Feb 5, 2021Liked by Esotouric's Secret Los Angeles
First, I know: I'm late to the party, where this post is concerned. But I'm here now.
Second, years ago, during a trip to Los Angeles, to the cathedral of shadows and lights otherwise known as "Hollywood", the intent of which included a meeting or two with producers and directors because they were of the opinion I had !TALENT! as a screenwriter, which turned into a mess that makes a port-a-john fire pale in comparison, subsequently grinding to an abrupt halt, resulting in this meeting being cancelled and that meeting inexplicably vaporizing into mumbled excuses: Um. . . yes, we will call you and let you know when the meeting is rescheduled (Still waiting. . .); I found myself with time on my hands - my return flight was several days out and I did not want to have to pay out of my own meager finances for a change in the ticket. I decided to take my rental (otherwise known as a "late model rent-a-wreck") for a drive.
It got me as far as the Griffith Observatory and in true Hollywood melodramatic fashion proceeded to expire in a prolonged death scene: the radiator hisssssssed and wheeeeeeezed, and the engine made an unpleasant sound before I turned it off and got out, concerned the entire thing might burst into flames. (Fortunately for me it was at the edge of the parking lot, reducing the immediate embarrassment otherwise caused.)
Just to give an idea of how many years ago this was I went looking for a pay phone, called the car rental service, told them where the carcass was, and that I needed a ride. More mumbled excuses about limited resources and could I wait. . . a few hours?
I had no choice in the matter, so I wandered around the observatory, took in the view, enjoyed the setting, checked the time, and called the rental company again. Still no resources available. Could I call a towing service on their behalf? No. Because the way things were going the odds were good I would get stuck with the towing bill. I said I would call back.
I got off the phone and resumed my wanderings.
If you have seen ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, and recall the character of "Cabbie" played by Ernest Borgnine, then you can appreciate the guy who approached me. It was not Ernest Borgnine, but he had the spirit of Cabbie played by Ernest Borgnine. Said he "overheard" my latest telephone call and could he drive me somewhere?
When I explained I lacked the cold cash to pay him for the offered ride he waved it off. Said he would be honored and pleased to give me a ride because he took me to be a visitor to the land of sun and dreams.
The next thing I know I am in the backseat of this. . .cab. (Yeah. Let's call it that. Barely road-legal.) I am getting not the nickel tour but the dollar tour of all the haunts and historical wonders of the greater Los Angeles area - over there, Charlie Chaplin, over here, Buster Keaton. A tour that went into the night and the early hours of the morning before "Jerry" (short for 'Jericho') dropped me at my hotel. During the course of the adventure, which makes an E-ticket ride pedestrian in comparison owing much to his lead-foot driving technique which expressed a decided sense of abandonment, I learned that Jerry came from a family involved in Hollywood since the early days, and had been a struggling background actor "where the only thing he succeeded at was failure", and became a cabbie to 'have three squares' a day'.
Thinking about it, I know that my interest in the history of where I live was inspired by his impassioned, hyper-active monologue.
Maybe, after COVID-19 releases its grip on the world, another trip to Los Angeles, because your efforts here have inspired me.
First, I know: I'm late to the party, where this post is concerned. But I'm here now.
Second, years ago, during a trip to Los Angeles, to the cathedral of shadows and lights otherwise known as "Hollywood", the intent of which included a meeting or two with producers and directors because they were of the opinion I had !TALENT! as a screenwriter, which turned into a mess that makes a port-a-john fire pale in comparison, subsequently grinding to an abrupt halt, resulting in this meeting being cancelled and that meeting inexplicably vaporizing into mumbled excuses: Um. . . yes, we will call you and let you know when the meeting is rescheduled (Still waiting. . .); I found myself with time on my hands - my return flight was several days out and I did not want to have to pay out of my own meager finances for a change in the ticket. I decided to take my rental (otherwise known as a "late model rent-a-wreck") for a drive.
It got me as far as the Griffith Observatory and in true Hollywood melodramatic fashion proceeded to expire in a prolonged death scene: the radiator hisssssssed and wheeeeeeezed, and the engine made an unpleasant sound before I turned it off and got out, concerned the entire thing might burst into flames. (Fortunately for me it was at the edge of the parking lot, reducing the immediate embarrassment otherwise caused.)
Just to give an idea of how many years ago this was I went looking for a pay phone, called the car rental service, told them where the carcass was, and that I needed a ride. More mumbled excuses about limited resources and could I wait. . . a few hours?
I had no choice in the matter, so I wandered around the observatory, took in the view, enjoyed the setting, checked the time, and called the rental company again. Still no resources available. Could I call a towing service on their behalf? No. Because the way things were going the odds were good I would get stuck with the towing bill. I said I would call back.
I got off the phone and resumed my wanderings.
If you have seen ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, and recall the character of "Cabbie" played by Ernest Borgnine, then you can appreciate the guy who approached me. It was not Ernest Borgnine, but he had the spirit of Cabbie played by Ernest Borgnine. Said he "overheard" my latest telephone call and could he drive me somewhere?
When I explained I lacked the cold cash to pay him for the offered ride he waved it off. Said he would be honored and pleased to give me a ride because he took me to be a visitor to the land of sun and dreams.
The next thing I know I am in the backseat of this. . .cab. (Yeah. Let's call it that. Barely road-legal.) I am getting not the nickel tour but the dollar tour of all the haunts and historical wonders of the greater Los Angeles area - over there, Charlie Chaplin, over here, Buster Keaton. A tour that went into the night and the early hours of the morning before "Jerry" (short for 'Jericho') dropped me at my hotel. During the course of the adventure, which makes an E-ticket ride pedestrian in comparison owing much to his lead-foot driving technique which expressed a decided sense of abandonment, I learned that Jerry came from a family involved in Hollywood since the early days, and had been a struggling background actor "where the only thing he succeeded at was failure", and became a cabbie to 'have three squares' a day'.
Thinking about it, I know that my interest in the history of where I live was inspired by his impassioned, hyper-active monologue.
Maybe, after COVID-19 releases its grip on the world, another trip to Los Angeles, because your efforts here have inspired me.
https://iamcolorado.substack.com/