Doodles from Decades

 I once spent four hours in a makeup room with Liza Minnelli. A lady friend of mine, who was a freelance reporter, invited me and asked me to be her escort to a big show Ms. Minnelli was performing at a landmark theatre in Dallas. My friend had an assignment to interview the famous actress after the show for a local weekly publication.

Both of us found ourselves in the back makeup room after the show. We sat around, just the two of us, with Liza Minnelli for hours and had a pleasant chat. I was struck by how down to earth, open and cordial she was. She was truly a lovely woman.

I also worked for 10 years for MCA Records, which represents artists such as George Strait, Kacey Musgraves and Reba McEntire. During my stent with MCA Records I sat in the backroom a blues club with B.B. King, who kept Lucille on his lap the entire time we talked. The thrill was still there and I enjoyed spending time with him.

During the MCA years, I also stood in the wings of an Alice Cooper show and saw first-hand all the old Shakespearian stage tricks they used. I also spent some time backstage with Tom Petty. Both of them were very nice guys.

Do you remember Helen Reddy who sang "I am Woman?" Some guys from the office and I went to her show and sat in the back with her after her performance. As I lounged across the room, she kept staring at me. I swear her eyes where undressing me. One of my buddies would ask a question and she would answer it with her eyes locked on me. When my friends where leaving, they were having a great time razzing me about it when a young woman walked up to me and invited me to a party that evening. The invitation was from Helen, at which point my friends got suddenly very quite.     

When I Decided to Become a Writer

In my second semester at college, I was still unsure about my major. My advisor was helping me decide what to take and suggested an acting class for an elective; there would be no homework. No homework? That struck a chord, so I took the class. It was like putting on an old flannel shirt I’d had for twenty years. It felt so comfortable and familiar.

In my Acting II class, the instructor assigned everyone what he called a 3-set scene. There was no dialogue, but you had to use three actions to fulfill the scene. Restricted to these actions; it consisted of standing on a chair, striking a match, and tying a knot.

Most of my classmates made a choice of getting on a chair to fix a picture, light a cigarette or candle, tie a loose shoestring or knot a necktie. When it was my turn, I set my scene up like an office and snuck into the room. I took a chair behind a desk, stood on it, pulled some kite string from my pocket, and tied a knot to the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. Then I replaced the chair, grabbed a match, lit the string, and left the room.

When I came back into the room, I extinguished the string then explained I was creating a decoy on one floor to reach another so I could steal a cosmetic formula. The class and instructor loved it and couldn’t wait for my next 3-set scene. I understood these actions needed an expressed purpose, otherwise they become meaningless with no definition to the scene.

It was the first time I started thinking maybe I should write the stories instead of acting in them.

C-Ration Surprise

Stationed in Vietnam almost two weeks, I was assigned to an aid hospital where the field doctor worked. A couple more weeks I would be joining a platoon on the front line as their medic. At this point in time it was relatively quiet. I had my favorite c-ration dinner, beans and franks, ready with mouthwatering anticipation.

I found a nearby tree to sit under, laid my heavy helmet next to me and leaned back on the tree. Opening the c-ration, I dug in to eat. In the far away distance I could hear artillery rumbling. I was used to hearing and it seemed harmless. It reminded me of a thunderstorm brewing in the distance, which would offer no rain.

Halfway through my beans and franks a hurly-burly sound erupted and a there was a loud smack in the tree about 3" above my un-helmeted head. Immediately after the smack a piece of red hot shrapnel fell into my lap, which caused me to flip my c-ration into the dirt.

Lodged into the tree was a 5" shard of shrapnel which had flown all the way from the artillery activity that I had thought was too far-removed to be dangerous. As I quickly placed the helmet back onto my head realization of being in Vietnam and all the dangers of war became very clear to me.

"Baseball became the sport I love"

It’s the only team sport played on a field shaped like a fan instead of a rectangle. You can play football, soccer, or basketball anywhere in the world and the dimensions are alike; there are no set measurements for fence proportions in baseball. Home field advantage really is an advantage. It’s the only game the offense doesn’t have the ball, and the losing team never runs out of time. The ballplayer must run well, make outrageous catches, and throw with extreme accuracy. Turn double plays with speed and agility; not to mention hit a fastball screaming under your chin with a round bat.

I still have my letter jackets in my coat closet, and I can still wear them. I also have my dad’s letter jacket from high school in that closet. Click on "read more" below to see what baseball means to me.

"The Flock"

One of the summers I was in middle school, my family was on the road and I was excited for a summer vacation. My mom was driving because my dad had to work. We were headed for my grandparents’ place, many states away. I was sitting in the backseat half hypnotized by the drone of the long drive. Looking out my window I saw a huge duster kicking up dirt; it must have been 30 feet high! Tripping on that sight, I noticed a large flock of birds emerging from a distant tree line.



