Don Reed could be quite a prankster. He was supposedly teaching a free class on the History of Horror Films at USC and invited myself and Steve Towsley to a screening of King Kong. Upon arriving, I asked him when he was going on stage to which he replied, "Oh, well I'm not speaking tonight, you two are". When I declined the offer, he said, "You have to go on, ". And sure enough, both Steve and I had our names in the school paper and the room was packed. Neither of us were prepared to talk on anything, much less King Kong, and I was mortified with the likes of Doug Beswick and Bill Hedge in the audience.<Walt Daugherty, Don Reed, Ray Harryhausen, Steve Towsley
We hemmed and hawed around for awhile and then said "Let's watch the movie!". So the lights dimmed and "Bang!" the projector bulb blew out! Looks like the show was over, but Don redeemed himself, by jumping on stage and giving a 30 minute discourse on why "Kong" was a great movie; after which a gal from the audience told him his talk was "One of the highlights of my life!"
Don't know why but at the next meeting, I was presented with the "". BLOWING LONG BEACH
All my friends had packed their bags and headed for Hollywood and I certainly had nothing to keep me in Long Beach. My girlfriend's mother hated me because I wasn't Jewish so off I went.
Bless Tom Scherman, using his van to get my crap into my Hollywood digs.
My first apartment was the Serrano Arms at 1025 El Serrano Avenue near the corner of Western and Santa Monica. Yeh, the same building Erle Stanley Gardner mentions in "The Case of the Restless Redhead".
Jerry, Tim and Jim Mathenia already lived there so it was a given fan base. It was an incredibly old building with radiators, rampant with roaches and crazy people, but basically a quiet dwelling and would do for the time being.
Looking back, now living in a relatively safe and sane environment, I tend to miss the characters. Oh, there were a couple of jolly transvestites always primped for a night on the town, the guy saving to get an Elvis look-alike face job, the pot heads down the hall, always asking for cookies and the old lady; couldn't have weighed 90 pounds, but crazy as a coot who would scream and run down the hall naked. Something very Stephen King about that I have yet to drain from my memory. There was also Ford Beebe III (yes, the third). Ford the First being the venerable Beebe who directed serial classics like "Flash Gordon", "Buck Rogers", "Green Hornet", "Bomba", the "Pastoral Symphony" from Fantasia and others. Of course, Ford III was fruity as all get-out, thus assuring no Ford Beebe IV.
TOILING FOR THE MAN(This being a digression in which I blow through several years of employment tales before getting back to the story at hand)
Jerry got me a quick job at "American Sportcars" on Hollywood Blvd. who dealt big ticket imports for the hoi-poloi. Oddly, none of their sportcars were American, but my job was mercifully simple: when either of the aforementioned hoi or poloi needed a tune-up for their Dino Ferrari, Lamborghini or Maserati, I would be dropped off at their home and drive their car back to the shop - returning it when finished. Some of these cars needed a tune every time it left the drive-way and it seems we were always plowing through walls of tourists who bought those "Maps to the Star's Homes" blocking the front gate. Sonny and Cher had matching Dinos, so did Streisand. Olivia Newton John had a Jensen Interceptor.
On occasion, a car didn't have to be back at the shop immediately which called for opening it up on 101 along the coast to Malibu or merely cruising Sunset Blvd. But the cool thing about working there being, the father-in-law of the shop manager was Bill Gazzarri. All the hot stars played Gazzarri's and he had no trouble "taking care of us" whenever we showed up at he door.
But the guy who actually ran the Sportcar place was an appallingly nasty drunk and I finally decided to head out.
I fell into my all time favorite job; manager of the Holly Cinema, a small theatre on Hollywood Blvd. One of the glorious theaters from the days of primeval Hollywood, recently chopped into thirds, leaving the middle section as the theatre. You could tell it wasn't sectioned quite on the money - the arch in the ceiling was off quite a bit; on one side of the aisle there where three seats across and five on the other, but as a theatre seating 325, it was pretty damn cute.
We were in the chain of theaters beginning with the "Century" at the east end of the blvd. and the grand "Paramount" at t'other.
The "Paramount" was originally built at the dawn of time as the "El Capitan" but changed its name and appearance along with ownership in the '40s. But the Boomers knew it as the Paramount and saw everything from Robot Monster, Barbarella to The Godfather.
But it wasn't the movies that made the job fun. The boulevard was still a magic kingdom. I would park a block north on Franklin and walk down to the Boulevard, past the head shops, street performers, hippy chicks with a baby under one arm and a stack of Free Press under the other asking for "Spare Change"; maybe have dinner at Johnny's Steak House and on to the theatre.
Bumper to Bumper were cars lining the boulevard, furtive lovers screwing in doorways, silhouettes in the loft windows, a gaggle of Krishnas jangling up the street, a burned out hippy laying on the sidewalk jabbering about God, long forgotten character actors leaving their shabby flats to mosey the strip while flashing neon and the heady aroma of Sandalwood and Cannabis filled the air. At night I would lean against the "Loading Only" sign in front of the theatre, breathe it in and watch the parade pass by; entertainment far more interesting than anything on the screen.
Whenever friends like Bill Stout or Dave Stevens, came by, I'd load them up with popcorn and goodies and for awhile in my fresh tux I felt like I ruled the world.
The projectionist was from Argentina and had turned the booth into a comfy residence. There was a large speaker box on the wall, in which resided a television. By a clever series of of wires and pulleys, should the booth door be opened by say, anyone from the head office, the speaker front would close and the sound go off.
