9/23/22
Newsletter106
The Crack of Dawn
In 1990-91 I lived in a cool little bungalow on Hudson St., a few houses from Sunset Blvd. I found out later that Marvin Gaye had his own recording studio on Hudson. One evening I decided to score some pot. I walked up to the corner of Vine St. and Franklin Blvd., where Capitol Records is located. This was the corner at that time where there were Rastas who sold weed. At that time I had short hair and a mustache and looked like a cop. I had a twenty dollar bill ready in my pocket. I stepped up to a young black man who said, “Smoke?” I said, “Yes.” He asked, “Are you a cop?” I said, “No.” He said, “Twenty.” I handed him the twenty and he put something in my hand and began walking away. I opened my hand and found a gumball-sized hunk of white stuff, and was confused, “What the hell was this?” I stood there on the corner of Vine and Franklin with my open hand out in front of me and called out to the quickly retreating dealer, “Excuse me, there’s been some sort of mistake. I meant pot.” This fellow looked at me in wide-eyed astonishment and said, “Close your fucking hand.” I said, “There’s been a mistake.” He took off and was gone. I looked down at the white clump that I supposed was crack. I tipped my hand over and the clump fell into the gutter. I walked home without any pot, twenty dollars poorer, thinking, “When did ‘smoke’ change from pot to crack?”
Rick Sandford and I attended one of many screenings we saw together at the L.A. County Museum. As we entered the theater and took our seats I saw a a pretty girl, or at least I thought I did. I kept looking back trying to get another glimpse of her. Finally, Rick said, “What are you doing?” I said, “I saw a pretty girl.” “Don’t be absurd,” Rick harumphed, “attractive people don’t come here.”
Way back in 1977, my friend was taking fencing lessons at the most famous fencing school in Hollywood, Falcon Studio. It was located right on Hollywood Blvd. at Western in a shitty-looking old building. I drove my friend to her lessons a couple of times because I wanted to meet the owner and fencing teacher, Ralph Faulkner, which I did. At that time Ralph was 85, in tip-top shape, and I sure wouldn’t fuck with him. Ralph was the premier fencing instructor in Hollywood. He had competed in the 1928 and 1932 Olympics. He was also a part-time actor who had been appearing in small parts in movies since 1917. Ralph not only taught Errol Flynn how to fence, he frequently doubled him in the fencing scenes in Captain Blood (1935) and The Sea Hawk (1940). The sword fight with Basil Rathbone as the Pirate LeVasseur at the end of Captain Blood is terrific. Ralph helped choreograph it, and every time it cuts to over Errol Flynn’s shoulder to Basil Rathbone, it’s really Ralph. He told me that Basil Rathbone was the best fencer in Hollywood, next to him. He then attempted to inveigle me to sign up for lessons, but I declined. Ralph lived another ten years, until he was 95.
Honestly, I’m not the slightest bit nostalgic. I wouldn’t go back to that time in my life for anything. But it historically interests me. In 1976 I caught an edge of old Hollywood. Across the street from my first apartment, east of Paramount Pictures, was an old corner drugstore/soda fountain/souvenir shop called Leemon’s Million and One. There were many, many racks, all filled with a giant assortment of cheap crap. The joke went like this: I asked the old man at the counter, “Do you really have a million and one items?” and he would reply, “I don’t know. Go ahead and count them.” Leemon’s had a breakfast special of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, on a Styrofoam plate with plastic silverware, for 89-cents. I purchased two 1940s “Greetings from Hollywood” postcards that were brand new. I still have them somewhere.
And yet another day begins.
"Honestly, I’m not the slightest bit nostalgic. I wouldn’t go back to that time in my life for anything. But it historically interests me. "
I second that.