An American original- John
Just want you to know that I enjoyed reading the story and I usually get bored after 10 minutes of reading any book. - Chuck B
I finished reading A Story Almost Told. I loved it. It has a little bit of everything.-Jay P
I still say this book should be a movie...it's one of the most amazing stories I've ever read. – Windy
I certainly found it to be entertaining and a quick read. –Deac
A Story Almost Told
By Rick Karlsruher
Copyright 2008
Published by Rick Karlsruher
At Smashwords
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Table of Contents
Prologue
In The Beginning
Let The Insanity Begin
The First Time All Hell Breaks Loose
The World Changes
The Calm Before The Storms
It Started Innocently
The Odyssey's Foundation Is Set
Life Starts Getting Complicated
The Explosions Ensue
Going International
Hell On Earth
Seeing The Real South Africa
Spiraling Out Of Control
The Walls Come Tumbling Down
Deja Vu All Over Again
Is It Real Or Memorex
Greg Helps Out?
Back To The Status Quo
Home Sweet Home
Is It Over
A Dark Cloud Returns
It's The Same Old Song
Something Happening Here
On The Road Again
Happy New Year
Salsa Anyone
Going To New Orleans
Finish Line
Epilogue
Prologue
This is the story of a story that was almost told. How it nearly was.
A blink of an eye that seemed to last a lifetime and touched so many lives. It was an odyssey that traversed three continents. The array of friends, politicians, stars, police, wannabes and crooks came together without being aware of their participation in it. As bizarre as it may seem later, all those named herein did knowingly or unknowingly play a role. Some were totally innocent others intentionally not.
I started seeking a path to make a dream come true. Destiny played a series of sick tricks diverting the original path. I still don't understand how or why any of this happened.
So much was lost on the way to this day. More than a quarter of a century has passed, yet I am unsure whether this is ending a chapter in my life or creating a highway from a winding path.
Are these words and pages cathartic or reopening deep and old wounds? Being honest, I don't know the answer to this question. Only finishing the task at hand can lead me to that answer. We'll all learn together by the time it's over.
Let me assure you, everything you are about to read did happen. It happened to me and around me. As unlikely as it will seem, it is so. I wish I could be creative enough to lay out such a novel. This is non-fiction. I wish it weren't.
As we get started, I have to decide whether to clean up the language in how I think about and describe my life or make this prettier than it was or is. I can't do that. There will be some colorful and possibly vulgar language, as that is how life really occurs. I have nothing to hide.
This tale was lived by the seats of our pants Buckle up, it's not for the feint of heart. Hell, there are times Stephen King would have screamed like a little girl.
Thanks for becoming part of my story.
Chapter 1 – In The Beginning
This mess started several years after I graduated from college. My early twenties had been a continuum of family tragedies leading me to question every aspect of life, faith and the future. If the world was going to keep kicking me in the balls then bludgeoning me to the head, what would give this disaster meaning?
These feelings conflicted with how our generation grew up. We didn’t believe everything you could dream could happen. We saw it happen. We had living proof in King, The Beatles, standing on the moon. It seemed like every month there was a new country gaining its freedom. Horizons disappeared. Reality changed daily.
We saw walls come tumbling down. Winters, Pryor, Sellers, Laugh-In and SNL challenged the world with comedy. I identified with the sensible lunacy they evoked.
Working 9-5 didn’t make sense. What was happening in my life didn’t make sense. The Cold War and the world made little sense. Could I do something that would be worthwhile?
There was bad television, awful political writing, and terrible movies. I could do better. So it began. Had I known where this would lead me would I have started down this path?
As is the case with most adventures, Standoff started innocently with a pen, some paper, an idea and a dream. I knew this was a long shot. I understood this would be like hitting back to back Big Es on two dollar bets each night. Let’s go.
I had no clue how to write a script or what to do with one once I finished whatever it was that I would complete. How to get started? What should it look like? How long should it be? I didn’t have those answers when I started Standoff.
The characters were so real I could see, hear and touch them. The combination of real and fake places melded into each other. The story was hilarious. Adrenalin propelled me forward to writing the entire script in about a week.
