Welcome to The SUMMER 2015 Edition of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE MAGAZINE. This Edition contains The BUREAU ICON Essay on Georgia O'KEEFFE, A Photographic Profile on Robert FRANK's Classic Book The Americans, INTERVIEWS with Photographer Alex HARRIS, The Portrait Painter Jon SWIHART, The Legendary SURF Photographer Jack ENGLISH and The BUREAU Summer Guest Artist: Irby PACE. CINEMA: On The Set of The Classic Film RAGING BULL. CUISINE: PALMS Beverly Hills & Pedro INOSCENCIO, Heir to The Throne: Jamie WYETH, BOOKS: David BROWNE's Opus on The Grateful Dead. Herb RITTS in Boston, Charles RAY in Chicago, Andy WARHOL in Phoenix, Peter BLUME in Hartford, FASHION: The Dandy LIONS Photography and New FICTION by Linda TOCH. +An Interview with The Bureau Editor's Mom, Maria Francesca TRILIEGI on her New Book. We are pleased to have New Readers in The SOUTH: Texas, Arizona, New Mexico and Louisiana at our Newest Community Site, BUREAU OF ARTS AND CULTURE: THE SOUTH. Links to Summer Events across the USA including, The CHICAGO Blues Festival, AUSTIN Biker Festival, Scorsese Collects in NEW YORK, 4TH of July Celebrations + so much more. The BUREAU EDITORIAL DIS - Organizations: Are Groups in America Abusing Power ?MUSIC: Lets ROCK at Fahey / Klein Gallery in MIAMI, MUSEUMS: National Gallery of Art, PORTRAITS: Native American Portraits from The YALE Collection of Western Americana. Plus Links to Our Eight Different Community Sites Celebrating The ARTS Across AMERICA . The Social Media Sites serve More as a look back at Previous BUREAU Editions + Features
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THEY CALL IT THE CITY OF ANGELS
The Original Fiction Series: " THEY CALL IT THE CITY OF ANGELS," began two years ago with Season One. An interesting experiment that originally introduced five fictional families, through dozens of characters that came to life before our readers eyes, when Editor Joshua Triliegi, improvised an entire novel on a daily basis and publicly published each chapter on-line. Season Two was an entire smash hit with readers in Los Angeles, where the novel is set and quickly spread to communities around the world through google translations and word of mouth. Season Three begins in August 2015 and the same rules will apply. The entire final season will be improvised and posted publicly on a weekly basis beginning, Friday August the 7th 2015 and continuing each friday to the stories final completion of Book One. "Improvised," in this instance, means: The writer starts and finishes each section without taking any prior notes whatsoever and publishes the completed episode on all Community Sites. Season III is The Finale'.
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We Thank: Da Capo Press, Cantor Arts Center, Stanford University, Pace/MacGill Gallery, National Gallery of Art, Georgia O'Keefe Museum of Art, Fine Arts Center Colorado Springs, Duke University, Andy Warhol Museum, Phoenix Art Museum, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Art Institute of Chicago, Museum of Fine Arts Boston, Crystal Bridges, United Artists, Spot Photo Works, Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas Museum of Art, Museum of Fine Art Huston Texas, Gallerie Urbane, Mary Boone Gallery, Pace Gallery, Asian Art Museum, Magnum Photo, Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art, Fahey/Klein, Tobey C. Moss, Sandra Gehring, George Billis, Martin - Gropius - Bau Berlin, San Jose Museum of Art, First Run Features, Downtown Records, Koplin Del Rio, Robert Berman, Indie Printing, American Film Institute, SFMOMA, Palm Beverly Hills, KM Fine Arts, LA Art Show, Photo LA, Jewish Contemporary Museum, Cultural Affairs, Yale Collection of Rare Books & Manuscript and Richard Levy.
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" They Call It The City of Angels "
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Season One AUGUST 2013 and Season Two AUGUST 2014
SEASON ONE CHAPTERS 1 - 22
CHAPTER 1 : LOUIS Written & Published Aug 25TH 2013
CHAPTER 2 : MICKEY Written & Published Aug 26TH 2013
CHAPTER 3 : JOSIE Written & Published Aug 27TH 2013
CHAPTER 4 : JORDAN Written & Published Aug 28TH 2013
CHAPTER 5 : CLIFF Written & Published Aug 29TH 2013
CHAPTER 6 : CHUCK Written & Published Aug 30TH 2013
CHAPTER 7 : CHARLES Written & Published Sept 2ND 2013
CHAPTER 8 : RYAN Written & Published Sept 3RD 2013
CHAPTER 9 : WANDA Written & Published Sept 4TH 2013
CHAPTER 10 : STAN Written & Published Sept 5TH 2013
CHAPTER 11 : JUNIOR Written & Published Sept 6TH 2013
CHAPTER 12 : MOON Written & Published Sept 9TH 2013
CHAPTER 13 : FRED Written & Published Sept 10TH 2013
CHAPTER 14 : TURTLE Written & Published Sept 11TH 2013
CHAPTER 15 : DORA Written & Published Sept 12TH 2013
CHAPTER 16 : HOME Written & Published Sept 13TH 2013
CHAPTER 17 : STONES Written & Published Sept 16TH 2013
CHAPTER 18 : HOLE Written & Published Sept 17TH 2013
CHAPTER 19 : ROOT Written & Published Sept 18TH 2013
CHAPTER 20 : HEART Written & Published Sept 19TH 2013
CHAPTER 21 : JOB Written & Published Sept 20TH 2013
CHAPTER 22 : ASHES Written & Published Sept 23RD 2013
Chapter One: Louis
Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were usually from out of town. Louis was a busboy down at Old Ma Fritters Cafe & Saloon, the longest running truck stop in the Harbor. He had been a busboy for almost twenty - six years, before that, he washed dishes, before that, he attended the parking lot. Directing the truck drivers where to park, making sure the working mom's could get in and out without missing a beat, knowing the difference between regulars who ate at the counter and the new comers who were most likely in town to visit the Queen Mary or take a cruise to Catalina Island for the day. All in all, Louis was a quiet, hard working man with a simple view on life. He was happy to have a job, never missed a day of work, except the day his son was sentenced to seventeen years in the penitentiary for manslaughter. That was over fifteen years ago and today was the day that Louis Junior would come home, this made him nervous.Since that time, his wife had a stroke, his daughter had married a local cop and he had three beautiful grandkids. So much had changed since louis junior had gone away. In 1976, it was a old world, now it was nineteen-ninety-one.
The Dodgers entire team had been replaced, there were new presidents, everything was different. But still, he showed up to work on time and already the word had gotten out that Louis Junior was back in town and heading this way. He had reservations. He knew that Junior was a good kid, got caught up with the wrong friends early on, had been picked on and turned tough gut mostly for his own survival. The accident had been complicated, it had involved a rival member of another group of kids as well as one of Junior's ex- girlfriends and to top it off the first cop on the scene was Louis' s new son-in-law, Chuck, who happened to be white. They all lived in a big victorian style house just above the port, which had a guest house where Louis senior lived and in the big house, his daughter, Celia, Chuck and the three girls, Cindy, Donna and Francine. It was a good life, most of the time. Louis wondered exactly what he would say, where junior would sleep and how all of this would play out. He figured junior could stay on the couch in the guest house and later he could break the news that after all was said and done: Chuck had met Celia after that day in court and one thing led to another, as things like this often do and well, here we are, a family. He couldn't know exactly what Junior would think, say or do, but he knew it wouldn't be a smooth transition. Junior had been saved in the joint and had found god. He belonged to an outreach program that was ready to offer him a chance to work and go back to school, but housing was not provided. So, Louis said, " Yes son, of course you can stay with us while you get back on your feet. "
And so the day started, as these days often do down in the port. Up at 5 AM, to work by five thirty, he'd have an early lunch and since everyone knew junior was coming home, had the choice to go home early, but had already decide to stay the duration. Work was his way of dealing with the troubles of life. It steadied his resolve, gave him roots, kept him calm, kept him centered, even if deep down inside, he knew that this was not an ordinary day and that things could go bad. No one was more aware of the impending problems than Chuck, who worked at the front desk office directly across from the loading docks at the longshore pick up and delivery. He hadn't seen Junior since that day in court and before that the terrible rainy night on the street with bodies mangled, wind swept asphalt, palm trees bending to the ground and a fierce full moon reflecting anguish, pain and death, in his eyes. He couldn't sleep all that morning. For a cop, he was, not a total square, his own brother had been a pot dealer back in the nineteen sixties and since then, he himself had imbibed more than a few glasses of whiskey a night. He was hip to jazz music, loved the various cultures in Los Angeles and more than anything, adored his wife and three girls. His family was his everything. He was thinking about junior as he pulled into the cafe to get breakfast to go, and three cups of joe for the boys at the office, who secretly hated the coffee served in the back room. Ma Fritters Coffee was made with a pinch of cinnamon and was generally strong compared to the instant regulation joe that the knuckle heads made. Nobody said a word as Chuck pulled into the cafe, but everyone knew what was on their minds as Louis and Chuck exchanged words in the parking lot. The waitresses and line cooks stopped what they were doing and saying for just a second or two and sure enough a hush drifted through the place. Those who didn't know the score figured it out pretty quick. The cop and the busboy, who was actually a fully grown man with grandkids, chatted quietly about the day. Neither had figured out what was the best way to deal with it, nor did they fully understand how junior would take it: both understood it wouldn't be easy. Life in the L.A. Harbor never was.
Chapter Two: Mickey
Look left, then right, then left again. What the hell is so difficult about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch, which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harleys. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade, Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed, found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of those places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes for guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops, investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the bullshit. Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers could get some respect again.
So, when a local rich kid offered him 10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the business officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's Motorcycles' license. Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning into something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a good thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend, Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's to The Moby Grape's.
People would say that Mickey was made from a kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got. Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of Saturday,by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled with what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the holes were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go." he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator is fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe refuge. But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the barbecue. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?" who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? " She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old : "Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up." He did. Mickey got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult. Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters. Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory, her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it came to her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew. He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't last longer than a summer and it didn't.
Louis eventually started dating girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her. By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out, after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing. Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance.
At first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told Ryan, her new boyfriend, that she was going with friends and they could talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire event became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the end of the night a car flipped in mid air, up an over the railroad tracks.Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called her girlfriend's parents, no one knew what happened. Eventually they got a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining that there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents arrived, Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold his water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead. Josies' s parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying on aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been washed of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the torn and mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the other. It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died back in nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad closed the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died, wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now he began to lose is mind.
Chapter Four: Jordan
Jordan is a bus driver, it didn't define him, he's also a bass man, a basketball coach, a bit of a poet too. He is the youngest bus driver in all of Los Angeles County. Came out here to get away from a seriously tragic family history. Born in Detroit, the week of the famous riots, his dad was a serious player and took the fall for being a member of an elite crew of dudes who actually helped to start it. His Mom was in and out of town so much, he hardly knew her. Came out here alone on a one time musical scholarship. Recently, he ended up hocking his bass, a red fender given to him by his uncle, still had the pawn ticket in his wallet, been meaning to get over there to extend the loan voucher another ninety days so he could get it back after paying up in full. Wanted to buy his girl a pair of earrings and figured he could always get the bass back, but with his car payment, rent and all the rest, he just let it drift. He was two weeks away from getting off probation from the transit authority. Six weeks of training and almost a year driving and finally he would be able to exhale. His first route started near LAX Airport, up La Brea, over to Crenshaw, past Leimert Park & around Rodeo, down Martin Luther King to The Sports Arena and back around again. He liked it. reminded him of his parents, his heritage, his people. But now, they had him driving from Venice Boulevard onto the 405 freeway, up through Santa Monica onto Pacific Coast Highway, past Pepperdine University and all the way up to Malibu Pier and back again. Most people would have loved that route, but Jordan always said the drivers were snobs, the kids crossed the street without looking, carrying surfboards, lawn chairs, tourists from all corners of the world, asking directions to places he never heard of, in languages he never knew.
He was hoping to get his old route back, but as the odd man at transit authority, the chances were mighty slim. Most of the drivers, managers, supervisors and radio dispatch persons were steeped in the Jesus thing: Baptist, Christian, Catholic, Protestant, you name it. Jordan was a third generation Muslim. His Daddy, his Granddad, his Uncles, some of his Aunts and him. He had already made his four rotations by seven o'clock that evening, grabbed a cup of coffee and was looking forward to seeing his lady for a late dinner at her place. Just past the Malibu Pier, an area where he was always extra careful, he slowed down a bit and coasted around the curve through to the next straight away stretch, the sun was setting a golden, peach - like glow, palm trees silhouetted in an all black design that looked like a postcard. It wasn't Crenshaw, but it could of been worse. Some routes were very tough on a driver, others were easy street. Looking down the highway, he noticed a small dark circle along the horizon line, couldn't figure out what it was. A trash-bag? A backpack ? As he got closer, the object came into view, it was a turtle, a rather large sized turtle crawling from left to right, he swerved to the right avoiding the turtle, as he did so, a camper van parked on the right pulled out in front of him, and as it did, that is when he noticed the eachcomber standing directly in his path, hit the brakes, skidding several yards and slamming into the beachcombers several bags and eventually knocking him to the asphalt, he turned to ask the lone passenger if he had seen what just happened, but not a soul was on the bus. " Could have sworn that cat was still on."
The first thing you are supposed to do is call it in. But Jordan, just on reflex jumped off the bus to see what happened. He looked down and splayed across the highway were several small packages wrapped in brown paper and masking tape. He looked closer at the corner of one of the small bundles and noticed it was full of currency, unmistakably dollar bills. All day long he had to watch people putting bills into the slot on his bus, the corners always bending, creating a problem. If anyone knew what the corner of a dollar bill looked like, it was Jordan. The beachcomber, was out like a light, but when Jordan put his ear to the man's chest, he could hear him breathing. He could also smell his breath, whiskey and onions. Why a man does what he does is always a mystery, mostly to the man himself, so when he reached to pick up one of the bundles and put it in his inside left pocket, it seemed pretty natural. He got back on the bus and called it in. By now the sun was down. The highway was closed. Ambulance, cops, transit authority, the whole shebang. When radio reporters, traffic helicopters and the local television stations came out, he figured that he was not only going to be late for dinner. There was a good chance he was going to be fired, even if it wasn't his fault, even if the guy was drunk. To top it off, the turtle was no where to be seen, that was his whole defense.Wanda heard about it on the radio before he even got home.
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals. He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even, retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or "He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound, colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners, but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried, this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's clients recognized Cliff walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some time later, the client mentioned in passing, that she ran into Cliff at the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of all sorts. Cliff's T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK ! Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking Dora where she bought it. Cliff's mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no idea why he was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to any of the kid's parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely. More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away. He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused. He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big trial, Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early morning to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was just holding the deer, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time, a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there . There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his son ending up on some television show or story on NPR. It was their secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
Chapter Six: Chuck
Chuck wanted to make detective, so did half the guys in his division. He had been working on it actively for three and a half years now. Had a friend downtown who advised him on what to do, how to lay the groundwork. He started by making friends on the street. If he found a tough guy, say, smoking pot while driving. He'd pull him over, get his information, talk to him a bit, instead of citing him, he'd tell him that smoking while driving made no sense. He'd chat him up a bit, make a friend. Later, after hours, he'd look up the kids record, run a check on his family, find out where, when and how he hustled and made it a point to meet him again. He did this for the past three years and had connections all over Los Angeles, not just in his area. He spent one day a week doing research, talking to other guys who had made detective, even hanging around the division. Everyone on the force knew he was angling, if it didn't interrupt his local quotas, his desk duty and any other assignments, no problem.
When word got out that his brother-in-law was getting out of the joint after a fifteen year stint for manslaughter, people started talking. Chuck realized that this was actually his chance to make detective. These days everything on the street was controlled by a unit of men incarcerated for decades and sometimes for life. They gave the orders. Chuck knew that after fifteen years, his brother-in-law, Junior had learned a few things, things that could help Chuck move in on what they call, the ' Big Dogs '. No detective would bother with some small time peddlers, they all wanted a big catch, something that would get some ink, something that would help them up the ladder a few rungs. Recently, there had been a new crime spreading through the city of Los Angeles. Somebody or a group of people were torching palm trees in designated areas. At first, they thought it was a kid or pyromaniac. As it spread throughout Southern California, other theories popped up. The burnt palm trees were a signal that certain local business had not contributed to a certain individual or it was, 'a warning' sign, 'a don't shop here' sign or a ' your on the list ' sign. Chuck was in agreement that it was not random, he noticed when, where and how it was playing out. Since making the goal to become a detective, he had transformed the den into an office. His wife and the girls knew Daddy was serious about his work, so they watched television in the living room and shared the master bedroom with bunk beds. While Chuck and his wife Celia had what they commonly call a guest bed room. Celia had an entire room to herself for dressing and basic women's stuff with a vanity set Chuck bought when they first got married.
In his office, which he always kept locked, Chuck had a map. He followed murders: There had been over twenty-two in the past ninety days. Drug busts: there had been three big ones in the past forty-five days and dozens of small one's. Lately, he'd been following the palm tree burnings. Even started reading up on other incidents through history, from cross burnings to lynchings. Looking for something that might give him one up on what was going down. The Mayor of Los Angeles, in an official statement, directed to law enforcement had said that, " The Palm Tree Burnings " were a scar on the city, were bad for business, bad for tourism and had to be stopped. He wanted a new kind of cooperation between departments wherever the incidents had occurred. Incentives were given to both cops on the street, detectives on the beat and even the local feds, since several of the incidents had happened on federal property. One happened on a reservation near Joshua Tree National Forest and another happened directly in front of the Federal building downtown. Some people said it was a scam, just another distraction from the real crimes that were happening in L.A. : drug smuggling, child prostitution, underground pornography. The so - called sanctioned crimes that made money. Chuck didn't care what it was about, he had been told to get something important on it and he'd be given a serious opportunity to make detective. If he could crack the case, it was a total guarantee.
