I once sat in a restaurant in Westwood Village (California) called THE GOOD EARTH and realized, when I looked to my immediate right on the other side of a partition, Dustin Hoffman was having lunch with a person I didn't recognize.
This was mid-afternoon and the noise level was subdued. I could catch snippets of conversation if I strained to do so. (Naturally, I did try.)
The upshot centered on Hoffman's efforts to purchase some presumably stolen 16mm film cans from-we'll call the guy a 'broker'-and the voice level was getting a bit heated.
After a bit, I conjectured these films were part of Hoffman's personal collection and somehow he now had to ransom them back. (I'm more or less guessing.)
I distinctly heard the 'other' party state, "So, why don't you call the Cops, then?"
Hoffman replied, "You know damn well I can't."
Did this imply Hoffman shouldn't have had them in the first place? This was in the 70's and there was only one way to view old films (the video tape recorder had not yet been marketed.)
I'm sorry to say, I don't have a beginning or an end to that. It's not even a story. Just one of those random moments...out of context and yet interesting to me at the time.
I was in my early 30's and transplanted from a small town in Texas into the huge metropolis of L.A.
Encountering celebrities was a completely new experience for me. My eyes were constantly bugging like a cartoon character.
While I was in the "Art Business", I crossed paths with many interesting characters, many of whom were larger than life. There was a gallery owner who was trafficking in fake Dali lithographs who wanted me to try and sell them, for example.
An actor, Alan Rich, who I knew casually, was said to be an expert on Dali. I showed him the prints and it didn't take him ten seconds to clue me in.
He told me Dali had been more or less incompetent in his declining years and was taken advantage of.
I met a Hollywood stuntman who worked on the side as a male model. He told me of answering an advertisement in the newspaper for a well-proportioned model. He discovered Salvador Dali needed him for a project (The Crucifixion of St. John).
Ah, the stories he told of Dali!
Those were the days, my friend!
TerryWalstrom
JoinedPosts by TerryWalstrom
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Getting pissed with Sean and Michael (Hollywood Memory)
by TerryWalstrom ingetting pissed with sean and michael (hollywood memory).
the year is 1983. .
two new james bond films are slated for release, one of which will star the one, the only, sean connery, while the other one sports jolly roger moore.. never say never again vs octopussy, and i am one of the original james bond fanatics--so, how can i possibly miss out on the opportunity to attend the world premiere of connery’s flick?
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TerryWalstrom
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6
Getting pissed with Sean and Michael (Hollywood Memory)
by TerryWalstrom ingetting pissed with sean and michael (hollywood memory).
the year is 1983. .
two new james bond films are slated for release, one of which will star the one, the only, sean connery, while the other one sports jolly roger moore.. never say never again vs octopussy, and i am one of the original james bond fanatics--so, how can i possibly miss out on the opportunity to attend the world premiere of connery’s flick?
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TerryWalstrom
I was high on my V.I.P. status! That's my only excuse for taking the center :)
Years later and looking back--I should have taken my son rather than my wife. Wives come and go, but Sons are special.
I still can't grapple with the Rhonda Fleming popcorn embargo.
I left out a part of the story which probably is too politically incorrect to even try to tell. -
6
Getting pissed with Sean and Michael (Hollywood Memory)
by TerryWalstrom ingetting pissed with sean and michael (hollywood memory).
the year is 1983. .
two new james bond films are slated for release, one of which will star the one, the only, sean connery, while the other one sports jolly roger moore.. never say never again vs octopussy, and i am one of the original james bond fanatics--so, how can i possibly miss out on the opportunity to attend the world premiere of connery’s flick?
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TerryWalstrom
GETTING pissed with SEAN and MICHAEL (Hollywood Memory)
_________________________
The year is 1983.
Two new James Bond films are slated for release, one of which will star the one, the only, SEAN CONNERY, while the other one sports Jolly Roger Moore.
Never Say Never Again VS Octopussy, and I am one of the original James Bond fanatics--so, how can I possibly miss out on the opportunity to attend the WORLD PREMIERE of Connery’s flick? The premiere was to be held at the Mann National theater in Westwood California.
