There are movies that feel like old friends. No matter how many times you visit with it, there are new discoveries. Or old memories that are warm and fuzzy. You just can't get enough of them.
For me, "The Music Man" is that kind of trusted celluloid pal. I've seen it at least 25 times in my life, both on the big screen and thanks to whatever version of the film is on VHS, Laser Disc, or DVD I had yet to experience it via Blu Ray and last weekend offered just the right opportunity to spend some time in River City all over again.
It's indeed a perfect summertime movie as that is when it is set. You star with the Fourth of July celebration in Madison Park and wind up with the Labor Day Sociable. I always try to watch it between those two warm weather holidays.
And I was enveloped in its aura one more time. Indeed, with every viewing, there is something in it that makes it feel all new again. And now it also prompts a pretty vivid memory for me from many years ago.
You see, "The Music Man" was the very movie I went to see all by myself.
Before you call Social Services, remember that back when was a different time and a different place in America. Kids less than double digits in age could walk freely around my hometown of Mount Vernon, New York and there would be no worries. Yet, even in those more comfortable times, this solo event didn't come without a bit of parental consternation.
Any regular readers know that I was pretty much a movie geek when I was a youngster. Indeed, I learned how to read at a very early age primarily because I would sift through all the movie advertisements in the NY Daily News and the NY Daily Mirror. I learned to print because I would write notes for my father, asking him to take me to some movie. I'd even provide the times the films started, so, yes, my numerical skills were all being developed.
I lived for the movie palaces that were in our neighborhood. The glorious RKO Proctor's on Gramatan Avenue. The stately Loews' around the corner on Stevens Avenue. There was the Wakefield underneath the elevated tracks on White Plains Road in the Bronx. Or the small but dependable Kimball on Yonkers Avenue.
On special occasions, we would take the D Train from 205th Street down to Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan. There, you never had to go outside. There was an entrance right into the lobby from the subway station. And, of course, if my dad was wiping down the Buick windshield during the summer, I knew it would be time for the drive-in theater in Elmsford. I'd dress in my pajamas and be allowed to stay up in the back seat for the first feature only.
I am forever grateful to my parents for instilling this love in me. But they enjoyed the movies themselves. Before my mom went back to work at night, she would go out every Monday evening to either RKO or Loews with her girlfriend Ronnie. I'd find a box of Poms Poms or Milk Duds on the kitchen table in the morning.
Of course, most of the time I was at the movies myself with either my mother or my father. They actually divided up the genres between the two of them. Mom would take me to Disney movies or cartoons and most Biblical epics. Dad was responsible for bringing me to any war flicks and anything that starred Jerry Lewis. Sorry, Dad.
But the one film genre that was not covered by either parent was the movie musical. It seems that neither one of them enjoyed the "all singing, all dancing" classics. It's not likely we were a music-less family. The radio was always on and so was the record player. But, when it came to screen musicals, my folks were a collective "meh."
And that brings me to our story for this Sunday. Yours truly was learning to love the movie musical because I was already captivated by what was happening on Broadway. It's not like I had seen any shows down there. Not with the lofty prices of $3,80 per ticket.
But I knew what the "Music Man" was and I had the original Broadway cast album. Now it was coming to the movies and, for a variety of reasons, I needed to go. Besides the music that was already engrained in my skull, one of the co-stars was Ronny Howard from my very favorite TV program, "The Andy Griffith Show." I wanted to be best friends with Opie. Or, in this movie, Winthrop Paroo.
But, notes to my parents about this movie didn't register. When it came to RKO on Gramatan, I did all my usual research about movie times, length, etc..
"It's a musical. Nah."
Crap...or whatever I was saying back then to demonstrate annoyance and disappointment.
I must have been persistent because I remember overhearing my parents discussing this very movie. And how they could satisfy my insatiable need to see it.
Cousins were considered. And dismissed. Aunts and uncles were considered. And dismissed. At this point, I still wasn't going to the movies with my friends up the block. I was seemingly the only person in Mount Vernon, New York who wanted to see Professor Harold Hill and company.
And, then, from the floor of my bedroom with a box of Colorforms cracked open before me, I heard the words from the nearby kitchen.
"Well, maybe we can let him go on his own."
What????
What followed was a series of one-on-ones with each of my parents. This outing was going to be set up with the precision of the D-Day invasion on Normandy Beach. My mom positioned it all as if I would be nervous going by myself.
Wrong. I couldn't wait.
Of course, I really wasn't going to be alone. I wasn't just being dropped off at the theater one Saturday afternoon. My dad parked the car. He paid for my ticket and then exercised a full interrogation of the woman at the box office.
"How long is the movie?"
"Is there another feature?"
"What is the exact time he will be out?"
With my ticket in hand, Dad shepherded me into the lobby. As I picked out my treats at the candy counter, my father was making fast friends with the old lady sporting the flashlight.
The dreaded movie theater matron.
I was introduced to her and virtually handed over like those kids who are flying alone and entrusted to the care of a flight attendant. On this afternoon, I wasn't even going to have to pick out my own seat.
"You're sitting right here where I can see you."
She had a five dollar bill in her hand. So, I suppose that's how much not seeing "The Music Man" was worth to my parents. Essentially, I had a baby sitter. And I was the one going out for the day. In retrospect, I wonder why one of my folks didn't simply come along and doze throughout the entire film. But, I didn't care.
