My dad died on Tuesday, April 12, 1988 at Santa Teresita Hospital in Monrovia. I remember the cool morning of that Tuesday and getting the phone call. I was sleeping on the sofa in the front room and the phone rang. I knew what it was about and my mother's tones confirmed it. From around the Southland the family made its way to Santa Teresita where my dad's body was lying in repose on a gurney. I studied his handsome face, his prominent nose, and longed for his lively blue eyes to cue some insight or joke or delight at something. We were all gripped by the loss. I looked around at each one of my brothers and sisters.
Sunday, April 10th, I was sitting on an open house with Helen Lam in Duarte right off Amberwood and the phone to that house rang. It was Dan informing me that dad was in the hospital and was lapsing into a coma. I was dating Catherine at the time, and she agreed to go to the hospital to see my dad with me. He was conscious. Mostly all he could do was utter inarticulate replies. He was dying. And two days later, he did just that.
I will never forget Marylin's comments following the wake at Zook Mortuary in Monrovia. She said in controlled shock, "Wow. His absence creates a real void" or something to that effect. I remember she used the word void. A day or two later, Dad 's funeral was held in Sierra Madre. It was overcast and had drizzled a bit that morning. A real estate buddy showed up with Mary Easley, the secretary at Realty World the Foothills in Duarte where I worked for a few years. Mary owned a beautiful Volkswagen bug. Not sure of the year--could have been '59. But she used to get offers from guys walking in off the streets. She'd yell at them "It's not for sale!" I remember one guy who was insistence. "You've got to have a price. Everything is for sale at some price!" Mary yelled back, "It's not for sale!" and beneath her breath, she'd say "Not to you. Now get out of here." Mary's middle name was Cregan. And she was a fiercely proud Scottish woman. She was born on November 7, 1919, and passed on March 29, 2007, at the age of 87. She lived with her son, Bill or Chuck, at 900 North 1st Avenue, Unit A, Arcadia, CA. She invited me over once to see her new home. Her son was an audiophile who'd purchased some state-of-the-art speakers that did produce incredible sound. Was thinking of her this morning in the context of my father who died on April 12, 1988.
Alan Paton, South African author of Cry, the Beloved Country, 1948, died on this date. FDR died on the same date 43 years earlier.
Frank Robinson replaced Cal Ripken as manager of the Baltimore Orioles.
Harvard University patents a genetically engineered mouse, a first in animal life.
I saw Richard Crenna walking on the boulevard once and go into an antique store of which there were plenty. Who else did I see here? I saw Henry Winkler. One shop owner once told me upon entering with large boxes that Jackie Onassis was just in her store. Stepping off my UPS truck in 1985, I walked right past Ali MacGraw, Steve McQueen's old flame, and Ali gave me a very nice, very sweet look. Memorable. Thank you for that. I'd walked past Mary Jo Beth Williams on La Cienega, closer to Santa Monica Blvd. Who else did I see out there in Beverly Hills? I was in an elevator ride with Victoria Principal. Of Dallas fame, she was tiny but she wore nice perfume. I delivered a package to the home of actress, Natalie Schafer, who played Mrs. Howell on Gilligan's Island. The saddest image for me was seeing Jim Backus, the great actor who played Mr. Thurston Howell, III, and who narrated that great cartoon, Mr. Magoo.
He played in the 1952 noir film, Deadline USA. Didn't realize that he played the role of General Curtis LeMay in Above and Beyond, starring Robert Taylor, another actor I liked until I saw that he starred in a movie promoting the beauty of the Soviet Union. But Backus played Curtis LeMay, the American general who really hated Asian countries and saw bombing as the only reply for those countries. I believe that Sterling Hayden's character in Dr. Strangelove was a reprise of Curtis LeMay. I remember seeing him in a film noir for the first time and thought he was excellent. But the sad image that I referred to above is when I was delivering on Cannon in Beverly Hills to a doctor's office and I saw him being wheeled in on a wheelchair. It's a crushing sight indeed when the reality is unveiled behind the characters you'd admired as a kid.
Some of the better memories I had of Hollywood were the restaurants. My sister, Sally, used to take me on several occasions to Cafe Figaro, whose dark dining room, bar, and pastry display really did make you feel like you were somewhere inside the limits of Paris.
I saw Victor French, costar in Little House on the Prairie and Highway to Heaven, eating a burger at Fat Burger at the southwest corner of La Cienega and Santa Monica Blvd. So that was kind of neat to see celebrities of every ranking.
I delivered a package to Steve Martin, the SNL actor, movie star, and famed comedian. I saw the name on the package and didn't think anything of it, so I didn't have any expectations. I rang the doorbell and the door opened with Steve Martin in a robe, not a bathrobe but more of a smoking jacket type robe. He wasn't very tall and he didn't say anything. Not a single word but nor did I. I was in a bit of shock. He just stood there with a very subtle smile on his face, and all I could think of was his role on SNL where he used to say "You can be like me too." I just wanted to crack up. I could have sworn that Bernadette Peters, his wife, was in the back hall somewhere.
I used to make daily stops at Hackett Industries, the Buddy Hackett company run by his sisters, who were really nice to me. Always they offered me something to drink. It was such a pleasure working around wealthier people. Working in Los Angeles, well, it's a different set of folks. Mainly thugs.
On a red light at Wilshire and either Doheny or Robertson, I did see Burt Lancaster (1913-1994) driving a white Jaguar. I saw him in my early years driving in Beverly Hills, so that could have been 1983 or 1984. So in 1994, that means I was already working in Los Angeles.
Sonny Bono was elected mayor of Palm Springs, California. I'll never forget my days driving on Melrose Avenue for UPS from 1983 to 1986 and I'd see Sonny Bono sitting on a single chair at the corner of Melrose Avenue and Clinton Avenue out front of his restaurant, Sonny, obviously named after him. The whole neighborhood was perfect for celebrity watching.
His honesty about his career is refreshing. But when you think about it, is there any other way that he, a star and whose life has been on parade his whole life, could be?
Sonny’s experience in the restaurant business? Zilch. But he’s known around Hollywood as an excellent cook and a warm, generous host. Besides, he’s got a track record of turning blissful ignorance into big money. “I never knew how to read music, write a song or produce a record either,” shrugs the composer of I Got You Babe and other late-’60s hits. “This is a total wing job.”
The cost of this little “wing job” is estimated between $500,000 and $1 million, a sizable investment for Sonny, whose career never fully recovered from his 1975 breakup with Cher. To win acceptance in his own right, he studied acting, did dinner theater, TV movies and multiple Love Boats and Fantasy Islands. Still, he admits, “The transition has been a bitch.” Susie sees the restaurant as a vital step on the road to self-realization. “For the first time in a long time he’s doing something totally on his own,” she says, “and I’m sure that’s got to be a good feeling.” “Great feeling,” corrects Sonny, grinning.I don't know. I like his honesty.
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