California date with the Captain and Tennille on a flatbed truck.

“We thought maybe us and the Sex Pistols would be the new Beatles and Rolling Stones, because we were reshaping and revolutionizing rock,” Joey told Trouser Press in 1982. Despite his high hopes, the Ramones' reputation never lived up to their talent. It should be noted, of course, that the Ramones played in London on July 4, 1976, with future members of the Sex Pistols--and the Clash and the Damned--in the audience. Those guys started their bands after seeing how the Ramones did it.

The Ramones become eligible for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame next year. I hope that enough Hall of Fame members, whose votes determine inductees, do remember the Ramones’ tremendous contribution and influence, and that the Ramones will at last take their rightful place in the history of rock. Acknowledgement of his contribution was something that meant more to Joey than anything. He dedicated his entire life to rock and roll.

Joey Ramone died Sunday afternoon, April 15, 2001, in a New York hospital after an extended bout with lymphoma. You can read the story in liveDaily News by clicking here.