SNOW DRIFTS

In the 1980’s I was a manager of, let’s say, celebrities or minor sit com stars.  One of whom, post sitcom, found himself hosting a game show for the Disney Channel which is how I found myself sitting in a tunnel underneath Disney World in Orlando talking to Snow White.

First of all let me say that she was beautiful, perfect really.  Jet black hair with that ribbon, that blue dress with the poofy sleeves covering her toned shoulders, her Snow White shoes… the whole thing was out of a storybook. No detail left undone.

So we are sitting there and she’s on break smoking a camel non filter and one of the dwarves, I don’t know Grumpy or Doc or one of them comes over and says, “Breaks over Snow show time in one minute. And she exhales through her nose, throws the cigarette on the tunnel floor, says, “Shit.” and grinds it out with that perfect perfect shoe. It was and remains one of the greatest things I have ever seen

Doug K

John Belushi, Art Carney, and Ray Walston

When I first moved to Los Angeles in 1981 I found a studio apartment in the Hollywood Hills.  It was typical of the time, a pool; a couple of palm trees and a collection of Show Biz have beens, wannabees, and support players.  

One of my neighbors was the location manager for the show Fame. He would give me odd jobs, such as guarding the sets when they were on location and didn’t want to break the set down for the night. I loved it. Basically there was almost nothing to do but exist. The pay was both over and golden time because the bulk of it took place after midnight. I could clear over $500 in a weekend.  As my rent was in the mid 300’s this was a serious windfall.

One of the gigs Tony got for me early in 1982 was being a runner for Art Carney when he was guest starring on the show. He and Ray Walston were playing janitors at the school who were once song and dance men.  And that’s how I found myself in a set made up to look like an alley with these two great comic actors both sitting on overturned buckets, dressed in dirty pants and wife beaters. 

It was the day John Belushi died. 

The set was pretty bummed out as you can imagine but Art and Ray hadn’t really heard of Belushi so it was up to me to explain to these two legends Belushi’s place in the comedy pantheon.  How do you tell a guy who worked with Gleason about the death of one of the funniest fat guys ever? I talked about the drugs and Art said, “Yeah that’s why my first wife left me.”  And then he went into a pantomime of a life of sex, drugs and alcohol that conveyed in a few hand gestures the whole thing. Sex, drugs, and alcohol. John Belushi was dead. He wasn’t the first. He wouldn’t be the last. 

Then they asked for something to drink and I went to get them Cokes.  

Ed Asner and the Winking Guy

Ed Asner
I got a gig writing the script for the Cable Ace Awards in the early eighties. This was back before it was folded into the Emmys and so it was a fairly big deal for HBO, Showtime, etc.

I was in my early twenties and new to LA. It was the first time I ever wrote something like this. One of the show’s hosts was Ed Asner who, of course, I was a big fan of from the Mary Tyler Moore Show.

So I walk over to him and hand him his script and he starts reading it and begins to fume, “Who wrote this crap! It’s all bullshit. I’m not saying this garbage!” I am, oh I don’t know… mortified.

Then I saw him. Ed Asner’s winking guy.

This guy is standing just behind Ed and just winks at me and mouths, “It’s Ok. (wink) It’s just Ed. (wink) He always does this. (wink) it’ll be fine. And it was. 

A few minutes later I heard Ed over by the coffee, “What kind of shit coffee is this? It’s putrid. Who would drink this crap?” And sure enough, there was his winking guy winking away, “The coffee’s fine. (wink) It’s just Ed. (wink)… And I thought to myself, “I’ve got to get a winking guy.”

Doug K.

Broken Arrow- Cochise

                      Nino Cochise

When I had the underdeveloped brain of a 20 year old, I was inspired by Kerouac’s “On the Road”, Peter Fonda’s “Easy Rider” and general suburban ennui. I had a 60’s respect for Native Americans (still do) so when  I was on my idealistic cross country hitch hiking adventures, I hooked up with my brother and we went to the Cochise Stronghold in Arizona near the Mexican border.  We both read “Broken Arrow” and fantasized about being Tom Jeffords, the cool pale faced Gringo that was friends with the tribe. The Stronghold is this amazing oasis valley surrounded by cliffs of red, back, and ochre stripes that empty into long stretches of deserts; an absolutely perfect fortress.

When we eventually left, we saw a gift shop-museum by the highway so, obviously, we had to go in. There was no one around save an Indian manikin in a roped-off center platform and all kinds of arrow heads and souvenirs. As we wandered around checking out the cool weapons and artifacts of the Indian Wars, the manikin says “Hello. You like what you see?” Obviously stunned, we soon learned that this was a real person dressed in a traditional manner. After a surreal conversation, this finely attired gent identifies himself as the grandson of Cochise, Nino. There was a little sign that had his name printed on it. Nino was about 80 years old. He went on to tell us that he is also the nephew of Geronimo and that he played his Grandfather on the TV show "High Chaparral”. We became increasingly embarrassed that here was this living legend and he’s on display on a roped-off platform. It was one of the coolest celebrity encounters I ever had but one of the most depressing at the same time. Nino Cochise was a very nice guy. I can only assume his grandfather was too.

wes

Burt Reynolds?

Burt Reynolds

I’m just a kid spending the weekend at Napa’s Silverado Country Club when I glance up from collecting lost golf balls when I see this mustached man who recently caused a stir, posing nearly naked in a centerfold. I feel dizzy seeing him in real life. He and his girlfriend, Dinah Shore are chatting with James Brolin about appaloosas when I asked him for his autograph.

