Anyone want to guess?
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tales From the Duke’s Daughter
I recently completed reading the book My Father, John Wayne, by Aissa Wayne, the fifth of Wayne’s seven children, his first by his third wife, Pilar. John Wayne’s film career spanned five decades, and was greatly popular, as evidenced by the number of times he was one of Hollywood’s top moneymakers. (Wayne is the indisputable champion of that list, while Clint Eastwood is a very distant second.) Aissa, incidentally, is just six months younger than I am and eventually became a lawyer. I found it an interesting read. She neither sugarcoats nor trashes her father’s memory. I was impressed with the portrait she drew of the man, who had his share of flaws, but certainly loved his children very much. I was also absolutely flabbergasted when Aissa relates who her father told her was the best actor/director with whom he had ever worked.
Anyone want to guess?
Anyone want to guess?
Quiz
In November of 1910, a young boy in Columbus, Ohio, about a week shy of his fourth birthday, saw an airplane criss-crossing the sky for the very first time. The sight of that Wright Brothers model biplane fascinated him, and he ran after it, trying to catch up. He ran so far that he had a terrible time finding his way home. Anyone want to guess who that boy was?
2012 Prediction: Jon Huntsman
A few weeks ago, I told my collaborator that there was no chance of the Republican 2012 Presidential Ticket consisting of Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin, and he looked at me with the expression of a four-year-old who has just been informed about the truth about Santa Claus.
I’m making a prediction for 2012. This guy might not be who the Republicans pick, but he ought to be. How many people have heard of John Hunstman. Show of hands? Last year, Governor Huntsman resigned his post in Utah to win President Obama’s nod as ambassador to the People’s Republic of China. Governor Huntsman had previously served as our ambassador to Singapore, a post for which he was quite qualified, partially because he speaks fluent Mandarin as the result of a two-year stint on Taiwan as a Mormon missionary.
Governor Huntsman’s father is one of the fifty richest men in the United States, having made part of his fortune with a cancer research facility. His son has held a number of posts in the family corporation and served as Deputy Secretary of Commerce during the Reagan Administration. So take a look at his qualifications: success in business-check. Cabinet experience—check. Foreign policy experience- check. Held elective office with administrative duties—check. Military experience—no. (Nobody’s perfect.)
An interesting note about his family: Governor Huntsman has one wife, and they have seven children, two of whom were adopted. (One from India and one from China.)
I’m making a prediction for 2012. This guy might not be who the Republicans pick, but he ought to be. How many people have heard of John Hunstman. Show of hands? Last year, Governor Huntsman resigned his post in Utah to win President Obama’s nod as ambassador to the People’s Republic of China. Governor Huntsman had previously served as our ambassador to Singapore, a post for which he was quite qualified, partially because he speaks fluent Mandarin as the result of a two-year stint on Taiwan as a Mormon missionary.
Governor Huntsman’s father is one of the fifty richest men in the United States, having made part of his fortune with a cancer research facility. His son has held a number of posts in the family corporation and served as Deputy Secretary of Commerce during the Reagan Administration. So take a look at his qualifications: success in business-check. Cabinet experience—check. Foreign policy experience- check. Held elective office with administrative duties—check. Military experience—no. (Nobody’s perfect.)
An interesting note about his family: Governor Huntsman has one wife, and they have seven children, two of whom were adopted. (One from India and one from China.)
Dutch, Lucky, Dixie and Dewey
In the early 1930s, a young Jewish man named Arthur Fliegenheimer, who, by dint of business acumen and an extraordinary penchant for violence, became the most powerful bootlegger and numbers-runner in the Bronx. He adopted the name “Dutch Schulz,” a decision he later regretted, since he said that if he kept “Fliegenheimer,” the papers would never have put it in their headlines. (Nor would it have fit.) His activities attracted the attention of New York’s new Special Prosecutor, Thomas Dewey. Schulz managed to beat one charge of income tax evasion, but he knew full well that Dewey would soon have a grand jury return another set of indictments. Schulz called a meeting of the heads of New York’s crime families, including the famous Charles “Lucky” Luciano. Schulz informed his colleagues that he was going to do the unthinkable: get rid of Dewey. Luciano and the others told Schulz that they could not agree to such an action because the resultant public outrage would bring heat upon all of them.
Schulz’s temper got the best of him. He stormed out of the meeting shouting that he would kill Dewey and they would thank him for it. After Schulz’s departure, the other bosses agreed that they would have to have Schulz eliminated. Shortly thereafter, October 24, 1935, Schulz was meeting with his accountant and two bodyguards in the Palace Chophouse in New Jersey, when a group of gunmen entered and killed all four of them. This particular mob hit has been depicted on film perhaps a dozen times.
Ironically, Schulz received his wounds while answering nature’s call and, as one writer put it, “had something other than a gun” in his hand at the time. Every Hollywood depiction has Schulz dying at the scene (for those of you who viewed the clip, could Tim Roth be any more of an overactor?). Schulz was still conscious when the ambulance showed up. He gave his stretcher-bearers $700 in cash, figuring that would get him the best possible care.