Several weeks earlier, Chuck went downtown to ask a couple friends, one was a lieutenant detective, if they would give him permission to tap the phones in his home.His brother-in-law was getting out of the joint and maybe they could find out a few things. The word would most likely come back officially as a no. On his way home, he cranked up John Coltrane's a Love Supreme, while flying down the 110 freeway, he realized that no one could stop him from recording any conversations in his own home. He could drive out to the local Circuit Station, buy some basic over the counter devices and wire the place up. Chuck came from the generation that actually was offered shop classes in junior high school. He had taken both wood shop and electric classes, so, setting up the whole thing was not a big deal. He wired the entire guest house in three hours and did it all for less than what it would have cost to tune up the station wagon. He couldn't tell Louis Sr. or Celia , they wouldn't understand. It was his job. He knew that if they ever wanted to take another vacation together, he'd have to make detective. Three days later, Junior got out of prison and Chuck drove down to Ma Fritters to get breakfast and check in with his father-in-law Louis Senior. They talked about how to deal with Junior's Coming Home party. 'Are you heading back to the office ? ' asked the waitress, ' Yep.' Afterward, while driving back, he thought, ' Not for long babe. '
Chapter Seven: Charles
When the bus hit Charles' bags, his cart had lodged underneath the front tire and saved his life. Although it tossed him several yards, no bones were broken, no internal bleeding, just a few road rashes and most likely, a concussion. When he finally came to, there he was, sleeping in an actual bed with clean cotton sheets and two pillows, the first time in several years. He hadn't been in a hospital since Mickey was born. His first thought was, "I gotta get out of here." , then he realized that none of his possessions were anywhere to be seen. Where were his clothes , his personal belongings, his savings ? Most likely, he was going to have to answer some questions to the man. Another thing he hadn't done in years. If they had gone through his things, they would have found his dog tags and maybe even contacted his family. Another thing he hadn't done in the past few years. Damn, what had he done in the past few years? Drifted. This was nothing compared to the many times he had to lay down his Harley because of some god awful drivers not checking their blind side, pulling out of the driveway without looking or simply not paying attention to others on the road. He had to lay his bike down at least a half a dozen times because of other peoples stupidity. Being a biker in Southern California was no easy task in the nineteen seventies. After losing a handful of friends to total idiots, someone's wife started a campaign to help Bikers who had been wronged on the roads and highways.
She ended up creating some kind of legislation and took it all the way to the high courts. Charles admired her tenacity, but that was not his style, he couldn't stand any of that legal stuff. He was a simple man, enjoyed nature, food and a simple bottle of wine. Those were the three things he had been able to partake in for the past few years, come to think of it, that was all he had done lately. He lived in the wilds of the coastline, drank a good bottle or two of dago red a day and ate well, for a beachcomber. No one ever suspected that he carried thousands of dollar bills. When he opted out of all the side dealings that went on in his world, his partners were glad to pay him out and let him go. Charles had been getting too old for the game and although he had respect, it was a young man's game now. He retired.When Mickey picked up the phone and the voice on the other end of the line simply stated, "This is the Venice Beach Police department." He figured, it was either something to do with his Mother's new boyfriend, the serial numbers on a recent bike sale or some kids breaking into the shop. When they said Mickey's father was in the hospital and they needed to reach someone in the family, his ears began to ring, his heart beat doubled and he broke into a sweat. They explained what had happened and asked if he could come down to the station before visiting the hospital. They had some of his possessions and also had a few questions to ask. Mickey said he'd be right there. He himself had more than a few questions to ask. Hadn't seen the old man in almost a decade. Had thought he was dead. Now he's about to have a family reunion in the very same hospital where he was born.
There was no way he was going to call his mother, sister or Moon. It was something he had to do alone. When he got to the station, two detectives sat at a table with his Dad's four remaining bundles of cash in front of them. Through the years, Mickey himself had been in and out of this particular police station. Sometimes to bail out friends, other times to sleep one off, after a fight, but this was the first time he had been summoned to ask questions about anyone else and actually showed up. He had never gotten involved in anyone else's business nor did he want others involved in his: the biker code of conduct. A long list of unwritten ways of living life. This was a pedestrian Q & A. "When was the last time you saw your Father?" , "What do you know about his business partners ?" , "Why is your Dad carrying over thirty thousand dollars in cash ?" Mickey didn't know anything and wouldn't have said, even if he did. He was simply glad to know that Charles was still alive and if they didn't mind, he wanted to talk to him in person. The detectives expressed their concern regarding the release of Charles from the hospital with all this currency. They thought it best to contact a family member. Mickey knew better, but he played along, thanked them and said he'd meet them at the hospital in thirty minutes time.
That gave him just enough time to call Moon, he had tried to handle this on his own, but decided he needed to talk to her. Called her at the bookstore from the phone booth in the hallway and without explanation, " My Dad's alive. I'm going to see him. I don't know what to expect. He's in the hospital. I'll call you later. As soon as I know what's what." Moon was in the middle of selling five old paper back books to a couple on vacation from Europe. There wasn't much she could say, "Wait a minute. What ?" Mickey realized this was a mistake, "I'll call you back." Moon was a stickler for details and in this case, he had none to offer. When he got to the hospital room, Charles had just finished telling a story and the two detectives were laughing out loud. That's the way it always was. Charles had a way with people, especially men of the blue collar variety. "Hey Mick, How the hell are you ?" Mickey just shook his head, as a long, slow, single teardrop fell onto his jean jacket vest's upper pocket and sat there before hitting the linoleum tile and splashing into a miniature Jackson Pollack like splatter that he stared at for a few seconds. "I'm fine Dad, just fine. How the hell are you?"
Chapter Eight: Ryan
Ryan was a good kid. Aced his grades in school, held down two jobs, was an excellent athlete, always the courteous type. A throw back who held doors open for old ladies, was always respectful to women, looked after his little brother, everyone liked Ryan. He had known Josie since the third grade, they had last names that started with the same letter, so, all through grade school they sat next to each other. Back in the seventies, public schools used an alphabetical system for seating and year after year, they found themselves next to one another. Ryan's mother came from the same country as did Josie's parents, so whenever she complained about her parents, he knew exactly what she was talking about. The so-called generation gap loomed large between them and their parents. Between the sexual revolution of the nineteen sixties & the hang loose style of the nineteen seventies, many immigrants had no idea that their new American children would leap forward so quickly into the modern age.
Ryan always told Josie to have more patients with her parents, "They're coming from all whole different world." Instead, she began to keep her inner world more and more private. When Josie & Junior split up, within days, she attached herself to Ryan. He had always been there as a friend, someone she could talk to, now she began to depend on him. Quickly, they became an item. If Ryan went surfing, then Josie sat on the shore, either studying, reading or just reflecting on life. When Ryan was working on his car, Josie would hang out in the garage, playing records and sometimes quizzing him on an upcoming test at school. They were both, what some kids called 'squares', they didn't attend ditching parties or smoke, but they did go to concerts and dances and it was safe to say that most of their friends would never have guessed that they had a serious love life. Josie was a very passionate person. Ryan was always very responsible, they talked about taking their time and Josie always felt at ease. He had been saving his money for a new wet-suit for the winter surfing season and decided instead to by her a ring, it was getting serious. When a group of students asked Ryan to run for class president, he declined. It was safe to say, he was, in more ways then one, the unofficial president of his class. Josie was glad he turned it down. She was very much attached and although mature, still didn't entirely understand her feelings. She was possessive of Ryan, having someone of your own to a girl such as Josie was everything, in her mind, he belonged to her and they belonged together. They were one of those couples that just about everyone figured would be together after graduation. When Ryan found out that Louis Junior had been calling Josie, he freaked. Although he was a surfer, he had plenty of friends from the other side of town, where Junior lived. One of his pals had written in his yearbook, 'To a cool punk, for a surfer.'
The divide between surfers and low riders was wide back then. Not for everyone though, certainly not for Ryan, who knew about all kinds of classic cars, sports, music.He was a bit of a crossover, culturally speaking. On several occasions he had helped guys with their car projects: chopped tops, pin-striping, dual carbs and manifold installations. His old man had been big on custom cars back in the day, even won some awards and made a few bucks reselling fix ups. Ryan's life did not involve the kind of built-in drama that Juniors did. Juniors Uncles and Aunts were always coming into town with one problem or another and his Mother tended to let them stay longer than his father would have liked. This created an uneasiness at home and always gave Junior an excuse to get into trouble elsewhere. His old man was a dish washer at the local cafe back then. Junior hated to see his dad relegated to this position. As a young man Louis Senior had studied to be an engineer and later ran an entire warehouse with a dozen guys working under him. This was before Junior was born, but it still put a thorn in his side at times.
To know that his old man had been passed by, just to be an American and have a family here, seemed like a sacrifice. Sometimes, Junior thought they would be better off going back to where his grandparents were from and several times he himself had done just that. Spent time on the farm, he loved it. This was the side of Junior that Josie fell in love with and it was also the thing that made Ryan jealous. He himself had come from a good family, had been given things,was considered upper middle class, never knew hunger. He had no real drama to speak of, before Josie, he had never even felt much of anything. Josie made him feel things, he was suddenly vulnerable, jealous, passionate and even angry. When Junior began to contact Josie again, Ryan began to swim in a new sea of emotions that he figured had everything to do with growing up, "This is what life is about." He could hear his Dad say, in some imaginary scene.That night was not at all unlike a film that occasionally played on late night television. Ryan saw himself as the James Dean character, if he backed down to Junior's challenge, he'd be disgraced. Maybe Josie didn't know it, but she was the Natalie Wood character and Louis Junior was well aware of his role in all of this. He had always been the 'bad boy'. Had found it easier to get attention by screwing up rather than doing good. Nobody seemed to notice whenever he did something well, but if he ever made a mistake, it was hell to pay. A family dynamic that had been played out for generations and he was no exception.
If the boys had only gotten into a fist fight, everything might have been better. Instead they settled things with machinery, in this case, with their cars. Some of the guys Junior hung out with used knives, bats and even pistols. He was old school, didn't believe much in weaponry. Plus, he was a good fighter, he didn't have to settle things like that. The whole thing happened spontaneously. Ryan had promised Josie that he would avoid any altercations . But when Junior pulled up at the stop light, only Ryan could hear what he said and thats when it happened. The boys began to rip down the boulevard, side by side, running red lights and stop signs in a reckless abandon that teenagers are known to do. By the time they got to the old bridge underpass, which crossed the oldest rail road tracks in South Bay, just past the skating rink, two kids in skates were crossing the street into the trailer parks across the way. To avoid the kids, Ryan swerved to the left, hit the curb at the curve and flipped his car into mid air, it tumbled several times before the final landing, which crushed the entire cab taking both their lives. Junior looked into his rear view mirror and saw what he thought hell might look like. The bridge was like a giant gateway, the fire, flames and smoke were all he could see. When he looked again, he saw the two kids on skates and remembered the first time he had ever seen Josie. He drove off and wasn't found until the next day. By then, he too had been consumed by a sort of fire. Sifting through the ashes in his mind was the single memory of the only girl in the world who had ever looked him directly in the eyes and simply said, "I Love You."
Chapter Nine: Wanda
Wanda was educated. She never suffered fools and had no time for any man who was looking to fill her nights with excitement only to leave her at breakfast alone, she told Jordan the first day they met. That was fine by him, he had learned to cook breakfast for himself early on in life. Could make a great omelette, a mean cup of coffee and had even learned to make french toast as good as anyone this side of the Mississippi. He knew she was talking about much more than food and he wanted more than a girlfriend too. Jordan was a self confessed , 'Momma's boy without a mama' , so it worked out fine. He had few friends in Los Angeles and no relatives to speak of. The guys in the quartet had disbanded a summer ago, when their main man went on tour with a big band that had gone off to europe. He hadn't touched his bass for a while and even stopped coaching b-ball at the park. It was time to settle down and all the ingredients were there.
When they first started dating, it was always an all day thing. A trip somewhere early: the beach, the museum, a ball game, a movie, a poetry reading, a walk in the hills, then dinner. He often cooked at her place. Three course meals with special sauces, exotic salads and always some freaky dessert. One of the dudes in his band had also been a chef at a creole restaurant & after gigs, all the cats would descend upon his pad with their girlfriends, dates and such. Jordan picked up pointers quickly. He was a sponge for good habits, a fast learner and wanted to better himself. They moved in together and never looked back. She looked at the clock and knew something was up. Jordan was never late, he was one of those bus drivers who prided himself on being poignant. After a while, his regulars began to appreciate that fact. They could always depend on Jordan to keep his time spots. One out of a dozen or so stops is considered a time spot, it lets you know that your either ahead or behind the schedule that thousands of people depended on to get to work, to school, to the doctor, to church or to some event that was going to start or finish, wether his riders got there on time or not. He tried his best to get them there. If you were going to do something in this world, wether it was cook a meal, play a tune, shoot hoops or drive a bus, Jordan thought you ought to do it well. And he did.
Wanda turned on the television to kill a little time and there on the eight o'clock news was the lead story, all about the shutting down of Pacific Coast Highway because of an accident between a bus, a turtle and a pedestrian. She knew that was Jordan's route, chances were one in four that he was the driver. News shows were always talking about traffic in Los Angeles, then they'd actually cut over to the man in the helicopter high above the city. Wanda always thought that was a put on, as if they really needed some dude in a helicopter actually talking on television. She minored in journalism and knew very well that any on camera announcer could handle the job, but L.A. was full of stuff like that. Half of it didn't make any sense at all, a quarter of it was for show, and the rest was for entertainments sake. It didn't leave much to the imagination. That was partly why she dug Jordan so much, he was real, fun to be with and was dependable. She didn't care if he was muslim, baptist or hindu, for her, it was more about the man rather than any one group, belief system or way of living life.He finally walked in the door after the Ten O'Clock news hour, he was a mess, had been questioned for several hours and had a strange look in his eye. Wanda had never seen that look before. They never had any secrets between them, but it sure felt like they had one now. "You heard about it?" He pointed to the television. "Dude standing right on the side of the highway, nothing I could do. Some giant turtle crossing the road ? Cops asking questions, highway patrol, local sheriffs, radio reporters, some cats from the L.A. Times and all the heavies from Transit Authority. They docked me for two weeks. Two weeks while they investigate. Turns out the dude on the road was connected to some old gangster stuff. One of my boys in transit told me, off the record. probably gonna fire me. I don't know what I'm gonna do." " You'll be fine. Come here."
She grabbed him and he pulled away, that was a first. In the past, at times like this, she was Mama and he was the little boy from Detroit with no one to look after him. Wanda figured he was just shook up a bit. She never dared to think that he was sitting on ten thousand dollars in hard cold cash and it was making him sweat. If Jordan told her, she wouldn't even come close to understanding. Now it was some gangsters money? Why would some old bum on the highway be carrying that kind of cash ? How could it have anything to do with mob stuff ? Jordan had never been an avid reader, but he had started to buy old paperbacks from a bookstore located in Venice Beach, not far from his break stop. He'd go in there and the girl who worked there would suggest stuff. He had bought and read Alex Haley's famous 'Autobiography of Malcolm X', on her suggestion. "Did you know that he was a writer for Playboy Magazine back in the day ?", she asked him, " No I didn't." She continued, " The Playboy magazine editors once sent Alex Haley to interview the head of the k k k, at his home in the South. He went right up to the front door and interviewed the guy. That takes guts, don't you think?" Jordan answered "Yeah, that takes some doing don't it ?" They became friends, whenever he'd break for lunch, she would have already pulled a few books aside. Poetry by Maya Angelou, obscure art books and early ephemera regarding L.A.'s edgy art scene in the sixties, guys like Charles White. Wanda would come home and there on the coffee table were books she had read in college. She was proud to be with a man who had good taste in literature. Jordan had once read a book by a dude named Chester Himes, it was called, "Cotton Comes to Harlem" where some homeless guy carts around a bevy of cash with a bunch of gangsters on his trail. Now, here he was, in the middle of a weird scene out of a detective novel. He had become a character in a book. His name and photograph in the newspapers and on the radio. Damn.
Chapter Ten: Stan
Stan made decisions that effected other peoples lives. He was well aware of his moral obligations and had not been the only person in his family to become a judge. There was a long history of legal professionals who had created legislation, legal precedents, cooperation between groups, unions, affiliates and social movements. His first visit to the White House had included a lunch engagement with a second Uncle, who had made it up the legal ladder from lawyer, to cabinet member to a supreme court justice, appointed in the nineteen sixties. Back then, most of the people in his lineage were liberal or at least democrats, but the tide had turned and now, most were republican or conservatives. Though, it was hard to find anything being conserved lately. Ever since Cliff was born, Stan had become numb to world affairs. Even a bit ambivalent towards party politics. He had settled down late in the game and having a kid was Dora's idea. She was considerably younger than him. They had lived together for several years before marrying, heaven forbid they make the same mistakes their parents had. He was an extremely cautious man, not the type to jump into anything, even as a child, his parents noticed that he had a wisdom beyond his years, sometimes had more common sense than many of their adult friends.When Cliff began to lag behind the other kids in class, they figured out rather quickly that he had disabilities. Dora immediately began looking for reasons why this could have happened. She handled cases where pesticides had effected children's health, chemical companies had been negligent in their social responsibilities, building codes had allowed asbestos to be exposed, local energy companies had polluted the water, electrical wires hung to close to housing tracts and even the local government had sprayed DDT, which had entered the blood stream of unsuspecting residents. And of course, fluoride scandals. She started with their diet. Where had the restaurants theyfrequented prior to Cliff's birth purchased their meat ? What kind of cultivation had the vegetable growers used at the local grocery store? What type of soap had she used to wash their clothes ? Everything and everyone had become suspect for inspection. Although this never led to any final discoveries, it did become a transformative period. From that point on, they lived entirely different lives.