"The Music Man" was that special of a movie experience for me. And has been ever since that afternoon when I didn't flinch or risk getting a flashlight blasted into my eyes.
Meredith Willson's "The Music Man" is arguably the best thing to ever come out of the Midwest, save for maybe Abe Lincoln. If it were not for this movie musical, I would probably ignore the state of Iowa altogether.
Willson obviously knew about Iowa, because that's where he was born around the turn of the century. My guess is that he waited for many a Wells Fargo wagon in his time. This music composer kicked around Hollywood and network radio for most of his life, until he achieved his true watershed moment when "The Music Man" debuted on Broadway in 1957. Apparently, you couldn't get into the show for about two years, and those were the days when Broadway audiences were smart and could tell the difference between gold and crap.
Hollywood has a nasty history of recreating a Broadway musical on screen, but forgetting to include the stars that first authored the roles on stage. Angela Lansbury got dumped in favor of a croaking Lucille Ball for "Mame." Carol Channing got bypassed for the film version of "Hello Dolly," which opted instead for Barbra Streisand, who turned the whole thing into a hackneyed Yiddish production you might find at a local nursing home.
Indeed, I'm betting there were some ridiculous thoughts about replacing the amazing Robert Preston in the role of Professor Harold Hill. Maybe Frank Sinatra. Or perhaps Sammy Davis Jr., who could have sung "Y'all Got Trouble, my brothers." As a matter of fact, Cary Grant was approached and declined by saying that WB needed to go back to the source. So, in a rare stroke of genius, producers realized that Robert Preston was the only "Music Man" we should see. Sure, there have been others to do it on Broadway since. And, for some reason perhaps known only to aliens residing on Pluto, some idiot tried to remake the movie into a TV production with Matthew Broderick. Regardless, if you are to enjoy this musical wonderment, you have to see it with Robert Preston.
After that solo in RKO Proctor's, I was addicted to the words, the music, and the performances. I would walk to school, singing the songs like some loon. And that included doing "Gary, Indiana" complete with the Ronny Howard-perfected lisp. A few years later, CBS seemed to run this movie once a season, and I would be plopped down in front of the set days and weeks in advance.
There was something about the town of River City and the very special summer they experience that captivated me. Perhaps, it was because my hometown of Mount Vernon, New York was slowly evolving into something very unspecial. For us, there would be no such thing as a boy's band. Instead, there would be gangs, riots, and hostility. If only our worlds could be about the ice cream social in the local park. A place where you couldn't necessarily let your young child go to a movie theater by himself.
Indeed, over several decades after its initial release, I still feel like I am seeing it for the first time all over again. And every time I watch it, I see something new. Or revel particularly in one single moment. After being on the Warner Brothers back lot, I could pick out actual locations that were used as River City in the movie. The first time I saw it on DVD, I could pick out the Burbank hills in the background, along with some electrical power lines which probably didn't exist around the turn of the century.
The cast is first-rate, and none of them probably had finer film moments. Shirley Jones, Buddy Hackett, Ronny Howard, Hermione Gingold, Paul Ford, Pert Kelton, and Mary Wickes are all incomparable. While everyone remembers the classic moments like "Trouble," "76 Trombones," and "Marian the Librarian," there really is not a weak musical number in the whole film. Take a look at one of my favorites, the blending and harmonizing of two completely different songs. It is as smooth as silk.
In the stage musical, there is a ballad sung by Marian called "My White Knight." It's okay, but Wilson very smartly replaces it on screen with another much better song, "Being In Love." Shirley Jones' rendition of it is magical. You also probably have heard some of the other clever quirks embedded in the music. For instance, "76 Trombones" and "Goodnight, My Someone" are essentially the same tunes except played at different tempos. And, of course, the fabulous "Till There Was You" is one of the best romantic duets ever filmed for the silver screen. Coincidentally, "Till There Was You" is a song that the Beatles actually covered on one of their first albums.
.
I've seen the musical in a Broadway revival with Craig Bierko and Rebecca Luker. I've seen it done at the Hollywood Bowl with Eric McCormick and Kristin Chenoweth. I'll probably see it another half dozen times mounted with a variety of performers. But, at the end of the day, it is the movie that shines best. With Robert Preston as the brightest light.
And takes me back to the day when I saw it for the very first time. Thanks, Mom and Dad. You made it happen.
Dinner last night: Cheedarwurst at the Hollywood Bowl.
Woo hoo. A five Saturday month. And we salute a musical comedy moment with the originals recreating this great number from "Mame."
Dinner last night: Sandwich.
I don't, you know. But, if I did, this is what I would have "tweeted" this past month.
#LenSpeaks I resent the expression "dog days of August." Given my allergies to felines, I much prefer "cat days of August."
#LenSpeaks There was an unusual humidity in Los Angeles this month. Sweating through my clothes like I'm back on the D Train in 1983.
#LenSpeaks More people post photos of their cats on Facebook than parents post pictures of their own children.
#LenSpeaks To all you tourists clogging Los Angeles this month, please remember that you have round trip tickets.
#LenSpeaks There are more tour buses roaming Hollywood. Showing visitors that alley where Errol Flynn once peed.