Now what the hell was I supposed to do with it. My uncle had been in the music business for many years. So I asked him what I should do. It was pretty obvious he wanted to dissuade me from continuing down this path. Basically he pointed me towards several publications and told me to start learning a little bit then come back and ask more intelligent questions. I think he was more amused than uncaring. He wanted me to get a little bruised before he jumped in to help me along the way.
Go buy some trade papers and magazines, look some stuff up at the library, it sounded like a piece of cake. Had a drunken Edgar Alan Poe, Rod Serling, a tripping Hunter S. Thompson and a wasted Lenny Bruce been hanging out getting high, they couldn’t have come up with the horrors and adventures that were about get started from that simple advice.
I followed the instructions. There was an ad in Variety for a “film consultant” who had an office at Cream Magazine. I was new at the film business, but Cream was very successful. They wouldn’t have a scumbag or thief using their offices. This guy had to have some credibility. I decided to take a shot.
After the first call, I decided to take the train to New York and meet him. Cream’s office was right on Park Avenue. This was looking good as did the gorgeous receptionist. There was lots of action in the office as I waited for the “consultant”. The receptionist led me into an office. The door had a title on in and instructed me to wait. She brought me a soda. I was getting nervous as I waited. Where was this guy? To me making someone wait was rude.
The door opened. The fucking Munsters walked in. The guy had brought his wife and teenaged son. What the hell was this? Maybe they just lost big time in the gene pool lottery. I took a deep breath and figured I shouldn’t judge a book by the covers. Man, were these covers fugly. Look where his office was. He had to be a stud in business. They wouldn’t be here with all the beautiful and cool people if they weren’t. Could they?
I got it together and gave off a cocky, self-assured vibe. It was time to listen. They were the experts. Comedy is the toughest area to break into I was told. It’s the hardest thing to write. He wanted to read what I had finished to see if he would “take me on”. The cynic in me understood from the jump that he would “take me on” as long as my checks would clear. I gave them Standoff and headed back for the train.
Almost a week passed and no contact from my guy in New York was I wrong? Did he have some ethics and wasn’t really just after my check? Wait a second what he was going to charge me wouldn’t have bought a lunch for three at the Carnegie Deli each week. This paragraph is like everything in my life. It started out going one direction and ended up somewhere else. I need to focus. Should I call him? Should I rewrite Standoff? Do I suck?
Magically the phone rang. Nervously I picked it up. As soon as I said hello, the goofiest laughter I had ever heard erupted from the other end. They used words like “inspired”, “genius”, “hit” and “incredible”. I was told I had to get to their office the next day if I could. They wanted to get started yesterday. I was intoxicated, but what the hell did that mean?
Man, this was easy. “Experts” loved me even if I didn’t how or why. The semi-rational me appeared for the last time thinking a plan had to be formulated. I had to think. A buzz had to be created. I decided to listen to whatever they said to do. If they told me to strip naked and run screaming down Park Avenue tomorrow, I would do it. They had chosen me. I wanted it so badly. I could taste fame. Could I taste the receptionist?
I was so excited that I could barely stay in my seat on the train. When I got to Penn Station, the juices were flowing so wildly I almost ran to Cream’s office. I must have punched the up button twenty times waiting for the elevator. The receptionist had almost nothing on, but I was so focused on my meeting that I barely drooled.
The consultant was effusive with praise and spittle. His wife was bizarre but complimentary. They talked very quickly. In my head, I thought it was gibberish. But I wanted it so bad and it looked like they knew where it was. They gave me tasks to do before our meeting next week. Come up with ideas for a director, lead actors and lots of other stuff. Oh yeah and a check. I had no problem giving him the check.
I did my homework. The next week we discussed who should be the leads and if I had my check. Similar things happened for several more weeks. My frustration was starting to show. Why was I paying him? Logic was creeping into this endeavor. Let’s give him a little more rope to hang himself with and then start a real life.
Damn, I wonder what would have happened if I listened to my inner-me.