I am giddy with excitement when he scribbles his name down for me, but am horrified by what I see! His name isn’t legible at all. The kids in school won’t believe that I actually got his autograph!

In my childhood brilliance, I rewrite his name over and over again until I write the way I imagine his signature to look. I carry his autograph inside a sandwich baggy to protect it on the way to school to show my friends. They stand around the tetherball pole staring at his neat penmanship with envy while his real autograph is wadded up in a heap of rubble inside the garbage can.

Shawn

DON'T LOOK DOWN- CINDY CRAWFORD

Cindy Crawford

My name is Robert Leblanc…up until the time of this encounter, all I ever did was play pool for a living, I was forty years old and had been on the road since I was 15 years old. I came to Hollywood California looking for a change and took my first job delivering for LA Style magazine.

I had been working at the magazine for about six months, and one day I had to deliver an ad to Herb Ritts, the world-famous photographer, so he could approve it before it ran in the magazine. He was at the St. James Club on Sunset Blvd., a beautiful hotel where a lot of the movie stars stayed. I get to the hotel, valet my car, and walk into the most beautiful lobby. I go up to the concierge and ask which room Herb Ritts is in. He said he was up in the penthouse doing a photo shoot. So, I’m excited to see the Penthouse Suite and so I get on the elevator, push “P” and go up to the top floor and knock on the door. This guy comes to the door and I said to him, “ I need to see Mr. Ritts so he can approve his ad for LA Style.” He says, “Come in. He’s outside on the patio.” I go out on the patio, it’s so beautiful outside with the sun shining, and Herb is out there with his camera shooting Cindy Crawford for a Playboy Magazine pictorial, and she doesn’t have a stitch of clothes on, and I’m thinking “man is she hot or what!” I’m standing there trying my best not to stare. I didn't know if I should look up or down, but how could I not? This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance! Like I said, it was a good job; I liked looking at Cindy Crawford naked, so it was a fun day for me.

 www.confessionsofapoolhustler.com by Robert Leblanc

GOOD GRIEF, CHARLES SCHULZ!

Charles Schulz

I adored Charles Schulz. Did you know that precious, unassuming man always had his personal phone number listed in the telephone book?

For five years, I lived in an upstairs apartment drawing every day about my life and feelings and insecurities and daydreaming of becoming a comic strip artist. I would be drawing and then stop and look out my window and send my wishes and hopes and dreams across the park and roof tops. Never knowing, that one of those roof tops I stared at was the roof top of Charles Schulz's art studio!

He and I lived in the same town and it wasn't unusual to see him out and about from time to time. But there was a moment, where our lives crossed and I will never forget it for as long as I live.

I was in a book store flipping through some Calvin and Hobbes comic books, when he gently tapped me on my shoulder and suggested I buy a Peanuts book instead. I looked over at him, gasping, recognized him instantly.. blurting out, "Hi Mr. Browwwn!"

I was wearing a t-shirt with my own comic strip on the front and pointed it out to him, saying he was my inspiration. And being so nervous, I jumbled up my words and expressed I wanted to become a comic stripper because of him.

He smiled and seemed to connect with me and invited me to his studio a few days later.

It was a dream come true.

He gave me a tour and showed me his latest strip he was drawing. He pulled out an unknown, not-yet-published Mutt's comic strip and said, "Patrick McDonnell will have the best strip out there" and I felt warmed that I was seeing all this before it went to print.

He spent a great deal of time looking through my comics and spoke kind and hopeful words to me about them and offered suggestions. Though I arrived there in such a cloak of vulnerability, his kindness wrapped a woolen blanket around me and warmed me to the bone. I believe he recognized parts of me in him and felt a kindred spirit between us.

He personally sent my rough comics out to his syndicate. He even called me a few times. Left messages on my answering machine that I still have on cassette tape. He wrote a couple of notes to me of encouragement. Gave me an autographed book called 40 Years of Life and Art. And, if I wasn't so bashful and if I believed in myself more, who knows what would have happened with my comic career with the help of Charles Schulz? I know he wanted to help me. That's the way he was.

I certainly don't have any regrets today of what happened then, because I'm exactly where I want to be, and I no longer carry the same dream of drawing a comic strip as I once did.

When he died, my heart broke. I went to his Memorial Service and sat up on the left-hand-side of the balcony and cried my eyes out. Santa Rosa felt more empty.

----

About a year after his death, I was showing a friend his studio.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Shawn", she said.

"Oh, c'mon. We'll just peek in the windows."

I pulled into the driveway at One Snoopy Place and the electronic doors swung open and let us through. We parked near the front door and peered into the windows and his studio still looked just like it did when he was alive. I was thrilled!

"Look over there! That's his drawing table!" I shrieked, pecking the window with my finger.

My friend was still nervous, looking around. "Isn't this private property? I think we should leave now..." she said.

And as we got into the car to drive out, the electronic doors didn't open for us.

We were locked inside the gate!

We called Security. They couldn't help us. Their contract ended two weeks earlier and they didn't know who had the code or key to let us out.

It became dark and cold and we sat in my car with my engine and heater on to keep us warm while my friend had that look of "I told you so" on her face.

After a couple of hours, headlights from an oncoming car blinded us for a moment as it drove up through the electronic gates and they opened for us. I darted out as quickly as possible never looking into the oncoming car. I'm sure if I did, I would have seen a face of an angel.

Back at home, she and I talked about our experience of being trapped inside, but it wasn't a scary experience.

We actually felt comforted and safe being there locked inside the gates. Which isn't surprising, really.

Because he was comfortable and safe.

And the world is different without him in it.
-Shawn