Was I excited or what?!
_______
Tickets were impossible to obtain--UNLESS--you had contacts in “the Biz” and fortunately for me, I did. I was friends with a celebrity photographer at the time, Dick Zimmerman, and he owed me a favor. Zimmerman, a Scientologist, shot top celebs for magazine covers and publicity events. He was invited to everything, of course.
Terry: “Dick, let me get right to the point without pretext: I need 2 tickets to Never Say Never. Can you get them for me?”
Zimmerman: “No. Everybody who's anybody will show up. Even people who used to be somebody will show up. Hell, people who nobody has heard of in years will want tickets. So, I’m sorry--I can’t help you. I’m using my tickets for myself.”
Terry: “Dick--do I have to say the magic words?”
Zimmerman: “What--what magic words?”
Terry: “You know.”
Zimmerman: “What the fuck are you talking about? What are these magic words?”
Terry: “Okay. You have left me no choice. YOU OWE ME.”
Zimmerman: (Silence.)
Terry: “So, when can I pick them up?”
Zimmerman: (Pouting) “Tomorrow at noon at my studio. Bastard!”
Terry: “Thank you, Dickie-bird!”
Zimmerman: “Fuck you.”
_______
Now I know you are curious. So here it is. I was friends with set decorators from MGM Studios and I came up with the idea of putting Zimmerman together with the set decorators for the purpose of using Zimmerman’s photography studio (a fabulous location) for shooting TV and feature films. The studio was in close proximity to MGM and Zimmerman would pick up $$ (covertly paid without tax liability) for the use of his location after hours. A sweet deal for both parties.
What did I get out of it? Well, if you are paying attention: TICKETS to the world premiere of Never Say Never Again with Sean Connery!
_________
I was living in Redondo Beach, California at the time in a condominium not all that far from the ocean. I mean, if you went out on the sundeck, squinted your eyes, craned your neck around the side of the condo, and the light was j-u-s-t right, you could glimpse the Pacific Ocean. Sort of. Pretty neat, eh? I told my (then) wife, Jadzia (Yah-jah) “Wear something very ‘Hollywood’ because we’re going to a Premiere!” She had something slinky and gorgeous, of course, and off we zoomed in the FIAT convertible (top down) for the dream event of my lifetime!
______
Zimmerman was right!
Every breathing Hollywood relic appeared for the klieg lights, cameras and Entertainment Tonight stroll by microphone interviews. Some of these old stars, up close, didn’t appear to be human--so much make-up and face-lift engineering had gone into their facade of glamor.
Zsa Zsa Gabor, for example. When the lights hit her cheeks, they gleamed like the leather on a tuck n’ roll seat cover in an old Rolls Royce. She wore a red silk sort of Chinese thingy and her diamond earrings dangled like chandeliers from the Paris Opera.
Dudley Moore appeared bedazzled by the hubbub, standing next to his 6 ft. tall blonde date, Susan Anton (who did all the talking).
The question of the night: “When have you said 'Never Again?"
Susan Anton: (Nodding toward little Dudley) “I said I’d never go out with HIM again.”
Zsa Zsa: “I said I’d never again divorce!” (She had 9 husbands!)
Robert Culp: “I said I’d never do I SPY again.” (He later said he would and then changed his mind)
Neil Simon: “I have never said never. Well, just once. No, I never have.”
Larry Hagman: (Gesturing toward his wife, Maj, next to him). “I said I’d never get a divorce and we’ve been married 29 years.”
Michael Caine: “I said I’d never again go to a movie premiere...and here I am.”
_______
Yes, movie premieres are silly but fantastic fun!
This one was a charity event for the WCIL (Westside Community for Independent Living).
My wife Jadzia and I arrived early so we’d nab great seats.
My coerced Zimmerman tickets were in the V.I.P. section, as it turned out.
We didn’t have to worry about reserving a good spot.
We elected to stand just inside the front entrance rather than outside on the sidewalk with all the chaos and commotions. The celebrities would perforce enter directly in front of us!