#LenSpeaks These numbskulls on the tours all think they're going to see where Brad Pitt lives. Or, at the very least, where the gu y who cuts his hair lives.
#LenSpeaks Totally enjoyed Paul McCartney's return to Dodger Stadium. But where are the other three guys he used to play with?
#LenSpeaks Despite some bad plastic surgery, Sir Paul looking quite healthy. A diet of kale will do that.
#LenSpeaks It was fun watching people who never go to Dodger Stadium maneuver the parking lot. The dreaded one-percent can't drive.
#LenSpeaks RIP Robin Williams. Now that's a loss.
#LenSpeaks Sign of an inept Hollywood news operation: failure to get a van in front of Pam Dawber's house within the hour.
#LenSpeaks They're already calling his death a suicide. Hey, let's not jump the gun. I mean, does anybody know where Peter Lawford was today?
#LenSpeaks You have to be over 45 to get that last tweet.
#LenSpeaks Oh, and wait a minute, the Heaven Hollywood Express gets another passenger. Lauren Bacall.
#LenSpeaks A loss? Meh, not so much. She was old and nasty.
#LenSpeaks My favorite Bacall moment was when Christopher punched her in the face on the Sopranos.
#LenSpeaks The Mideast is on fire. Frankly it should burn to the ground.
#LenSpeaks Israel is on attack. All because the word "ham" is in the name of the Palestinian group?
#LenSpeaks Now we have to fear something called Isis? I thought she was on Saturday morning television.
#LenSpeaks I sleep well at night knowing that Obama is a foreign affairs expert. Lie.
#LenSpeaks The President golfs every day. At least, Eisenhower had an excuse. He was recovering from a heart attack.
#LenSpeaks Ethel Kennedy and her clan did the ice bucket challenge. You would think that, after Teddy and John Jr.'s exploits at sea, water over your head is distasteful.
#LenSpeaks The only ice bucket challenge I want to deal with better have a bottle of champagne in it.
#LenSpeaks After Isis beheaded that American journalist, everybody was appalled that the media showed us the pictures.
#LenSpeaks This comes from the same folks who will watch all the violence in Game of Thrones.
#LenSpeaks The last job I want to have is that of a journalist covering the Mideast.
#LenSpeaks Apparently, Chicago is an imminent target for terrorists. That would be one way to stop all the shootings there every weekend.
#LenSpeaks Hello? Does anybody realize this country is in big trouble?
#LenSpeaks A woman got hurt climbing in a giraffe pen at a zoo. Now the giraffe is being sued for assault.
#LenSpeaks RIP Don Pardo. Now it's just plain Saturday Night.
Dinner last night: Italian cheese steak sandwich at Johnnie's Pizzeria.
The Hollywood Bowl giveth. The Hollywood Bowl taketh away.
After seeing two decent productions here this summer with their stellar Hall of Fame show and a terrific July 4th program with Steve Martin and his banjo band, I had to go to their Beatles 50th Anniversary tribute. And ruin it all.
How can you fuck up a Beatle tribute? I'll tell you.
This should have been a home run. Honoring the Beatles on the very date that they played the Hollywood Bowl fifty years ago. And starting the show by replicating the exact 30 minute set that the boys did a half century ago in the same order of song. Wonderful memories should have been overflowing the Bowl.
Well, there was a flood but sort of akin to what happens to your toilet after you've eaten way too much Mexican food.
I expected to hear a voice over the loudspeaker that announced "Clean-up on Highland Avenue." This was that much of a misguided evening.
There must have been a lot of anticipation for this show. When I purchased my Hollywood Bowl package of tickets last Spring, there was such a high demand for this show that I ended up much higher on the hill than usual. Indeed, I was the fool on the hill. Along with a lot of other ardent Beatles fans who were duped as if they were being told again that Paul is dead.
Okay, we're talking proximity to Hollywood now. The entertainment capital of the world. All summer, I kept checking the Bowl website to see who was going to be part of this show. And, each and every time, I kept reading "artists to be announced." So, Silly Me is thinking that Ringo was holding out for extra money to perform. When the list of musicians was finally posted a few weeks ago, I asked one question over and over.
Who?
Who?
Who?
Who?
Who?
If there was any evening where you had to buy one of the Hollywood Bowl's one dollar programs, this was it. Because not only did you not know most of the performers, none of them were introduced when they came on stage. You might as well have been blindfolded like Dorothy Kilgallen on the old "What's My Line" TV show.
The evening was produced by Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics and I, at least, had heard of them. But, in Tinsel Town, this is the best that the Hollywood Bowl could conjure up to produce this tribute? The town is crawling with musicians and legends who easily could have shown up to do a number or two in their sleep. Instead, we got Stewart. And, from what I later learn, several members of his family.
Wow. Stewart Home Movies. Let's all sing "Long Tall Sally" while we pass the cranberries and the stuffing over Thanksgiving dinner. How dare they dump this on folks who, in my case, had paid almost 40 bucks each for the ticket? Hell, I was chewing on an extra ticket that went unused so it was double the swallow for yours truly. Meanwhile, in the background, there was a poster of the original Beatles Bowl ticket. That was three dollars. I was feeling sicker by the minute.