Dora began to buy her produce directly from local farmers. She wanted to know exactly who grew it, how they grew it and where they grew it. She became extremely aware of artificial colors, flavors, dyes, man made fabrics, fillers, additives, and all the rest of it. Stan sometimes felt responsible for Cliffs health. He had been a smoker in his youth, was older than Dora, thought maybe it was his fault. Though she never did blame him for anything. They couldn't find anything in their family history and eventually concluded that this was just something that happens. But deep down inside, Dora never quite finished her inspection, it was an ongoing situation that at any time just might reveal itself. Dora began to specialize in cases where large companies had been responsible for damaging individuals. Dora was becoming a sort of social hero, whereas Stan was posited in direct opposition to her newfound community post. He was about to preside on a case that would make the Palm Trees burning throughout the city seem like a cigarette burn.Most people thought that a jury was mostly responsible for the final decisions made in courtrooms. But those on the inside, lawyers, investigators, court appointees, even bailiffs, cops and sheriffs all knew very well that the judge had as much to do with final outcomes as the case itself. What information was admissible, how a witness was to be questioned, when evidence was so-called valid and any number of opportunities could either be allowed or objected to, in one way or another, it often came down to the judges decision. Time was always a factor. Another element that often flew directly over the public's knowledge, was all of the inner connectedness of the legal system. For instance, Dora and Stan's connection. When they had just begun to date, there were times when she had brought cases into his court room. No one knew that they were involved. In fact, he never would have fallen in love with Dora if he hadn't witnessed what a brilliant lawyer she was. For a man like Stan, love was much more than attraction, beauty, sex, for him it was about a mutual respect, and to have that, he needed to appreciate the skills involved, Dora had it all. So when things got serious, Dora knew it was either step down or leave yourself open to a series of conflict of interest cases. She opened her private practice as a consultant and they moved in together. But they were the exception, all throughout the court system, relationships such as theirs existed, someone's sister might be married to a cop, who was a regular witness in another guys courtroom, who happened to be from the same church as the sister. Elsewhere, lawyers, secretaries, highway patrol, detectives and others had often been connected in some precarious situation where the fine line between justice and injustice was difficult to decipher. No one person was to blame, it was just a part of the system. Humans got to know the people they worked with, they got involved & they favored their own.But in a city as large and diverse as Los Angeles, this was a dangerous game with lives in the balance. Your life maybe.
Stan was responsible for putting away a good number of hardened criminals. So many, in fact, that it was difficult to even keep track. For the protection of Judges like Stan, the court system began to track the releases of certain criminals, so they could avoid retaliations which had been on the rise in the past few years. Some guy who may have lost his entire family, his home, his self respect, his youth and even his position and power within a larger group might simply come out, retaliate and go right back into the system for the rest of his life. So, on a monthly basis, judges were now given a file to read, some read it, others didn't bother. Although Stan seldom bothered to review his monthly file, when he found the startling portrait of a familiar face in Cliff's bedroom, the next day, he read the recent releases. Sure enough, a man he had convicted in a high profile case had been released and Cliff's portrait was spot on correct. It was a manslaughter case in which the prosecuting lawyer had decided to try the teenage man as an adult, that was the first red flag. The second was proof of malicious intent to kill. The convicted man had told a fellow worker that he wished a certain guy would get into an accident. They were able to prove that he not only intended to, but was actually the cause of the accident. The third count, he fled from the scene. This was used as a divisive way to influence the jury that the defendant was not only guilty, but also a coward who didn't even stop or attempt to help his victims. There was no way in the world that the kid could have ever helped them out of the car prior to the explosions, it all had happened on impact. Had the boy been able to speak on his own behalf, he might have had a fighting chance, but the entire event had sent him into shock, he lost it, had nothing to say in his own defense and was easily tossed away for more years than he had even been on the planet. Which meant that he had now spent over half of his waking life inside the prison system. An all white jury sent the teenage boy far and away. Stan noticed a letter in his in-box, opened it & realized it was an official communication from the officer and witness involved in the case, requesting to wiretap the recently released criminal under a special circumstances situation. Usually, this type of thing seemed almost routine, but for some reason Stan got a terrible feeling about all of it. He granted the request. What a life.
Chapter Eleven: Louis Junior
The day you get out of the joint, they bring you into a room, and bust out a bag of things that were in your possession the day you got arrested. Fifteen plus years was a long time. He didn't even recognize the things they pulled out of the bag, kids stuff, some cash, the keys to his car, the key to his Mom's old house, a leather belt with his name inlaid, a pack of smokes, they didn't even make that brand anymore. A wallet with a velcro strap along the top, inside it, a picture of his car, his mom and a school picture I.D. card of Josie. He look at the wallet and tossed it back in the bag. 'F*%#'. He walked outside and was waiting for a feeling of relief, some moment of freedom, but nothing happened. He looked at the sky and for the first time in a decade, he felt safe enough to cry, so he did. That was his freedom, the ability to show his feelings and not care who saw him. Junior had built up his armor, he was untouchable, nobody could get to him. He had been tested at every level.
He'd been betrayed,robbed, beat up, stabbed, lied to, yelled at, locked in the hole, stripped naked, reprimanded, punished & poisoned, but he had passed every test that came his way. He learned about loyalty, strength, inner silence, concentration, focus and to some degree, friendship. During the first few years, people entered and left, that was difficult. He later realized that the only people worth getting to know were those who were doing as much time or more than you were. They'd always be there. You had to bond with someone dependable. Not that you could ever really depend on someone, but, having a connection in the kitchen or laundry or yard helped out. Most of the stuff couldn't even be understood by anyone on the outside. He had become an animal in a human zoo. It took him a couple hours to get use to the fact that no one was watching him, no doors were shutting in front of and or, behind him. It didn't matter what time it was anymore. He had lived a life of clockwork bells, alarms, shouts and announcements on a p.a. system from the nineteen thirties.It was hard to fathom that he could do whatever he pleased. Louis Junior had not been the first or only member of his family to do time. Many of his Uncles and cousins had done a few years, here and there. But nobody had ever spent more than a decade.
The first day in prison, he remembered a story that his uncle Ray had told him about spending time in prison. "The first guy who even looks at you sideways, or calls you out, no matter what color, no matter how big, no matter how crazy, no matter if he's a prisoner or a guard, no matter what, you have to beat the living s+*t out of the guy, no matter what." So that's what he did. It worked, everyone left him alone, for a while. He eventually gave his mom permission to sell the car when she needed some money, as long as she promised to send him a few bucks every now and then. A guy needed things and you had to pay someone sometimes just to get by. Years past where he wouldn't even hear from anyone on the outside. Not even his dad. After Juniors Mom had a stroke, things were hard for Louis Senior, when he recovered, they began to write each other regularly and Junior would find that the old man had deposited a few dollars in his account. Which meant he could buy paper, stamps, a candy bar, this type of thing. Junior had been someone who really loved women. He had always loved his Grandmother, his Aunts, his Mom & of course Josie. During his stretch in the joint, it was the worst thing in the world to not spend time with a woman or a girl. All those years deprived of the basic and simple touch of a woman's hand, the sound of her voice, the smell of her clothes. Junior built up a world in his mind that was like a television show or a film or movie that he could repeat over and over: "The Summer of Junior and Josie".
Not unlike one he saw in school during a social studies class, the teacher wheeled out a television and everyone watched a show that had been produced for boston public television, he never forgot it, it was called, "James at Sixteen", where this kid is trying to get through life and he's in love with this girl. One night, they steal away and spend the night together out in the wild. He and Josie had done that, they'd gone swimming, they'd gone to see The Shylites, they'd seen Fernando pitch for the Dodgers, they even went to a freaky punk rock concert at a burnt out church in Hermosa beach one night. So, in his mind, he just relived it all, night after night, day after day, month after month, year after year. It was like a regular show with different episodes, a mix between "Chico and the Man", "The Partridge Family" and "James at Sixteen". That was how he survived it all. There were about a dozen or so episodes & he just watched them over and over again. Of course there was that tragic last episode & unfortunately, he was forced to watch that one just as many times as the rest.The one thing he realized right away was the fact that he had no friends, knew nobody and nobody really knew him. Alone. He had his dad, but that was not very solid. He had his sister and now she had three girls, but all they had heard of him was probably tainted. People feared ex-prisoners, mistrusted them, were suspicious and often blamed them for whatever went wrong in their lives. He had heard a thousand different stories through the years about guys returning home and coming right back due to some family member who dropped a dime because something had gone wrong, a valuable item had been misplaced or any number of things. He promised himself that he would never, ever go back, no way, no how, no, no, no. So as soon as he hit the street he headed straight over to the outreach where he had been receiving letters from a priest. It took him half the day to get over there by bus and the other half to get back down to the harbor where his Dad, sister and little nieces lived. The priest had explained that they needed guys like Junior. Everything on the streets of Los Angeles was changing. There had been a truce between several rival gangs and guys like Junior had a place in the church. "All right Father", he had said. " We have work for you, come back and see me tomorrow morning, we have a lot of work to do." The Father gave him five dollars for bus fair home, they shook hands and Junior walked back out into the street, a bit blinded by the light. He'd been living in dark grey hallways and closed quarters for years now, all this sunlight and open sky was new.He wasn't ready to see his old man and hadn't seen the old neighborhood where they had grown up, so he made it a point to check it out. When he got there, the house was gone, in fact the entire block was gone, it had been razed by the city and nothing at all had been built on it, just a chain link fence. Then he remembered hearing about how the local chemical factory had been polluting the fields directly behind their home and had to pack it in. They bought out anyone who could prove that they or their property had been damaged.
They had never even owned the property and by the time his mother found out she had ddt in her blood, a year had passed and it was too late to collect. She had been visiting a sister in Texas when it all went down, never even heard about until after the fact. "Mom", he said out loud. He stared at the open field & looked above him. A red tailed hawk circled over his head several times, it landed on the only tree left in the entire field and screeched at him. The bus dropped him off in the harbor well after dark, he had been given the address and knew it was blocks away from where his Mother was buried. His old man had written that he would walk to her grave all the time. When Junior found their house, it was fully lit. A big house out of an old movie. He could see the table set for dinner through the windows and what must have been his niece's bicycles and toys splayed across the front yard. Music could be heard from the house next door and then he saw his sister Celia in a white cotton dress and what must have been her new husband, bringing food from the kitchen into the living room. The house glowed with a picturesque energy that looked like something he couldn't relate to. It was almost too perfect to the point where, it seemed fake to him. He became scared that maybe he would say the wrong thing. What did he have to talk about ?
Junior realized all of this was happening too soon, he wasn't ready for this at all. He walked back down the street toward the waterfront and stared at the water for the next few hours. When it got past midnight, he strolled back up the hill, opened the front gate and found a yard chair under the tree in the backyard. He didn't really sleep anymore, so he just rested, looked at the stars and wondered what he would do with his life. After all the planning and scheming to stay alive and out of trouble while inside, Junior hadn't had much time to plan what to do when he finally got out. Well, he had his appointment with the Father tomorrow morning, guess he'd just take it one day at a time, as those dudes in the program say. Then, he couldn't help it, just like clockwork, he decided to watch an episode from "The Summer of Junior and Josie". The one where she can't stop laughing at his stupid jokes and they end up asleep in each others arms. When Junior awoke , it was morning, his new brother-in-law handed him a cup of coffee in a big white mug that said ' Support Your Local Police ', he looked kind of familiar.
Chapter Twelve: Moon
Moon was once a lifeguard. Her older sister had been a forester and later joined the piece corp. They were a Venice Beach family from as far back as the late 1950's. Moon was what they now call old school, she baked pies, mixed her own essential oils, her special patchouli, sandalwood, mint and lemon with a touch of rosemary, was especially popular. She sewed quilts, grew her own tomatoes, and occasionally imbibed a few herbs, but only for ceremonial purposes. One late Summer or was it early Fall ? Moon had been working the coast as a junior lifeguard, she was still in high school when a giant swell hit the Southern California beach side. It was strange to have such big waves so early in the season, tourists, locals, amateurs & professional wave riders all came out to try their luck. Every registered junior lifeguard was called in to watch the beaches. Already several kids had drowned along the coast. From Swami's surf spot down South, to the County line up North, there were reports of near drownings, accidents of all sorts. Moon had only been working officially a few weeks when the waves hit Venice Beach. She knew the locals were not going to sit this one out, swells in Venice were gigantic. Boards were being split in half by the pylons along the piers most notorious break. It was not unusual to see even the most seasoned locals washed up along the shore with a wound of some sort. Some of these boys considered it a right of passage. One of them would soon become her most intimate companion. Mickey was not the best surfer in his crew, in fact he was most likely the worst. But he had guts. No one could judge him on style or bravery, he just needed a few more seasons in the water. Having been more of a so-called, grease monkey, rather than a beach bum, delayed his experience as a kid. While his dad was still around, he could always be found just about two or three yards from wherever and or whatever the old man was doing. Usually, fixing someone's Harley. These were not regular motor cycles, per se, these were incredibly complicated Rube Goldberg type contraptions that just happened to also be vehicles. Were talking about choppers with chrome beyond chrome, candy coated paint jobs with more coats of varnish than anyone could imagine. These were complete works of art. Upon inspection, it was hard to believe anyone actually rode the things. There were a good number of bikers who actually parked their bikes, inside the house. That was how important a man's bike was in his life. If their wives or girl friends ever got jealous of anything, it was seldom another woman. Time, money, care, pride, attention, all seemed to be focused on the ride.
When Mickey's old man disappeared, he started hanging out with the older surfers in his neighborhood, gravitated towards the older brother types, most of them had been surfing since childhood, many had even started shaping their own boards and some had gone professional, suffice it to say, he had some great teachers. But every man rides the waves alone, having a good teacher only got you so far, in the same way that having your bike tuned by another man only meant that if it broke down out on the highway, you might not know how to get it home yourself. The day Mickey paddled out on eight foot waves with ten foot swells, none of his pals could teach him the lesson only mother nature could provide. He dropped in on a wave that was so powerful, so beautifully shaped, so massive, that it gave him the ride of his life. People were shouting from the coastline, tourists took pictures and locals were in awe. And then, he had to pay the piper, hadn't gaged his exit properly, just by a few seconds too many, like cinderella, boom, way past midnight pal. The wave picked him up, about six feet mid-air, swiftly and without warning slammed his body into the grey sea, he might as well have been dropped from a roof onto concrete. That was just the beginning, from there, he was thrust under water, hit the bottom, bounced back up to the surface and back down again. And then, as if being spit from the mouth of giant, he was thrust upon the shore, like an octopus might shoot out the remains of a recent meal. Onlookers gasped, he was, as they say in the movies, dead in the water.
Moon was the first person to reach him. She lifted his arms, cleared his breathing canal, pumped his chest three times, and for the first time in her life, began to push the life force from her body into another human being. Alternating the three point pressure pushes on his chest with the air in his lungs, for all of twelve minutes, she had been taught well. Mickey coughed up a half a gallon of salt water before coming back to full awareness. Looking up to see what appeared to be an angel of some sort. He was overcome with a strange mixture of fear and thankfulness. He reached up like a child might reach out of a crib, wrapped his arms around Moons waist and cried. He cried just like a new born baby. She joined him. Some years later, Mickey would claim that he did the whole thing on purpose, just to meet her, some of his pals believed him, but Moon knew better. He had almost died on the beach that day and she was well aware of his appreciation. Not just for his actual life, but for all of the other things she was. Moon was the type of person who completes a man. Respected by women and admired by men. A lot of people fell for her. Mickey's family had never been able to deal with the girls he had dated in the past. But, to his grandmother, Moon was a homemaker. To his Mother, Moon was loyal and trustworthy. To his little sister, Moon was supportive, caring and didn't judge her for being such a tomboy. She fit right into their family. The only thing she had to give up was being a lifeguard.
Mickey became extremely insecure. He thought that maybe everyone who she might save would have the same reaction he did and begged her to quit. She eventually, a Summer and a half later, granted his immature request, on one condition, they move in together. She moved in with him and together, they looked after his grandmother. Mickey's Mom was often on tour with bands during those early years. So Moon and Mickey were like parents to his little sister. Grandma added a bit of old world spice to the mix. She was the original rebel. Grandma had opened one of the first and longest running bookstores in the beach area. Moon started working there part time and slowly began to manage the place. It was one of those historical literary spots where all the beat poets had read their work. There were two literary institutes in Venice beach, Beyond Baroque and their store. European writers, New York writers, San Francisco writers, Chicago writers, all had done readings there through the years. From Henry Miller to Arthur Miller, it was a great place to buy a book and had a long standing tradition with edgy, respected authors of all sorts. Moon became a familiar fixture. She was the go - to - Gal. When the phone rang, Moon answered it, she had been ringing up a couple from Europe who had heard about the bookstore from their hometown of Paris France. There had been a poster in the window of a bookstore up the street from their apartment called Shakespeare and Company. The two stores were like sisters. They shared an equal history and created an unofficial exchange program. Moon didn't know what to think of Mickey's quick and deliberate statement that his dad was alive and he would call her back later.
She had never met the old man and wondered what it would do to Mickey. For years, that was all he talked about. His old man this, his old man that. She packed up the couples five vintage paperback novels and hoped he'd call back. All of the stories she had heard through the years about Mickey's infamous dad began to sift through her mind. She knew that everything was about to change. The entire life they had built up together. Moon got the sense that a new storm was about to hit the beach, she could only hope that Mickey wouldn't paddle out the way he tended to do when things got crazy. How many times could she save him ? When she got home that night Mickey and the old man sat at their table in their kitchen. Talk about Shakespeare and company. Moon got the sense that a king had returned and a prince was handing back his crown. She didn't like it one bit. " Moon, this is my father." His Old man looked up, smiled and said, with his trademark sarcasm, "The Son and the Moon ? Now all I need are the stars and I'm good to go." He took a shot. Moon tilted her head and quietly stared like a cat might look at a sparrow. She smiled & poured herself a shot, " Heres to you."