By this time in my life, my good friend Juan had invented the term “doing a Rick”. What this meant was shit just happened around me for no apparent reason. I’d run into a famous person doing regular things. I’d get a seat for a concert without knowing the concert was even happening. A girl would walk up to me and give me her phone number while selling beer at The Vet for no apparent reason. Well I was about to “do a Rick” that would change my life forever.
He sensed my belief that we were hitting a wall and that I would soon be looking elsewhere if something didn’t happen soon. Something had to be pulled out of his hat. I was restless that afternoon. He was on the line and knew he was on the line. I could smell the desperation in the air when he reached into his overflowing and decrepit briefcase. As he reached to hand me a book, he smiled knowingly.
“That is hard to find. Don’t tell anyone I have it.” He said.
I looked at the soft covered volume to see it was the Directors Guild of America’s membership book but was puzzled by his secretive nature.
“Why shouldn’t I tell anyone about this?”
“Only members and producers are supposed to have a copy.”
I did think about the seemingly fallacious logic in this statement. This evaporated as I saw contact info for Coppola, George Roy Hill and Hitchcock on its pages. Maybe the DGA didn’t want bozos like me having this. As I flipped through the pages, he smiled.
“Who should we target?”
“How does this work?”
As this was long before email and faxes, he said, “We can send letters and hope someone is interested. They’ll get back to us.”
This sounded like a way to get a bunch more checks out of me. My next action put all you will learn about later into hyper-action. Had I known asking my next innocent had the potential of turning Bobby McFerrin into a manic depressive, serial killer from the madness it would cause, I may have shut up. Naively, I found contact information for one of the fathers of modern comedy, Dick Martin.
I asked the “consultant” if he would call the contact number and talk to Martin’s agent to see if I could send him a copy of Standoff hoping Dick would direct. He had been directly lots of TV shows. No one could fit the craziness of Standoff like he would.
Nearly all of today’s comedy has direct contacts to Dick Martin. I mean Goldie Hawn started there. So did Lily Tomlin. Flip Wilson was a regular as were Richard Dawson and Arte Johnson. The writers wrote most of the comedy we saw for the next decade. Lorne Michaels had even worked for them. I had to try this.
“Why don’t you call his agent?” I asked.
He stammered for a moment. The color left his face. “Well you’re supposed to send a letter first.”
“Why?”
“That’s the protocol. Maybe you should call and find out for yourself.”
I was getting pissed. What a pussy this guy was turning out to be.
“I’m paying you to do this.”
“You are paying me to lead you through the film business. My experience says follow the normal channels. You’ll do better. If you want to call him, here’s the phone.”
I paused knowing he didn’t expect me to take him up on his offer. That pissed me off. What went through my mind in that instant was that I had very little chance anyway and if I did this he’d have to act more directly on my behalf.
“Give me the damn number.” I barked.
This caught him off-guard. He hesitated handing the book back to me. I glared. It frightened him. The book was back in my hands. My life would never be the same.
I mean really. How the fuck could anyone ever know something this innocuous would change my life so dramatically? Like most things in my life the outcome could never be foreseen.
Nervously, I dialed the agent’s number. It rang once. I almost hung up. It rang twice. The “consultant” looked arrogantly at me. After the fourth ring, it was picked up.
“Hello?”
That voice was so familiar, but I was so nervous I didn’t think about this until later.
“Are you Dick Martin’s agent?”
“What?”
“Are you Dick Martin’s agent?”
“No, I’m Dick Martin. Who are you?”
I told him who I was.
“How the hell did you get my number?”
“From the Directors Guild Directory, your number is listed as your agent’s number.”
“Shit. Can you hold on for a minute?”
In the background I heard him yell to his wife Dolly to get his DGA book. Then I heard her laugh. Then he laughed.
“Jesus I’m an idiot.” He said.
I remember laughing. The next thing I remember is him asking me if I played golf and would I like to join him the next day. After I told him I was in New York, he asked me if I would do him the favor of not telling anyone that his phone number was so public. I told him he had nothing to worry about. He thanked me. Finally he got around to asking me why I called.
“Thanks for thinking of me.”