The show started by trucking out Bob Eubanks of Newlywed Game fame who was...surprise to me...the producer of many of the Beatles concerts during their 1964 American tour. He told some anecdotes as best he could through the plastic surgery and also read an e-mail from Sir Paul who was wisely miles away from this stink bomb. If only, Eubanks had deviated and done a version of his old game show on stage.
"Couple #1, which Beatle does your husband say he looks like most?"
Now that would have been fun and worth the....oh, God, gasp,..39 dollars.
The first act was, as I mentioned, the reproduction of the Beatles' Bowl appearance by some of the performers who still remain a total mystery to me. Most weren't very good and you had an idea that Stewart should have arranged for a bit more rehearsal time in his garage. I mean, what can you say when those old Beatlemania productions gave you a better show?
After an intermission where mostly everybody came back, the second half focused on the Beatles' later works that were likely produced under the haze of drugs and liquor. If only the audience had been so lucky. By the inexplicably kind reaction of a majority of the crowd, I am thinking that cheap wine can make anything sound good. Meanwhile, a bunch of nobodies meandered around the stage as if they were going to a clearance sale at Guitar Center.
When the biggest name you can pull in for this was Billy Ray Fucking Cyrus, you know that you've sunk as low as you can do. When Cyrus got the honor of croaking out "Hey Jude," the throng responded as if they were hearing the real thing. Given that I had seen an exact Beatle do the same tune just two weeks earlier, I can tell you that it wasn't.
The show itself ended at 10:05PM, which also screamed to me that this might be the shortest Hollywood Bowl concert I have attended. But, I thanked God for the mercy being bestowed upon us.
Total waste of a Saturday night? Not really. I was in the company of good friends. We had nice wine and wonderful snacks.
All of which we could have enjoyed in the comforts of somebody's living room with some Beatles CDs playing in the background.
Dinner last night: Sandwich and salad.
It's Wednesday, so let's say happy birthday to Tuesday...Weld, that is.
410: THE SACKING OF ROME BY THE VISIGOTHS ENDS AFTER THREE DAYS.
Who knew the Visigoths had such good tackles.
1172: HENRY THE YOUNG KING AND MARGARET OF FRANCE ARE CROWNED AS JUNIOR KING AND QUEEN OF ENGLAND.
But who got Homecoming?
1776: IN THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, IN WHAT IS NOW BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, BRITISH FORCES DEFEAT AMERICANS LED BY GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON.
And this is why Jackie Robinson didn't speak with a British accent.
1798: WOLFE TONE'S UNITED IRISH AND FRENCH FORCES CLASH WITH THE BRITISH ARMY IN THE BATTLE OF CASTLEBAR. THIS RESULTS IN THE CREATION OF THE FRENCH PUPPET REPUBLIC OF CONNACHT.
I love puppets.
1813: FRENCH EMPEROR NAPOLEON I DEFEATS A FORCE OF AUSTRIANS, RUSSIANS, AND PRUSSIANS AT THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN.
Not bad for a guy with one arm in his jacket.
1832: BLACK HAWK, LEADER OF THE SAUK TRIBE, SURRENDERS TO US AUTHORITIES.
Black Hawk Down.
1859: PETROLEUM IS DISCOVERED IN PENNSYLVANIA LEADING TO THE WORLD'S FIRST SUCCESSFUL OIL WELL.
Paging Jed Clampett.
1861: DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, UNION FORCES ATTACK CAPE HATTERAS, NORTH CAROLINA.
Usually it's just hurricanes.
1896: ANGLO-ZANZIBAR WAR - THE SHORTEST WAR IN WORLD HISTORY (45 MINUTES) IS HELD BETWEEN THE UNITED KINGDOM AND ZANZIBAR.
Fits perfectly into an hour with commercials.
1908: PRESIDENT LYNDON B. JOHNSON IS BORN.
I ask for your help...and God's.
1916: ACTRESS MARTHA RAYE IS BORN.
On this day, she didn't have any teeth either.
1921: THE BRITISH INSTALL THE SON OF SHARIF HUSSEIN BIN ALI AS KING FAISAL I OF IRAQ.
Well, Faisal is shorter to write on checks.
1927: FIVE CANADIAN WOMEN FILE A POSITION TO THE SUPREME COURT OF CANADA ASKING "DOES THE WORD PERSONS INCLUDE FEMALE PERSONS?"
These days, I'm wondering if the word persons refers to male persons.
1942: MUSICIAN DARYL DRAGON IS BORN.
The Captain with Tennille!
1943: DURING WORLD WAR II, JAPANESE FORCES EVACUATE NEW GEORGIA ISLAND IN THE PACIFIC THEATER.
What did they always call it a theater? This is not a show I wanted to watch.
1943: ACTRESS TUESDAY WELD IS BORN.
Oddly enough, August 27, 1943 was a Friday.
1964: WALT DISNEY'S "MARY POPPINS" PREMIERES AT GRAUMAN'S CHINESE THEATER.
A great movie.
1964: COMEDY STAR GRACIE ALLEN DIES.
I hope she didn't have tickets to see "Mary Poppins."
1971: AN ATTEMPTED COUP D'ETAT FAILS IN THE AFRICAN NATION OF CHAD AND THEY BLAME EGYPT.
Or Jeremy.