Chapter Thirteen: Fred
Fred was not his real name, but like a lot of immigrants, he had wanted to represent America, by becoming a real American and so, he started going by Fred. You know, like Fred McMurray, he would say to people. He knew three different guys from his region who had taken the name Sam. You know, like Uncle Sam, they would say. Mostly unaware that not everyone in America in the late sixties & early nineteen seventies related very much to either Fred McMurray from the television show, 'My Three Sons' or Uncle Sam, who had just sent thousands of young men to their deaths in Vietnam. But, these new immigrants had to believe in America, and they did. Many bought property, businesses, and encouraged their first born to join the armed forces. Fred and one of his partners from back home had invested in a liquor store located in the center of Los Angeles. When they first purchased it, they had both been working in the local factories in the day, and by night, they held jobs as security guards. Full time all day, part time all night, for about a decade. Finally, they bought the store, put up a big neon sign, Fred & Sam's Neighborhood Market. Since the initial purchase the neighborhood had changed. Los Angeles had grown into the proverbial melting pot that is always talked about in Sociology classes at big universities.
In the old days, its was New York or Chicago that was often used as the example of a new America, now it was Los Angeles and Fred was happy to be a part of it. That was until Sam had a heart attack and Fred was left to not only run the store full time, which meant he often had to pull all nighters, but also keep the books, order the product and find a way to either, buy out his dead partners in-laws, who knew nothing about the store or business in general or continue to cut them checks. He was in a quandary and more and more the relationship between he and his wife became strained. Losing Josie was the beginning of a chasm that only deepened in time. On somedays, they worked in tandem. When Fred got word that Louis Junior was to be released from prison, he started thinking of ways to deal with it. Imagined the worst things he had ever imagined, that he would like to run him over, shoot him, stuff like that. It was terrible, he knew it. The boy had been locked up for years and had paid his debt to society and still Fred was unable to forgive. Every thing he had ever been taught, philosophically speaking, had been thrown out the window. He just couldn't get over it and it began to gnaw at him. The liquor store was situated in a part of Los Angeles that bordered three different groups of people and within those three groups, there were sometimes factions between the groups themselves. There might be three rival territories for one particular group. Which meant his customers were sometimes clashing over issues he had no knowledge of. For instance, The Strolling 40's might come into the store at say, 1:30 AM before closing, to buy a case of Cold Duck for a Ladies Night party that just wouldn't quit. Well, if it just so happened that some dudes from the 12th Street crew were looking to buy a pack of blunts and a tall sixer of Malt Liquor, 'Don't let the smooth taste fool you' , the advertising stated just above the register, with a half naked woman who had probably been paid less than a months rent to bare her body for the sale of this fine, cold beverage, than, there might be a problem. One night, just before closing, a Chevy Impala, full of locals, rear ended a group of kids in a VW, while one of them was exiting from the back seat through the drivers side door. The VW was thrust forward and the door slammed shut while the kids arm was still in its path, so he was standing outside the car, but his shoulder was pinned between the window and the door jam. No matter what they did, the door wouldn't open up. The kid is screaming, the dudes in the chevy don't want to stick around to meet the man, and all this is happening in Fred's parking lot. What could he do about it ? Nothing. These incidents became more and more frequent and he became well schooled in the ways of street life in L.A. He had left his country to get away from things like this and here he was in the middle of a territory not at all unlike the very place he was brought up in. Killings in his region were rampant, there had been fields of dead bodies eventually discovered. Sometimes he would get home and have nothing to say, just plain numb from the day, didn't even want his wife to know about what was going on out there in the world.
Eventually, he was forced to buy bullet proof glass, cameras and a permit to buy a gun. Then he had to learn how to shoot. On Saturday mornings, from eight to ten in the morning, he went to a local shooting range and slowly began to meet some of the local cops. When he told them where his store was located, they started to fill him in on a few inside tips. Fred learned about 'sweep days', certain days of the month when local cops scrutinized certain areas. He learned about quotas, and which days would be especially, what they called on the streets, ' HOT '. Fred had heard his customers talking about these things through the years, but it was like a code he didn't understand, now he was in on it. Fred was wising up. Through the years, Fred would be forced to call the police. He knew there was a code and yet there were times when he absolutely had no choice but 'call the man'. He had met a bunch of these guys in the parking lot of his store in the early days and later would see them at the shooting range. Fred and Chuck became friends outside of their official business and realized that they both had things in common. Namely: Louis Junior. It was a high profile case, Chuck was a witness, but Fred had been in shock, he didn't really remember the faces of his lawyer, his judge or even Chuck. The only face that stuck in his mind during that entire ordeal, was that of his dead daughter, "Daddy", he could hear her say. There was nothing comparable to losing a child to Fred. He had lost a piece of himself. That child, to him, was his Mother, his Grandmother, all the women in his family, it was his future and all of it had been taken away, over nothing at all. Fred called Chuck at his home office the week before Louis Junior was released. He thanked him for the good work he had done and expressed that maybe they should talk some time soon. When Chuck got the message, he remembered the scene that night, thought about his own daughters and realized that no matter what, he still had to follow through.Chuck got in his car, drove downtown & requested a wiretap. He couldn't go directly to a judge, but he went to his pals at the division and they put forward a formal request. On the way back home , he exited the 110 freeway and walked into Fred and Sam's Neighborhood market, he was in plainclothes," I got your message and don't worry, were working on it. " Fred smiled for the first time in a few months, said nothing. He didn't charge him for the soda pop either. It was a 'HOT' day.
Chapter Fourteen : Turtles
Turtles lived a long time. Ancient and modern Native Americans know that some turtles live over a hundred years. In fact, if circumstances allowed, just about any living being could live an extraordinary amount of time. Jordan had been given a set of brushes that was his grandfathers from the early nineteen thirties. It came in a black leather case that housed two or three brushes, a glass container for some type of hair tonic, a stylized scissors and a container that might have held a bar of soap. He had never used the family heirloom and now that he had some time off, he unpacked it. He decided that this would be a safe place to put this newfound package of dollars bills he had recently acquired. When he opened the container for soap, what appeared to be the oldest and largest daddy long legs spider ever, peaked from out of the soap container. It was ancient and had a vibe to it like no other animal of its kind. It's eyes had lids and lashes, it's face, expressed some kind of emotions: pain, regret, loss, just plain tired. Jordan right away knew that this was a spider that must have been living in the kit as far back as the nineteen thirties, when his own granddad was just a boy.
He'd heard of things like this and immediately and quite carefully put the spider back into the soap case, zipped up the brush kit and as far as he was concerned, that spider actually was his grandfather. Jordan drove up the coast to where the accident happened, pulled over and just sat there. He began to study the landscape from every imaginable angle and point of view, there was the derelict in the trailer who pulled out without looking, there was the beach comber, there was the turtle and of course his own point of view. He'd been having some strange dreams ever since the thing with the turtle happened. It all had something to do with nature and his connection or maybe disconnection with the elements, the basics. Maybe he just had too much time on his hands. Or, maybe it was the money. Either way, he was noticing things that had never meant much in the past. Jordan had never gone to the bookstore in Venice Beach when he wasn't driving a bus, but for some reason, he decided to head down there. They had a whole section on native americans and animal medicine, he bought a book on turtles. He had been experiencing a recurring dream of swimming with a group of turtles, but the image was from a whole other lifetime, it was weird, you know how dreams can be, a whole other set of rules. Apparently, animals had been popping up all over Los Angeles in strange and unexpected places. There had been a coyote sighting in the middle of downtown, a family of raccoons had been seen swimming across a pool which had been built for the nineteen-eighty-six olympic games, a rattle snake on the streets of Westwood, these were not your run of the mill animal sightings, something was going on. What was the deal with that turtle and where did it go ? As Jordan was walking out of the store, he noticed Moon getting off the back of a motorcycle in the front of the store. This was probably her boyfriend and he didn't want to make a big deal out of anything, so he just smiled and waved, but she jumped off the bike and pulled him over to the edge of the street. "Hey, I want you to meet my old man, Mickey." Jordan was a little embarrassed but felt obliged, " Mickey, this is one of our customers ..." He extended his hand, looked into Mickey's eyes and said, "The names Jordan, nice to meet you." But he was thinking, 'Damn, that's the dude who was on the bus that day.' Mickey recognized the face, but didn't make the connection right away, "Nice to meet ya." Mickey drove off thinking that maybe they had met somewhere before. Jordan drove off thinking that life was pretty weird and getting weirder by the day.
When he pulled up to the stop sign, he looked down at the cover of the book and noticed that the tile on the turtles back was the exact same shape as the stop sign, it had eight sides. Like a Pythagorus pattern he had admired. Some of the ancient tiled patterns through the centuries utilized the octagon as a sacred symbol. They hinted at the idea that we are all connected in one way or another, the patterns of life. He hadn't smoked anything for over a year, not since the quartet disbanded, but he was beginning to feel kinda, out there. He looked left, than right, then left again, put his foot on the gas pedal and noticed a group of fire trucks parked a block down, they were spraying water onto a giant palm tree. He didn't know what to do with himself, nor did he make any decisions as to what he might do with the money. He hadn't counted the bills but he did peel back the brown paper, which, upon inspection had lots of little designs and was broken up into squares in perforated form, like a postage stamp. They were hundred dollar bills, so he had to guess that it was a hell of a lot of money. He got nervous thinking about it. When the cops had showed up, he had seen them scoop up the other packages along with the guys other things, a bag of clothes, a few blankets, they gathered everything into a bag marked 'evidence' which had been dated with a black marker. When they tossed it in the trunk he wondered if a guy like that would even miss it. Since then, he had been talking to some of the more experienced drivers about incidents such as these and several had suggested that he ought to get a lawyer. You could never be too careful. Jordan figured that he could definitely afford one if he needed to and wouldn't it be ironic that he would be using the funds to protect himself from the very dude who he might go to court with. But that wasn't what the other drivers meant. They were suggesting that he get a lawyer in case the transit authority fired him. They might just use this as an excuse to can him, even if it wasn't his fault. He was already the odd man out. What his fellow drivers didn't know was that Jordan had gained a few franklins recently and didn't really care about his job driving a bus. He had become fixated on the turtle. He was tripping.
Chapter Fifteen: Dora
Dora worked for a very big firm, right out of college. Their clients were large corporations, food chains, car dealerships, hospitals, major sports teams and entertainment personalities. She would often be one of a dozen different lawyers assigned to a case. They were extremely powerful people who had ways of influencing decisions that went far beyond what everyday people could even comprehend. If her firm had been defending a food chain for say food poison, then they had the power to have articles placed in newspapers, opinion pieces on the radio, even news stories on how that particular company was doing good community work and improving its nutritional value or helping kids with polio or donating funds to a particular recent tragedy. She learned a lot about how things worked and after five years, became so disgusted with the firm, that she flat out quit. Dora had watched hundreds of individuals cheated out of situations. They had been poisoned, they had driven cars that were ill equipped, they had been plagiarized, they had been injured and still sent out to play the game, they had been operated on the wrong bodily organ.
There were all sorts of situations where the individual was wronged and her firm defended the large company. She realized that after all she had learned in school, she had been working on the wrong side, for the wrong people. So she went back to school for three years and came out a new human being. She had learned in those first five years how the big boys wielded their power and was ready to take them on for the sake of the individual and she did. Dora took on cases that involved most of the same types of issues that she had worked on those first five years, but now, she was working for the person who had been wronged. When a football player had been injured, an employee had been crippled, a resident had been stricken with a disease which had been prolonged by chemicals, she prosecuted the big companies. She never spoke about cases in public, was aware of illegal wiretaps, never met her clients in public places, she had learned well. Dora knew that there was nothing the large firms wouldn't do to win a case. During the first five years she had seen it all. Placing individuals at designated locations to get information on a witness, getting the low down on a certain assistant's personal habits and indeed utilizing any technical device to further the source of information for one side or the other, it was a game of one-up-man-ship with no regard for the law. At least not until the actual day in court, prior to that day, anything was possible and just about every one could be influenced, scared, cajoled, even bought.As soon as she found out who was being sued in a conversation with a new client, she would hold up her hand and pass the victim a blank sheet of paper, as if to say, 'Here, write it down for me.' She trusted no one. That is why she won so many cases and became well known for being extremely dedicated. Even feared. She had friends in the universities, forensic scientists, professionals who trusted her opinion on wether the fight was worth it or not. People knew that if Dora thought it was a worthy cause than, it was indeed, a worthy cause. When she got a call from a bus driver who said he had recently been in an accident that was entirely the other persons fault and feared he was actually being fired for his religious beliefs, she met with him. Sure enough, as soon as he mentioned the Transit Authority, Dora raised her hand and passed him a piece of paper with a pen. There had been a series of cases involving the transit authority and most of them had settled out of court. There waseven a current case involving a group of people suing over the schedules not being met, a union had been created among the actual riders and they were seeking to keep the transit authority honest about the hours in which they claimed to be servicing.Dora knew that religion had become a point of reference in not only the united states armed forces, but also in many large companies, corporations and even in schools. She had been raised believing that church and state were a separate institute all together. Dora had once been surprised, even shocked to find a sculpture of Moses and the ten commandments attached to the side of a courthouse where she sometimes worked.
After a few days of investigation, she told Jordan that if indeed he was fired, that she thought he may have a case. She was not a trial lawyer anymore, but knew one who had specialized in this rather successfully in the past. The events he had sited in his casual deposition had exposed a system of favoritism that was based on affiliations and not on seniority or performance. She wanted to know if some of his friends or fellow workers would back him up. She called a friend who had tried this type of thing in the past, some were race related, others were systematic. They needed to get witnesses who had been retired early for the same type of charge. Witnesses who had nothing to lose by testifying for a just cause. Dora put the word out among her circuit.That night, after picking up Cliff , Dora and Stan discussed how best to handle this recent event at Cliff's school. They decided it was best to correct the school and request a change of policy before taking it any further. They liked the school, it was close to home and her office. If the school were to utilize trained employees with certifications during outings, then they would not sue. Cliff had friends there, they felt it was more important that they make changes rather than waves and indeed they did. The school swiftly rid the volunteers and hired three new employees to handle the excursions. Dora was disgusted that someone would do such a thing, who were thesepeople that would dress her child a certain way to send a personal message to someone else ? Unfortunately,one of the volunteers got a copy of the letter Dora had drafted with her letterhead and the address of her office.
Not only was Dora about to find out what kind of person does such a thing, she was about to find out just how disgusting some people will go to attempt to make two wrongs a right. There was a sickness in society and Dora had always been someone who had worked to heal that disease. She had been tested thousands of times and had almost always achieved her goal, but coming up against a vindictive ex volunteer would soon prove to be more challenging than her previous accomplishments. This particular volunteer was insane. Dora put Cliff to bed and her and Stan shared a glass of sherry as they had done customarily for many years. He told her about the recent release of this kid he had put away fifteen years ago, the boy had been Cliff's age and had been tried as an adult. He was now having some second thoughts about the whole case. Dora reminded him, ' Once the decision has been made, there is no turning back, your a judge. Evidence is presented, a jury made a decision, end of story.' He didn't want to tell her about the wiretap request, so he simply let it go. He was good at that. He also knew, deep down inside that the only places where stories actually ended were in movies, plays and books. This was real life, where the story never really ended, it just lingered.
Chapter Sixteen: Home
God had a lot of different definitions to a lot of different people. Junior wasn't exactly sure if he totally understood the concept of what god was. He had seen how people who believed in god had sometimes transformed themselves. He had been accepted by a group of firm believers and felt a certain amount of gratitude for being accepted.Deep down inside, he still had some real doubts. For the past two weeks, he had settled into his new home, had been given a key, so he could come and go as he pleased, but had no idea of the kind of culture shock that pervaded his every thought. That many years away, locked up, had taken away his identity as a person. He had become a unit within a machine and was now searching for who he actually was.Louis Senior had brought out boxes of old family photographs that junior sifted through. He rebuilt his existence by putting together a sort of road map of his life before the accident. He had taken a series of odd jobs, but none of them seemed to fit. The priest had introduced him to a social worker who gave him a bunch of temporary job options, a program wherein you could work for three days at various jobs to see if you had the skills. He had tried his hand at cleaning windows on skyscrapers downtown with a crew of guys, but the height prove too much for him. He spent a few days cleaning out the public bathrooms all along the harbor, grunt work that only reminded him of prison.