Co-star Barbara Carrera is the epitome of stunning in her red dress and sleek black hair and flashing eyes. And yet--my eyes were riveted on Sean and Michael! As they walk past us, I fell in behind as close as I could without looking like an idiot.
I felt a tug at my elbow--my wife had clutched my arm and yanked me backward.
“Don’t abandon me like that--it’s rude!”
Well--oops. I did have a pretty good excuse. How often would I find myself standing next to Sean Connery and Michael Caine? (The answer to that is contained in the title to this story.)
_____
The two of us were starving. I elected to buy a large container of buttery popcorn. We stood rooted near the entrance, munching away as half of Hollywood's elite traipsed past us--staring at the popcorn with envious eyes, I might add.
What happened next, is just plain nuts.
Red-haired Rhonda Fleming (carefully preserved at the age of 60) marched up to my wife and with her flouncy out-of-date evening gown and teased hair confronting us directly with hands on hips.
Rhonda: “You aren’t allowed to eat down here during the ceremony.”
Terry: “Hi, Rhonda.”
Rhonda: “Did you hear me? Eating is unseemly.”
Terry: “What was that 3-D movie you were in 30 years ago? Those Redheads From Seattle ?”
Rhonda: “You’ve been warned!”
Terry: “Thanks for stopping by.”
No--I don’t have the slightest idea what THAT was all about or who died and made her Empress of the Premiere.
_________
In no time at all the signal was sounded for the throngs of worshippers and elite to take their seats. Bearing V.I.P. tickets we were shown to our seats. I almost died when I saw who was seated behind us: we were seated directly in front of Mr. and Mrs. Sean Connery and his best buddy, Michael Caine!!
I swear I just about lost it. I’m not a fanboy...not usually. I’ve seen or met plenty of actors and actresses. However--you have to cut me some slack here. This was JAMES BOND!
The lights dimmed. Cue the projector. We’re off to the movies!!
______
About halfway through the film, I needed to pee. I mean BIG TIME!
I held it as long as I could--then arose and sauntered up to the aisle and out the door searching for a restroom. An usher was standing close by.
“Sir--the V.I.P. restroom is up to the stairs in the private room to the right.
Well awwww ri-i-i-i-ight!
I leaped like a gazelle upward on the stairs skipping two at a time until I found the private door.
I swung it open and found three lovely urinals lined up on the other side of a lavish gold and marble bathroom with subdued lighting.
I took my spot directly in the center urinal and reached for my zipper at just about the exact moment I heard the door behind me opening.
The voices of the 2 men who entered were absolutely unmistakable!
SEAN and MICHAEL!
Here I am, my plumbing in my hand, Sean Connery on my left and Michael Caine on my right--and they are CONVERSING with me in the center!
Not only could I NOT release the contents of my bladder...I was almost losing consciousness!
I haven’t a clue what either of them said to each other or how long I stood there producing nothing but memories!
Yet--there you have it--not only my brush with fame...but my flush with fame.
As Hollywood memories go--this may be my favorite!!
___________
(Dick Zimmerman created portraits for Tom Cruise, Michael Jackson's "Thriller", John Travolta and was personally commissioned by Salvador Dali to create his 50th wedding anniversary portrait with his wife, Gala)
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The Spider House
by TerryWalstrom inspider house.
bob perkins: “i’ll take it outside and let it loose.”.
i asked him about that nickname, "hound" he used for my mother.