1971: PUBLISHER BENNETT CERF DIES.
Now his line is "Corpse."
1975: ETHIOPIAN EMPEROR HAILE SELASSIE I DIES
Highly not breathing.
1985: THE NIGERIAN GOVERNMENT IS PEACEFULLY OVERTHROWN.
Er, excuse me, we're taking over now, thank you.
1996: ACTOR GREG MORRIS DIES.
Mission: Really Impossible Now.
2003: MARS MAKES ITS CLOSEST APPROACH TO EARTH IN NEARLY 60,000 YEARS.
When those Martians get a good look at this place, they'll wait another 60,000 to come back.
Dinner last night: Asian steak salad.
Well, first they'll chew on this corned beef reuben sandwich. Our favorite Hollywood oldtimers, Saul and Heshe, always have to something to kibitz about the morning after an award ceremony. And today is no different. Let's listen in as they commandeer a front window booth at Nate N'Al's in Beverly Hills.
"Oy."
"Oy."
"What's with the Emmys on a Monday? Was Sunday a High Holy Day I missed? God forbid."
"No, the schmucks at NBC didn't want to pre-empt Sunday Night Football. So they made the Emmys move."
"Gives you an idea how much money they don't make with the Emmys."
"Back in the day, we got big numbers. You had Lucy. Maybe Bob Hope. Dannila Thomas."
"If you were lucky, maybe you'd get a special appearance from Dinah Shore."
"See the USA. In your Chevrolet."
"Now I wouldn't get into a Chevy without wearing a helmet."
"I once took a tumble with Sally Struthers in the back of a Vega. Without a helmet, thank you very much."
"Who was that pisher that was the emcee? Was that the short guy with the last name that sounds like an apartment complex in Santa Monica?"
"Seacrest. No. The host was Seth Meyers."
"Never heard of him. They should have had Lou Jacobi as co-host. Nice marketing tie-in."
"Nobody over 65 gets that joke."
"You laughed."
"I'm 82."
"Mazel tov."
"You watch that stupid red carpet?"
"Only to see the boobies hanging out. And on the ladies, too."
"Just once I want to hear. When they ask what you're wearing, they say Old Navy."
"I didn't recognize any one of the shows. Dick Van Dyke wasn't up for anything?"
"It's all on the computer now. Do you stream on Netflix?"
"With my bladder, I stream on anything."
"There's a pill for that. Watch the Nightly News. They advertise there all the time."
"Did you see that Amazon woman Allison Janney won a couple of Emmys? She thanked her co-star for being beautiful and sublime."
"Uh oh, that means she's a bitch."
"Speaking of....we raise a glass ice tea. Lauren Bacall."
"Now that was a bitch. But, woo hoo, could she sashay? She could put dill in my pickle."
"So many friends croaked this year. I couldn't keep up."
"How come every time they do those death roll calls, somebody sings 'Smile?'"
"What do you want them to sing? 'Cry?'"
"Johnnie Ray. Would it kill them to invite him?"
"It killed him. He's dead."
"You ever see that 'Orange is the New Black?'"
"They call that a comedy show? It's about women in prison."
"That's funny? Go ask Jean Harris."
"Also dead."
"Oy."
"Vey iz mir."
"It ain't the way it used to be. All these people were thanking their crews who work grueling hours."
"Pish on that. Back when, we worked six days a week. If you worked for DeMille, sometimes seven."
"They don't how good they got it. With their Netflix and their HBO and all their fancy phones."
"I got a Smart Phone."
"Good for you. I don't even have a smart wife."
"Oy."
"Oy."
"What are we going to do? Show business ain't for us any more."
"No fooling. Me? I'll take a good Maisie movie with Ann Sothern any day."
"Woo hoo. Loved her. She put out more than just the cat."
"And none of these pishers are funny. That Stephen Colbert. Talking to an imaginary friend. Funny like my last endoscopy."
"Is it too late to take back that Letterman slot they gave him?"
"They never should have taken it away from Johnny."
"Also dead."
"Yeah, but still funny."
"How about a black and white cookie? I'm buying."
"Don't you mean an orange and white cookie?"
Dinner last night: Leftover bratwurst.
Watch yourself at those Labor Day cookouts.
Dinner last night: Grilled brats, potato salad, and cole slaw.
Before I left my last place of employment several years ago, there was a few harrowing mornings. I used to go into the office very early in the morning. There weren't a lot of people around at that hour. And I'd board the elevator to zoom up to our offices on the twelfth floor.
Except sometimes you didn't always get there.
There was one morning when I certainly got to my office destination. I was safely nestled into my desk chair and reading the Los Angeles Times when I noticed that my colleague next door had not yet arrived. She was one of the usual early birds. Hmmm. No voice mail message from her calling in sick. This was unusual.
And then I got an e-mail from her phone. She was there all right. Stuck in an elevator out at the twelfth floor lobby. The door would not open.
I went out there and figured out which dungeon was hers. I could easily talk to her with the metal door between us. She pressed all the usual emergency buttons but it was that early hour where the top notch building staff was not necessarily on duty.
Translation: during the daytime, you usually connect with somebody who speaks very little English. In the off hours, you are talking with a person who speaks virtually no English.
I don't remember how we managed to get her out of the steel tomb but we did. Luckily, I added, that I was there or she might not have gotten out for hours.