He had gutted fish in one of the last canneries that still existed in the harbor, came home smelling of guts. None of it meant anything to him, but he was thankful for the opportunities and had, on several occasions spent time in the church to show his gratitude. The priest explained that, on some days, even he had questions about faith that could not always be answered directly. He would tell Junior that, "It's an ongoing relationship, have patience my son." Junior had seen a lot of different types of faiths, while in the joint. There were all types of believers, he was very interested in the native american dudes who believed in the animals, let their hair grow long and had ceremonies that allowed them to practice their own belief system, they fasted, held prayer circles and chanted during certain moon and sun phases. He had also respected and became friends with a group of Buddhists who shaved their heads, meditated and had found a way to tolerate just about any type of abuse that the system or other inmates could dish out. There were plenty of Muslim's who had strict rules on what to eat, when and how to bathe, what direction to pray. Of course, he had plenty of friends who were down with the Jesus thing and having been raised in that faith himself, naturally gravitated toward it. Most of the people in that circle believed that Jesus was the only way, but somewhere in Juniors mind, he had built a map that had more than one way to get home and he quietly tolerated those who felt differently about it.He had a common sense about him that allowed for there to be a, 'constant maybe', to just about anything. There were no guarantees in this world, that was clear. One of the big boys had given him an address, that if, in case of emergency, he could go to, for work. He had done enough favors, cooperated enough with heavies to gain their trust and respect. He had the address memorized. It was the kind of work that no one actually talks about, no applications to fill out, no supervisor to report to, no waiting two weeks for your first check. You were paid in advance and you did the job quickly. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Since finding out that his brother - in - law was a cop, he became cautious about anything he said or did at all times. He still hadn't put it together that Chuck was the cop who had testified against him. Back then Chuck was clean shaven, with a full set of hair, no glasses. Now, Chuck was balding grey, with a mustache and specs. Junior had come to admire what his sister had done, built a family, bought a home, taken in their father after his mother had passed away. His little nieces were funny, sarcastic, nerdy, the way that kids can sometimes be, they said stuff that had more truth to it than some of the adults. He respected people who told the truth more than those that put up a front. Chuck and Celia had done something with their lives, they had created a family. Junior was almost positive that he would never do such a thing.One day, while Chuck was at work, Celia and Junior were having lunch in the main house, she ran out front to catch the delivery driver who was just down the street. Junior had walked down the hall towards the bathroom and accidentally opened the door to Chucks office which was normally locked.
Louis Junior entered the room to find himself surrounded by a litany of facts and graphs regarding the things going on the city. Recent arrests, murders, rapes, drug busts and the recent palm tree burnings that had pervaded L.A. with news clippings, photographs and police reports. When he looked at the top of Chucks desk he read a tear sheet that had been faded and worn. It was a headline that read, 'Local Teen Tried as Adult for Manslaughter'. He had never even seen the paper the day he was convicted, but there it was in plain sight. He looked closer and studied the photographs, one of him, the day of his arrest, one of the vehicle, a picture of both Josie and Ryan from the high school yearbook and a picture of a young Officer Chuck. 'MotherF*#@'. He looked out the window which faced the guest house and saw a cord that ran from the guest house roof over to Chucks window and into a phone jack unit that looked freshly installed, pieces of paint had been scraped away, exposing wood slivers around the jack. He closed the door and rushed to the dinner table before Celia came back in with a big box containing some dresses she had ordered for one of the girls upcoming birthday party. He smiled and said he had some work to do down at the church. It wasn't a total lie, he had promised the father that he would stop by and mow the lawn sometime in the next few days. But instead, he got on a bus and headed for the address he had been given. He was scared for the first time since leaving prison and it wasn't the fear of god.Junior remembered a story he had been told long ago. It was about the town where his people had come from.Back when his grandfather had been a small child, there had been a sort of Robin Hood, who was an outlaw, but had protected his townspeople, had gotten rid of a local merchant who had been abusing his power. When the authorities came to arrest him, the people of the town got together and decided to do what they could to assist. From his window in the local jail, they would put on a sort of show, 'Teatro de la Calle'. By wearing certain costumes, affecting certain body types, they were able to send him messages about what was really going on. It didn't take him very long to learn how many days he had left and where and how his fate was to be sealed. It was an amazing effort how the citizens were able to communicate in this way and he felt honored. He did escape, but was eventually killed in cold blood. Since that time, the system that had been created was still in existence. Whenever there had been an injustice by the authorities, the people had gathered to help inform, in one way or another the Robin Hood's of the region. Word got out and this way of communicating became well known. It was exported and utilized throughout the regions where oppressed peoples had little power. Junior began to relate to that story and decided that he had to tap into that same type of tradition. How could they have not told him? His own father ? His own Sister ? He felt betrayed and indeed, he had been. He walked up to the house, checked the address again, rang the bell, the door opened, he walked inside, the door closed. 'Welcome back', a voice softly said. He was finally home.
Chapter Seventeen: Stones
The Stones had been reunited. For the past few weeks, with Charles back at home, the house became full of energy. For years, it had been more like a place with a large memory. Now it was, once again, a real home. Charles, Maggie, Micky, Calley, Grandma and Moon found themselves thrust into the public eye, due to the sudden return of Charles 'Big Daddy' Stone, as he had been known throughout the art world all those years. He had been a part of the nineteen sixties counter culture revolution that included guys like Robert Crumb, who had famously designed the 'Keep on Truckin' image which had been tattooed, reprinted & even bootlegged ever since it's inception. Charles had been made famous around the time that Andrew Wyeth' s son Jamie had painted a biker riding one of Charles' famous choppers. Charles began to sell drawings and became collected by the top notch musicians & later by everyday hippies. Mickey had kept the legend alive by reprinting his fathers famous, 'Dude on a Chopper' logo on stickers, t-shirts and posters. It was the family business, helping to pay the bills, as well as make ends meet at Grandma's bookstore and of course, it payed for the house they were all now living in.
Since Charles' return, a slew of interest in his art had created a bit of a controversy. When an artist either retires or dies or in this case disappears, the value of the work goes up, since there will most likely be no more new works. Charles 'Big Daddy' Stone's sudden arrival had coincided with an interest in counter culture art and graphics worldwide. His generation' s contribution to the art world was now being celebrated, accepted, lauded. A new credibility was being attributed by the current art critics. Due to his mysterious disappearance and sudden return, the 'Dude on a Chopper' logo was slated for the cover of Artforum magazine, he was about to be rediscovered. Charles had disappeared in nineteen-eighty one. At that time, there was absolutely little to no interest in his work. Since then, people began to realize that American Rock & Roll and the images that defined it, were valuable. His generation had changed the way we think about our lives. People all over the world had been influenced by guys like Charles and the bands that his wife Maggie had taken on tour. It was a new world and for whatever reason, Charles was being welcomed back with full honors across the board. Rolling Stone magazine had called recently for an interview.Before the kids were born, Charles had been a roadie and later handled security for bands up in Woodstock. He had met Maggie while she was managing Bob Dylan. It was rumored that Dylan had written the famous lyrics, ' Everybody must get stoned ... ' for Maggie and Charles. They had become an item after being married on the road, with Robbie Robertson as their witness in Nashville, they had become known as ' The Stones '. When the film, "Easy Rider" hit theaters and Peter Fonda was seen riding one of Charles' trademark choppers, he became the man, with a new waiting list for client orders and enough financial security to actually have children. When Mickey was born, they moved to Venice Beach, closer to Maggie' s mom. The center of the music business, by then, was shifting from New York to Los Angeles and they moved with it. After the disaster of Altamont, the last place they wanted to be was in Northern California. They had plenty of friends there, but by nineteen sixty-nine, the whole movement peaked & Maggie was touring with a new group of bands. By the time Calley was born, she was working with a new writer who just penned a tune that personified everything that had happened in America in the past ten years. ' Bye, bye Miss American pie, drove my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry and good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye singing this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die. For ten years we were on our own and moss grows fat on a rolling stone ...' . Music now, had a sadness. Vietnam, the Kennedy's, Martin & Malcolm, Hendrix, Janice, Kent State, had all left it's mark and artist' s like Carol King, Burt Bacharach & Don McLean were explaining to the world what we were going through. Bands from the sixties, like the Rolling Stones, the Who & the Beatles were all going through a transitional period. Phil Spector and his 'Wall of Sound' vibe ended, Brian Wilson & the Beach Boys took it's place. Maggie had managed Wilson's tours, up until he lost it. The person most happy to see Charles was his daughter.
Calley had recently become a hair dresser & esthetician. She sat Charles down, trimmed his hair and beard, cut his nails, soaked his feet and even gave him a pedicure. His toe nails had grown over his toes like talons. Like so many homeless men who drift through life unnoticed, Charles had let himself go. Calley had immediately forgave him for disappearing. 'You bad boy, how dare you run off like that.', she said to him jokingly. Maggie was struck by how handsome he still was. A full set of hair, tan skin, he'd lost his beer belly and after Calley cleaned him up, Maggie got rid of the boyfriends and found herself admiring Charles in a way that she had years ago. By the first week of his return, they had slept in the same bed together. That Sunday morning the entire family ate breakfast together. The only doubters among the group were Moon & Grandma, like a couple of birds on a wire, that chortled and fidgeted their way through the morning, before driving off to the bookstore together. They had wanted to ask Charles the obvious questions like, "Where the F@%! have you been for the past ten years ?" But they didn't want to ruin the family reunion, so they talked about it on the way to work.
Calley was so happy to see Charles, she brought her girl friend to the house for Sunday breakfast and announced they were moving in together. Everyone knew that Calley had been more than disinterested in men. Mickey always figured it had more to do with the line of men his mother had brought home since Charles' disappearance. In any event, Charles' return gave Calley a new found strength and she used it to be herself immediately. She announced that they wanted to open their own shop and needed some help from the family. Charles donated five thousand dollars on the spot, it was the least he could do .Mickey and Charles sat in the back yard playing catch up. Charles' old studio had been preserved with a few minor updates which included a modern hydraulic rack to lift the bikes six feet high. Mickey had poured a slab of new concrete inside and out. They had an account with Snap-On tools & endorsements from a dozen small companies that had created accessories of one sort or another. Charles explained where he had been and what had happened.Mickey didn't really want to know, "It doesn't matter." But Charles knew it did , he had abandoned the kid without word, without warning, just up and left the boy to fend for himself. Charles had been around the world and back again. He had a post office box in five different cities where his partners sent him his cut of a business he had long since walked away from. Charles had been a dealer of various substances back in the day. Nothing lethal, never anything heavy, he didn't believe much in poison.
Charles had once taken the fall for a famous rock & roll star. He did a year & a half for possession of illegal substances while crossing the border from Canada into the United States. Since then, he had been supported and respected by that particular person. By taking the fall, Charles saved the entire North American Tour which netted over eighty-five million dollars. It was well known, among the underground, that he was royalty and because if this, received royalties. He had spent a good amount of time in both Amsterdam & Mexico, finally drifting closer to home along the coast of California for the past few years. Once, he told Mickey, he saw a group of kids wearing his art on T-shirts. When Charles inquired wear they had gotten them, the kids said, 'From a department store'. That's when Charles knew that Mickey had preserved the catalog. But, it wasn't that simple. Charles had no idea how hard Mickey had fought boot -leggers and rip off artists. Constantly sending cease and desist letters to protect Charles' legacy. Mickey didn't bother to set him straight. Not now anyway. Father and son sat in the back yard, drinking beers & telling stories late into the night. The Stones had finally been reunited.
Chapter Eighteen: Hole
Fred hadn't been home in days. He had no reason to be. Running the store on his own now was his only purpose. When he did go home, it was just a reminder of what once was, a daughter and a wife that he had survived. Fred had set up an old army cot in the back of the store. It was easier to just stay there, especially since he had begun to smoke and drink. He hadn't been golfing for over a month and his pals began to get concerned. He was a great golfer, the best in his circle of friends. They all owned shops along the central portion of Los Angeles: serving the community by supplying liquor, furniture, toys, glass, sporting goods, all kinds of small businesses. Fred's ex-partners in-laws had been pressuring him to buy them out. But he had no way of keeping the store together and buying them out at the same time. He would either have to sell his house or sell the store to do so. Fred and his wife had never been particularly close to his ex-partners family. Through the years and especially since her death, his relations with them had gotten worse. He had no idea how desperate they had become for money. They had a bunch of grown children who knew that if Fred would buy them out, that they could put down payments on their own homes. One of the young men was especially distraught about his own dilemma, he had recently gotten engaged and was expecting a child in the next few months. Every one in their house seemed to blame Fred for their problems.The young man had been hearing his mother & uncles talk discouragingly about Fred ever since their dad had died. The young man had been rummaging through his dead dad's legal documents for the past year, thinking of ways in which he could get Fred to buy out their partnership. They had made a false complaint a few years back, which got Fred audited by the Internal Revenue Service and only ended up hurting their own income. His books were clean and in the end, he proved to be an upstanding and loyal business partner. When the young man came across the insurance policy, he noticed that they had full coverage for theft, disaster and for fire. Strangely enough, the policy, which had originally been drafted way back when, also included the parking lot as well as any living creature on
it's premises. That would include a security dog, which they once had, back when the store first opened and the giant palm tree which was not like the other trees that were planted along the sidewalk. Those trees were owned by the city. Their palm tree was situated behind the store, it had cost them a pretty penny to trim it once a year and in itself had raised the value of the property by about fifty thousand dollars. The insurance on the tree would give Fred enough money to buy out the partners, or so thought the young man, who was not entirely educated. He heard about the famous 'Palm Tree Burnings' in the papers and on the news and got a bad idea in his head. Fred was awoken by the rattle of the chain link fence. It was four in the morning. He took out his pistol, climbed the ladder in the rear supply area & unlocked the skylight.
He could see a young man pouring water all around the base of his palm tree which sat just feet away from the cinder block store and inches away from the power lines up above. He shouted to the figure, "Hey you, what are you doing there?" The young man lit a book of matches, tossed it on the ground and the entire base of the tree lit up in flames. Fred was a perfect shot, he could have easily, taken the life of this person, but instead, he shot him in the leg. The bullet passed through the young mans calf and entered the palm tree. The young man ran toward the fence. Fred climbed back down the ladder, opened the back door and ran toward the young man, "Stop right there." Fred ripped the hat off the young man's head & recognized him right away. He was the splitting image of his dead partner Sam. " What are you doing ? Why would you do this ? Why ?" The young man had no proper answer.
The roar of the fire was immense, it was reaching the top of the palm tree and was beginning to melt the power lines. Fred opened the padlock on the back fence and instructed the boy to leave. He owed it to Sam, who had been a life long friend, to take care of the boy, even under this type of circumstance. " Don't go to the hospital, you'll have to just sweat it out. Don't tell anyone you were here either. Don't even leave your house until you hear from me. Understand ?" The young man said nothing. "Understand?" Fred repeated, the boy was now openly crying, he shook his head, yes, that he understood and limped down the side street out into the darkness, leaving an orange orb of light that could be seen from miles away, it lit the sky like a giant torch, by now the power and phone lines were on fire and fred had to run across the street to call for help. By the time the fire department showed up, all the power lines had been downed and half the block, including the street lights, had gone dark. Fred explained what had happened in all it's detail, except for the last part. There was a police report. Several detectives were assigned to the case. Because it was a part of the famous, "Palm Tree Burnings", he also had, not only the Feds, but a local reporter for The Weekly, which had been following the case since it's original inception. She had solved a series of cases through the past ten years and got the sense that something was different about this particular burning. Fred didn't get to sleep that entire next day and the store had to remain closed for the next few days. Of course, all the news teams came out and it became another item for conversation.
When the insurance investigators came out, they asked to view the video. Fred had installed three video cameras, one inside, at the register, one out front and one out back. The cameras took stills every ten seconds or so. Fred could only hope that the power lines had been severed before he had opened the gate and let the boy run to safety. When he finally got back inside the store, he looked up, there on the wall, was a picture, it was a snap shot which had been enlarged and framed, a smiling image of both Fred and Sam, with cigars in their mouths, wearing sports shirts out on the golf course. They had both been so hopeful of their new enterprise. Fred looked closely at the picture, Sam seemed to be looking at his partner from the grave, saying, "Thanks." Sam had always been lecturing Fred about this new generation. "You have to believe in these kids Fred, their the future." Fred thought to himself, 'If this was the future than were in a hell of a lot of trouble.' Little did he know, that this was the future and yes, he was in a hell of a lot of trouble. He closed up and for the first time in a month or so, he went golfing. Fred hadn't golfed alone for years. But he was in no mood to talk to the other members of his unofficial golf club. He would have to lie to them and didn't feel like acting. He had done so over five times since the fire and hadn't the energy to do so over a game of golf. He had repeated the story to the fire department, the police, the feds, the detectives and the insurance guys. Later,he had the choice to talk to reporters & had a feeling that the lady from The Weekly knew her stuff. Maybe it would be good for business, he figured that he would do as he had always done.
Go with the flow. Fred had always prided himself on only needing three clubs while playing golf. He used a putter, you had to have a putter, a Three Iron, for Bogies and the like & a Nine Iron. He had an awesome swing that seemed to utilize all of his frustrations and anger and loss into a single guided focus that harnessed his concentration. He had been called a lot of names through the years. The kind of monikers that people gave to foreigners. Things that had enraged his friends only solidified his resolve to be successful, to be good at what he did, to be what he considered a good American, a good father and in the case of Sam's youngest son, to be a good partner. His pals were enviable. Fred was not the jealous type, if a guy was better, he would simply study his technique. The sun was setting, Fred was the last guy on the course. He had the green all to himself. The course was peppered with palm trees and he had to laugh, otherwise he would have to cry, he laughed and laughed and laughed. If anyone was there with him, it was the spirit of his pal Sam. They had been golfers from the first week they came to this country. It was the thing you did in America. They had seen it in the movies and on television. All great business men in America played golf. Business deals all went down over a game of golf, everyone knew that. They had decided to buy the liquor store together at this very golf course and had made a pact that they would get the hell out of the warehouse together. He stepped up to the Eighteenth Hole, the sunset glowed, the sky seemed to speak to him. Fred swung, he watched the ball as it hurled toward the green. It landed in the hole. The flag shook for a second or two and settled. He slowly and methodically walked toward the green. Fred was an American.
