An early “live” broadcast from the Balboa Beach Company in the Town Center
Soon our boss added a live morning person to the automated FM station. Within weeks he got another job and left. The boss made Terry the morning DJ, which he hated… never liked getting up early. At one point soon after, I had only one working car and left that at home with one of my earlier wives and our kids. I took the bus into Palm Springs and arrived at 7:00am. I wasn’t on the clock until 9:00 so I’d get a cup of coffee and sit in the production studio, which doubled as the on-air studio from 6:00 to 10:00 each morning. After Bob would go to commercials or back to music, I’d comment on something he’d said and he’d laugh. One day he said, “I’m going to turn on that microphone (next to me on the table) and you just chime in whenever you want. That’s how the Bob & Bill Show began.
I suppose we did okay. At one point the ratings book told us that four out of every ten people listening to the radio in morning were listening to us. We did have a few glitches as we were getting off the ground. I wrote about one of our craziest events in a chapter called What Color is the Old Gray Mare? in my book Ketchup on the Badge. We eventually found our voice and there was a time when it felt like a weekend didn’t pass without us doing a live remote broadcast from some grand opening somewhere in the desert.
8th Anniversary of Zelda’s nightlcub
From the time I started working there, he and I could make each other laugh. And that’s what we did each morning. Once we played a sound effect of a helicopter, we adjusted our microphones to sound “tinny,” and we said we were flying over the desert. Another time we added a lot of reverb and dripping water sound effects and told our listeners that the boss had said our show was going in the toilet so we were broadcasting from the sewer under Indian Avenue. But 99% of the time we didn’t plan anything. We went into the studio each morning and tried to make each other laugh. And listeners laughed along with us.
Terry, Me, Robert Soto and Phil Wells.
The last time I saw Terry…
I saw Terry before the Covid shut us down. We had a very fun lunch with two other radio friends. As the four of us were saying goodbye, Terry and I met eyes. There was a very long five seconds that passed between us; both saying with that glance the things we both felt—the friendship we still felt for each other over the decades—yet were never able to vocalize. Each of us then nodded to the other and we went our ways.
A photo of a painting Terry did of/for me about ten years ago.
So many memories are flooding my mind right now. Like all partnerships, ours had its difficult days. But that morning show was some of the most fun I’ve had in my life. When the famous Mark and Brian radio team broke up a few years ago, I felt bad for days. It wasn’t so much that I listened to their show. I’d only discovered them about a year before they split. But it brought back all of the sadness I felt when Terry no longer wanted to do the show.
It was nothing compared to the sadness I feel right now.
The world came to know Terry Masters as an incredible artist. I knew him as a very talented radio personality and friend. Thanks for the great times and wonderful memories, Terry. You will always be my friend.
A piece of cake.
Easy as pie.
It’s raining cats and dogs.
Tell someone with little knowledge of English to stop beating around the bush and they might glance down to find the bush to which you’re referring.
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In addition to those who are new to our language, this also applies to our children. Do you recall how old you were when you heard someone say quit pulling my leg? Were you young enough to have been confused? Did you wonder how someone could wrap their head around something without a tremendous amount of pain? Or, when someone walked into the room and another said, “Speak of the devil,” were you suddenly frightened that the devil had disguised himself as a family friend? Or maybe this person had, unbeknownst to you, always secretly been the devil? As for me, the first time I heard someone say that in my presence, I moistened myself, ran screaming from the room and hid under the tank behind the toilet with the trashcan on my head. But I’ll save that story for another time.
Suppose you heard your mom and her sister talking and your aunt said, “…before he even started, I cut him off at the knees…” Talk about a frightening mental picture as to the heretofore unknown violent nature of your sweet aunty!
Sometimes there are words alone that are confusing to a child. One I was always curious about was Twi-Night Doubleheader. Though they aren’t regularly scheduled in major league baseball any more, when I was a kid, they were fairly common. However, let’s say you’re five-years-old and you hear someone talking about a twi-night doubleheader. What kind of incredible, two-headed dragon or monster must that be?
Song lyrics constantly challenge people. Comedian Gary Mule Deer sings, You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille. With 400 children and cops in the field. People constantly mishear lyrics. I always thought Harry Nilsson said, “…skipping over the ocean like a storm…” instead of “like a stone.”
One of my favorite memories always comes happily to mind during the holiday season. When my son and daughter were very young, we were singing Christmas songs while cruising the freeways in my pickup truck. During a lull, my five-year-old-ish daughter turned to me and asked, “What’s skimoze?” I recall that I wrinkled my brow. I’d never heard that word before and I cast a questioning glance back at her.
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She said, “Skimoze. Skimoze!”
I looked past her to my son. When my daughter was around a year old, she’d blabber some words which her mother and I didn’t understand. We asked my son (who was approaching age four) if he knew what she’d said and he’d turn to her and she’d repeat her baby-speak. I remember one time when his frustration with us grown-ups was clearly demonstrated as he turned back to us and stated, as if we should have known, “She wants orange juice! Even though it was now four or so years later, I thought my boy might know what she was asking, but he shrugged his shoulders. I looked back to my daughter.
“Skimoze. Skimoze!”
I was totally flummoxed.
She finally sang, “…and folks dressed up like a Skimoze…”
Merry Christmas from my igloo to yours.