Flash forward to two weeks later. My colleague was going to be working from home that morning. And, at about 6:30AM, I am ascending through the big vertical tunnel up to the twelfth floor.
And the elevator refuses to open.
This time, it's me being inconvenienced and on an unusually hot and humid Los Angeles morning.
I hit the emergency button and connected with either the basement or Tijuana. I couldn't really tell the difference. The guy I woke up told me to wait until the daytime help showed up.
The hell I would. I did everything they probably tell you not to do when stuck in an elevator. Okay, I wasn't going to crawl out the top like Bruce Willis in "Die Hard." But, as I peered through the crack in the door, I could see the 12th floor lobby. Sort of. Except it wasn't exactly flush with the ground. The elevator was about three feet above it.
I pried and pulled and pushed. Eventually, I got the elevator door to slide open. And I jumped out. Meanwhile, the daytime guy downstairs didn't show on his spot for another two hours.
So, yes, I did not relish this elevator adventure. But there was one many years ago that was much worse. And lots more embarrassing.
This is the majestic Keating Hall on the Fordham University campus.
Home of WFUV where I spent a lot of time during my college years. Location of some classrooms where I spent a little time during my college years. The centerpiece of the Bronx campus is old, austere, and historic.
And it was between the second and third floors of this building where I had two pretty scary experiences.
Let's talk first about the only elevator in the place. For college students too lazy to walk up and down three flights, it provided the lift needed after a long WFUV session or a short Theology dissertation. The elevator itself might have been even older than the building. It was a large size wooden crate that resembled a vertical coffin. I never felt completely safe in there. Not for the queasy or the claustrophobic.
But, take it nevertheless we did. One day, I was scheduled to be the co-anchor on the WFUV Evening Report which aired at 530PM every afternoon during those golden days at the station when students actually got to do things. It was a big deal for me as I had never done this co-anchor bit before. We did our usual preparation. Rip the news items off the Associated Press ticker. Maybe try to rewrite one or two, so it sounded like you weren't reading them verbatim.
Around 445PM, I wanted a snack from the soda and candy machines down on the first floor. I was hungry. And, after several hours of reading AP recounts of Congressional votes, I was exhausted, too. Too spent to walk down and up three flights of stairs for my Coke and Hershey bar.
I boarded the elevator to Hell. The trip down was a no brainer. Armed with soft drink and candy, I boarded the wooden crate for the return trip. Just past the second floor, it happened.
Clunk, crash, sputter, phhhhbbbbttt.
My journey, for the time being, had ended.
I generally don't panic in a stuck elevator. I was younger and much more optimistic about life. I mean, there's always an emergency button with someone very helpful on the end of the transmission. Right?
I pressed it. It took five minutes for somebody to answer the call.
"Si?"
I explained the predicament to him.
"No habla Anglaise."
The chocolate bar started to melt and so did I. Luckily, my magnetic personality is always missed and my WFUV cohorts noticed my absence pretty quickly. And it didn't take them long to figure out where I was. Because the broken elevator was now requiring them all to use the ungodly method of climbing stairs.
And my new location between the second and third floor of Keating Hall became a novelty as they took turns calling down taunts.
"What are you doing down there?"
Well, I was really looking for some quiet time before the newscast and I really thought that an elevator shaft provided the best venue.
I pressed the emergency button again.
"Si."
Ugh.
I was losing patience and planning to lose most of my friends who were up getting their jollies out of my plight. When the laughs started to die down, somebody actually went to seek out the non-English speaking man on the other end of my lifeline.
But, that didn't result in an immediate solution. I was stuck in that coffin for almost two hours. And, of course, missed the newscast. I understand that the anchorperson that day signed off by saying good night to Len "wherever he may be in this building."
And it was the memory of that hot box afternoon and the deadly demonic elevator that indirectly provoked another harrowing adventure in that building. My other "between floors" experience in Keating Hall was a bit more harrowing.
Darn right frightening. And, surprisingly, this time it was on the stairway between the second and third floor.
It was early in my junior year and I had just moved on campus. This was your traditional Fall college day. There was a football game scheduled that night. I was working on something at WFUV and realized that a host of my chums were headed to the campus center for some food. I wanted to catch up to them. So, I ran. And I decided that I could get down the stairs a lot quicker than with my own nemesis, the elevator.
As I started to fly down the first flight of steps, I tripped on my sneaker laces which were untied. I missed the last half of the flight, emulating Mary Martin as Peter Pan. To cushion the upcoming blow on the landing, I extended my hands.
And my right one went right through the window.
It was one of those slow motion moments that happen in life. I didn't really feel anything as the hand went through the glass. There was no pain. It seemed all pretty routine. Until I noticed my wrist.
With the big gash right on the vein.
And the blood shooting out like Old Faithful.
Hmmmm. This is not good.
I immediately put my left thumb over the gusher and slowly walked down the rest of the stairs. Now it wasn't lunch that I wanted to share with my friends. I needed help to get to a hospital. My roommate and other cronies weren't that far ahead. After asking me whether it could wait till after they had lunch, I was chaperoned to the campus nurse's office.
Where I probably passed out. My next memory was a whiff of smelling salts. Pressure was applied to stop the bleeding, but it was clear that I needed stitches.