Schulz lapsed into semi-consciousness, and for almost twenty-four hours, babbled semi-coherently before he died. An autopsy later showed that Schulz’s killers were covering all of their bets. They had used rusty bullets, and Schulz died of peritonitis.
The postscript to this is another irony: it’s altogether possible that Luciano’s ordering of Schulz’s murder saved Dewey’s life. Within a year, Dewey supervised a prosecution of Luciano that sent him to prison for ten years. He was then deported, forced to spend the rest of his life in Italy.
Schulz’s temper got the best of him. He stormed out of the meeting shouting that he would kill Dewey and they would thank him for it. After Schulz’s departure, the other bosses agreed that they would have to have Schulz eliminated. Shortly thereafter, October 24, 1935, Schulz was meeting with his accountant and two bodyguards in the Palace Chophouse in New Jersey, when a group of gunmen entered and killed all four of them. This particular mob hit has been depicted on film perhaps a dozen times.
Ironically, Schulz received his wounds while answering nature’s call and, as one writer put it, “had something other than a gun” in his hand at the time. Every Hollywood depiction has Schulz dying at the scene (for those of you who viewed the clip, could Tim Roth be any more of an overactor?). Schulz was still conscious when the ambulance showed up. He gave his stretcher-bearers $700 in cash, figuring that would get him the best possible care.
Schulz lapsed into semi-consciousness, and for almost twenty-four hours, babbled semi-coherently before he died. An autopsy later showed that Schulz’s killers were covering all of their bets. They had used rusty bullets, and Schulz died of peritonitis.
The postscript to this is another irony: it’s altogether possible that Luciano’s ordering of Schulz’s murder saved Dewey’s life. Within a year, Dewey supervised a prosecution of Luciano that sent him to prison for ten years. He was then deported, forced to spend the rest of his life in Italy.
Verne Troyer’s Basketball Team
I recently thought of a Seinfeld plot that was never written. In my story, Jerry and Kramer would be in the gym, where they would encounter Verne Troyer, better known as Mini Me. Troyer announces that he has gotten together a basketball team called “Five Bald Guys.” After much trash-talking, he challenges Jerry, Kramer, George, Elaine and Newman to a game of basketball with a proviso that Troyer was the only player on his team who gets to shoot the ball. Of course, they make a large bet on the outcome.
After the bet is made, we see Jerry and his friends cursing the outcome (some basketball fans may be able to see it coming). The “Five Bald Guys,” of course, are Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, Kevin Garnett and Shaquille O’Neal. It would be great to hear Jordan, et. al. congratulate Verne on finding five more pigeons for the scam. For Shaq and Garnett, it would be an easy manner to hold Troyer high enough in the air to make every shot he took. I can just hear Verne Troyer taunting Jerry that it must hurt to know that he was dunked on 45 times.
After the bet is made, we see Jerry and his friends cursing the outcome (some basketball fans may be able to see it coming). The “Five Bald Guys,” of course, are Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, Kevin Garnett and Shaquille O’Neal. It would be great to hear Jordan, et. al. congratulate Verne on finding five more pigeons for the scam. For Shaq and Garnett, it would be an easy manner to hold Troyer high enough in the air to make every shot he took. I can just hear Verne Troyer taunting Jerry that it must hurt to know that he was dunked on 45 times.
Desmond Llewellyn
Desmond Llewellyn is best known for his portrayal of “Q” in the James Bond films. I was saddened when I learned in a car accident in 1999. He appeared in more James Bond films than any other actor and was working with his fifth Bond (Brosnan), having worked with Connery, Lazenby, Moore and Dalton.
The thing I always loved about the character of Q was that he was the only character in the series who is not in awe of James Bond. All the women had the hots for him; all of his superiors implored him to save the world, and Q was always saying, “Now listen closely, 007,” and “Don’t touch that!”
While doing a bit of web surfing, I came across a fascinating irony: at the outbreak of World War II, Desmond Llewellyn was a lieutenant in the British Royal Army who was captured in May of 1940. He spent five years in a German POW camp. Here’s the irony: Desmond Llewellyn served on the camp’s Escape Committee and was responsible for getting gadgets sent into the camp through Red Cross parcels.
John Cleese has taken over Llewellyn’s role in Bond’s life, playing “R.” I think it’s a shame he was never knighted.
p.s. Sometimes the gag writer in me thinks up scenarios that I’ll never get to produce. I think it would be hilarious if you got together a group of women who played Bond girls from Ursula Andress to Jill St. John to Denise Richards and have a vote by secret ballot as to who was the sexiest man in the Bond movies. The punchline, of course, is that there would be an upset winner: Desmond Llewellyn. I can imagine that Desmond Llewellyn was very popular with the ladies. After all, he had amazing equipment and he knew how to use it. ;)
The thing I always loved about the character of Q was that he was the only character in the series who is not in awe of James Bond. All the women had the hots for him; all of his superiors implored him to save the world, and Q was always saying, “Now listen closely, 007,” and “Don’t touch that!”