No matter how many times I’ve seen it (50?), I’ll watch Irving Berlin’s White Christmas at some point over the upcoming weeks. Miracle on 34th Street, when Natalie Wood was demonstrating her star quality at an early age, is another 
When we were kids, we had some pretty cool animated shows. I think Rankin/Bass’ Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer debuted in 1964 and became an instant classic. And there was the telling of Santa’s backstory in Santa Claus is Coming to Town with the voice of Mickey Rooney as Kris Kringle and narrated by Fred Astaire as the postman. And, from the same time frame, A Charlie Brown Christmas was an immediate classic and spawned a whole slew of other-holiday-themed shows from Charles Shultz.
Baby It’s Cold Outside
There are more modern films, too; a few of which have become instant classics. And there are plenty which air on Hallmark that have the same premise (frazzled New York businesswoman returning to her 
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People either love or hate Love Actually. Perhaps it’s a bit schmaltzy, but I’m one of the ones who like it. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation has lines of dialogue which find themselves being repeated in homes around the country during the holidays. There’s a twisted retelling of a holiday classic with Bill Murray in Scrooged. I think that one’s fun; a very inventive modernization of the story. Home Alone is set during the holidays but I’m not quite sure if it’s actually a Christmas movie. Same with Die Hard. It’s set during the holidays, but appears to be more focused on machine guns, grenades and tossing bad guys off the Nakatomi Plaza than your more traditional Christmas movies. But, wait. Did Jimmy Stewart do that in The Shop Around the Corner?
One of the more recent ones which really struck a chord—make that several chords—with me is A Christmas Story. First of all, it’s a nostalgia-soaked glimpse back into the days of my youth and the all-
The first time I saw this movie the phrase, “You’ll shoot your eye out!” immediately stood out and swept over me. Only it wasn’t my eye. Luckily it was my lip. And I didn’t shoot it but I still thought I’d be in trouble.
Hitting the Broad Side of a Barn
I lived in a very rural area and was at another child’s summertime birthday party somewhere across town. One of the party games was to shoot a target taped to the side of the barn. As boys do, we were jostling around the firing line and I remember thinking that there was more pushing and shoving than should be happening around a loaded gun, albeit a BB gun. My father’s lessons were deeply embedded in my tiny brain, so I took a few steps back from the firing line where the other boys jockeyed for a better view. I moved to a spot behind the shooter and sort of leaned to my right so I could see the shots hit. The very next shot hit the barn and bounced almost straight back and hit my upper lip, right in the center immediately below my nose. Ow!
The odd thing is that I saw the copper BB in its entire aeronautical journey. It’s pretty hard to see a BB in flight and maybe it helped that I was standing directly behind the shooter so the BB wasn’t going past me but remained in my field of vision for its entire trip. Anyway, this 
Next I was awash with the thought that my father was going to be furious with me for getting shot. Panic welled within as I raced through his gun-safety lessons. Was there anything about standing behind a shooter? No! That was the safest place! When the boy’s mother first announced the game, I felt a thrill of possibility that I might score well; especially since I had practiced with my own rifle. But when my turn came, I was still emotionally shaken up and I was lucky to have barely hit an outer ring. Even more than the slight pain on my lip, was the growing fear about my father’s impending anger and/or punishment.
Have I forgotten your favorite holiday movie? Let me know!
On the specified morning, a limo would arrive for the on-air people a whisk them off to a regional race track. There they would be given a nice lunch and they’d hear all about the newest Ford products while taking turns zipping around the track in those very same vehicles. Following the test driving of the cars, they’d be treated to adult beverages and really cool merchandise.
Then, beginning soon thereafter, their agency would place “buys” for :60-second commercials during the air-shifts of the personalities who came to the event. They were to be “live” commercials, meaning that, instead of a pre-recorded :60-second commercial, the disc jockey was to talk about his experience with driving the new models. So, since they’d been wined and dined and given cool stuff, what happened was that the DJs always talked for more than a minute; sometimes doubling the allotted time. Quite often Ford got double their purchased air time and the enthusiastic personal testimonies of the DJs created a feeling of believability and trust. It was an ingenious campaign.
Always a bridesmaid, never a racecar driver.
I really have no details to share with you about how much fun the event(s) were because I never got to go.
In my early days, I was assigned to come in and be on the air from 6:00am until 5:00pm while the morning, midday and afternoon jocks got to go to the event. They came back wearing cool Ford Mustang jackets along with sacks other cool crap and they were excitedly talking about how fun it was to drive these cars around the track.
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I got bupkis.
The next time Ford ran this campaign, I was half of the morning team. But both of us couldn’t go (for some reason I can’t recall), so my partner went. Same thing. I worked and he got to drive cars really fast and ate good food, brought home some cool merch and had a fun day.
The third time it happened I was at another station, working middays on the air. This time the agency only wanted morning and afternoon people so I got to, again, come in at 6:00 and work for my boss, then do my five-hour shift and work two hours of the afternoon guy’s shift until 5:00. This one was the toughest because, besides a watch and some other trinkets, the clothing item they got was a really cool leather jacket. It was made to look weathered and had air force (or army air corps?) patches. The lining was a replica of a map of France like WWII bomber crews had sewn inside their jackets. I thought it was the best jacket I’d ever seen but, once again, I missed out.
