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.”

GRAY BROTHERS - MOORESVILLE

 GRAY BROTHERS - MOORESVILLE

By Duncan 

The Holiday Season is in full swing here in Central Indiana. I assume it’s the Holiday Season where you are too. It’s interesting when I start a new post, trying to place myself in the shoes of those who read this thing. Yes, folks in Indiana, Florida, Texas, Arizona, California, New York, Michigan, Wisconsin, and who knows where, tell me they read. ? I’m told by Google that a few read this blog from overseas. (Very few by the way) I try to keep everybody in mind. 

The title of this post, and of course, the Cafeteria in this story, is “Gray Brothers Cafeteria.” Known far and wide in Indiana. It’s a Cafeteria located in Mooresville, Indiana. It’s in its fourth generation of Gray Brothers operating the Cafeteria. It’s located 28 miles southwest of Indianapolis and is loved by one and almost ALL. I’ll explain. 

Two friends, Tony Viscovi and Steven Garrity, were meeting at Gray Brothers Cafeteria Sunday afternoon. I was invited to join them if I was in town. I was free. For me, the trip to Grays Brothers is 42 miles, or 1 hour and 6 minutes. It was misty, overcast, getting dark, and looked like it might rain.  

I decided to sit in my big leather easy chair and watch the Indianapolis Colts obliterate and destroy the Cincinnati Bengals on CBS. Yeah, Baby! As the one-o-clock game progressed, I could see we would be beaten and beaten badly. I had to put my tail between my legs and noticed my bag of chips was not nearly as tasty as they were when the game started. Cincinnati was “having their way with us.” (34-14) 

At the start of the fourth quarter of the game, I started thinking about Grays. I hadn’t been to Grays in a while. What the “Hey” I got up and said to myself, "To hell with the game.” Why sit here and watch us lose? I grabbed my overcoat, hopped in the ‘Mean Yellow’ and headed for Mooresville. After all, it's Gray Brothers Cafeteria, a destination restaurant. I hadn’t seen Mr. Viscovi in a while and needed to catch up on what was happening in his life. 

Gray Brothers - when business was very good, this was normal for many years. 

The operation (Gray’s) was started in 1942 by Forrest Gray in downtown Mooresville as a sandwich shop. When Forrest passed, his sons Kenny and Larry took over the business and expanded the physical building downtown with two other buildings connected to the original shop. 

Then, the State of Indiana decided to build a highway that bypassed downtown Mooresville. In the mid-1960s, the highway plan would have a detrimental impact on their business. They would no longer get the automobile traffic expected from people driving through Mooresville. They had to make a major decision. They decided to abandon downtown Mooresville, find land, and build a building by the new interstate called Highway 67.  

The story that keeps coming up is that the Gray brothers took out a pretty hefty loan from the banks and were obsessed with paying off the loan as quickly as possible. I don’t know the loan terms in the mid-60s, but the sons worked seven days a week for seven years and paid off the loan. Interestingly, Forrest's sons Larry and Kenny wanted to be debt-free as quickly as possible. Where did they learn that from?

Gray Brothers is now (2023) considered Jason, Andy, Zachary, and Logan. No one knows how much revenue the restaurant makes a year, but some numbers are tossed around, and it’s estimated to be a couple of million or more a year. But who really knows for sure. 

Cafeteria-style dining is appealing to a certain demographic. If I were to say anything derogatory about Grays, I would be disparaging the American flag, motherhood, and apple pie.

 

So, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do here. I will salute the American Flag and embrace motherhood and apple pie. I will walk into Gray Brothers Cafeteria and force myself to get in line, push that blue plastic tray down the long cafeteria line, and find a table close to one of the beautiful fireplaces. 

When I arrived, I was a little early and surprised to find no line of people waiting. Good night, what is this all about?  

  

This is very unusual as Gray’s has always been known to have a line of people out the door. So in a way, I was pleased to be able to run the line without people behind me pushing their trays against my fingers. 

Yes, that is one of the reasons I'm not enamored with Cafeteria dining. I'm not the only one who feels Grays is becoming somewhat passé and overpriced. But, you can’t argue with success they still do a heck of a business. 

Jason Gray said, “Four days before Thanksgiving, the Cafeteria sells upwards of 8,500 fresh-baked pies, the busiest day for pies every year being the day before Thanksgiving, Gray said, when people come to pick up a pie—or several—for their own holiday gatherings they show up as soon as the restaurant opens at 6 AM.”

Jason Gray has also been known to say.“Food costs have quadrupled in the last four years,” 

”Anybody who goes to the grocery store knows how much food prices have gone up. It doesn’t take someone running a business to know that. It hurts when you have to raise prices. People will ask, ‘Why are you raising prices?’ and my answer is, ‘Have you been to the grocery store lately?’”

Then again, Gray’s attracts a more mature crowd, and I get it, people have grown up with Gray Brothers Cafeteria all their life. And it’s important to them to go back once in a while. 

People love this place, and I would be called a charlatan if I didn't embrace the concept of Gray Brothers Cafeteria totally, 100%. I understand I do, but once a year is good enough for me.  

And I’m sure some people just love the “home cooking” style of food. Yes, I’m set in my ways, and I try to embrace the Cafeteria style of restaurant, but it reminds me of being in the military, where I had to stand in line everywhere I went. 