On occasion we were called upon to assist with premieres at our bigger brother, the Paramount. One in particular was "The Cowboys" with John Wayne. It was a star-studded night with The Duke himself, Bruce Dern, Lee Marvin and other cast members. They turned the forecourt into a saloon where the stars could be interviewed for television. On the left was a long glass display window where, evidently, one of the saloon walls created a vacuum against the glass panel and when the set was moved, the entire glass wall came crashing to the ground!
No doubt, the biggest event we had was the premiere for The Godfather.
By the time I got to the theatre for the first screening, the place was packed. There was a long line heading west on Hollywood Blvd. to buy tickets and an impressive line on the east side for those with tickets snaking from the front doors, to the street where it did a U-Turn and disappeared down the alley on the east side of the building.
Before the film hit the screen, there were several fist-fights in the audience over seats; but the most peculiar thing happened while the film was playing.
A lady complained to the manager there was a naked man sitting in the audience. No, not doing anything, just quietly watching the movie au naturel. The manager and six of us went down the aisle and sure enough, some guy was sitting there in the buff with his clothes in a pile on the aisle. The manager whispered if he put his clothes on, we'd forget it. He proved unwilling and thus the six of us, picked him up bodily, carried him to the exit doors and literally tossed him into the alley (followed by his clothes), directly into the line of people waiting for the next screening!
Undaunted, he stood up and leaving his clothes, walked to the street and headed west. Coincidentally, there was a police car heading east which did an immediate U-Turn, grabbed the guy and disappeared into the night.
The next day was business as usual.
My theatre had changed hands a number of times and we lesser offspring didn't have the seating capacity the head office wanted. We tried soft-core porn which bombed and blaxploitation resulting in our seats being torn up and the draperies set ablaze. The Century played a revival of The Yellow Submarine until the print was stolen then went solid gay porn and remained thus until it closed some years later.
Probably the last straw came as Dennis, my assistant manager and I were asked to assist during a premiere at one of our theaters, the Baldwin where I was to learn a stern lesson.
The theatre, probably grand at one time was now an African-American house catering to related entertainment fare; the premiere was Cool Breeze. We were sent by the head office but clearly the manager didn't want us there and warned "Whatever you do, don't talk to anyone!" An odd request I thought and when I cautioned a little kid carrying an impossible mountain of goodies, sprinting across the lobby to "slow down", the manager went pale and his eyes were as big as saucers.
Later, Dennis requested a couple fellows to put out their cigarettes in the auditorium. Heading for his car at the close of business, he was approached by the same guys and nearly beaten to death. Several ribs were broken, there was liver damage and he lost a kidney.
I quit the theater and never saw Dennis again.
Disney buys the Paramount and returns it to its original grandeur as the El Capitan".
<Malcolm on Duty
I entreated my pal Malcolm Willits, part owner of Bennett's Bookstore on Hollywood Blvd. for a job and surprisingly, he complied. Malcolm and his partner Leonard Brown originally began "Collectors Bookstore" on Wilcox Avenue back in the early '60s. An incredibly small two story shop where Malcolm ran the main level packed with hardcovers, pulps and movie material while Leonard ran the upstairs packed with comics. That was the shop to dawdle by, hobnob and pass the time of day.
The two of them raised an international frenzy after purchasing an old trunk at an unclaimed storage sale, finding it packed with hundreds of vintage comics, even then worth gaboodles. The news blared from every TV channel and newspaper. This event gave comics fandom its initial kickstart, popularizing comics with the general public and sending an entire nation scurrying into their attics looking for comic gold.
Over the next 30 years they became wealthy from the sale of comics, books, movie material, art and artifacts. It wasn't long before they moved onto the boulevard and into a grand old building that once housed a bank. They left their little shop to a guy who opened a hotdog joint called "The Big Wiener".
The place was now called "Bennett's Books". No, there wasn't any Mr. Bennett, but they thought it sounded more legit for the Boulevard.
But these were indeed grand days selling new books, remainders, with an entire section for movie posters and the bank vault housed a million in vintage comics!
Almost everyone came to Bennett's Bookstore. I sold James Earl Jones two copies of Psycho-Cybernetics; and our huge collection of occult how-to books gave us a steady stream of practitioners, from Orange County Housewives conjuring a "Love Spell", to blazing Hell Dancers swearing they killed goats up by that crucifix on the Hollywood Hillside.
Years later, Malcolm confided the whole thing was a hoax. He and Leonard already had the trunk, comics, plenty of vintage newspapers to wrap them in, a few antique artifacts for good measure and a phone to call the TV stations.
In 1974, Jim Mathenia got me a job at Kaiser Hospital for twice the pay and medical so I jumped at it while sadly kissing off the Boulevard forever. But the hospital had a number of it's own adventures. I worked in the medical records department, making sure patient files were where they should be. There was a marvelous pneumatic tube system that could shoot files throughout the building, even across the street to other offices. I also worked in the Emergency Room Records and saw many a grisly scene.
One of my co-workers happened to be the mother of the talented, Russ Tamblyn. I tormented her by brandishing photos of her son in forgettable flicks like "War of the Gargantuas" and other stinkers she knew nothing about and God knows, Russ wasn't talking.
No, I didn't find the nurses ready to play doctor, but the gals from the steno-pool were insatiable
In 1975, Joe Viskocil and I planned another European adventure and as low man on the totem pole, picked my vacation time last. Then, after making all my plans, buying airline tickets and such, one of the big wigs changed their mind and decided they wanted my vacation time instead. I got pissed and quit. In retrospect, a bad move. After 20 years I could have retired with a pension; live and learn.