Scotch and leather.
A few years later I was producing TV commercials at a local television station. One of my former radio stations was sending their DJs over to record a TV spot to advertise their station. Since they were all on the air during the day, my boss scheduled them in from 8:00 to 10:00pm. And, since I knew them, my boss assigned me to be their producer.
That night, the three guys came in and we knocked out the taping in no time. Following the shoot, the guys invited me to join them at a local establishment for a drink (two?). I accepted and we were having a grand time reminiscing and making each other laugh. I was sitting next to my friend, Don Frey. As we swirled the ice in our glasses and contemplated one more drink, he checked his watch to see what time it was getting to be. As he rolled up his sleeve and looked at his watch, he swung his arm my way and said, “Hey! Here’s that watch I got when you worked for me!”
I smiled and said, “It wasn’t the watch. And it wasn’t any of the other swag I missed out on over the years. But that bomber jacket you got was the coolest thing ever. I’m ashamed at how much I coveted it.”
Wearing it (here with my cousin Mikey).
He said, “Oh. I hate that thing. Come by during my shift tomorrow and I’ll give it to you.”
Following a brief exchange in which he assured me he wasn’t messing with me, I told him I’d be there.
And I was.
I showed up with a case of his favorite beer, which he said wasn’t necessary. He handed me his jacket and I have worn that thing for over 30 years. I’ve traveled all over the country with it. I’ve worn it so often that I’ve ripped through the lining in the pockets (and don’t know if they can be repaired). It’s just the coolest jacket ever.
I’ve lost touch with him over the years and he’ll never know what a great gift he gave me and how often I’ve worn it. Thanks, Don!
In my radio and television days in Palm Springs, I did cross paths with many in the entertainment industry. And many were—I’d say “for the most part”—nice people. But Fred was more than nice. For reasons I’ll never know, he treated me as if I was one of his peers.
More than 30 years ago, maybe closer to 35, there was a group called The Hollywood All-Stars. This was not the Hollywood Allstars Band. This organization came into various towns and put on a charity softball game with the proceeds benefitting a (locally chosen) charity. I can’t remember all of the intricacies of how it worked, but the guy who ran the business, contacted me at the radio station and explained about his company and that they brought celebrities into town and wanted to play softball against a team of personalities from our station.
We set it up.
And we played them several times over the course of a few years. I know that the cost of their meals and hotels rooms were paid before the check was written to the chosen charity. But we promoted the heck out of it in advance and I know the nonprofit(s) received money from the events. Several of the celebrities called our morning show in the weeks leading up to the game and we talked about what they were filming at the time and then taunted each other about who would win the game.
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We played at Palm Springs Angel’s Stadium and we did a pretty good job of filling the stands. On a few of the occasions there was a dinner in the evening following the game. It was held in one of the banquet rooms at the hotel where they were staying. A certain amount of tickets were available to the public so more money was generated. And there was a celebrity or two at each table so people got to sit with “stars.”
Now, when I say “stars,” I’m talking about B-list, at best. Some were on their way up and others were doing “guest shots.” I played ball with Jamie Widdoes of Animal House and Jim Everett of the L.A. Rams. Mark Harmon played one year and I signed autographs from the dugout after the game with Michael Keaton. A few of the people said, after he signed their program, “Hand it to Bill.” As he did, he cocked his head and looked at me, then said, “Local DJ?” I said, “Yeah.”
There were soap opera actors there who I had no idea who they were. I was wearing one of my Yankee jackets and Tony Danza said, “Nice jacket. They gave me mine.” We then exchanged sarcastic half-smiles.
Adrian Zmed, who was starring in T. J. Hooker played one year. He was one of the guys who called in our radio show before the event. We said something like, “…we like to ask you about your show. What’s Heather Locklear like?” He took it well and was quite personable.
Oh. And Heather Locklear came to one game. She was dating Mark Harmon at the time he played. This was when he was on St. Elsewhere so he was a pretty big draw. Nice guy, too.
Anyway, blah blah blah. There were enough celebrities to make it a pretty good event.
So, the guy who ran the Allstars talked me into being the emcee at the first banquet we did. I was to introduce the celebrities and call out ticket numbers for the raffle. So, I thought I’d write a few jokes to entertain the audience.
Following the dinner, I dazzled them with my comic genius and was rewarded with a rousing chorus of crickets. And a few tumbleweeds blew through. After a few “jokes,” I decided to just stick to the business at hand and get it over with as quickly as possible. Finally, I thanked everyone for coming and people got up, some leaving immediately and some scurrying to grab a few more autographs before the celebs left the room.
And that’s when I noticed Fred Willard. I was alone on the dais, gathering my notes and checking to make sure all of the prizes were claimed. As everyone is moving around, mostly away from me, Fred came out of the crowd, extending his hand. He took my hand in a warm grip and forced a few obviously faked laughs. He slowly shook his head from side to side as he said, “Bill, I’ve worked with the best. I’ve worked with Robin Williams… Steve Martin… but you, my friend, you are the best there ever was…” He grasped my hand the whole time so I couldn’t get away.