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TerryWalstrom
SPIDER HOUSE_____________I was 5-years-old.“Mommy” was on her 3rd husband. Not literally--but you know what I mean.We lived in a great old house in the Forest Park section of Ft.Worth. The exterior had an outer wall casing of sandstones. The spaces between those stones were a paradise for scorpions, ants, and spiders.As pests are clever at such enterprise, the interior of my home was accessible to anything which walked or crawled...or could bite!It was evening. Sundown signaled its approach through piercing shafts puncturing the sycamore and pecan trees outside. My stepfather, Robert Perkins, stood feeding (Lucky and Flucky) Guppies; carrying on a pretend conversation with the two mindless swimmers.Even at my tender age, I knew why he was “being funny.”Mommy was in a snarling fit about something. Bob Perkins possessed a peculiar talent of light-hearted nonsense talk which found its way into her funny bone. Sometimes. Hit or miss, it was worth a shot. He was emptying the barrel to no avail.Within the next few minutes, I would be bitten by a spider and things would spiral into chaos.Bob called my Mom by the nickname he had given her.“Hey, Hound--Lucky says Flucky is in a bad mood because they’ve been arguing about God. I asked him to tell me about it. Lucky told me all about it. Wanna hear?”A cold silence in the outer room. Bob charged ahead anyway.“Flucky said, ‘There’s no God’, and Lucky told her, ‘Oh yeah, well if there’s no God--WHO’S BEEN CHANGING THE WATER?”Bob giggled to himself and cocked an ear for laughter on the other side of the wall.At that moment, I felt a stinging heat on my throat just under my right ear. I instinctively swatted and a gangly-legged spider fell to the floor.I shrieked. Bob hurried over and assayed the situation, locating the many-legged assailant scurrying from the scene of the crime.Straightaway, Mommy appeared, having recognized the sound of her only son’s distress.Little Terry: “A spider bit me on the throat. It’s burning!”Bob Perkins: “Don’t worry, I caught it.” He held out both hands cupped together like a clam shell.Mommy: “Are you out of your mind--kill it before we all get bitten!”Little Terry: “Waaahhhh, it hurts! It burns!”Bob Perkins: “It won’t hurt anybody, it’s a Daddy Long-legs. They aren’t dangerous.”Mommy: “The hell they’re not! Damn it Bob, kill the damn thing.”Little Terry: “I feel like I’m going to throw up!”Bob Perkins: “I’ll take it outside and let it loose.”Mommy: “Give me that god damned spider, you bastard--if you let it go, it will just come back inside again.”Bob Perkins: “I told you, Hound, it’s not dangerous…”I think you have a snapshot of what was happening at that moment and why our happy home would ever after be known as the SPIDER HOUSE.I’m not done with this.Bob was pretty much coerced into spider murder without a fair trial. (For either Bob or the spider.)My step-dad was ordered to take me to the nearby ice cream parlor to “take Terry’s mind off the spider bite.”Yeah.Half-way to the ice cream, I threw up on Miss Doris Fletcher’s peonies. I know that’s what they were. Miss Fletcher kept saying, “My peonies! My peonies!”I couldn’t apologize, I was busy fainting dead away.In the next four days, I would awaken from something the Doctor called “a coma.”I would wake and find myself either inside my bedroom smothered in heavy blankets (I was shivering like mad) or awaken in the backyard sweating profusely with sunshine blinding my eyes. This went on, as I said, for four days. Snippets of time; little patches of consciousness--Oh--and lots of vomiting.You are probably thinking, ‘This isn’t much of a story so far.”You would be correct.It is a LIFE LESSON I want to share with you.First of all, Bob’s amazing capacity for spider compassion irked me to no end. Why? He was far more concerned about getting a court-appointed attorney for the daddy-long-legs than tending to my bite. As it turned out, whatever bit me may well have been some other creature (brown recluse) and I could have died from the long walk to the ice cream parlor.Speculation and drama aside, my mother and Bob split up over the incident and we moved back home to my grandparent’s house away from the now infamous ‘Spider House.’So, Terry, what IS this life lesson you wish to share with your readers?1. Don’t talk to Guppies or name one of them Flucky.2. Whatever bites you--you need medical attention.3. Physical activity is the worse thing for a person with venom in their neck.4. A light-hearted attitude exhibited when others are serious will lead to calamity.Unfortunately, I grew up with the same attitude Bob Perkins possessed. When others are in distress, I tend to kid around. Did I adopt this persona or is it a coincidence?I don’t know. I only know it isn’t helpful and it annoys the hell out of others--especially my Mommy and 4 ex-Wives!And that, my friends, is the only lesson to be learned (by others, not me)._____Post Script:Many, many years later I caught up with my former step-dad, Bob. He had long white hair and a beard--like an Old Testament prophet.I asked him about that nickname, "Hound" he used for my mother."Why did you call her "Hound", Bob?He gave me a sly look and responded, "Because she could be a real bitch." -
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Junkyard Photo (Door)
by TerryWalstrom ini see where you were shooting and what did i tell you?
don't bother lying!".
the heavyset man could have been a bulldog or a gargoyle.
