HOLLYWOOD 

By Duncan

There was a time when I wanted to be a part of “Hollywood.” 

AMERICAN ACADEMY OF DRAMATIC ARTS - NEW YORK CITY

After high school, I studied to be an actor in New York City. Well-meaning family members decided that my future was show business. My next stop is the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. 

In my life, doors open and doors close. After graduation, I began my quest for my place on the Broadway stage. Audition after audition is the name of the game. I  stand on a stage looking out into a dark Broadway theater. The voice in the dark repeatedly says,  

“Thank you.” 

Which means I’m not good enough, experienced enough, old enough, tall enough, or enough. Then again, no one knows what the play is about when we stand before the people putting on the show. Or the type of person they are looking for. The audition is always a crap shoot. What a way to make a living.  

At one audition, I was asked to come to the front of the stage. A face came out of the dark theater, and I went down on one knee to get closer to the man. This has never happened to me. I was full of expectation.    

“We would love to put you in our show, but your draft classification will likely pull you away from us, and it will be too expensive to replace you. Can I make a suggestion? Get your military out of the way and come back.” 

These are my first encouraging words in professional show business. I could be on the Broadway stage. The Vietnam War was in full swing. How often will I hear the word “BUT” in my life?  

I remember walking out of the audition thinking, I can do this. Then again, I can’t. I was stuck. I didn’t realize the auditions asked if I had my military out of the way. Some asked, and others were not interested in me, so it didn’t matter. The Academy didn’t warn me about Robert Burns 1785. What did he write? 

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”   

Doors open and close in my life. I just had a big door slam shut in my face. Plan B. I didn’t have a plan B. I checked out of my room, boarded a Grayhound bus, and returned to Indianapolis. I was leaving what I thought would be my life, fully intending to return and conquer. 

My 19-hour bus ride back to Indianapolis gave me time to run all the possibilities to make New York happen. 

Once home and away from the hustle and bustle of New York, I found Indianapolis boring. I wanted to get back on the bus and return. But, the reality of life was the war. I had to be a part of it whether I wanted to be or not. I had to get this obligation over with. How to stay alive. I had four choices. The Army, Navy, Marine Corps, or the Air Force. I was betting my life on this decision. 

While in the Air Force, I began writing to a woman. And once I was discharged from the Air Force, I was ready to head back to New York. 

“New York, Broadway? How long do you think I’m going to wait?” 

I had given six years of my life to what I wanted to be. And now, I’m facing another “door.” The path to my dreams is going “Awry” again. Another person is telling me what I can and can not do with my life. 

Hollywood … as the title suggests, is supposed to be about my road trip to Hollywood, Florida. 

I have been invited to share some time with a motorcycle Pal, Steven Garrity, while he vacations in Hollywood, Florida. 

If you have been following along, I have several requests from friends to stop by if I’m in the neighborhood. I’ve stopped at New London, North Carolina, and Jacksonville, Florida. I now head to Hollywood, North Fort Myers, Cape Coral, Sebring, and Tampa Florida. 

As I head down the east coast of Florida, I find myself on I-95. If you have not driven I-95, I will simply say it’s a “race track.” You must tighten your seatbelt and hang on to the wheel with both hands. Hollywood is a few miles north of Miami. 

Mr. Garrity and I have known each other for a long time. How did our friendship start? 

I was the manager of a mortgage loan operation in Greenwood, Indiana. One of the gals in the office came to my door and said, “There’s a guy here who wants to see you?” 

“Who is he? Is he a salesman?” 

“I don’t know his name, but he looks like a salesman.” 

“Okay, give a few minutes and send him back.” 

Mr. Garrity came into my office like a bull in a China shop. He was confident, bold, and big. He was selling beepers. The little electronic device was worn on the belt. 

It would send a phone number to alert me that I needed to call the number on the display. Mr. Garrity was excellent at his sales presentation. And he asked for the order. I was impressed. 

“How long have you been working for this company,” I asked. 

He was a little taken aback when I asked how much money he made. He seemed to lose his confidence. He stumbled and he-hawed and didn’t want to give me an answer, which I respected. It was none of my business. Bordering on rude. I then asked him, 

“Do you want to continue selling beepers, or do you want to make some real money?”

Needless to say. He said, “Tell me more.” 

DUNCAN - STEVEN GARRITY - 1986 

He became my top salesperson, and we enjoyed a stable working relationship for years. Doors closed again, and the mortgage market went down the tubes. My company made huge mistakes in selling loans on the open market, and my employer went bankrupt. (Remember 16% mortgages?) When you have nineteen million dollars of 7% mortgages in a 16% market, you will take a loss when you sell them. 