He finally released my hand and laughed. And so did I. Thinking back to those days I’m a bit surprised that the person I was back then didn’t have hurt feelings. But, he came around the end of the last table and joined me, still smiling. I realized he was treating me as another professional—albeit one who had a bad night—and was giving me a good-natured ribbing over something we’ve all been through. He then shared with me a story about one time that he’d bombed; adding that there were plenty more. Those days are funny in hindsight. He smiled that gracious smile through our whole conversation and he spent at least ten minutes chatting with me; talking about working on various shows and asking about what I was doing professionally.
It was such a wonderful few moments for me that I can still picture him coming up to me that night and offering his hand.
I only saw him one other time. I was at Disneyland with my youngest son and his mother. Fred was there with his family (his grandson was born the same year as my youngest) and we were walking through Fantasyland. People were coming and going and no one seemed to recognize him. I met his eyes and said, “Hey, Fred! You working?” He took a step or two towards me and said, “Yeah! I’ve got _____ coming up.”
My son reminded me recently that he remembered that day. Hethought Fred was just someone I knew from work and to whom I could talk any day; and he began pulling me toward some attraction he wanted to ride.
I waved, saying, “Good to see you.” And Fred said, “Yeah! Good to see you.” I’m sure he didn’t remember me at all and was just being gracious to someone who recognized him. But, again, he was such a nice guy that he took a few moments to be friendly and exchange pleasantries with someone he saw as a fan.
And I am.
I remember first noticing him when he was on Fernwood 2 Night. He appeared in so many television shows and movies, most recently Modern Family; and was brilliant at playing a guy who was just out of his depth. One of my favorite movie lines was spoken by him when he played Mayor Deebs in Roxanne with Steve Martin. There is a large gathering at the local pub and Deebs raises his glass and says, “I’d rather be with you people than the finest people on Earth!”
With all of his success and with all of the accolades and kind words now being shared across the internet, I will remember Fred as a man who took a few moments to… uhhh… “ease the discomfort” of someone he saw as a fellow traveler. He took time to visit with a total stranger and cheer up his evening. Thanks, Fred!
Possibly the last smart move I made in my life, but it worked. He and I did hit it off and some four months later he wrote me a note saying there might be an opening coming up and wanted to know if I could write commercials. I wrote about ten spec commercials and sent them to him along with a (hopefully) funny story about getting his letter.
For my ‘spec” commercials, I went through the local circular and tried to find ads that were what I came to know as “laundry list” ads. Those are the type which have no creativity and simply contain a list of items for sale or being featured at, say, a restaurant. I snipped each ad from the paper and stapled it to the radio commercial I wrote so he could see what I was working with and then be able to comprehend my brilliant creativity!
Despite the odds, I got the job!
Sometime later, he told me that it wasn’t the commercials I’d written that got me the job but that my letter accompanying the prospective commercials demonstrated to him my creativity. As I became more experienced as a writer of radio commercials, I thought back to my early spec spots and realized my initial efforts were riddled with clichés. In my defense, I believe I was a victim of decades of listening to radio commercials. I think that I subconsciously wrote the same way that I’d heard commercials for the previous 20 years of my life.
I’m still haunted by the memory of the first spec spot I wrote for him. It was for a restaurant (I believe it was Norm’s) and they were offering an early bird dinner special for something like $4.99. I think I began with:
Norm’s is having an early bird special for four ninety-nine! That’s right! Four ninety-nine!
Each time I recall it, it still feels like nails-on-a-chalk-board-down-my-spine-and-throbbing-between-my-ears. That’s right! is one of the all-time clichés. It’s nothing more than superfluous fodder. At the very least you can make a more powerful emphasis by using a brief pause between the two 4.99’s. It actually will give the second one more prominence. Truthfully, it would be better to come up with something more creative and, possibly, humorous but sometimes the client wants what the client wants and you do your best to give them what they want while trying to polish it as much as you can.
Another I remember is …and much, much more.
Joe’s Shoe Store has this and that and much, much more!
Not more. And not much more. But much, much more! Should his competitor run an ad with much, much, much more? That’s Right! Much, much, much, much, much, much more!
With radio advertising, the advantage is that the visuals are filled in by the listener because humans think in pictures. If I say the word wristwatch, for example, you’ll picture a wristwatch. And, if at that moment, you happen to be in need of a new watch, you’ll picture the watch you imagine getting. So, instead of the advertiser listing a bunch of types of watches (or shoes or whatever), they simply have to say they have a large selection of watches for every price range. You may not have the exact watch your customer is looking for, but the point of the commercial is to get the customer in the door. If you don’t have exactly what they’re looking for, you sell them a different one. At that point the selling is up to you. The ad did its job and got the customer into the store.
We went through a long period of ads that included the phrase: The desert’s best kept secret. One of the most cringe-worthy of phrases. If it’s a secret you are so enthusiastically keeping, then why are you advertising it? I think you just made it the desert’s worst kept secret. To me, it made the advertiser sound condescending. This little jewel (another cliché!) is our best kept secret. Sure. And you’re paying money to tell everyone. Don’t yank my chain with your baloney. Especially when it’s followed with Tell your friends!
The little ditty, Call today, don’t delay! used to drive me nuts.