At nearby Fordham Hospital. Where people went in and usually did not come out.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. A hospital emergency room in the Bronx is automatically a scary prospect. Several gurneys were rushed in with people missing a body part or two. After a while, I realized that my six little sutures would be minor in the great medical scope of things.
The bandage on my wrist was the big hit in the football stands that night. I explained that I was simply trying to perfect my impersonation of Judy Garland. The scar shows to this day. And I always used a different staircase after that.
And never the elevator.
Okay, I have taken them since. Even getting stuck again once or twice. And now I curse my knees. If not for this damn arthritis, I would take the freakin' stairs.
Dinner last night: Cheese, crackers, fruit, and wine at the Hollywood Bowl.
50 years ago this summer. As if they needed a trailer.
Dinner last night: Bratwurst, pepper, and onions at the Dodger game.
I think I dated her.
I know I dated her.
Chippendale Junior High.
I'm with you, kid.
I wonder how they erected that.
Sharknado 5: The Wedding Reception.
It's almost time for those yellow pills in the little paper cups.
Just where is Waldo?
A Pepto Bismol family.
We need to stick together in the ocean. Or so says the warden.
I hope the cops were there for this asshole five minutes after this snapshot was taken.
Most Likely To Be Beaten Up in Gym Class.
Dinner last night: Had a big lunch so just a salad and sandwich.
When you go to the movies in industry-heavy Los Angeles, you can judge the success of a movie by the applause you hear at the end.
At the end of "Get On Up," there was none. At least from the crowd I was with. Admittedly, most of them were 75-year-old plus alterkockers who were sleeping off their pre-movie dinner at the Olive Garden. But the film ended with utter silence.
And that's probably the way it should be. Because as cinematic entertainment, "Get On Up" is a complete bust.
This was the summer of music biopics. First, we had the terrific "Jersey Boys" which told the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Now we get the saga of the Godfather of Soul James Brown. And the difference is that, in the sure hands of director Clint Eastwood who also had the benefit of the Broadway show to work from, "Jersey Boys" was a compelling tale. Under the mawkish guidance of director Tate Taylor, the life of James Brown is incredibly dull and incomplete. While Eastwood has a story to tell, Taylor has an ax to grind. And, at the end of 2 hours and 18 minutes, he has buried it in your skull.
Okay, truth be told, I was never a fan of James Brown and his music. While growing up in predominantly Black Mount Vernon, New York, I was exposed to and liked plenty of soul music. I just didn't like Brown's act. Neither did my grandmother who, while watching his antics on the Ed Sullivan Show, suddenly screamed at the TV seat "oh, shut up already!"
But I digress...
I was interested in the movie because I wanted to learn more about this legendary entertainer who had his share of problems. Drugs, tax problems, prison time, a last will and testament that was fought over his heirs. Um, you find little of it in this movie. Essentially, director Tate Taylor and producer Mick Jagger provide us with a white-washed version of a Wikipedia entry.
In this film, Brown does little wrong. Oh, you do see him in jail briefly. You see him hit his wife once. But, most of it, told in flashbacks and talking to the fourth wall, gives us Brown the put-upon legend. There is no depth. And, oh, if you're looking for any reference to the fact that the King of Funk openly supported both Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan in their Presidential campaigns...well, Taylor and Jagger forget that part of the Wikipedia page.
Taylor previously dumped on us the over-rated and over-everything "The Help" and here he even borrows two of its co-stars, Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer. And he hammers home the same theme of racial discrimination from the movie whether it fits the narrative or not. It's like the secondary title of this film could have been "The Help Goes to a Recording Studio."
The same note is hit constantly with all the subtlety of a snow plow. I'm wondering if Taylor is working out some guilt feelings about his own background. He's White and grew up in Mississippi on a plantation. Hmmm. I'm just reading what I see in Wikipedia. It's time to make a movie about something else.
Much has been made about the performance of Chadwick Boseman in the lead role, fresh from his portrayal of Jackie Robinson in "24." I would argue that here he's doing more impersonation than acting. Boseman channels Brown's almost unintelligible way of speaking. If you're dumb enough to buy the DVD of this movie when it comes, prepare to access "subtitles" before you start to watch it. But, suddenly, Boseman is apparently the go-to guy for Hollywood when they make a movie like this. Expect to see him in the screen adaptations of the life stories of Barack Obama, Travon Martin, and Sherman Hemsley. The latter reference is fitting since, in depicting Brown's later year, the lousy make-up actually reminds you of Isabel Sanford.
Over the closing credits, you actually get a glimpse of the movie you really wanted to see. There are many cool photos of Brown performing with legends, meeting Presidents, and appearing with folks like Johnny Carson. Now that would make a great documentary.
I'm glad Tate Taylor doesn't do those.
LEN'S RATING: One-half star.
Dinner last night: Pepperoni pizza at the Dodger game.
Happy birthday, Don King. I looked for the funniest picture of him I could find. There were way too many choices.
14: AGRIPPA POSTUMUS, ADOPTED SON OF THE LATE ROMAN EMPEROR AUGUSTUS, IS EXECUTED BY HIS GUARDS.
Postumus was now posthumous.
914: TSAR SIMEON I OF BULGARIA DECISIVELY DEFEATS A BYZANTINE ARMY DURING THE BATTLE OF ACHELOOS.
