Rural Ohio grave of The Cars' Benjamin Orr is a shrine to fans 20 years after death

You wouldn't expect this to be the final resting place of a rock star.

Sunlight filtered through the autumn trees as we drove through the Ohio countryside in Geauga County. My wife, Susie, and I turned onto a gravel drive flanked by brick pillars and iron gates, and nodded to two motorcyclists as they rolled toward the exit.

We apparently were on the same pilgrimage.

As the rumble of engines faded, silence returned to St. Patrick Cemetery in Thompson Township. A lonely cricket chirped from a hiding place in the grass.

Benjamin Orr’s headstone was easy to find. The marble marker has an etching of an electric guitar, and fans have lovingly decorated it with personal items, including handwritten notes, toy cars, painted rocks, sunglasses, drumsticks, cherubic statues, pocket change and even a spark plug.

Has it really been 20 years? Orr died Oct. 4, 2000, of pancreatic cancer at age 53.

As bassist and vocalist for The Cars, the Ohio native sang some of the group’s biggest hits in the 1970s and 1980s, including “Just What I Needed,” “Let’s Go” and “Drive.” With shoulder-length blond hair, zebra-print shirts and leather pants, Orr looked every bit a rock god, sharing the stage with tall, angular, quirky Ric Ocasek, The Cars’ rhythm guitarist, vocalist and songwriter.

As I stood over Orr’s grave, I couldn't help but think: “Life’s the same, I’m moving in stereo. Life’s the same, except for my shoes. Life’s the same, you’re shaking like tremolo. Life’s the same, it’s all inside you.”

I never did understand those lyrics, but I love that song.

When some guys hear “Moving in Stereo,” they think of a poolside Phoebe Cates in the 1982 movie “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” But the tune always reminds me of Andy Eliopoulos, my classmate at North High in Akron.

He introduced me to The Cars when we should have been studying Spanish. He told me about “Moving in Stereo,” a song whose spacey vocals alternated between left and right speakers on a record player. On headphones, it was amazing.

So I bought the band’s 1978 debut album — with an eye-catching cover that featured a leering model in red lipstick seated behind a steering wheel — and listened to it repeatedly. The catchy songs glistened with Ocasek’s wonderfully enigmatic lyrics about nuclear boots, drip dry gloves and electric angel rock and rollers.

Yeah, Andy was right. This band was cool.

When my mind wandered during classes, I sometimes scrawled Cars lyrics in my notebooks or drew the band’s logo on my desk.

The Cars hit close to home in other ways, although I didn’t know it at the time.

Orr was born Benjamin Orzechowski in Lakewood in 1947 and grew up in Parma, attending Valley Forge High School in the 1960s, where my future wife would graduate more than 20 years later. Neighborhood kids jokingly called him “Benny Eleven Letters,” so he shortened his name to Orr.

A talented musician on multiple instruments, Orr joined The Grasshoppers as a singer and guitarist and became a teen idol on “The Big 5 Show” in the 1960s on WEWS.

That’s where Ric Ocasek, then known as Richard Otcasek, first saw him. The Maple Heights student had moved from Baltimore to Cleveland, where his father worked at the NASA Lewis Research Center.

Ocasek and Orr met at a party and teamed up in a band that played in Columbus clubs. They moved to Boston in the 1970s, forming The Cars with keyboardist Greg Hawkes, lead guitarist Elliot Easton and drummer David Robinson.

I bought the first five albums, “The Cars,” “Candy-O,” “Panorama,” “Shake It Up” and “Heartbeat City,” and I recall when the band’s videos were in heavy rotation on MTV.

Orr shared the spotlight but acknowledged that Ocasek had a more public profile.

“He’s taller and has a funnier haircut so he attracts more attention, I guess,” Orr told a Knight Ridder interviewer in the 1980s. “A lot of people don’t know I’m me. I’ve done half the songs we recorded. But it’s OK — the thrill is being part of The Cars and doing that, which is all I wanted in the first place.”

I finally got to see The Cars in concert Aug. 7, 1984, at Blossom Music Center. Tickets were $14 for pavilion and $11 for lawn. Wang Chung opened the show.

After years of anticipation, I admit I was a bit disappointed. The Cars sounded terrific and their light show was fantastic, but the group barely spoke to the crowd. I had expected Orr or Ocasek to at least offer a “Hello, Cleveland!” or “It’s great to be in Ohio!” Instead, they just played hit after hit.

Although I continued to enjoy their music, I never saw them again.

Orr released a solo album, “The Lace,” in 1986 and had a Top 40 hit with “Stay the Night.” The Cars regrouped for the album “Door to Door” and disbanded in 1988.

When Orr died in 2000, he was laid to rest in Geauga County, where his older brother had lived. Charles J. Orzechowski, a World War II veteran and Purple Heart recipient, died in 1997 and is buried next to Ben.

The Cars were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2018. A year later, Ric Ocasek died in New York at age 75.

The group’s songs remind me of carefree days of youth. My wife and I listened to the 1978 debut as we drove to St. Patrick Cemetery.

A Virgin Mary statue draped in rosaries stands beside the Orzechowski headstone. On the other side is Benjamin Orr’s marker decorated with fan memorabilia.

While gazing at the rock shrine, I thought about the kid who introduced me to The Cars. Andy Eliopoulos died unexpectedly in 2015 while bicycling in New England. He was 52.

Before Susie and I left the cemetery, I plopped down in the grass with a portable CD player and played “Moving in Stereo.”

“Life’s the same, I’m moving in stereo,” Orr sang. “Life’s the same, except for my shoes. Life’s the same, you’re shaking like tremolo. Life’s the same, it’s all inside you.”

That one’s for you, Ben and Ric.

You, too, Andy.

Mark J. Price can be reached at mprice@thebeaconjournal.com.

This article originally appeared on Akron Beacon Journal: Benjamin Orr, a member of the Cars, is buried in rural Geauga County in Ohio