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And I used to scream at the radio when I heard, For all your ______ needs. It seemed like we went through a stretch when everyone was using that one. For all your home decorating needs. For all your home cooking needs. For all your camping needs. For all your gardening needs. It went on and on. The one that finally put me over the edge was when a client-written commercial came in and my buddy, Terry, who was production director, voiced the spot. It was for a business that sold atrium doors. The spot ended with the phrase …for all your desert atrium door needs.
First off, I don’t know how many homes in the desert had atriums. Nor did I know how many of said atriums required doors. It seemed to me to be a very narrowly-targeted business. But let’s say I was to own a home with an atrium, how many frapping atrium door needs could I possibly have?!!? But these guys definitely covered all of them!
We began making up slogans for the end of various ads.
- For all your car washing needs.
- For all your fried chicken needs.
- For all your lawn turf needs.
- For all your regular or unleaded needs.
- For all your buy one burrito and get the second one for free needs.
- For all your getting drunk and trying to get laid needs.
- For all your double Whopper needs.
- For all your new tires needs.
- For all your fresh pie needs.
- For all your ball point pen needs.
- For all your appendicitis needs.
- For all your litter bag needs.
Often there was a lot of down time at the ol’ radio station…
Our store is the best kept secret in the world! Everyone’s talking about it so tell your friends! We’ve got the best deals in town! That’s right! The best deals in town! And much, much more! So call today and don’t delay! And hurry on down for the best deals in town! Your mileage may vary. Highway mileage will be less. Much, much less.
Alvy Moore who played Hank Kimble on Green Acres; and you can read about it here. Again, I was 16 and he was such a nice man that he well-deserved the esteem in which I held him.
However, as I grew older and got used to, in my media career, meeting these people, I discovered that they are simply people. Some are incredibly nice and some are—and I won’t mention any names here (Reggie Jackson)—total jerks.
Old Blue Eyes
In my early days of radio, there was an instant where I embarrassed myself by my excitement over meeting a celebrity. I was a rookie at a Palm Springs radio station and Frank Sinatra was scheduled to come in one day to record a commercial for his wife’s fundraiser (The Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center). I was just hoping I could get a glimpse of him when he came in. I mean, really. Mr. Sinatra was a mega-star, a legend in his own time and I was, and still am, a fan.
The program director had assigned the job to one of our more seasoned professionals but Mr. Sinatra arrived two hours early and, as he and a friend were coming up the stairs, my boss turned to me and said, “Get in the production room and get ready to record him.” I remember my palms sweating as I thought to myself, please don’t screw up!
When he came into the studio, I said, “Hello, sir. We’re ready to roll.” He glanced at me and nodded his head. I rolled the tape and said, “Don’t be nervous.” My little joke went over like a lead balloon. He turned those blue eyes on me and they appeared as cold as steel. I cleared my throat (and maybe moistened myself) and said, “Whenever you’re ready, sir.”
He read the script in one take. It was five seconds too long and he sort of bumbled through it as if this was the first time he’d read it, but I wasn’t about to have him read it again. He asked, “Got it?” And I said, “Yes, sir.” He turned to leave and I came around the console and said, “Sir. May I shake your hand? I’ve always wanted to meet you.” He turned back to me and shook my hand, saying, “It was nice working with you today.” Pretty cool.
Three years later, I had worked my way to the position of Program Director. Since I was the boss, I had a nice office near the front of the station and, again, Mr. Sinatra was coming in to be a guest on one of our afternoon programs. I was sitting at my desk when he arrived and he zipped right past my door. I was not going to chase him down just to say hello. Yet, as I was regretting that I had missed a chance, he popped back into my doorway. He said, “May I come in?” Frank Sinatra is asking me if he can come into my office?!!?
“Of course, sir!” I was standing up to come around to greet him and he said, “Don’t get up for me.” Of course, I did anyway and he extended his hand and said, “It’s good to see you again.”
He didn’t use my name and I wasn’t sure if he actually remembered me or was just being polite to one of the managers of the station(s). Either way, he was being most gracious.
And many of the celebrities I’ve met when I was producing a monthly television program for United Cerebral Palsy of the Inland Empire were wonderful people. Television hosts Jack Narz and his brother, Tom Kennedy, come quickly to mind. Producing the annual Arthritis Foundation Telethon in the Coachella Valley found me working each year with Maureen Reagan and her mother, Jane Wyman. Got to the point where I could call them friends.
Is it a Polo Puck?
But the one who snubbed me, completely ignored me, did one of the nicest things for me and, though it was over 30 years ago, I can still picture it and will never forget it.
For reasons, which now escape my memory, I was out at some polo club in Coachella. It may even be where they now have the annual music festivals. I’m sure I was assigned to be there for a radio station promotion I had to do. It was probably a charity, celebrity polo match; some kind of fund-raiser. I had my eldest son with me who was about eight- or nine-years-old.
I can’t recall who owned the place but he was this mega-rich guy and, as they often do, he had some connection to the entertainment industry. Juice Newton (who had top ten hits at the time with Angel of the Morning, Queen of Hearts and others) was there to sing the National Anthem. She sang acapella and did a nice job.
But the real reason most people were there, is that Sylvester Stallone was there as a guest of the club owner and was going to throw out the first polo puck (or whatever it’s called). This was in 1987 or early 1988. He’d just returned from Israel where he was filming Rambo III. I think many of the crowd was there because they’d heard he was going to be there. Again, I can’t honestly remember why I was there or what I was supposed to be doing, but I did find myself glancing around from time to time to see when/if/how he’d arrive. I was wondering where they’d land a helicopter or where they’d park his limo.