Gesundheit.
984: POPE JOHN XIV DIES.
It's one of those killer dates if you're a Pope.
1308: POPE CLEMENT V PARDONS JACQUES DE MOLAY, THE LAST GRAND MASTER OF THE KNIGHTS TEMPLAR.
Was one of those Knights Templar named Simon?
1519: PHILOSOPHER AND GENERAL WANG YANGMING DEFEATS ZHU CHENHAO, ENDING THE PRINCE OF NING REBELLION AGAINST THE REIGN OF THE MING DYNASTY EMPEROR ZHENGDE.
Now that's a mouthful.
1707: THE FIRST SIEGE OF PENSACOLA COMES TO END WITH THE FAILURE OF THE BRITISH TO CAPTURE PENSACOLA, FLORIDA.
So, as consolation, they went after a six pack of Pepsi Cola.
1775: THE SPANISH ESTABLISH THE PRESIDIO SAN AUGUSTIN DEL TUCSON IN THE TOWN THAT BECAME TUCSON, ARIZONA.
Clever. How did they think of that?
1823: POPE PIUS VII DIES.
Also a killer days for Popes named Pius.
1866: PRESIDENT ANDREW JOHNSON FORMALLY DECLARES THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR OVER.
Extra points if he stuck his tongue out at the time.
1882: TCHAIKOVSKY'S 1812 OVERTURE DEBUTS IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA.
Just the Overture? Where's the rest of the show?
1910: THE GREAT FIRE OF 1910 OCCURS IN NORTHEAST WASHINGTON, NORTHERN IDAHO, AND WESTERN MONTANA.
Smokey the Bear warned you.
1914: DURING WORLD WAR I, GERMAN FORCES OCCUPY BRUSSELS.
Dying for a plate of sprouts.
1914: POPE PIUS X DIES.
Which means that, in less than a century, there were two other Popes named Pius.
1918: AUTHOR JACQUELINE SUSANN IS BORN.
If she was an only child, once was definitely enough.
1920: THE FIRST COMMERCIAL RADIO STATION, 8MK, BEGINS OPERATIONS IN DETROIT.
News, weather, and traffic on the hour.
1926: JAPAN'S PUBLIC BROADCASTING COMPANY, NIPPON HOSO KYOKAI, IS ESTABLISHED.
First children's show was the Erectric Company.
1931: BOXING PROMOTER DON KING IS BORN.
I wonder how much hair he had then.
1938: LOU GEHRIG HITS HIS 23RD CAREER GRAND SLAM---A RECORD THAY STOOD FOR 75 YEARS UNTIL IT WAS BROKEN BY ALEX RODRIGUEZ.
Except Gehrig never had to pee in a cup.
1940: BRITISH PRIME MINISTER WINSTON CHURCHILL MAKES THE FOURTH OF HIS FAMOUS WARTIME SPEECHES, CONTAINING THE LINE "NEVER WAS SO MUCH OWED BY SO MANY TO SO FEW."
Of course, he immediately added, "can I get a cup of tea, please?"
1942: MUSICIAN ISAAC HAYES IS BORN.
Talkin' about Shaft.
1946: JOURNALIST CONNIE CHUNG IS BORN.
Mrs. Maury Povich to you.
1950: UNITED NATIONS REPEL AN OFFENSIVE BY NORTH KOREAN DIVISIONS ATTEMPTING TO CROSS THE NAKTONG RIVER AND ASSAULT THE CITY OF TAEGU.
Doctors in war-torn Korea. I smell a movie. Maybe even a TV series.
1954: TV PERSONALITY AL ROKER IS BORN.
I'm reminded again by Winston Churchill's comment. "Never has so much attention been wasted on so little a talent."
1968: SOVIET UNION DOMINATED-WARSAW PACT TROOPS INVANDE CZECHOSLOVAKIA, CRUSHING THE PRAGUE SPRING.
Prague Spring? In August???
1975: NASA LAUNCHES THE VIKING I PLANETARY PROBE TOWARD MARS.
What makes them think that Mars wanted to be probed at all?
1977: NASA LAUNCHES THE VOYAGER 2 SPACECRAFT.
So, I guess that, if you're working at NASA in the late 70s, you're getting a lot of overtime.
1988: DURING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR, A CEASEFIRE IS AGREED AFTER ALMOST EIGHT YEARS OF WAR.
I always giggle when I see the word "ceasefire" pertaining to the Middle East.
1991: MORE THAN 100,000 PEOPLE RALLY OUTSIDE THE SOVIET UNION'S PARLIAMENT BUILDING PROTESTING THE COUP AIMED AT DEPOSING PRESIDENT MIKHAIL GORBACHEV.
"Mr. Gorbachev, we're tearing you down next."
1998: THE UNITED STATES LAUNCHES CRUISE MISSILE ATTACKS AGAINST ALLEGED AL-QAEDA CAMPS IN AFGHANISTAN.
Even way back then.
2007: BUSINESSWOMAN LEONA HELMSLEY DIES.
So there is now a vacancy.
2012: COMEDIENNE PHYLLIS DILLER DIES.
Fitting that this happens on Don King's birthday.
Dinner last night: Asian chopped salad with steak.