We all scattered like cockroaches under the woodwork and ended up in different environments. Garrity and I continued to keep in touch, and over the years, we still enjoy lunch and a drink from time to time. Remembering the good. Who wants to talk about the bad times? 

Steve loves the Hollywood, Florida area and invited me for a night or two if I was close. After my stop in Jacksonville, I headed down I-95 to Hollywood to check out what Mr. Garrity calls gracious living. 

He was renting a resort-style room for a week. It was obvious Steve loves the action on the beach. The pictures he sent me of near-naked women were like the mouths flying around the candle flame. He knew I couldn’t resist the eye candy walking and lying on the beach. I thought, why not stop by and check it out?

I realized I had a five-hour drive ahead of me. I would be arriving about seven or eight at night. I don’t like driving at night, as some of you know. 

Anyway, after several attempts to find this plush location in Hollywood, Mr. Garrity Finally noticed my “Mean Yellow” on Highway 1-A and waved me to a parking spot. I grabbed my overnight bag and entered the resort and the room. 

It was obvious to me that this was a one-bedroom unit. And with bedsheets on the three-seat couch in the living area, I assumed that meant I would be bedding down on a hide-a-bed. Wow, I hadn’t counted on a hide-a-bed.  

STEVEN GARRITY: 

It was time to grab a bite to eat. We walked a block or two behind the resort and found Florio’s, a Pizza Joint. It was about 8:30, and they closed at 9:00.  They had a few pieces of pizza left under a hot lamp, which would be our supper. 

The pizza was acceptable. Thin crust under a heat lamp for an hour or longer? Yes, acceptable.  When you're hungry, almost anything is “acceptable.” Obviously, we were not in an area of Hollywood with many restaurants. 

STEVEN GARRITY 

After we had pizza, we returned to the room and sat around the kitchen table. There was a chill in the air, and being outside in the wind was uncomfortable. 

This is different from the Florida weather that I remember. I pulled a bottle of The Famous Grouse Scotch out of my bag. The glassware was limited, and I had to pour my golden liquid into a coffee cup. We began to talk. Mr. Garrity lives in Martinsville, about 40 minutes south of Indianapolis. We discussed homes, money, women, politics, and who knows what else we discussed. If I told you everything we discussed, I would embarrass Steve and me.  

There is a song on Pandora that sums up the condition of Steven Garrity. The music, Wives and Lovers, goes something like this: 

Hey, little girl,

Comb your hair, fix your make-up.

Soon he will open the door.

Don't think because

There's a ring on your finger,

You needn't try anymore

Day after day,

There are girls at the office,

And men will always be men.

Don't send him off

With your hair still in curlers.

You may not see him again. 

For wives should always be lovers, too.

Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.

I'm warning you …

The song was written in 1963 by Hal David when there was a different culture than we have today. 

It’s always interesting to talk about women over a cup of Scotch. I prefer a Waterford Crystal Tumbler with crushed ice merging into my taste experience. However, I have had stale pizza and a coffee cup of Scotch in Hollywood. Do I sound elitist? I need to accept my good fortune. And stop complaining, don’t I? 

It was time to hit the hay and get a good night’s sleep. We pulled the couch pillows off the couch and began pulling the bed up and out of its frame. The mattress in the hide-a-bed was not very thick. I made the bed as best I could. The lights went out, and I undressed and lay back on the mattress. All of a sudden, I felt a metal bar under my back. I moved left and moved right. 

This was going to be impossible to sleep on tonight. I turned sideways on the bed and drew my feet and legs close to my body. I must have fallen asleep because Steve took a picture of me sleeping on the couch.

It was a very uncomfortable night on the hide-a-bed. I woke the next morning and knew I could not endure another night's sleep on this contraption. There comes a point when you have to accept reality. This arrangement will be a one-night stand for me.  

How does one tell your friend that one night is enough? It’s painful to think about spilling the beans. I took a shower in the bathroom and noticed little to no counter space in the bath. The best thing to do is tell Steve I will leave about noon. He, of course, went to management and asked about other rooms that might be available.  

I wish he hadn't approached management or maintenance. I knew I needed to leave and continue my road trip. I want to keep Steve as a Close and Personal friend. I had hit the emotional wall. I knew it was useless to try and continue. If I stay, it will be a challenge. I need to move along. 

 At about noon, I packed my bag, walked across Highway 1-A, and started my vehicle. Steve was standing alone on the sidewalk. I grabbed my cell phone and took a picture. I hated that is moment was not going to work. But, as I have said in this post, “Doors open and doors close.”