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TerryWalstrom
I got the idea for the story by stumbling upon the photo.
My reaction (there was no caption) was one of technical interest in the 'artistic quality' of the photo. Purely dispassionate and esthetic consideration--AT FIRST.
I read a paragraph UNDER the photo, however...and was suddenly struck by the words
Auschwitz interior door to "shower house" gas chamber!
Then and there--I had to write something which framed the situation. -
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Junkyard Photo (Door)
by TerryWalstrom ini see where you were shooting and what did i tell you?
don't bother lying!".
the heavyset man could have been a bulldog or a gargoyle.
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Thank you.
It has been many years since I watched the Documentary SHOAH.
It has remained with me. (Except for the detail about the gas.) Much obliged. -
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Junkyard Photo (Door)
by TerryWalstrom ini see where you were shooting and what did i tell you?
don't bother lying!".
the heavyset man could have been a bulldog or a gargoyle.
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JUNKYARD PHOTO (Door)
"You again! I see where you were shooting and what did I tell you? Don't bother lying!"
The heavyset man could have been a bulldog or a gargoyle. Hard on the eyes and offensive, he jabbed accusingly at the young man with his craggy finger.
Karl hefted his camera bag and shouldered the bulky tripod, trudging toward the junkyard owner.
"Sorry--I've been looking for interesting textures all morning...right where you told me...there's only junk and--"
"This is a junkyard! Are you feeble? Now get out."
Karl lifted the burden from his shoulder, laying the Nikon ever so gently on the gravel road which ran along the fence.
"I tell you straight out--I've won awards for my pictures. I'm not just any idiot student whose parents spent a fortune on a hobby."
The old man stood planted without blinking; saying nothing.
Karl kept going. What could it hurt?
"My pictures hang in galleries. I have a gifted eye. I will credit your...your...establishment, I promise."
"Gustav Schmidt's Junkyard?" The proprietor growled. "A prize-winning photo?"
Karl felt his heart leap. He thought, "Ego! I've got him!"
The young man took two steps closer and reached into his khaki jacket. Schmidt's eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the brochure.
"See. Herr Schmidt, 1st Prize, blue ribbon, one-man show. These are mine. My work sells well and important people...influentials purchase the images. That's why I'm here. I have this commission for Volkswagen regional headquarters. The image must have industrial texture but it cannot be a mere 'object d'art' sort of image."
"Volkswagen? I don't understand. Go to a car lot, not a junkyard."
Karl wiped sweat from his grimy brow and heaved a long breath.
"I'm sorry--I didn't properly explain. The entrance hall needs an image which is not product-specific. It must be highly evocative and mysterious to capture the eye--yet allowing each person's imagination to elicit a personal reaction."
"Humpf!" Schmidt snorted dismissively. "Nonsense!"
The tall, gangly photographer turned slightly and swept his arm in a half circle, indicating the vast hoard of castoff litter, rusted parts, bent pipes, and strewn wreckage.
"Just a minute ago, I found exactly what I was looking for. An old sliding door with scratches. I caught the light just so. It means nothing and yet evokes a strong feeling to my eyes. I bracketed my shots moving the stop as I snapped. I'm sure it is perfect."
Gustav Schmidt frowned and shook his head menacingly. Yet he said nothing.
"As I said, I shall make certain your establishment is credited as the location."
Schmidt sneered and his eyes reddened suddenly. "You'll do nothing of the kind! I shall take you to court if you mention me at all--you understand? Get out of here and don't come back!"
Karl snatched up his bag and tripod and nodded. He had what he needed. To hell with the old fool.
_________
Some months later, Schmidt entered the great foyer to the Volkswagen Regional Headquarters. The architecture was magnificent. The old man shuffled laboriously toward the mural on the far side where a billboard sized photo was installed next to a billowing fountain.
Yes. Just as he had known. Schmidt pulled off his tattered cap and threw it violently on the polished marble floor of the vestibule.