That flock headed directly for our car. We were the only ones on a lonely two-lane road located in low flatlands. The birds came straight for us and swarmed above. Suddenly they went down the road – maybe a football field away – and perched on both sides of the two-lane road. Like a gauntlet we approached them and as we drove through, those birds flew out in front of us causing confusion and hysteria inside the vehicle because they were blocking our view!

After getting by the strange behavior from the birds, the flock swirled, flew down the road another 300 yards and waited for us again. Everyone in the car was quiet as they repeated the ritual like they were following some kind of game. And then, one of the birds was too slow and it got clipped by the right side of the windshield and toppled over our car, landing on the road behind us. The birds stopped harassing us and went to huddle around the injured bird. To this day I can clearly hear the throng of them flapping around while they faded in the rear window. The sound and incident haunted me for years. It was like witnessing that old Hitchcock movie “The Birds” in real life.

Parents

I consider myself a lucky person. Not because I won the lottery. No, I'm lucky because of the parents I was born to. They gave me and my siblings guidance without being overbearing. A latitude of freedom to express our individualism, at the same time holing reins to keep us within the family unit. 

But, there was something else they shared with me and my siblings. They showed us what it meant to be a man and a woman in love and living out their lives together. They were married for over 70 years and I can't recall a time they had a heated argument. IF they did (and odds are they did), it wasn't in front of us kids. The two of them held a deep devotion for each other. My father adored my mother and she in turn honored my dad. 

An example of what I speak of comes in the form of a family reunion. There was a slew of us in a pavilion out by a lake. We were all playing with a microphone, taking turns at a song. Laughing at ourselves and each other, joking and fooling around. My dad suddenly got up and took the microphone; he was at one time a singer for big bands. He announced he was going to sing a song that belonged to him and Mom. 

My mother sat up straight with attention and they each locked eyes while Dad sang. Everyone got real quiet. It became a solemn moment. I was in my early teens and it was the first time I realized there was a special connection between these two. The atmosphere got heavy with substance; just the pair of them in their own private world. You could have cut it with a butter knife. This is one of the many fond memories I have of my parents.

Elton John

It was going to be a special event. The record company I worked for, MCA Records, was staging a listening party to keynote the affair. The place chosen for the gathering was taking place in a local soundstage. A small and intimate place. 

Tables ringed the floor with food and wine; across the way stood a big grand piano, for what I thought was ambiance. The invited were record store managers and their buyers. I was there with the rest of the office staff that made up the Dallas/Ft. Worth market. We were all full of anticipation, like kids on Christmas morning. The expected guest of honor was Elton John, and we were celebrating the label's first release with him. 

When Elton walked in all eyes were on the man. He wasn't wearing on of the costumes he was famous for; instead he looked like someone you might see at a mall. Dressed in a sweater and slacks, he quickly strolled for the piano like it was a magnet. 

He tinkled the keyboard then sat down and started playing his tunes. For three to four hours he played a medley of all his songs. The folks in attendance circled the piano like we were in a piano bar; sipping wine and watching those hands play notes, and taking in the voice that we'd heard for so long on the radio. 

A very close encounter that seemed to last much longer than a wish. Up until that point I'd never been a huge fan of Elton John (I like my deck with a bit more edge), but when I left the party that evening my opinion had been changed. Now, I refer to him as Sir Elton John.

Checker's Dance

One morning, I walked into the office of MCA Records in Dallas (where I worked) and was affronted for a task. The branch manager wanted me to visit a little hotel off I-35 and pick up a celebrity, show him around town, and make him feel welcome.

When I got to the destination, I knocked on a door and waited. The door flew open, and there stood the celebrity. It was none other than Chubby Checker for the readers who may not know who Chubby Checker is, he became an icon in the 60's by introducing a dance craze called the twist. He might be one of the first singer/entertainers to start such a dance in our American culture. It became an enormous hit. I remember doing the twist at dance parties in the gym of my junior high school.

The three days he was in Dallas, we became good friends. Whenever he came into the branch office unattended, he wanted to know where "good looking" was, A riddance he gave me still brings a smile to my face. 

It was in the 80's when we met, and Mr. Checker was in the middle of a comeback tour. It must be difficult to regain the electricity and attention that a person might have early in life. HUGE success beginning life can become a curse as you mature and find yourself longing for those days again, I suppose.

I found Chubby to be a warm and inquisitive fellow. I recall our three days together with fondness. Whenever I think of those days, I leave the memories with a grin.