He was thanking me? Where was this going?
Dick was genuinely interested in Standoff. We talked for 20-30 minutes. He was so gracious and as funny I thought he would be. I think the conversation would have continued for a while longer had Dolly not screamed their guests had arrived. Before hanging up he gave me his home address and told me to send him the script as he loved the story.
The “consultant” was stunned but tried to take credit for it. Even his arrogant BS couldn’t pierce my elation. I immediately demanded the “consultant” make a copy of Standoff and send it FedEx to Dick’s home.
I loved making that cheap bastard use my money to pay for this. It was the cherry on top of this great sundae.
I remember going to the oyster bar at Penn Station to chow down on a pile of shrimp washed down by lots of bourbon. It was a great train ride home.
WOW!!! I don’t think the smile left my face for a couple of days.
A few days later the phone rang. It was Dick. Often his pure love and joy in life came through his voice. His booming and electric laugh was behind his asking me, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Give me the bad news first.”
“I have no idea what you sent me. It isn’t a screenplay, but you can fix that. I’ll send you one to use as a model.”
If that was the bad, I was psyched. Psyched, hell I was about to have a wet dream I was so excited.
“Thanks. That would be great.”
“Now the good news. That’s the funniest fucking thing I’ve read in years. It has all the elements to make a great movie. Are you sure you want me to direct it?”
Holy shit! Holy shit! He loved it. I lost it for a minute and said something like, “Am I sure? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Then I heard both he and Dolly roaring in laughter. “I guess that’s a yes. Thanks.”
I came back to Earth and asked if I said what I thought I said.
He laughed again, said yep and they loved it. We chatted for a couple more minutes leaving it with I had a lot of work to do.
I saw the “consultant” a few days later. He said we should produce the movie. Why not?
Man, this was easy. These would be hauntingly famous last words. My life would never be the same in so many ways. Havoc, madness and disaster would follow.
Chapter 2 – Let The Insanity Begin
I got Dick’s package and was able to change forty odd pages of people talking into about one hundred ten of a movie. As I did the work, I felt self-conscious. There was something to lose. Before it was a shot in the dark, failure was expected and acceptable. There was pressure. My uncle said, “Doors open on the way in and bolt on the way out.” Now, I was beginning to understand this concept.
Although I was starting to realize my “consultant” was of dubious value, I kept him around. What I didn’t realize was how long and his impact on my life would be. The decision to continue with him had indirect implications that could have never been seen.
Nostramus would have been driven to drink had he been asked about me all those centuries ago. Actually, if asked, I think he would have taken the easy way out, “I see nothing about some guy who will want to be a writer. No need to waste my time.”
The full script was finished and sent. I felt good about how Standoff came out. The visuals were hilarious. I was sure Dick would like it. A couple weeks later I got a call from him telling me he liked it and wishing me luck it taking the next steps.
As this was happening my mother had her fourth or fifth recurrence of cancer in seven years. She had to go through another eight weeks of chemo. This was before the world knew pot could help with the side effects. We could have helped with the pain.
There was a short recovery. A few months later there was the last relapse. The only good part of this was the last illness was over quickly. The toughest part was giving the go ahead to increase the levels of morphine to quell the pain.
After the funeral, reality came crushing down. I wasn’t even thirty and my entire nuclear family had died. Was I going to be next? When? If not what was going to happen? Was it me? Am I a jinx? How was it going to happen to me? Is this home a death trap?
It took a couple of months to clear all the paperwork up. The most difficult aspect was convincing Social Security that she was really dead. I got a check and returned it telling them she was dead. The next month I got two checks. I sent both back with a copy of her death certificate. This had to be over. Nope, I got three checks. I sent them all back with the death certificate, a picture of the grave and a note saying sending any more would be approving me to cash all subsequent checks. I sent this one certified. It worked no more checks.
I was getting back to my task of getting the movie made over the winter and early spring. Nothing was happening. Well nothing other than writing checks to the consultant. I was starting to get antsy. He saw this and suggested I keep writing as I was so talented.
The stories came from somewhere. I kept writing.