Chapter Nineteen: Roots
Gimme some skin., his Dad's friends would say as they walked in the door. Jordan would put out his palm flat and the dudes would slide their hands across his as they walked past and into the living room to hang with Pops. Jordan had lost touch with all of that in the past decade and was now making up for it. He had ' Gone Native '. That is what the fella' s in the park called it. Shook off all that urban vibe and was searching deep for his roots. He'd been dipping into his new found savings in the past few weeks. Every time he opened the black case where the money was hidden, he would unwrap the brown paper that it was encased in and, like his dad often did, hewould lick his thumb and count out a few bills, than he wrapped the money back up, in that funny paper design and stashed it away where it couldn't be found by Wanda.Jordan had no idea that the bundle of cash was actually wrapped in a very precious substance that had not been on the market for decades. It was a sheet of the purest L.S.D. that had ever been produced, the very best. The money had originally sat in a post office box before the beachcomber picked it up and had been carrying it for the past few years.
So, although Jordan didn't exactly know why he was having strange new ideas about life, he was actually, 'Tripping - the - light - fantastic' as it was commonly known in the old days. Every time he even touched the paper it absorbed into his skin. He had never partaken in anything like that voluntarily before, so he had no reference point for what was going on. It wasn't like he was ingesting it fully, but this stuff was so strong that he was definitely 'Out There'. So much so that, when he went to the pawn shop to pick up his bass guitar, he saw a ring, bought it for Wanda and totally forgot about the instrument. Another time, he had gone down to the park to pick up that incense she liked and ended up buying a drum that had been made in Mali and stretched with a real goat skin by an ancient shaman, or so he was told. He bought a bunch of fabric and some rugs, original bamboo tiki lamps and started digging up a fire pit in the back yard. Wanda had seen this kind of thing before, but she was still concerned for him. He borrowed Old Man Withers truck the day they were cutting down an Oak tree, grabbed a bunch of the stumps and created what they called a tribal circle around his new drum-circle-fire-pit. When she got home, he was in the back yard stripped down to almost nothing, playing his drum with a bunch of cats he had met in the park. The house was full of new plants, a few sculptures, he had even redesigned the living room with all of this original fabric from the motherland. Bought a bunch of weird vegetables that even she was unaware of, some kind of macrobiotic root vegetables made from lotuses. When he gave her the ring, she really got scared. It was a real diamond with little rubies set all along the top and emeralds all along the bottom with some kind of amber along the sides. She hoped he wasn't doing anything illegal, getting into trouble or messing up. Of course, she was also elated, proud, even turned on by this new identity thing he was going through. When she asked him where it all was coming from, he said that one of his uncles had passed away back East and had left him some money. "What Uncle?" she asked. "On my Daddy's side, he had a piece of property that they sold and I got a piece of it, just in time too." It sure was on time, because the Transit Authority still had him waiting for an answer. Wanda made good money, but they depended on his income too. During the past year, Jordan had seen a lot of weird things and heard a lot of strange stories related to bus driving in Los Angeles. There had been a stabbing on Alameda, a lady had broke water up on Wilshire, an old man had a stroke down in the Harbor. Some times a group of people would aggravate someone, all along the route, a different person would bump, push, start an argument with some unsuspecting person. The drivers were sometimes aware of it and even worse, they were sometimes a part of it. It was a battle ground for all kinds of people. Homeless folks used the night lines to have some shelter, they would ride all night, and who could blame them ? Religious groups used it to recruit stragglers of all sorts. Drug dealers were sometimes peddling. A Driver was some times briefed by the Transit Authority prior to a shift, if there had been any recent or on going incidents.
The drivers were expected to do a whole lot more than simply drive a bus, they were expected to role play, ask questions of certain riders and even get information. Jordan wasn't interested in being a soldier for the man, he simply wanted to drive a bus, take a check and have a regular life. Half the dudes he grew up with were being shipped out to fight a war in The Gulf. Now he got a call to have his vision tested again. He had already done all of that before. The beachcomber was not even pressing charges, it turned out that he had been missing for years and the entire incident had reunited his family. Why were they stressing me ? He wondered. He knew drivers that were cool, but he also knew some pretty mean dudes that, one way or another, for whatever reason, just didn't like the job and therefor didn't like the people and ultimately, were not good drivers. Maybe they were just unhappy at home or were going through a tough time or had recently had some illness. Whatever it was, they would tend to take it out on the passengers. If a driver was a racist, he or she might just pass someone by, in the middle of the night, in the rain, on the last route. Or if they saw a mixed race couple or some regular passenger who had once complained, they might not make a stop. Jordan was the youngest driver and so he was most likely the least jaded. Some of his fellow drivers had been doing it for thirty years, they had been either burnt out or had become excellent. He knew both types. He wanted the certification after sticking it out for a year, so he played along with the process. Jordan was told that the goat skin would eventually speak to him. Drums were the original way that people would communicate with, back in the day. "Get in touch with yourself." , the dude had told him, play that skin." Skin. Skin. Gimme some skin. Give - Me - Some - Skin. He kept thinking about his Mom and Pop and all that sh*t they had gone through. All that history. He had some deep history, part Indian and part French, they had all kinda names for it, be it didn't matter to him anymore. He stared to get in touch with his roots, not just H-I-S roots but the real roots, the roots of primal energy. Sound, light, color, taste, the sky, the wind, the earth,fire, back to the elements in a big m*%$+*@&!ing way. His lovemaking had become absolute. Wanda had always appreciated his attentiveness, his sensitivity and all of that. He had once shared a story with her, the first time they had ever stayed the night with one another. Jordan had been just a boy, his mother was in the kitchen making breakfast, she looked down at him & said matter of fact, " Jordan, when you become a man, don't you ever pass out on the woman you love." He looked up at her and although he had no idea what she actually meant, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I won't." It was one of the few pieces of advice he had ever received from the woman. Now that he was rediscovering this whole new way of being, he would look at Wanda like she was the first woman who had ever walked the earth. The women at work noticed how she began to carry herself. "What's up with you?", they'd ask, "Oh Nothing", she lied. Jordan was 'up with her', sometimes late into the night.
Now that he wasn't working, he would make breakfast, a salad for her lunch and when she got home, he already had dinner on the stove. Not always. There were some nights where he was off on some adventure. He'd gone to some sweat lodge with a bunch of guys or went walking clear across the city. He'd gotten in the habit of using a walking stick and wore a pair of old sandals.One day, he drifted downtown, walked into a bank, got change for a hundred dollar bill, "Gimme-a-bunch-a-ones." The teller gave him the change and walked the hundred dollar bill over to her manager. She explained that she was having second thoughts about the recent exchange. He took down the serial number and made a call. The bill had been put on a circulation list twelve years ago. By now, Jordan was down on Main street handing out dollar bills to every person on the street. People were downtrodden all up and down that area: homeless, run-a-ways, hungry, strung out, drop outs, stragglers, drug addicts, the forgotten. Who knows what had possessed him to do such a thing. Maybe the goat skin had spoke to him. The man at the bank called the authorities and they downloaded a picture of him walking out of the bank. It wasn't a very detailed rendition. You couldn't see his face. With his ancient outfit and walking stick, he looked like Moses parting the Red Sea, one of the disciples or even Jesus himself. The image was reprinted & sent out. It became another item for the strange and regular events that seemed to happen only in Los Angeles.
A week later, the photograph was reprinted in The National Inquirer, right between an article on a recent UFO sighting and a baby that saved a dogs life in the family swimming pool. The headline read in bold letters, "Jesus Passes Counterfeit Bills to Feed Homeless". They had never actually found 'Jesus' and Jordan never even knew what had happened. He got home late that night. The Moon was full. A few clouds had splayed across the sky. He had been reading the clouds and the landscape like a student might read a textbook, it all had a new meaning. One of the clouds was shaped like a giant turtle, he smiled. After all, he had recently found himself. Jordan had finally found his roots.
Chapter Twenty: Heart
Cliff was up all night. He'd been working on the largest painting he had ever created. The entire wall had been covered with large sections that he would attach with stickpins. It was Sunday morning and Dora had several appointments at the office. Many of her clients were nine to fivers who were unable to visit during the week, so she had begun to take hours during the weekend. Plenty of days, Cliff would accompany Dora, he would draw, listen to music on his headphones, he had a little area in the back with toys, a table, a stereo system with a lot of Stan's old records: live recordings of the L.A. Philharmonic, The Who, Oldies but Goodies, Early Jazz, all kinds of odd recordings from The Poetry of Robert Frost to Stan Freibergs satirical stuff. There was even a recording of Richard Pryor Live at the Forum. Once, while Dora made pancakes and Stan grabbed a cup of coffee, Cliff looked up and said,"The God Damn M*$%#@^&F+!@# just sat there staring at the B*&^%!, Now what you gonna do with a White C*^&%$#@!%* like that, F*&^!" It took them by surprise to say the least. They eventually had to remove that particular album. Cliff was funny like that. He had a lot of heart, is how Dora put it. Stan decided that he wanted to take Cliff for the day. He hadn't spent much time with the boy and wanted to maintain an open channel of communication. So, after Dora went off to work, Stan and Cliff made breakfast. Cliff would crack the eggs into a big bowl and Stan would stir them up. They made it a point to do things with Cliff instead of for Cliff. Stan hadn't gone into the boys room, so he had no idea he'd had up all night creating, 'a new masterpiece', as Dora often put it. After breakfast they jumped into Stan's car and headed through Topanga, down towards the coast. Stan had been a professor at U.C.L.A. after receiving his law degree. It was a wild time to be teaching there. You had Vietnam, Richard Nixon, Chicano and Afro American Cultural Issues, Kent State, The Hippies, Tune in turn on and drop out, The Black Panthers, Patty Hearst and a sort of Native American resurgence. One of his former students had become a Professor there and he invited Stan to the campus. He was receiving an award and felt that without Stan's help, inspiration and guidance, he might not have made it out of his neighborhood, let alone, become a teacher. It was to be a short presentation and then Stan figured, he and the boy would drive down the coast to a place where Dora and Stan had spent a lot of time prior to Cliffs birth. The radio was blaring, '... Roll down the window, take down the top, crank up the Beach boys baby, don't let the music stop, look at these women, ain't nothing like 'em nowhere, I love L.A. ... ' Cliff sang along until Stan joined in. They both kept singing the chorus together. He loved this kid.
They drove down the coast, past the Malibu pier and into Sunset Boulevard, a sharp left hand. They drove down a few miles and a quick right into the campus. There were signs that read, Native American Pow - Wow Weekend. Not much changed around here, Stan thought to himself. They parked in the faculty only space and headed inside. Cliff could hear the drums and immediately tapped into it. They walked over to the law library and sat in the back row. The presentation was short, an introduction had been made and Stan's ex student came to the podium and made his acceptance speech. Stan had not been expected to make a statement, but when his ex student asked him to step up to the microphone, he looked at Cliff and said, "Hold tight kid, I'll be right back." Stan told an anecdotal story about the first time this particular student had walked into his class and how he knew right away that the man had potential. Stan was honored to see that some thing good had come from those first few early years. He met the man's family, added a few more stories to round things off, then looked in the back row to see Cliff. But the back row was empty. He looked around the library, ran out front, than back inside, checked the restrooms, then out back. The boy was nowhere to be seen.
Stan ran outside to the kiosk and asked the security guards, had they seen a young man ? No they hadn't. "Would you like us to call it in sir ? What was he wearing ? Could you give us a description ?" Stan could hear the drumming from the Pow Wow and said, "No, thats o.k ." He ran to the other end of the campus, the Pow-Wow was taking place on the football field. Teepee's had been set up in a circle and in the middle, Native American dancers were competing from all across the U.S. They alternated between the Fancy Dancers competition, the blessings & donations and then onto to best drummers, costumes, singing, chanting and honoring the elders. Stan ran down the hallway which was normally an entry way for star quarterbacks and entered the field. He asked the guard if he had seen a young man with long hair, wearing a pair of blue jeans, white converse tennis shoes & a black turtleneck sweater. The guard, who was giant, looked like the classic model of what people all over the earth had thought of when they pictured what a Native American Chief might look like: dark skin, deep, thoughtful eyes, a nose like an eagle, long hair, in this case, in a pony tail, strong hands, with just a touch of sorrow on his forehead's brow. The man laughed at Stan and pointed to the center of the teepees. Stan slowly walked towards the middle, the drumming became faster and louder as he approached the circle. He could smell burning sage, meat and the sounds of instruments here and there: flutes, rattles, sticks. A group of women were clapping and chanting. Furs, dream-catchers and antlers hung along strings that surrounded each teepee. He got closer an there in the middle of the circle, dancing among the best fancy dancers in the entire country, was his son Cliff. No one seemed to mind. The young man was dancing next to a very famous dancer who had been in movies and on television. The men were wearing giant eagle, hawk and turkey feathers. Their costumes were extremely colorful. They danced in elliptical semi circles. Cliff was holding his own and then the drumming ceased. The dancers began to walk back to their respected tribes teepee's, Cliff looked around and walked over to Stan. The man didn't know what to do, he reached over, grabbed the young boy and lifted him high. A Woman walked by and handed Cliff a piece of fry-bread on a paper plate. "This is for your son, he's got a lot of heart." With her accent, Stan had thought she said, He's got a lot of Art. "Yes, he does, thank you." Stan and Cliff got back into the car and drove down the coast. There had been a Lighthouse down at the edge of the harbor. It sat high on a cliff at the southern most point of the city. He and Dora had spent a lot of time there and had thought that maybe they had conceived Cliff the weekend they had been invited to stay with Stan's brother, who had been working there. There was a beautiful guest house attached to the main house and then the actual lighthouse tower with a powerful beacon light that once had guided ships through storms along the rocky coast. They had named him CLIFF because of this particular place. A beautiful and picturesque location that somehow defined their welcoming life together as a family. They were jumping into the ocean of life and had promised to weather the storm together.
Stan pointed to the lighthouse and said to Cliff, "We made you here." Cliff looked back at him, cocked his head, looked back at the giant white house and smiled. They walked down toward the cliff and Stan pointed at the rocky mountainous edge, this is your cliff. This is where we came up with your name. The boy smiled again and said nothing, but he knew exactly what Stan was saying. They had lunch at a local cafe, it was the longest running Cafe in the Harbor. Truckers, cops, locals & tourists frequented this spot. When they got ready to sit down. Louis, who had been a busboy there since way back when, cleared their table and smiled at Cliff, He remembered when his own son had been that age, before all the troubles had started and he lost Junior to the system. The two men looked at one another , neither men had any idea how their lives had originally intersected. By the time Stan and Cliff had made it back home, the boy was sound asleep. Stan lifted him out of the car and carried him to his room. He put the boy on the bed, turned around and noticed the giant work of art on the wall. It was an entire mural of Los Angeles. Stan's heart began to beat when he saw that the boy had painted everything they had just experienced. The entire day had been crudely documented, the freeway drive along the beach, the lighthouse to the south and in the middle a circle of teepees. Stan didn't know what to think. When he looked closer, parts of the city were on fire, a multitude of buildings were topped with orange and red tipped flames and whirls of black and grey wafted high above like smoke signals. He looked closely at the image in the middle of the teepees. There, in the center was a small drawing, a self portrait of Cliff. He appeared to be dancing right in the middle of a giant heart. Stan looked over at his son, sleeping in the corner and said to himself out loud, "He sure does."
Chapter Twenty One : Job
Junior had been invited into a world that he had only heard about through, sometimes, unreliable sources. Fifteen years locked into the system and who knew what to believe anymore. He had no idea what to expect by entering into it. On day one, he was briefed on what was happening in his father and sister's house, of course, he had already figured most of that out for himself, that's how he ended up making the decision to make a left instead of going straight. Who could blame him ? If you saw a disaster up ahead in your path, would you keep going, stop or make a quick swerve ? Junior flipped a U turn, straight out, burned rubber, foot to the peddle, peeled out quick. He still had to keep things cool at the family house, so that no one became suspicious. Louis Junior was directed to keep a somewhat regular schedule and stay close to his new brother-in-law, whom had recently made a big mistake. If Chuck had only waited for his wiretap request to come through from the boys at the division and the judges downtown and throughout the circuit, everything would have fallen into place, but because he jumped the gun, installed his own version of a wiretap, Junior got hip to what was happening and Chuck ended up squashing his own better interests and the interests of the State. He wasn't the first person to 'push the river' as it was commonly called and probably wouldn't be the last, but one thing was sure, he would never make it to Detective, if this was how he planned to get there. One might do this sort of thing 'after' you made detective, but to overstep on your way into it, was disastrous.Chuck was going to learn this lesson the hard way.
Junior's first assignment was a three day experience. He was given a series of envelopes and directed to use the one way bus ticket that was in envelope number one, which also had a new identity card that he would use in the event that anyone hassled him. When he got into town, he was to report for work as the janitor of a large hotel on the strip. The identity card was that of a man who actually was the janitor and had also been instructed to, 'Take a day off '. They had searched for look-a-likes for Junior, ever since he had been released and had found a dozen or so, from here to half way across the world. Look-a-likes were extremely important, everything was switching from physical enforcement to psychological. In the old days, it was all strong arm, more and more, things were being done differently. Junior had tapped into that mythical story he had been told about, the old world robin hood character, or so he thought. He had been given a room number and a time of day in which to enter the room. He was directed to give envelope number two to whomever was in the room, tell the person that their services were no longer needed, they were free to leave town by using the bus pass and the currency as soon as possible. Then he was to stay in the room and wait for another visitor. When that person arrived, Junior was to empty the contents of envelope number three and explain to this person that if indeed he was interested in staying in his current position than he should highly consider a reversal on his current case. Junior would return the contents of envelope number three, hand it to the second party and exit the hotel room.
It all sounded matter of fact, to the point, step by step. And, for the most part, it was. When Junior got into town,he checked in for work, spent the morning emptying trash cans and at noon, he walked up to the designated room, opened the door with his pass key and saw, laying on the bed, a twelve year old girl who looked like she had been dressed for a beauty contest. She looked at him, became startled, she had been expecting someone else & ran into the bathroom. Junior slid the envelope under the door and told her that she could leave, it was all over. This wasn't what he had expected at all, he found himself sweating.