At one point, my friend Tom turned to his wife, Mona, and said, “Do you wanna see him?” Then he pointed to the group of about 100 people who were walking across the field from the clubhouse. We were standing on the sidelines of that field and I spotted him right away in the midst of the crowd. He still sported the long hair he had in the movie, had on mirrored wrap-around sunglasses and was holding hands with some redhead. Accompanying him were three astronomically huge body guards.
By that time in my life I’d gotten over placing celebrities on pedestals. But I did admire him. One of my favorite stories is of how he was all but broke yet turned down hundreds of thousands of dollars for his screenplay of Rocky, holding out for (less money but) a starring role. The production company finally accepted and the film was shot in 29 days, eventually earning several Oscar nominations, including two for him, and took home Best Picture that year. That launched his career and I always admired how he stuck to his beliefs.
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I still don’t understand how it happened but the crowd continued towards the stands and I unexpectedly found myself in the heart of the multitude as they swallowed us up and continued past. Without moving an inch, I saw Mr. Stallone walking towards me. I have no idea how it happened but his bodyguards split and an instant later I was right in front of him. I stepped towards him and sort of motioning behind me, said, “Sir. Would you shake hands with my son, Mario.”
He didn’t acknowledge me and brushed right past me. I was a bit taken aback and I turned with him as he walked past. I hadn’t realized that I’d stepped about ten feet away and ahead of my son but I saw Mr. Stallone let go of his woman’s hand and reach down to my boy. As he shook his hand I heard him say, “How you doin’, Mario.” Again, Mario was about eight-years-old but he knew who Rocky was. Mario said nothing but his big eyes said it all.
I said, “Thank you, sir!” But he didn’t acknowledge me and kept on walking.
I understand that these people in the public eye must get pulled in every direction by people nice and otherwise. And I’m sure that once you reach a certain level of fame, everyone wants a piece of you. The heights that Stallone had reached at that point in his career must have seen him being swarmed with people wherever he went. So I really didn’t care that he didn’t acknowledge me. And I will never be able to thank him enough for pausing to shake hands with and talk to my young son.
Once in a while I find myself wondering if he’d one day run across my decorated police officer son and have Mario thank him for stopping to shake his hand that long ago day.
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Due to the recent self-isolation entreaties by local and federal governments, we’ve all (at least I hope all!) have been keeping to ourselves and making adjustments to our daily routines. For me, staying home means I’m cooking more meals for myself. And staying home also means that I often don’t have all of the ingredients for my typical meals. And this time of hoarding causes some items to not be readily available in the stores so I (we) sometimes have to make do with what we have.
I find it interesting that the shelves in the supermarkets have been stripped bare, while the produce departments seem to be pretty well stocked. Is this a commentary on how Americans eat? Or is it that canned and boxed items last longer on shelves than fresh produce so those are the items hoarded? As an aside, I recently took note of a frozen pizza section in the store. Every bin in that freezer was empty save for one. Pineapple pizza was untouched; the bin filled to the top. I believe that settles that debate once and for all.
Get on with it!
Okay. I’m stalling. Let me get on with my confession. I happen to love a dish that was, on many occasions, prepared for me by my maternal grandparents. 
It is called fagioli e scarola. In our Neapolitan dialect, we pronounce it, fazool e schkahrol. It’s basically beans and escarole. It probably had its origins as a peasant food. It’s a simple dish; wilted escarole with some white beans (like Great Northern or Cannellini), olive oil, garlic and salt & pepper. That’s it. But it’s not a dish (or side-dish) I’ve come across in any “American” household. And it is probably an acquired taste. But I love it.
Many years ago, my Aunt Connie and Uncle John were vacationing near my desert home and they brought my grandfather to my house for dinner. I prepared our meal and wanted to demonstrate that I was carrying on the family traditions by including fagioli e scarola with the meal. I eagerly awaited my grandfather’s first bite and I’ll never forget his reaction. I can still picture him as he took a bite and, with his fork, pointed to the escarole and said, “You overcooked this.”
Ahem! The confession?
Right. Sorry. Okay.
Well, recently—as I quite often do—I decided to make some fagioli e scarola for myself, but I had no escarole. So, I went to the store. They had no escarole. Then my roommate called my attention to these large, luscious-looking heads of bok choy (in Italian: cavolo cinese). So I decided that, since I had the ooli, and I’d made the trip to the store, I’d try bok choy instead of escarole.
And it was good!
Perhaps it lacked a bit of the bitterness of the escarole, but the stem portion of the leaves was actually more succulent than with escarole. Not exactly the flavor I’m used to, but tasty enough and seems to have appeased my craving (ooli). And sopping up the juice with bread is just as fun and delicious!
So… there. I’ve said it. That’s my confession. I did enjoy it but there’s something that keeps poking at my subconscious; it’s as if I’ve somehow betrayed my heritage. So I hope you, my extended family, can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I have substituted bok choy for escarole in my fagioli e scarola. Perhaps you can take into account the currently over-taxed supply chains, the somewhat esoteric nature of this recipe and, perhaps, my general lack of intelligence, common sense and my tendency to be a rebel without a clue.