I chose fried chicken, which Grays is known for as being the best of the best at freid chicken. However, is Gray's the best of the best? That's a stretch for me. But, the gal behind the line said it would be about 5 to 7 minutes before fried chicken would be available. I decided on the Tilapia and broccoli with cheese. 

I asked for your forgiveness, I forgot to take a picture of the food before I began to eat. I almost decided to not show my plate. I had someone comment about a story I wrote, there was no picture of the pizza. “Where is the picture of the breadsticks and pizza?” So, I decided to show you what I ordered, even if I did have a bite or two. 

The atmosphere is really beautiful at Gray Brothers. They have five fireplaces and can seat about 500 people inside the restaurant. And, of course, the gals come around and ask if we need anything. So, like I said, I was early and found a table close to a fireplace.  

Families gathered around Grandmother by the fireplace to get a good picture of them enjoying a night out on the town. Yes, they came close to my table and I decided to take a picture of Grandmother myself. 

Then, of course, there is sharing the photograph with the people who want a copy of the event. Have you ever wondered what people's lives are like when you watch them publicly? I always ask myself, this woman standing there, or this man, what about him? What does he or she do for a living? I had to chuckle at the guy standing with his hands in his hoodie. He has a very contented smile on his face. Tis the season to be jolly. 

When I joined the Air Force, they gave me a test. The test was designed to tell them (The Air Force) what I would be good at in the Armed Forces. After the test, the recruiter said I tested strong as a mechanic. I looked at the guy and said, “Is that a job where I get oil and dirt under my fingernails?” 

I was not picked to be a mechanic. Where did they put me? I was assigned to be an Air Policeman. I didn’t want to be known as a cop, so I upgraded my job classification occasionally, depending on who I was talking with, and called myself an Aerospace Security Specialist. However, if you notice, the acronym for Aerospace Security Specialist is (ASS). 

While writing this story, I received a phone call from a Pike High School Classmate. He was outside of Trader Joe's Market and said, 

“Holy Cow, a woman just drove up in what looks like a Cadillac Van. It’s huge. Is there such a thing as a Cadillac Van? I’ve never seen anything this big before. And it’s being driven by a young-looking woman; she could hardly get the van in the parking space. Have you (meaning me) ever heard of a Cadillac Van? I'm sure it's a van.”

   

Of course, I was sitting in front of my computer and asked Google, “Show me a picture of a new Cadillac Van.” And there it was, a 2024 Escalade ESV. I assume this was the vehicle he looked at in front of Trader Joe’s. His next comment was, what kind of money does a person make who can afford a $150,000 vehicle. I thought, (Is this van being driven by a daughter or a trophy wife?) 

My classmate told me he once took a test that would tell the tester what occupation he should pursue. There were several people in the room. As part of the exercise, the people in the room were to guess what they thought everyone else did for a living. My classmate (on the phone) wanted me to guess what the test revealed about him. I ventured a guess and said, “Something analytical?” 

He laughed, saying, “They said, after I took the test, I should be a mortician or undertaker. Prepare the deceased’s remains for a funeral.” He wasn’t sure he was good at makeup, clothing, and styling dead people's hair. I tried to comfort him with, “Well, there are the legal forms and paperwork that go with dead people. Did they talk about that? That’s somewhat analytical.” 

Tony Viscovi - Steven Garrity - Gray’s Cafeteria. 

I’m not sure of the exact title of Tony’s job. I would call him an insurance agent. Perhaps his business card has a more sophisticated title. But I have known Tony as a motorcycle riding buddy and as my personal insurance agent. 

Tony also carries Garrity’s home and auto insurance needs. Tony is an extremely personal kind of guy/agent. Tony was my agent until I went to Florida, and Tony said that he didn’t have a license to do business in Florida. 

Tony is getting ready to retire at the end of the year. He lost his father a little while back. Tony gave up his motorcycles and now wants to do a little traveling. He’s thinking about a Jeep and driving some Colorado mountain trails. He is unsure if he wants to invest in a tag-along fifth-wheel camper behind the Jeep. 

I asked him about his Saab automobile. He is meticulous about the care and feeding of his vehicles. He said he didn’t own the car; someone wanted to buy it, and he finally sold it. The Saab had 300,000 miles on the odometer. Now that’s a guy who takes care of his cars. It always looked brand new. 

Mr. Garrity is retired, lives in a beautiful log cabin, and owns three Cadillac Alante convertibles. He has been writing columns for the Cadillac Alante Club magazine and has 25 cover stories to his name. The man is a writing machine. 

Needless to say, Mr. Garrity writes about his trips in one of his Cadillac Allante Convertibles.

Many of you may know Mr. Garrity and I worked together in the mortgage lending game. Mr. Garrity is a road warrior. He has been everywhere in the United States in one of his convertibles.  

We talked about women, working, travel, politics, etc. We stayed late and were the last customers left in the room. The waitresses didn’t know what to do with themselves, so they interfaced with us. We teased them a little but soon realized we needed to tone it down in today's society. Okay, I needed to tone it down. Don’t want to be accused of sexual harassment. 

Photo Credit: Bubbles.  DUNCAN - GARRITY - VISCOVI 

“BUBBLES” - STEVEN GARRITY - Judgment day is coming … 

When I asked Bubbles who she wanted to be photographed with, she made no bones about who it should be. And so a new story begins. Maybe.