Chamblee54

PG was being kept prisoner, in the basement of an bankrupt department store in Alpharetta. Some movie company wanted to film a scene in the parking lot. The cheapest way to get a bunch of cars is to hire extras, and then have them do nothing. PG was happy to oblige. He felt better about the whole thing when he found his car, in the same space, at 4am.
One of the first rules of movie work is to bring a book. On the busiest days, there are long stretches where the background sits around, waiting for something to do. The ideal book is a thin paperback, in the standard 4.25″x 6.875″ format. Such a volume will fit neatly in the back pocket, eliminating the need to tote it around. Such books are popular at yard sales and discount racks, so that it is no tragedy if the book is lost.
After a bit of experimenting, PG found a place to sit. It had a good source of light, and a table to write on. This was on the table with the tubs of water and coffee. There was a jug of lemonade on the table, but the craft services man decided that it was not good quality, and did not put it out. The rest of the night, people asked PG which cooler had water, and which one was lemonade. (When life gives you lemons, you are supposed to make lemonade. What do you do if someone gives you bad lemonade?)
The day before, PG had been in another mall, working on the same movie. His book that day had been “ The Subterraneans” by By Jack Kerouac. For some reason, the typing did not amuse PG. He wound up looking at a advertisement for a new type of shoe. The ad had a picture of Joe Montana, looking like he was going to throw a sneaker for a touchdown. PG looked at the ad, trying to find the hidden messages. It turns out that the signature of Joe Montana, in the top left corner of the image, had two phalluses, and a pair of boobs. PG suspects that Joe Montana’s signature does not look like that.
For the all nighter in Alpharetta, PG chose ” Black Humor “. It was a collection of short stories and novel excerpts, with some sort of connection. According to an interview Mr. Friedman gave a few years ago, this was where the term “black humor” was coined. The phrase is not as popular now as it once was, probably because of the racial toes that seem to get stepped on.
The racial angle works for the first story PG read. It was written by Terry Southern, and he goes to a baton twirling camp at the University of Mississippi. It was written in 1963, which was a different time. When Mr. Southern got to town, he asked the taxi driver where he could get some booze. Before you could say batons on fire, Mr. Southern was at a shack out in the country. A nine year old black kid sold him two bottles of “n*****r pot”, aka moonshine.
Between staring at high school girls learning how to twirl and strut, Mr. Southern got into a chat with two law students. “We never had no Negra problem here. There just weren’t no problem – wasn’t till those agitators came down here started all the problem business”.
The collection came out in 1965. In the introduction, Mr. Friedman talks about the rapidly fading line between fiction and “reality”, how it was tough to tell which is more bizarre. He made some comments about our high tech air force dropping napalm on Vietnamese peasants, and how Red China was about to get involved. At the time, there were 35,000 “advisers” in Vietnam.
The next story PG chose was by John Rechy , and was an exerpt from ” City of Night “. Mr. Rechy is somewhat of a legend. He wrote about hustlers, and did his research on Santa Monica Boulevard. The story is that he never did quit, but was out on the streets when he was fifty years old.
A british interview gets a bit more specific. Rechy didn’t clean up for a while. “The last time I hustled was when I was 55 years old. It was more of a symbolic act than anything – just to prove to myself that I could still do it. I actually gave the guy his money back, much to his astonishment. I didn’t put that story in the book. There’s a limit to how far you can stretch people’s belief.”
The story PG read, between questions about lemonade, was about a drag queen named Miss Destiny. In her night to night life in downtown Los Angeles, Miss Destiny…who will correct you, if you forget the Miss, and call her Destiny… longs to get married. We see her in a couple of nights on the town, with a motley collection of queens, trade, fruits, pushers, and police.
The author gets tired of the scene, and leaves for San Diego. When he gets back to town, Miss Destiny has vanished. It seems like everyone heard about her wedding, but no one attended. At the end, someone gets a letter saying that Miss Destiny had gone straight, married a real girl, and had kids. The author does not believe it.
Pictures are from The Library of Congress.