In the 1960’s American television was loaded with TV series about spies. Obviously, with the Cold War in full flower, spies were on everyone’s mind. The series, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. starring Robert Vaughn and David McCallum seems to have led the TV spy craze with roughly a dozen others attempting to follow suit.
Gene Barry was Amos Burke in Secret Agent. Patrick McGoohan was Secret Agent Man whose theme was sung by Johnny Rivers.
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There’s a man who leads a life of danger.
To everyone he meets, he stays a stranger.
(Now get that one out of your head.)
Patrick Mcnee and Diana Rigg were the Avengers. Robert Culp and Bill Cosby traveled the world in I Spy. Steve Forrest was The Baron. Robert Wagner starred in It Takes a Thief. “Oh, Al, I’m not asking you to spy. I’m just asking you to steal…”
Stephanie Powers was April Dancer in the spinoff, The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. And, of course, there was Mission Impossible.
The first “Bond” film, Dr. No, was released in 1962 so, naturally, with all of this, I wanted to be a secret agent. Yes, westerns were big on TV back then, too, and neighbors Duane and Bobby and I kept our neighborhood safe from outlaws with our western guns and holsters by Mattel. But spies were so cool, and soon the spy toys hit the market.
There was a James Bond attaché case like the one in From Russia with Love. There was another called Secret Sam where you could fire a gun from inside the brief case. There was also one that opened to reveal a mortar launcher. The Man from U.N.C.L.E. had a version that turned the pistol into a rifle. Another case had a real working camera. One toy was a camera that turned into a pistol and a second was a radio that turned into a rifle. And a TV commercial showed a gun from Johnny Seven OMA that contained seven different weapons.
Of course, I wanted them all, but none more than the James Bond attaché case. My birthday was coming up and I stood, nearly drooling, in front of that attaché case in the toy section at Sears. I’m sure there were times in my childhood that I really wanted one toy or another, but this is the first time that I think I coveted a toy. My birthday is in December so the toy department at Sears was burgeoning with toys. While my parents strolled the aisles with my siblings, surreptitiously, I’m sure, noting at which toys they lingered, I stood and stared at that attaché case; dreaming of all the spying I could do if I had my own. When they finally made it to me, I pointed and said how much I really wanted it.
But it was too expensive.
Talk about a letdown! I must have been in about 5th grade and I remember my father trying to hasten my maturation by directing my attention to things other than toys, but I wanted to be a secret agent. So, with the attaché case being more than a birthday-present-budget would allow, I got the secret agent gun that was sold separately.
It actually shot little plastic, orange bullets and, after getting it home and excitedly loading it, I discovered what a piece of junk the toy really was. The spring-loaded firing mechanism was too hard to operate. It took so much tension in my finger to pull the trigger that my hand twisted with the needed torque and I could barely hit my intended target. What a disappointment!
But I had my gun and now I was gonna be a secret agent! A spy!
With every move he makes,
Another chance he takes.
Odds are you won’t live to see tomorrow.
Except… what did spies really do? What spying could I accomplish in my house? I snuck up and down the hallway a few times and my siblings didn’t see me. Actually, I’m sure they did but they didn’t react because I went up and down that hallway multiple times each day and they didn’t know I was sneaking and, in reality, couldn’t have cared less.
I next decided that spies and secret agents snuck into places and stole things. So I went (snuck) into another bedroom to steal an important thing. But this was the bedroom of my two youngest sisters. What the dickens could I steal that might save America? I opened a drawer and looked inside. I moved some clothing and saw nothing of strategic value to our efforts in the Cold War.
But then it hit me. I knew what spies did! While they were looking for something, they ransacked the room! So I opened drawers and began throwing their clothes up in the air. Then I turned over a few of their toys and pulled the blankets and sheets from their bed. I even went back and removed a drawer from their dresser and set it, cockeyed, against the bed.
I stood back and appraised my work. The room was a huge mess. It may have even bordered on being a disaster! Smiling to myself, I went (snuck) back to my room. It was only minutes later that I heard the sweet sounds of my mother’s voice… “BILLY YOU GET OVER HERE THIS MINUTE!”
Why did she always think of me first?
I went (didn’t sneak) down the hall to her. Furious? That might be a good word to describe the expression on her face. Her arm was extended into the room, her hand with an extended index finger. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BUT GET IN THERE AND STRAIGHTEN OUT THIS ROOM THIS MINUTE!”
I began to sputter explanations about having to do that as part of my duties as a secret agent but she obviously was a double-agent for the KGB because she didn’t let me complete a sentence. So, back into the room I went. I picked up the drawer and began fumbling with it, trying to replace it in the dresser. Looking over my shoulder, I saw her still standing in the doorway, hands on hips, expression unchanged. I doubt that I had ever folded a piece of clothing in my life. Until then, I simply put my soiled clothing on the washer and, the following day, it was either hanging in my closet or neatly folded in one of my drawers.
I spent a long time in that room and wasn’t allowed to leave until she was satisfied that I’d made an effort to put everything back the way it was. Then, it was back to my room to “think about what I’d done.” I’m sure she had to go in and refold most, if not all, of the clothes. And I’m sure James Bond never got in trouble by his mother.
Secret Agent Man,
Secret Agent Man.