The little girl began to cry, Junior tried to assure her that she could leave, go back home, use the bus ticket, as he was directed to tell her. She was scared, explaining that the people she had been living with would hurt her if she left without telling them. Junior assured her that she was safe to leave and that there would be no problems. Even as he spoke the words, he knew that people didn't just let others walk and he became conflicted by the situation. Speaking through the door didn't help any. When party number two arrived, Junior instructed the girl to stay in the bathroom and everything would work out. Already things were getting complicated. Such was the job. Party number two entered the room. When he saw Junior, he backed out and looked at the number on the door, Junior assured him that this was the correct room, pulled him in and threw him to the floor. Junior slapped him around simply out of reflex, lifted him up and sat him on the edge of the bed. He hurriedly emptied the envelope & together they viewed it's contents, a series of photographs with party number two and other lunch dates such as the girl in the bathroom. Now Junior really lost it. He had been directed to simply empty the contents, suggest a reversal decision and hand the envelope to party number two. Instead, he began to beat the man about the face, Junior was disgusted by the photographs, he began to pound the man with every ounce of anger that had built up over the years.
Junior realized that he had swayed from the assignment, he had lost control and had to get out of there quickly. He convinced the girl to open the door, she saw the man on the bed, his face was swollen, bloody, he was passed out. Junior, washed his hands, noticed the little girl and whispered to her, "Don't you dare cry for him." He had to put on the janitor gloves to hide the broken skin on his knuckles. "If anyone asks, your my niece, I'm taking you to the bus station to send you home, understand ?" She nodded yes. He had no idea where her ticket had been bought for, nor did he know for sure where she was headed. He had to put his trust in the assignment now and found the resolve to do so. When she got on the bus, his work was completed. Junior did as he was directed and returned to work, he completed his duties as a janitor and clocked out at the end of the day. The whole thing had been a lot more complicated than he had imagined. He promised himself not to cross the line next time, be in control. Wether there was to be a next time, he didn't know. When Junior returned, he was taken to a room and given a copy of a video cassette with a visible time code. He watched himself beat the man to a pulp, then he watched himself deliver the girl to the bus station. When the movie was over, he was told that if he ever veered from exact directions again that he'd end up back in the joint. They'd toss him over to Chuck and the boys downtown so quickly, he wouldn't know what happened. Then they had congratulated him on a job well done. Gave him his payment & suggested he lay low for a while, "Get out of town, take a breather."
What they didn't tell Junior was that after he left party number two in the hotel room, an entire clean up team had been brought in to fake the man's car accident, some how explaining his recent facial injuries. It turns out, he'd gone right through the wind shield. Lucky for Junior, the man was well enough to return to work and reverse his decision as directed. The little girl, who had been working for a rival group had been returned to a trusted family member who had promised to care for the girl privately. Junior's bosses had paid her families debt and they had killed two birds, so to speak. Maybe cleaning windows downtown wasn't so bad after all. At least now he could put a down payment on a car. They didn't want him moving out of his fathers guest house. A plan was being cooked up involving Chuck's phone line. After a few days, Junior returned home driving an early model car not unlike the kind he drove as a younger man. It was a straight standard model. Nobody at home had suspected anything. He brought flowers for Celia and some trinkets for the girls.
The people Junior worked for wanted him to start making phone calls about deals that were supposed to be happening in the city. He was given phone numbers to three different phone booths and a very simple and easy to remember schedule. They directed him to small talk for a few minutes, then begin to discuss exact times, locations and describe participants. They were setting Chuck up. A situation would be discussed based on an everyday 'Joe Citizen type' who held a regular schedule. So for instance, if a particular up standing person was known to frequent a certain bar on his lunch break and could be relied on like clockwork, then Junior and the person on the other end of the phone would begin to discuss how that person, with a full description, was involved in some illegal action. At first they started with small stuff, "Oh yeah, I heard about that guy. Isn't he the dude supplying so and so with such and such ?"
Usually their targets were totally straight people who had never done anything wrong in their lives. Entirely false leads that confounded whoever was listening to them. What better way to get back at people who shouldn't be listening to private conversations, than to bullshit ? It was beautiful, Junior was good at it. They did this for the past few weeks and already several people had been hassled for no reason at all. The boys downtown got word that Officer Chuck had implanted his own wiretap system just days before the judge actually granted them permission and he was docked. Junior had to play it cool at home and he did so. After all, Junior had a job to do.
Chapter Twenty Two: Ashes
By the Fall, Mickey and his extended family had adjusted to Charles' return relatively well. Except for his grandma, who had been waking at odd hours, sometimes leaving the house, wandering about the streets of Venice aimlessly. On Halloween, she had taken a walk along the beach, on her own and somehow fallen into the water. Now she was in the hospital with hypothermia, in and out of awareness. Moon spent most days at her bedside, Mickey spent most of his evenings there and everyone else dropped in when their schedules allowed. Calley and her new girlfriend were taking care of the bookstore. Maggie, who had always had a tempestuous relationship with her mother & had mixed feelings about her parents relationship and the early death of her own father, went awol. Moon could never understand this part of Maggie, nor could she adjust to Charles new presence in their lives. She had always been torn between Mickey's adoration of the man and Maggie' s stories of the man's neglect of his responsibilities as a father. Moon was stuck between two viewpoints and couldn't find any middle. Grandma's most recent incident had brought all of these issues to the forefront and Moon finally confronted Mickey. "Your grandmother's in the hospital and your own parents, can't find enough decency to come to her side. What the f@#$ is wrong with them ? Jesus christ Mickey, do something."
He just looked at her, "Do something? Like what ? Everyone in this family has a different relationship with a history all it's own. What can I do about it? You and I are doing all we can. You can't change history or people or what they've been through or how they do or don't relate. Look, I love the way you can stand up for what's right, but my parents come from a whole other world. I can't even pretend to understand what they went through. Either can you. So if you've had enough, if you don't want to be here or put up with it, I understand. But Charles is my dad, he put me on the planet. I have to respect that." Moon just stared back at him for all of a minute. "Were not talking about respect here, were talking about an old woman who is on her way out. Your parents need to get it together enough to overcome all their bulls*&% and stand by her side." Now he was upset. "Stand by her side ? Who do you think helped that bookstore to survive ? Do you know how many times my Mom and Dad bailed that place out through the years? When Maggie couldn't make a payment, Charles gave her the money. It was always a big secret, because Gram wouldn't take any support from him, so he did it on the sly. They've been there for her all along. I don't know why things are the way they are, I just know that it's our turn to take care of her and that's what were doing. Stop trying to change everyone else, these people won't change, so forget about. To be honest, I don't think the old gal even cares about them being here. So lets just deal with it ourselves." Moon wasn't satisfied with that response, she walked back into the room with grandma and sat next to her side. Mickey followed her. The last place in the world the old girl wanted to die was in a hospital. A week later, they took her home and she gladly let go of her body while sleeping in her own bed. It was the same bed she had created the child who had created Mickey who had met Moon and so on and so forth. "We are gathered here today to pay tribute to a woman who singlehandedly championed the great writers, poets and artists of her time ... " Everyone was present at the ceremony. Moon had insisted on it.
A few days before Thanksgiving, Fred got a call from the detectives downtown, apparently, the video camera had captured more than a few seconds of the exchange between Sam's youngest son and Fred, the night of the fire. If Fred didn't come clean about what really happened, they were going to charge him and the boy together. They knew Fred had no part in the burning of the palm tree, but how else could they get him to cooperate? He had opened the gate and let the boy escape. He had lied to everyone including the feds. The insurance company had it's own investigating team and if they got word or were given the videotape, any number of things could happen. Fred came clean and explained what had happened. He said that if worst came to worst, he did not want to press charges against the boy, it was his dead partners kid, how could he ? The detective explained that the situation had become much more dire than Fred realized. The boys downtown, the Mayor and the federal team were going to pin more than this palm tree burning on the boy. They needed to wrap the case up and were willing to provide evidence that would put him at more than several of the burnings. "You'll lose your license. You'll lose the store. It's not just about your property here Fred. This is about solving a much larger issue. Are you willing to lose it all over something you didn't even do ? You are going to have to testify in a court of law about everything that happened that night." Fred shook his head in disbelief, "The boy made a mistake" The detective countered, "He sure did. Thats a fact. But you made a bigger mistake. You tried to cover it up. That makes you an accessory. We need you to come with us downtown." Fred closed up the store and locked the back gate. The detective took out his handcuffs, placed them on the man's wrists, put him the back seat. The boy, who was actually in his early twenties, was already in lock up. He had denied the entire event, even while watching the footage. "That's not me." He had said. The scar on his leg begged to differ. Before Fred even got downtown, a call was made to the reporter at The Weekly, the headline read: "Palm Tree Burnings, Case Closed ?" Hardly. The Weekly had a tendency to dig a little deeper, they felt that something wasn't right about the official story. It would be just an opener to an ongoing series of articles. Fred was out on bail the same day, his golfing pals had pitched in, the boy, on the other hand, was sweating it out.
Stan was given a high profile case that had been moved to his district. The lawyers had chosen their jury carefully, cautiously, selectively, judiciously. Stan knew very well that this was a case that everyone was watching. He had seen the footage as had everyone else in the world. Dora and he had discussed the case almost everyday of the trial. It was hard not to. the man had been beaten by clubs more times than stan would actually pound his gavel during the case. the pounding of the gavel and the pounding of the man had become an image in Stan's mind. He had been through so much in the past year that sometimes he thought of doing something else altogether. But these were ideas that quickly came and went. He had made it to the big time. Presiding over a case like this was every law students dream. Stan knew very well that when the dream becomes a reality,all the real work begins. He was presiding over a trial that the entire world was watching. Every question, every answer, every objection, every ruling would be scrutinized by law professors and students for years to come. Not just here in the United States, but around the world. This had become a human rights issue. He knew exactly where Dora's heart was, on this particular issue, but, as a judge, he felt the need to separate his own personal opinions.
Stan was the king of departmentalizing, always had been, even as a kid. He would never judge his dad for being distant, nor his mom for being authoritarian. Stan had a keen sense of equal balance. But when the jury announced their verdict, Stan was flabbergasted. He looked over at the jury and his eyebrow lifted several inches. He did a sort of comic double take, but there was nothing funny about it. He looked over at the man who had been beaten. Visible scars both physical and otherwise were obvious. The men had been found not guilty of overstepping their authority. Their lawyers had argued that the man had struggled. The man had threatened. The man was dangerous. They argued that what you saw on camera was not the entire story. They had explained carefully, quietly, diligently and they had won their case. It was over. The men were given back their jobs and that was the end of the story. Or so they thought. When Stan and Dora had dinner that night, they watched the reaction with everyone else, on television. Well, not everyone, those on the streets: the angry, the poor, the forgotten, the struggling, the downtrodden were in it. Dora felt terrible for Stan. She hated to see the city divided into sections and colors and categories that would put it back for decades. They stayed up all night. Cliff was surprisingly quiet, peaceful, rested. He had already seen and drawn it the same week that Stan had been appointed the trial. By now, Cliff was way ahead of the game.
In early Spring, Wanda got tested and came up positive. Jordan was gonna be a Poppa. He had been back on the bus line now for several months. Certified at last. Things had mellowed out in their lives and with a regular paycheck, he had no reason to dip into his new found savings account. They did all the things that couples do when expecting, except for marriage. They made a list of names, they had a few customary parties and they notified their parents. Well, Wanda notified her parents, Jordan wasn't so sure he wanted to open that door just yet. So, he told the dudes down at the park and over at Transit and Old Man Withers. They had rented the place and had jokingly told the old man that if he ever wanted to sell, they were interested. Now it wasn't a joke. Jordan thought that whatever happens to animals when that ol' stork comes to town was not a myth. He was feeling the roots pretty strong now and the idea of having his own place was tugging hard at him. Wanda was all for it. She was not a young woman and saw this is a sorta pleasant surprise. Everything was falling into place. Jordan was back on his regular route when the verdict in a high profile case was announced on the radio. A man had been beaten severely by authorities, someone had actually caught it on camera and it had been played over and over and over on news channels and outlets through-out the world. It was brutal. The man had been pulled over, resisted arrest and was beaten with clubs by a group of men mercilessly. It had been talked about for the past six months and when the verdict was announced that the men had been innocent of any charges.
The people of Los Angeles, everyday citizens became confused. Every person, no matter what color, what age, had seen the footage. It had been the focus of conversations since the footage had been released and repeatedly shown everywhere. Jordan heard the news on his break and instinctively knew that something was going to happen. He had five more rounds to make before his shift was over. Already people were talking about it on his bus.By the time he made his second to last round, the sun was going down and their were now several reports of protesters who were doing more than carrying signs. A kiosk at a police station downtown had been turned over, several bricks had been thrown through windows. As the local news channels reported each incident, the people of Los Angeles watched and eventually, joined in.Quickly, the reports of violence became a sort of map, people watched it spread, stores were sent ablaze and the decision had exploded into a full on riot. Jordan's bus was empty, he had one more round to make before heading back to Transit. When he got word that people were attacking and burning liquor stores, pawn shops and 99 cents stores, he immediately thought of the bass guitar that his uncle had given him. It still sat in the window of the pawn shop. He made a left hand turn, veering from his routes schedule on Martin Luther King Boulevard and onto Crenshaw. Three blocks away, he could see a pick up truck ramming into the front door of the pawn shop. On the first try, it broke open the metal gated door, on the second try, it broke off the corner of the stucco beam, by the third try, the entire corner of the building had fallen away, leaving a gaping hole large enough for a group of people to enter and exit. That's exactly what they did. Jordan pulled the bus to the curb directly across the street. He ran up to the shop, climbed in and over the pile of metal, stucco and broken wood. He jumped up and over the glass barrier, grabbed his uncles red bass guitar, strapped it on his back, climbed back over the bullet proof glass window and out onto the street. While Jordan ran back across the street to his bus, a news camera transmitting live footage pointed its lens directly at him. He was back in the spot light once again. He climbed back onto the bus and headed straight for the transit authority. The fact that he had a pawn ticket for the item in question sitting directly in his wallet didn't mean much to his superiors. To Jordan, the red bass guitar was a precious item that would one day belong to his son. It was an heirloom. He and Wanda watched the city burn to the ground. People elsewhere couldn't understand why anyone would do such a thing. Jordan and Wanda didn't. They knew exactly why. Some time later, they bought the house from Old Man Withers for a fraction of the price it would have gone for the year before. This was their 'hood, this was their city, this was their country. They were here to stay. Jordan plugged in his bass and played a lick he had learned while working with a rock band back when he was a kid. Some dudes who were deep into the MC5. Doot - Doot - Doo - Doot - Doot - Do - Do - Doot - Doot - Do - Doot - Dooooo , and the lyrics went, 'Smoke on the water, Fire in the Sky, Smoke on the Water', Doot - Doot - Doo - Doot - Doot - Do - Do - Doot - Doot - Do - Doot - Dooooo .
Louis had kept busy in the past few months. The recent strike down in the Harbor hadn't affected business much. But it sure was affecting everyone else. The Longshore Locals had gone on strike for its dock workers. It had been years since they had a pay raise. More ships lined the Harbor than had been seen since the beginning of World War II. Full of product: Electronics, toys, house-hold goods, automobiles, leather goods, just about every thing you could think of that was imported came through the port. Ever since the Air Traffic Controllers union had been busted up, the powers that be had been attempting to dismantle every union in it's path. What was once a proud American tradition was now being trashed by a group of powerful entities, including some in government. Why would anyone ever try to break up a union that ensured people a safe place to fly a plane? Safe for the worker, the controller, the pilots and ultimately the passengers ? It took everyone by surprise and was really only the beginning. The longshore union was strong. Several ports along the West Coast decided to back up the harbor workers. It looked like the entire public as well as distributors were going to learn a serious lesson this Christmas. No new cars, electronics or toys. It was as if Santa Claus wouldn't be coming to town. Maybe it was time for Celia and the girls to appreciate the elves that did the hard work. Louis had bigger problems, his cataracts had gotten so bad, he could hardly see. He had begun to walk to and from work because he was afraid to say anything. Of course there were operations for this sort of thing, but he had concerns, had never been in a hospital a single day of his life. Besides the day his wife had the stroke. He was of the generation that sweated it out. When Junior noticed that his father was having trouble, he looked into it and found a place that would do the operation, which was a relatively new process. He paid for it himself. When Louis Senior asked how he could afford it, Junior said he had an old friend who would help out. The truth was, he had a new friend. She was a divorced lady he had met at a meeting recently, he was now in the program. All the stress of his new job had given him concerns about falling into some bad habits that he needed to avoid. She lived in the Palisades. They didn't seem to have a whole lot in common, but as they began to discuss things, they slowly realized that his fifteen years in prison & her fifteen years in marriage, were somehow corollary. When Juniors girlfriends asked what he was like, they didn't mean his personality. Louis senior had the operation just days before the union settled its differences and that was just as well. The cafe extended its hours, due to the now twenty-four hour a day work load to get the long armada of ships onto shore and products into the homes of citizens, not just in Los Angeles, but from here to the Mid West. Millions of dollars had been lost on a daily basis. Officer Chuck had learned a serious lesson about overstepping his boundaries, but was at least back in a patrol car. When the verdict came across the air-waves, he and his buddies had all cheered in celebration. But within a matters of hours their district was being overrun by angry protesters, several stores had been vandalized and the department was once again put on alert by the people who paid for that coffee he drank everyday. When Chuck drove up into Ma Fritters that night, Louis senior had put his order together. "Tell Celia, I 'll be working late tonight. How did the operation go, everything All right ?" Louis Senior stared into Chucks eyes and yes, "Yes my son, Yes. I can see clearly now."
