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This is the way I heard.

George Underwood was 15 years old when he punched the handsome saxophone player, his motivation, an unforgivable display of skullduggery that could simply not be ignored, a completely unacceptable betrayal made worse by the fact that the handsome saxophone player in question was George Underwood's best friend. Here's what happened in the spring of 1962, George and his best friend were pupils at the Bromley Technical School for the Arts. They played together in a band you've never heard of called George and the Dragons.

The Dragons had real potential, though everyone agreed that George was the most likely member to find real fame. He had the looks for it, that's for sure. He was remarkably handsome and bursting with charisma. His personality leapt off the stage and he could sing. His Elvis impersonation never failed to make the young girls swoon. Anyway, George had arranged for a date with Carole Goldsmith, the pretty school girl he'd been eyeing all semester but a few hours before they were supposed to meet down at the youth centre.

His saxophone player pulled him aside. Hey, George, I just saw Carole Goldsmith down at the record store. She said to tell you she wouldn't be able to make it this evening. Between you and me, I think she's seeing someone else. George was disappointed, obviously, but he appreciated the heads up from his loyal band mate, future rock stars shouldn't be stood up in public by pretty schoolgirls. They had images to protect, after all.

But in reality, it was Carol Goldsmith who wound up waiting for George Underwood that night.

She waited for over an hour and probably would have waited longer if the handsome saxophone player hadn't arrived in George's place.

Oh, hey, Carol, how's it going? Oh, hi.

I was just waiting for George. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. The saxophone player assumed a pensive expression and sighed deeply. I'm sorry, Carol, but I saw George earlier today and he told me he had other plans tonight between you and me.

I think he's seeing someone else. Carol Goldsmith was disappointed, obviously, but she appreciated hearing the truth. She also appreciated the saxophone players sympathetic gaze. Thank you for telling me, said Carol. You have pretty eyes. The saxophone player smiled. Well, thanks. Hey, you want to go get some ice cream?

The next day at school, George learned of this treachery and reacted as any young man filled with testosterone and righteous indignation would.

He confronted his traitorous band mate, confirmed the duplicity and delivered a roundhouse a mighty blow that left his best friend flat on his back with a black eye and a swollen face. Unfortunately, the fallout was worse than that. George Underwood's temper earned him the contempt of everyone at Bromley Tech, including his teachers, his best friend's parents and Carol Goldsmith. Sucker punching the saxophone player had led to the demise of George and the Dragons as well. Why? Because with that one precipitous blow, George forever changed his best friend's appearance.

And in the process, the appearance of countless magazine covers, the covers of TIME, Esquire, GQ People, Vanity Fair and, of course, Rolling Stone.

But all that would come later.

On that particular day in 1962, George's saxophone player was rushed to the hospital where he remained for several weeks as doctors tried to correct the damage George had inflicted. Fortunately, they did not succeed. The official diagnosis was an Escorial, and after two surgeries, doctors said the damage was irreversible. George would live with the guilt for the rest of his life, but he would not be unforgiven. In fact, a few months later, George and his saxophone player wound up in another band.

You've never heard of the Conrads. After the Conrads, they formed the Hooker Brothers, which you've probably never heard of either. And then the king bees, which may not ring any bells. Along the way, though, George came to realize that no matter what they called themselves, the people were not coming to hear him sing. They were coming to see his permanently deformed but still handsome saxophone player, the best friend whose face he had permanently altered.

The King bees went their separate ways. Most bands do, and George Underwood shifted his focus to painting and drawing. Not as glamorous, perhaps, as being a rock star, but one plays the cards one gets.

And all things considered, George had some pretty good cards today. You can see his artwork all over the world and on the covers of more than a few albums, albums from bands that you probably have heard of, bands like T-Rex, Procol Harum, Mott The Hoople and The Fix. But of course, his most famous album covers are the ones he did for his old friend, who sadly no longer plays the saxophone or anything else, for that matter, one evening years before he died.

But long after he'd become a rock and roll legend, George Underwood's former saxophone player called him and thanked him for punching him in the face. He could not have been more sincere. The Enniscorthy, he said, had given him an identity he could never have cultivated on his own. Thanks to that one precipitous blow landed back when they were both teenagers. His left pupil would never dilate again. As a result, his eyes appeared to be two completely different colors.

And that gave George Underwood's best friend a certain quality, a rock star quality, a quality that helped secure his appearance on countless magazine covers, the covers of TIME, Esquire, GQ People, Vanity Fair and, of course, Rolling Stone. On January 10th, 2016, George Underwood learned that Ziggy would no longer play guitar, the star man who gave us Major Tom described life on Mars and made so many teenage space oddities feel a little bit less alone, would never get to enjoy his golden years.

George was heartbroken. And while Caroll Goldsmith's feelings are not on the record, it's safe to assume that she, too, misses the rebel rebel who studied fame and went on to achieve it. A pupil who stood out above all the others. A best friend named David Bowie. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.