Friday, July 10, 2009
Prop Trucks offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse.
The business was quickly booming, warehouse filling up. So the talk was for a watchman.
In the middle of the 20,000 sq feet of warehouse was a concrete ‘bunker.’ With a sink, a bed and a little window. And for the sake of my comfort, a newly installed air conditioner and flimsy shower stall. I moved in as the dispatcher/watchman. A far notch above the Los Angeles County Jail hospital suite, I could come and go. I swear though… the same rat would visit.
I was alone with me; it felt good for a time. I bought a little Casio keyboard and began to write tunes.
Writing a song for Sally and Michael called ‘Lifetime.’ It was pure wishful and desperate thinking. The hi-test that denial is made of. I was passionate and hung on every word.
'Look what you have done
It’s a life we own as one
It’s these feelings we have together
They seem they will last forever
We never going to lose it
A precious thing
They can’t take away
Only looking at each other
Taking each day, so sweetly day by day
I want you to look what you are doing
A gift only a few can see
Waste a lifetime only for a fool
A lesson we see endlessly
Let’s not change for anything
To be our selves that’s what makes us one
A lifetime can become so many
A mindful one that’s what makes it fun
Tumbling mountains, falling skies can’t change this
Fairy tales and nursery rhymes all tell
This magic is for all the ones that want it
No more tears it’s all so good and well'
OY VEY....gag me with a spoon!
Treasured solitude gave way to sudden popularity. I had a ‘place’ to get nice with our bartered rewards. A zombie circus, one-ring bunker.
The owners of Prop Trucks were Gary and Rich. Two guys about ten years older than I from Brooklyn. Gary was a carrot-top, a genus Melanerpes, a fellow with a minimal amount of red hair that stretched desperately across a freckled crown. Constantly chewing on a piece of paper (dispatch order) while biting his lip. It seemed his main reason in life was to worry while scanning the dispatcher board for an available driver and the ultimate route. Gary didn’t like too much the idea that drugs were part and parcel to the scene. Keeping his blind eye on his ‘straight arrow.’ Rich on the other hand was laid back and liked a reefer or two. A roly- poly kind of guy with a full mop of salt and pepper and a country western beard. Fancied himself a C and W singer, always begging for an ear to review his latest demo.
As the business quickly grew so did the cocaine use. Rich and Gary (the straight worry arrow who finally succumbed) began to steadily and increasingly partake in its use. One night after work someone brought in a bag of it.
The Prop Truck boys went to town in the newly constructed accountant’s office;
frozen, grinding jaws and gummy, paralyzed swollen throats. A Marlboro fixed to the lip, a Heineken swigged and chugged for screen test and relief. An image of a pathology that was complete. A diorama of the self-embalmed living dead.
A 'special' letter from my father from the time:
13 Nov 84 Michael David Evans c/o Production House Storage (Prop Trucks) 248 West 60th Street
My Dear Michael-
So glad to hear from you and learn all is well—especially your valuable wife Sally has recovered from her disability. I do hope your lives will settle down—without trouble and chaos. Remember progress in living comes only from wisdom attained by avoiding trouble. Being aware of all possibilities in a situation is the mark of an educated man—the female relies on intuition and feelings.
I am very proud of your own personal fight in the way you came out of the chaos in your youth. Truly you take after me-for I was determined to overcome poverty and achieve something worthwhile. You know who is responsible for my only defeat.
Do keep well-work hard-learn all the rules and regulations of your job—know more than anyone and you will succeed!
My love to you all, Always Dad Masako sends her love too!
Incredibly, I write on the back of this letter, “A special letter, it took me 33 ½ years to get but I got it!”
After Brittney’s first birthday I began to relish my weekend visits to Danbury. The family became more and more important. I loved these kids. I increasingly loved the family. What a concept! I desperately longed for it my whole life. But a few things got in the way.
My self-loathing and a profound, collective denial.