J O S H U A T R I L I E G I contact: JohnnyMilwaukee@earthlink.net
BUREAU OF ARTS AND CULTURE MAGAZINE
Founded Arts Publication / Editor and Publisher : 2010 - 2013
Created a New Arts Publication Reviewing Art, Theatre and Music Events
on line & recently printing and distributing 20,000 Magazines throughout
the West Coast. Specifically in Los Angeles and San Francisco's Arts Districts.
Apprx. 10,000 Copies were delivered door to door in specific neighborhoods.
The remainder were available at Art Galleries, Theaters, Record, Bike, Surf &
Skate Shops. Book Stoes, Fashion Boutiques, Night Clubs, Cigar Lounges,
NightClubs, Discos, Fine Cuisine Patisseries, Wine tasting rooms and Bars.
Established New Directors Series :
Director of Development / Ben Stiller Grant Recipient 2006 - 2007
Created, developed and executed production of a multi - director feature film project.
Responsible for application of grant , distribution of funds, acquisition of sponsors,
nominate participants, negotiate radio & print advertising, write text for radio spots,
oversee poster & print campaign, conduct on-air interviews with local radio & print media,
negotiate rental of theatre, ticketing & web from impetus through to completion of project.
Developed Fifty Thousand Dollars worth of Sponsorship with a Five Thousand Dollar grant.
Film Festival : Project Producer 2002
Directed and Coordinated Camera Crews at Various Locations of Festival
Developed 35 MM Print Sponsorship from FotoKem for Festival Trailers
Conceived and Produced Multi-Director Feature Film, “Letters of the Underground I ”
Film Festival : Fringe Programmer 2001
Expanded Programming into neighboring communities with “Fringe Fest”
Organized Digital Technology Panel at AFI and Developed Sponsorship
Curated Tribute Screening of “Chinatown” for John Alonso’s Passing with Sponsorship
Film Festival : Archive Department 2000
Established and Developed Film Archive Department with sponsorship
Interviewed Filmmakers and Catalogued Clips, Produced official PSA’s ,
Produced Film Trailers and Bumpers with Archive Footage.
Film & Commercial Art Departments : Lead Scenic 1995 - 2000
‘The Set Shop’ & various Production Designers : J. P. Flack, Franco, Gigi
Assistant to Designers Marcos Lutyens, Jeff Barber, Marc White for Art Departments
Commercials Lexus, Honda, Levi Strauss, Heinecken , Pepsi Super Bowl, Pantene
Feature films include Bad City Blues, Deal of a Lifetime, various short films / music videos
Special Prop Projects with Dave Travers: Spaceships, Collapsing Trees, Avalanche Stones
Director : Selected Shorts & Videos:
The Magic Hats Award winning Short Film played Methodfest, Flickapalooza & FeatureProjectWest
Jack Kerouac Letter to a Jazz critic segment of " Letters of the UNDERGROUND Volume I "
Videos : Lil Three , Backlash in Venice , 1208 on Epitaph , Billy Mallery at Capital & others
Feature Creator & Series Producer :
LETTERS of The Underground Volume One 2002 Multi - Director Feature Film with appearances
by Melanie Lynsky in Kafka Letter + The Voice of Joe Frank , Directors include : Terri Phillips, Tom Davis ,
John Gulager & 12 Others. SilverLake Film Festival Opening Gala Premiere at The Landmark Vista Theatre.
Favorably Reviewed with photo stills in The Los Angeles Times, The LA Weekly, The New Times and Others.
Celebrating Letters of : Warhol , Dali, Kerouac , Patti Smith , Gertrude Stein , Jim Carrol, T.S.Elliot & others.
LETTERS of The Underground Volume Two 2007 Multi - Director Feature Film with appearances
by John Fleck as William Burroughs , Eddie Nichols of Royal Crown revue, Directors include : James Intveld' s
James Dean Letter (available on YouTube), Lucas Reiner , & 13 others. SilverLake Film Festival Centerpiece
Gala Premiere at The Frank Lloyd Wright Theatre. Sponsorship by : Ben Stiller Seed Grant , KCRW , KPFK ,
The ONION , Indie 103.1, The Original Cha Cha Cha , King King , Fred 62 . The Film's premiere screening was
introduced by The Robert Evans Company of Paramount Studios where three of the 15 Directors were chosen to
pitch a future film project to the producers of The Godfather, Rosemary's Baby , The Cotton Club & Other Classics.
Celebrating Letters of : James Dean , Hendrix, Tesla, William Burroughs , Siqueros, Hunter S. Thompson & others.
education :
New Beverly Cinema Membership 1988 - 1998
Weekly Double Features : International Directors
American Film Institute Extension 1990 - 1993
Directors on Directing & Producers on Producing
Associate in Arts Degree 1983 - 1986
El Camino College for Performing Arts
Performing & Visual Arts
T R I L I E G I selected contemporary exhibitions
1994 Visual Aid Gallery 1996 Bureau of Arts & Culture
Los Angeles, CA Los Angeles
Group Show -Photographs Oil Paintings – " The Vienna Portraits "
1992 Robert Berman Gallery 1997 Bureau of Arts & Culture
Santa Monica, CA Los Angeles
Democratic Fundraiser Wood Sculpture – " The Bali Carvings "
1992 Pacific Design Center 1999 The Normal Gallery
Los Angeles, CA Silverlake California
Fantastica '92 - Pen & Ink One man show – " Drawing & Paintings "
1991 Cure Gallery 2000 The Normal Gallery
Los Angeles, CA Silverlake California
Group Show - Steel Sculpture Annual Photo show
1991 Gallery of Functional Art 2001 The Rain Heron Gallery
Santa Monica, CA Echo Park California
Group Show - Modern Furniture Designs Pen & Ink - Tthe Enlightenment series
1990 Cure Gallery 2002 Mako
Los Angeles, CA Hollywood California
One Man Show – Sculpture Works on Paper
1990 Ace Gallery 2003 33 & 1/3
Los Angeles, CA Echo Park California
Fine Art Auction Books & Mobiles
1990 Gallery of Functional Art 2003 Ojala Fine Arts
Santa Monica, CA Echo Park California
Group Show - Modern Furniture Paper related Sculpture
1987 Chimerical Greg Art Gallery 2004 Mako
La Puente, CA Hollywood California
Group Show - Clay Figures The Bali Wood Carvings
1986 El Camino College Gallery 2004 Eastside Studios
Redondo Beach, CA Silverlake California
Group Show - " New Works in Clay " One Person exhibit : Photographs
1983 Nathaniel Narbonne Library 2004 Ghetto Gloss Gallery
Lomita, California Silverlake California
3 Person Show – Pastels one person exhibit
Paper related Sculpture
* 1979 Cal State Dominquez Hills University
Carson, CA Group Show - "Visions" 2005 Gallery of Functional Art
Ceramic Sculpture Bergamont Station Santa Monica Ca
*First Exhibition Fourteen Years of Age Paper related Sculptures
T R I L I E G I p u b l i c d e s i g n & f a b r i c a t i o n
CAVA Los Angeles, CA " Dali 's Moustache " : Sculpture Railings
TATOU Beverly Hills, CA "The Cherubs" : Sculpture Railings
HARARI Santa Monica, CA "Tree of Life" : Front Gate
FLEETWOOD'S West Hollywood " The Universe " Celestial Railings
ATLAS BAR & GRILL Landmark Wiltern LA " Atlas, Medusa & Hercules " : Sculpture
VINYL Hollywood " The Diamonds" : Knobs, Rails , Lights
NORTH Hollywood " The Orbs " : Chandeliers, Stairwells & Lighting
DADDY’S Hollywood " The Diamonds part II " : Entry Way
KINGKING Hollywood " The Unit " Bar Fixtures
SANGRIA Hermosa Beach " Le Solar " : Railings
LAS PALMAS Hollywood " Falling Water " Front Facade
CHA CHA CHA Encino "The Angel : Sculpture
LAVA LOUNGE Hollywood " The Crown " : Bar Stools
LINDER DESIGN Metro-City " The Vulcan " : End Table
NICOLE MILLER Downtown LA " All Natural " : Furniture/Fixtures/Displays
INEZ FINE ART East LA " The Open Door CD Art " : Prints & Works on Paper
BELLY West Hollywood " The Vertical Eye " : Façade, fixtures&furniture
CONCORD Hollywood " The Geo " : Front Entryway & Patio Lounge
TWO ONE THREE Downtown LA " The Executive " : Furniture ,Partitions&Pulls
7969 West Hollywood " The Orbs part II " : Railings, Design Motifs
The Highlands Hollywood & Highland " La Brasserie " : Fixtures
Saphire Universal City " The Jewels " : Fixtures
T R I L I E G I s e l e c t e d a r t i c l e s
Los Angeles Times Dec 1988 "Underground Hipsters Stage Benefit for Homeless" : Fundraiser
Restaurant Hotel Design International June 1990 " Atlas Bar & Grill " w /Color plate layout p65, 66
Restaurant Hotel Design International June 1990 " Atlas Bar & Grill " w /Color plate layout p65, 66
Exposure magazine Summer 1990 Expose’ : Metal man Writer : L. Sawahata
Press Telegram Aug 1991 " Sculptor Shapes his Niche " Writer : Sharon O'Mahoney One-Man Show Cure Gallery w/ Photo
Forbes Egg Magazine Oct 1991 Forbes Publication Writer: J. V. McCauley Expose' Full Page
Venice Magazine Nov 1991/92 CenterFold Photos by Beth Herhaft " Elusive & Eclectic " Writers : S.Coleman & M.Reinking
ARDI Magazine 1992 Barcelona Design U.S. Designers Profile Article w/ Photos
Fine Art Collector International Dec 1992 " Triliegi at Gallery of Functional Art "
LA Weekly Dec 1996 12 Artist 12 Books Peter Frank's Art Pick Column
Los Angeles Times Design Cover Story w/ Photos July1,1999 " The Art of Simplicity " Writer : M. Hennessy
Los Angeles Times August 16, 2000 Triliegi & Atlas Bar & Grill p.H4
New Times June 2001 "Adorable short film - The Magic Hats" w/ Still from the Film Writer: E. Roston / 7 Days in LA
New Times June 2001 "Adorable short film - The Magic Hats" w/ Still from the Film Writer: E. Roston / 7 Days in LA
Daily Breeze July 2001 " South Bay Film Festival " w/ Photo and quotes : The Magic Hats short film
LA Weekly / LA Times/ New Times September 2002 w/ photos Letters of the Underground : strange, unsettling & original
PAPER NY September 2002 Film Festival World Premiere Letters of the Underground : Triliegi produced feature film
LA City Beat / 7 Days April 2004 w/ photo Exhibition : Photographs writer : R. Epstein “ Who’s groovier than Joshua. . . ? ”
ANGELENO Magazine April 2004 w/ photo : one person exhibition pg 42 TRILIEGI's Photographs at Eastside Studio
LA Weekly / LA Times / LACity Beat May 2007 w/ photo stills “ Letters of the Underground ” Volume II Film Premiere
T R I L I E G I s e l e c t e d a r t r e l a t e d w o r k
Art Film Departments 1995 to 2005 Hollywood , CA Lead Scenic
Lead Scenic for ‘The Set Shop’ & various Production Designers: J. P. Flack, Franco, Gigi
Assistant to Designers Marcos Lutyens, Jeff Barber, Marc White for Art Departments
Commercials: Lexus, Honda, Levi Strauss, Benson & Hedges, Pepsi Super Bowl, Pantene
Special Prop Projects with Dave Travers: Spaceships, Collapsing Trees, Avalanche Stones.
Art for : Oceans 12 , Catwoman, Fat Albert, Be Cool, Without a trace, Art School Confidential,
Universal, MGM , Radical media, 20th Century FOX , Warner Brothers , CSI, Bernie Mac,
Bureau of Arts and Culture 1996 to 1999 Los Angeles, CA Owner / Curator / Sales
Curated Artists : Ron Riehel, Tsion Agai , Karen Steward, Alex McDowell, Spike Jonze,
Henry Duarte, Christina Habberstock , Eduardo Lucero, Paul Dylan , Lorna Stovall ...
Produced Special “ Twilight Zone ” Screenings for Writer : George Clayton Johnson w/Q&A
Curated Exhibitions, Group Shows, Organized Receptions, Sold Contemporary Artworks
Commissioned Contemporary Music Department & Workshops with Shannon Michael Terry
Sponsored Life Drawing Workshops, Poetry Festivals , Drum Circle Workshops ...
Design Studio 1990 to 2000 Los Angeles, CA Designer & Artist
Hand Sculpted “ Atlas Bar and Grill ” at the LA Landmark Wiltern Theater Building
Assisted & Built Interiors at : Belly, Cava , Daddy’s , Las Palmas, Sangria, Vinyl .
Furniture at Lava Lounge , Blackman Cruz , Linder Design , North , Nicole Miller .
Exhibitions at Ace Gallery, Gallery of Functional Art, Cure Gallery, Berman Gallery
First Assistant to Ron Meyers on Atlas & Ricky Kline with The Ced Moses Projects
Selected Graphics 1990 to 2000
The Star Child, 20 illustrations, original size 11x15, pen and ink 1990
Book of Enlightment, 15 illustrations, original size 11x15, pen and ink 1992
Thugs,Mugs&Ughs 36+ Portraits of Mugs watercolor 1992
The Bali Book, 41 illustrations, original size 10x28, mixed media 1996
The Relationship Book, 36 illustrations, original size 6x10, collage roll 1997
The Dawn of….?, 60 illustrations, original size 8x11 mixed media 1999
selected Painting & Large Scale Collage
Leather Jacket 1988 Large Painting Installation : Metro Club Series w/ Carter Potter & others
Violet Flame 1989 Pastel on Black Paper Large Scale Drawings w/ Handmade Frames
Back to Basics 1991 Drawings on Steel Triptych 3 at 24 "x 6 ' : Still Life with Figure
Vienna Portraits 1996 Portraits : Oil on Paper Board 24"x36"
Inner Landscape 1996 Abstract Oil on Paper 24 " x 36 "
Pico Portraits 1997 Portraits ; Oil on Paper Board 24"x 36" :
Nasty Little Things 1998 12 diptychs, original size 11x15, Black Paper & color pencil
Cubana 2000 8 acrylic paintings on Paper 10x15, Original Book Form
The Inner Workings 2001 12 acrylic paintings on canvas 12x12"
The Essence of It 2002 10 Collage 36" x 48"
The History Lesson 2006 12 Sewn Paper Collage with Acrylic apprx 36x48" each
Nostalgia 1979 2007 16 Collage on Paper 8 " x 11 "
The Establishment 2007 Book Form
The Walker 2008 8 acrylic paintings 9 ft x 12 ft
selected Photography 1990 to present
Rome , New York City, Paris , Amsterdam , Vienna , LA Artists, LA Riots , DowntownLA, Joshua Tree Series ,
Urban Hollywood Series, Wild Horses in Mexico , Sweeny Todd's Barbershop, Cover Art for Albums & Books :
Open Door Orchestra , The Redondo's , Restaurants in California . B&W 35mm & Color 2 &1/4 Square Formats :
specializing in non - digital , neg & transparency formats .
T R I L I E G I s e l e c t e d c o l l e c t i o n s & c o m m i s s i o n s
Megan Baltimore South Bay , CA Eric Bernard , Hollywood, CA Muriel Biancarelli, Paris, France
David Cordova, Eagle Rock CA Dick Clark III, Encino , CA Larry Clark , Venice Ca
Alissa Dym, Manhattan Beach, CA Pat Enright, Calabasas, CA Miel DeBotton, London England
Feauchtwang, London, England Mick Fleetwood, West Hollywood, CA The Hinden Collection , West LA, CA
Fran Hankey, Palm Desert, CA Joanna & Ben Harper, Hollywood, CA Todd Hughes, Silverlake, CA
Scott Kelly, Los Angeles, CA Rebecca Lee , San Diego CA Demi Moore , Malibu, CA
Regina O’Brien, Los Angeles Ca John Picard, Los Angeles, CA Chris Pike, Manhattan Beach, CA
Richard Roth, Orange, CA Barbara Puzik, West Hollywood, CA Tim Stearns, Glendale , CA
Wendy Ann Rosen, Burbank , CA Carol Roy, Hollywood, CA Susan Stafford, Santa Monica, CA
Ben Stiller Hollywood CA Mario Tamayo, Los Angeles, CA TRI-STAR Pictures, Culver City, CA
Russell Updegraff, Los Angeles, CA Peter Van Stone, Silverlake CA Victor Vidal , West Hollywood, CA
Dr. David Wallace, Beverly Hills, CA Allee Willis Valley Village, CA Bruce Willis Malibu , CA
J o s h u a T r i I i e g i selected writing
BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE : Book, Film, Art Reviews 2010 - 2013
The Legend of Johnny Milwaukee : Novella / Essays / Screen Play
Hollywood Short Stories : " Marty gets a Star " " Burning Paul " " The Bell "
SURFERS and LOWRIDERS : Novella / Screenplay / Poems
Poetry : " Like the Pharoahs " : Live recording at Vienna WordFest '96 .
Bureau of Arts & Culture : Essays regarding Art Exhibitons and
companion Audio cd for Open Door Orchestra's contemporary sounds.
Power of Words : Lecture Series on positive Thought through Words.
That Million Dollar Thing: Feature Screenplay WGA West #684522
Aria’s Aria : Feature Screenplay WGA West #684521
Devil & Rose*: Feature Screenplay WGA West #549062
co- written with Michael Dornbach
*Sundance Workshop candidate
Poetry : The Mexico Things , Desire , I wanna live in a Hitchcock Movie
Fashion Art & Design Magazine – S.F : Scene Editor for
Los Angeles 1988 - 1989 interviews, Essays and photographs.
Tsunami: Poetry Quarterly First published poetry. Issue III - 1988
References Upon Request JohnnyMilwaukee@earthlink.net
