LOVE in my pocket, A michael aragon story by haley mears

“it’s all about the love, baby”

By Haley Mears, for the Aragon Foundation Blog

Saturday nights at the No Name Bar used to follow a comforting rhythm. Carrie, a few close friends, and I would stake out our usual table in front of the stage, sipping drinks and soaking in the sounds of Fuzzy Slippers—Michael Aragon on drums, Casey Filson on keys, Rob Fordyce on bass, Luis Carbo on percussion and Daryl Rowe on vocals. The music rolled, the conversations drifted, and everything felt warm and familiar.

On one of those nights, not so different from all the others, a man approached our table. At first, he simply joined the conversation—nothing unusual. But suddenly, something shifted. His tone sharpened. He began speaking about feeling discriminated against, about being judged by people both at our table and across the bar. His agitation rose quickly and unexpectedly. Before any of us could make sense of the change, he stood up, turned away, and left.

It was set break, so the band had stepped outside or scattered through the bar. Michael wandered out front to get some fresh air. We stayed inside chatting, assuming the man had simply moved on with his night.

Only later did we learn what had happened outside.

As the night wound down and the musicians finally joined us to relax, Michael told us the story—casually, like he did when recounting something everyday, even though what he described was anything but ordinary.

The man from our table had approached him, still upset, still feeling wronged. According to Michael, he said, almost pleading for understanding:
“You know man, these people don’t know. They don’t know! I got a gun in my pocket, and I’m gonna go in there and I’m gonna shoot somebody—then they’ll know!”

And here is where Michael became unmistakably Michael.

He leaned in, calm and steady, and said,
“You know what I got in my pocket, friend?”

The man paused. “What?”

“I got love in my pocket, man. You want some?”

Michael told us the man’s face softened immediately—shoulders dropping, breathing easing, pacing stopping. Michael wrapped him in a long, steady hug. And the man, now quiet, simply thanked him and walked off into the night.

Whether the scene unfolded exactly as Michael recounted it, I’ll never know. But Carrie and I chose to believe him—because the story was so wholly, beautifully him that its truth lived in its essence, even if some details blurred.

That night, we went home and began writing a song inspired by Michael and the story he had told. A song about love as something you carry, something you choose, something you offer—something you keep in your pocket for when it’s needed most.

And then life did what life does: it got busy. The song—half-formed, half-forgotten—sat waiting.

Years passed. Nights at the bar continued, quieter and simpler. Michael’s illnesses progressed. And in January 2024, when it became clear his transition was near, Carrie called me and said what we both already knew:

“We have to finish the song. And we have to record it.”

Within hours we were on the phone with friends—Dave Noble (guitar, vocals), Rob Fordyce (bass), and Rob Hooper (drums). Each said yes instantly. Anything for Michael. Jamie Bridges at Room With A View Studios cleared time for us. Less than a week later, we were in the studio.

The song had a skeleton, but in that room it grew muscle, heartbeat, breath. Each of us poured our love and grief into our parts. We recorded the entire track in just a few hours. There were tears. There was laughter. There was the unmistakable sense that we were doing something necessary and sacred.

We wanted the music to reach Michael. And it did.

Just days before he passed, his wife Amanda played the song for him while he rested at home, surrounded by instruments, art, and love. I wasn’t there, but I like to imagine that he smiled, maybe even tapped softly along to the beat—that the music he inspired carried him gently for a moment.

The song has only been performed publicly once—at Michael’s memorial at the No Name Bar in Sausalito on Sunday, April 14th, 2024—and until today it has existed only in our private files.

Now, the Aragon Foundation is sharing it with the world. Listen Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtMzOV7LZVY&feature=youtu.be

We share it in honor of Michael, whose life embodied compassion, creativity, humor, and grace under pressure. We share it because his story is a reminder of what love can de-escalate, what art can transform, and what a single human presence can heal. And we share it because at the Aragon Foundation, we believe deeply in the same thing Michael modeled that night outside the No Name Bar:

Creation is therapeutic.
Art is connection.
And we all have love in our pockets to give.