"Ignorant asses!" The old man shouted and heads turned his direction. A man in uniform strode over and whispered something in Schmidt's ear. The two of them walked off together.
In the following week, money changed hands. Attorneys conferenced. Newspaper journalists were bribed.
The enormous photo was removed in the dead of night.
Hardly a soul noticed.
_____
When the matter finally settled, Karl the photographer worked up the courage to return to Gustav Schmidt's Junkyard.
The old man wrinkled his nose as though he were about to spit--but thought the better of it.
"I'm sorry Herr Schmidt. I thought you ought to know. I've installed that offending piece elsewhere. I donated it. No money changed hands. I thought you would be happy to hear there is proper attribution. A plaque beneath the framed art clarifies everything."
The young man's head hung slightly, like a scolded mongrel.Herr Schmidt raised an eyebrow and nodded quietly.
He spoke as though he were in a holy place in careful, emotive words.
"Ferdinand Porsche knew what he was doing. Volkswagen is an abomination. That family is famous...rich...they've gone unpunished. You have no idea..."
The low voice trailed off like the echo of a wounded animal in a distant cave.
Karl nodded.
"I do know. Now, I do. Something about that old steel door spoke to my soul. Nothing accidental about it. Things happen for a reason--I believe."
Schmidt flushed crimson as he half-turned and confronted the young man.
"You're damned right. Things happen because men make them happen. I lost my family there. Those scratches--the fingernails of innocent Jews clawing at the only door as Xylon gas filled the chamber. I told you to stay away from the fenced area. You didn't listen. Now get the hell out of my sight."
_____
Weeks later, Schmidt fumbled with his spectacles, placing them on his nose as he squinted at the plaque under the enormous photo of the steel door.
"Auschwitz Gas Chamber Door."
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Is there truth in religion
by bola ini am asking this questions due to the teachings, beliefs and practices of different religions..
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What Kind of Activism?
by TerryWalstrom inactivism or any kind of push back really is not about the size of your emotion, your disgust, or the feeling of powerless frustration at the religion.being an ex-jw is about one of two things and two things only:1. being effective.
2. being ineffectiveto which i add: effective at what?1.
not identifying yourself as the foaming at the mouth, demonic, mentally diseased piece of shit the watchtower has framed you out to be in the minds of their captive slaves.2.
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TerryWalstrom
For those who have lost all their friends and family and who are considered mentally diseased the only way to gain self-respect SEEMS to be in finding a way to return the HURT from a feeling of righteous indignation.
The irony comes with remembering it was THEIR own warped righteous indignation which brought about the split in the first place. They saw you as you now see them.
But as natural a feeling as that is, after awhile it will devour you if you don't let it go. IF for no other reason--it doesn't solve anything and it lowers you to their level.
The way to win is to not lose.
Figuring out the way to "win" requires considerable maturity and--dare I say it--"love."
You save them and they are no longer enemies.
Twist ending:)But it's really hard to get there in your head. It really is.
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What Kind of Activism?
by TerryWalstrom inactivism or any kind of push back really is not about the size of your emotion, your disgust, or the feeling of powerless frustration at the religion.being an ex-jw is about one of two things and two things only:1. being effective.
2. being ineffectiveto which i add: effective at what?1.
not identifying yourself as the foaming at the mouth, demonic, mentally diseased piece of shit the watchtower has framed you out to be in the minds of their captive slaves.2.
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TerryWalstrom
pbrow says:
Thanks for assuming the motives of every ex here. You must be a mind readerWe all do things for our own reasons.
_________________
Let me offer my apology if my words came across as high-handed mind reading. You are surely correct when you say our "own reasons."
I guess I meant something more akin to the old adage, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
It's obvious so many active JW's have the best intentions in the world for what they do. Not all of them are trembling with anxiety and pining for rescue from the likes of us.
By the same token, I'm pretty clear on how the very mention of being EX triggers a Pavlovian impulse in the Dub at the door to bolt.
If I go off on them, the reinforcement of their programming is surely intensified.
Being friendly, real, and reasonable sews an approachable seedbed from which later something liberating may spring.
Or not.