They’ve given you a number,
And sent you to your room.
Where is the love?
The kind gestures and the helping hands of good Samaritans seem to be drown in the cacophony of vitriol with which we are bombarded daily. Luckily for me, I recently paused for a few moments and was able to catch a glimpse. And, of all places, I saw it at Del Taco.
Most anyone who knows me knows I make frequent stops at Del Taco. I make no claim that it’s authentic Mexican cuisine. I’m pretty sure it’s not. But I’ve been frequenting the fast-food chain for about a half century. Their first location was in Yermo, California. The first one in my hometown of Corona was at Main and 3rd. It’s still in the same location, though it’s a newer building.
I stopped in a few weeks ago on my way to visit my mother. Her caregiver usually fixes lunch for her so I drive through and grab something for myself. Most days, if time allows, I go inside instead of using the drive-thru so I can get the proper tea/lemonade ratio in my Arnold Palmer. I entered that day to immediately discover one of the employees hanging some decorations for an upcoming holiday. Next to her was a tall young man who immediately turned to me and exclaimed, “Hi! How are you?!”
It was mildly startling but I smiled and answered, “I’m fine. Thank you.” But as I continued past him to the order counter, I had a brief thought that he might be slightly mentally impaired in some way. The employee went back behind the counter and the young man went back to his table. I placed my to-go order and filled my drink. My burrito was ready in no time and I picked up my order and walked towards the exit. I thought that, if he looked my way, I’d say goodbye to him. He didn’t but, as I was opening the exit door, I was struck with the idea that I should go back and make it a point to acknowledge him. I turned around and walked to his table. I caught his eye and said, “Have a good day, buddy.”
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I became instantly aware that the people he was with were all of special-needs. They were there with a care-giver who obviously had taken them out for lunch. I was met with an immediate and hearty chorus of, “Goodbye! See ya! Goodbye! Goodbye! See you later!” I was nearly floored as a wave of emotion swept over me. The caregiver met my eyes and smiled.
Trying to keep my composure I felt myself clearing my throat and I said, “Have a nice day everyone.”
My quick walk to the exit was accompanied by a chorus of, “Have a nice day! Have a nice day! See ya! Goodbye! Have a nice day!”
I walked to the parking lot feeling as if I were tingling. These young people seemed so happy to be acknowledged and so very ready to share a greeting. It felt like Love.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
When I lived with my mother, she’d accompany me to my Wednesday evening job. Our habit was to drive thru Del Taco on the way to work. We soon became regulars and the two women who normally worked that shift began coming to the window to say hello to Mom. And Mom began referring to them as “her girls.” It seemed that, each week when we pulled up to the window, one or both would come to the window and lean out to greet Mom. It made her so happy.
That was a few years ago and Mom is no longer able to ride along for my brief work shift. And one of those young women has moved to the day shift. As I said at the beginning, I’ve been going to Del Taco for at least a half-century. And this young woman, Joanna, wasn’t even born in those days. Yet I’ve recently wondered if I stop by that location because I want a burrito or for one of Joanna’s smiles. She never fails to say hello, no matter which station she happens to be working. And her smile always beams.
A quick aside here. I was in recently when their computers were down during the lunch rush. They were utilizing printed copies of the customer receipts to process orders and, apparently, one got lost in the shuffle of receipts hung with pieces of tape. The disgruntled customer complained, as I might in that situation. He claimed to have been waiting for 
half an hour but he wasn’t satisfied with just expressing that fact. He continued to berate and even insult the staff. When they realized the error, they quickly put his order in front of all others and swiftly called him up to the counter. Instead of thanks, he loudly pointed out that they “sure made the order fast that time!”
Through all of this, Joanna kept a smile. She attempted to explain the difficulties they were facing and was incredibly apologetic and, as I just said, once the error was realized, had his order to him in about a minute. She even added some free cookies. He turned away with a grumble and she, with a smile, returned to work. Her professionalism, courtesy, and friendly demeanor was inspiring. There’s a very good chance I haven’t smiled that much in my entire life.
As if I need another reason to visit Del Taco.
When I stop by, Joanna always asks about Mom. I happily give her updates and she always asks me to tell Mom, “Hi!” So, recently, I texted Mom’s caregiver in the morning and told her that I’d be taking them both to Del Taco for lunch.
It was pretty busy when we arrived. But there was a handicap-accessible table and Mom’s chair slid right into place. As Mom was wheeled past the counter, Joanna looked up from her station at the busy drive-thru window, and waved and offered a hearty hello to her.
After we seated Mom, I went back to the order line. As I took my place, I glanced over my shoulder to see someone giving Mom a hug and there was another person behind, waiting for their hug! It turns out it was a longtime friend from our city and her daughter was next in line. While we were eating, Joanna took a moment to come out and get a hug. Simply being a witness to the love that day seemed to fill me. It was as if I were getting the hugs and love.
And, as we were leaving, Joanna again came out from behind the counter and got another hug and kiss on the cheek from Mom, telling her to come back soon.
My mother has always spread love and cheerfulness wherever she goes. She’s been a loving presence in our town for more than 50 years. It brought a tear to my eye to see some of it being returned to her that day. I realize that, at 92, her time with us is nearing its end. But the Love she has shared with myriad friends, family, and even random passers-by, will continue to live on.