12/18/22
Newsletter #192
The Crack of Dawn
My first cousins moved to Los Angeles in 1968. Their aunt and uncle lived in an enormous mansion in Beverly Hills that had previously belonged to Dick Powell and June Allyson. Their Aunt Gloria was driving the three boys, who were ten, twelve and fourteen, along the steep, precipitous curves of Mulholland Drive at high speed in her Mercedes. But while Gloria was doing this she was also separating her long fake eyelashes with a pin while looking into the rearview mirror. All three boys, new to L.A., were sure that they would die.
My old buddy and former writing partner, Scott, should have been a gag writer for Mack Sennett or Hal Roach in the silent era. Scott would sit around our office thinking up gags and jokes just for the fun of it, and to kill time until our financing for a film came through. There was a Wendy’s nearby where we’d occasionally have lunch. As we walked there one day, Scott came up with what should have been their theme song, set to the song Windy by the Association.
And Wendy’s has shakes and fries
And really good apple pies
Everyone goes to Wendy’s
Also killing time, Scott and I would concoct Mad Magazine-like scenarios, like: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, with: Marlon Brando, Sal Minnow, Tuna Louise, Salmon Raimi, Wally Lox, etc.
Also, The Color of Money, with: Lorne Green, Betty White, Jim Brown, Shirley Temple Black, Jennifer Gray, Catfish Stevens, Red Skelton, etc.
Another gag we’d endlessly work on were variations of, if Ida Lupino married Don Ho, she’d be Ida Ho. [Hal March III was a famous radio announcer]. If Tuesday Weld married Hal March III, she’d be Tuesday March the 3rd. If Yoko Ono married Brian Eno, divorced him and married Sonny Bono, she’d be Yoko Ono Eno Bono.
Scott also had a pack of little black plastic spiders. When someone would come into our office to discuss something potentially important, Scott would sneak around behind them and lightly set a plastic spider on their shoulder. Then it was my job to point at their shoulder. They would glance down and the plastic spider would be right at the edge of their peripheral vision, and they would completely freak out. He made me an accompolice.
Here’s the best limerick I ever wrote:
Rhett Butler is in quite a jam
He’s about to go out on the lamb
“Scarlet,” he rasps
As she falls back and gasps
“I frankly don’t give a damn”
A fine day to you all.