While doing a bit of web surfing, I came across a fascinating irony: at the outbreak of World War II, Desmond Llewellyn was a lieutenant in the British Royal Army who was captured in May of 1940. He spent five years in a German POW camp. Here’s the irony: Desmond Llewellyn served on the camp’s Escape Committee and was responsible for getting gadgets sent into the camp through Red Cross parcels.
John Cleese has taken over Llewellyn’s role in Bond’s life, playing “R.” I think it’s a shame he was never knighted.
p.s. Sometimes the gag writer in me thinks up scenarios that I’ll never get to produce. I think it would be hilarious if you got together a group of women who played Bond girls from Ursula Andress to Jill St. John to Denise Richards and have a vote by secret ballot as to who was the sexiest man in the Bond movies. The punchline, of course, is that there would be an upset winner: Desmond Llewellyn. I can imagine that Desmond Llewellyn was very popular with the ladies. After all, he had amazing equipment and he knew how to use it. ;)
Duty Driver
When I was stationed at Fort Mead, the watch bill rotation dictated that about twice a year, I would be assigned to be duty driver for the Navy detachment. Ordinarily, that was about as exciting as watching paint dry. I would drive a more senior NCO around to a checklist of locations. For example, to check the small Navy storage building at Fort Mead to make sure no one had made off with any supplies. It was about as challenging as having a morning paper route.
One evening in the winter of 1983/1984, I got a very big surprise. A horrible incident had happened on base: a young soldier’s wife had left him, and he did not take the news well. (Note to my readers: I didn’t witness this, but I heard about it.) He attacked her with a knife and stabbed her repeatedly. I understand that he gouged out one of her eyes. When the Military Police arrived, he pulled a gun and shot himself in the head That evening, I was assigned to go out to the airport and pick up that young soldier’s mother, a middle-aged black woman, and her minister. About all I said to her was my introduction, and a very quiet apology for what had happened. Aside from that, I made a very determined effort to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the evening.
The duty chief petty officer that night was Steve Hope, who was the bane of my existence for the two years I was at Fort Mead. About the only time I spoke up was to explain that our two visitors were not husband and wife, but parishioner and minister. It simply would not do, I explained, to put the two of them in the same room at the Fort Mead Guest Facility. I remember driving that woman to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C. to visit her daughter-in-law. I escorted her up to the young woman’s room and remained in the background. I remember her saying over and over, “I don’t believe he did it.” Again, I kept my mouth shut. I certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.
When she went in to see her daughter-in-law, I was standing in the hallway, about thirty feet away from the young woman’s hospital bed. I did catch a very quick glimpse of her face. The entire right side was covered in bandages and gauze. I can only hope that the plastic surgeons on Walter Reed’s staff were up for a big job.
After their visit, I drove the mother (I’m sorry; I don’t remember her name after twenty-five years) back to the guest house. I guess it’s some consolation that, while I have had my share of disappointments over the years, I’ve never come anywhere close to losing it like that. I have no idea what could motivate a man to commit such a heinous act.
One evening in the winter of 1983/1984, I got a very big surprise. A horrible incident had happened on base: a young soldier’s wife had left him, and he did not take the news well. (Note to my readers: I didn’t witness this, but I heard about it.) He attacked her with a knife and stabbed her repeatedly. I understand that he gouged out one of her eyes. When the Military Police arrived, he pulled a gun and shot himself in the head That evening, I was assigned to go out to the airport and pick up that young soldier’s mother, a middle-aged black woman, and her minister. About all I said to her was my introduction, and a very quiet apology for what had happened. Aside from that, I made a very determined effort to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the evening.
The duty chief petty officer that night was Steve Hope, who was the bane of my existence for the two years I was at Fort Mead. About the only time I spoke up was to explain that our two visitors were not husband and wife, but parishioner and minister. It simply would not do, I explained, to put the two of them in the same room at the Fort Mead Guest Facility. I remember driving that woman to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C. to visit her daughter-in-law. I escorted her up to the young woman’s room and remained in the background. I remember her saying over and over, “I don’t believe he did it.” Again, I kept my mouth shut. I certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.
When she went in to see her daughter-in-law, I was standing in the hallway, about thirty feet away from the young woman’s hospital bed. I did catch a very quick glimpse of her face. The entire right side was covered in bandages and gauze. I can only hope that the plastic surgeons on Walter Reed’s staff were up for a big job.
After their visit, I drove the mother (I’m sorry; I don’t remember her name after twenty-five years) back to the guest house. I guess it’s some consolation that, while I have had my share of disappointments over the years, I’ve never come anywhere close to losing it like that. I have no idea what could motivate a man to commit such a heinous act.
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