When the baseball season started again, I decided just to be a writer and sell beer at The Vet. This decision had long-term ramifications.
The first one was fun. Selling beer at the ballpark, you get to see all types of people. Among my favorites were the South Philly grandfathers whose friends would the gates letting them in with their grandkids. Baseball does tie generations together. The old guys would bet on every pitch as they told stories about the old days.
We’d
see everyone from teachers to doctors to politicians and even the
famous. Everyone from Joni Mitchell to Bill Cosby came to games. None
of them really interested me. One night at an
Expos game, I saw a
tall goofy guy with a cast looking for his seat. He asked me for
directions. I saw it was Donald Sutherland. He had broken a party on
a boat. Later in the game I passed by his seat and he said hi. I
stopped for a minute and told him about Standoff. He scribbled his
home address in Montreal on a scrap of paper and asked me to send him
a script.
Man I hoped he’d like it. I knew I’d have to wait as he told me he’d be working on a film very shortly after his arm healed. I got a thank you, keep me informed type of note from him a few months later. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very useful.
Over the few weeks of the season I had been serving Big Kahuna (He said he was from Hawaii. Since he’s not famous I won’t use his real name.). He drank several beers and bought for people sitting with him in the left field picnic area. Since he was always there and buying so much, I started running a tab for him. This worked well, because it led to giant tips each night from him.
After a couple weeks Big Kahuna invited me out for dinner and drinks. His girlfriend was the chef at Harry’s Bar and Grill around the corner from his Rittenhouse Square apartment. We had an excellent dinner there. After which we went back to his apartment for drinks. His teenaged daughter and younger son were in the apartment when we got back. It was beautifully appointed. I believe there was a Velasquez on the wall.
Big Kahuna asked if I liked cognac. I smiled and said yes. He got two decanters and four snifters. He poured us each a glass from the first decanter. It was excellent. The second tasted like nectar of the Greek gods must have tasted. As we had a second glass of the second one, he told me he had found this cognac in casks on a farm he had purchased in Spain. The first came from a cask with the year 1895 on it. The other said something like 1850. This impressed me.
As we drank, he said that I seemed too intelligent to simply be a beerman at the The Vet and asked what else I was doing. I told about Standoff. He chuckled about how hard it was to find financing for films. When I told him about Dick Martin’s interest, Big Kahuna’s demeanor changed noticeably. He got serious and asked how much I thought it might take to make Standoff into a good film. I remember saying $8-12M. He asked if I could get him a copy of the script to read. I was puzzled, but seeing several hundred thousand to a couple of million dollars of art on his walls made me think he might have a lot of money himself. I told him I’d make a copy for him the next day. He handed me a $20 bill saying let him pay for it.
I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Big Kahuna anything about his background. At this point why would I? He spent money like a drunken sailor, had a great apartment, expensive art, owned a vineyard in Spain and while we were at his house Senator Paul Laxalt had called. This guy had to be pure gold. Reagan was President and Laxalt was his best friend. Like many other times in this story I thought, “How could there be anything wrong here?”
As we say, famous last words.
I gave him a copy of Standoff the next night at the Phillies game. He asked if I could join him for dinner after the game that coming Sunday to discuss the film. Of course we could. Part of me was trying to be rational. Did I have all the paperwork in order? Was I covered? What should I take if he makes an offer?
The rest of me could have joined the Chinese circus with all the hoops I jumping through and the tumbling my heart was doing. Was my long nightmare about to end? As happy as I was, there was also a little sadness that my family, especially my dad, wasn’t her to share this incredible triumph. That thought drove me for the next few days as a way to try to keep my wits and common sense about me as this project took a giant step forward.
As usual his son and daughter accompanied Big Kahuna to the game on Sunday. They always took the subway to the game. So I drove us all back to their place. His daughter showed me where a shower was. I had brought a change of clothes with me to the game. Everyone was sitting in the living room after I had gotten dressed. They looked like such a great family. Big Kahuna handed his daughter some money telling her to take her brother out for pizza and a movie, because we had business to discuss. They left right away.
“I bet you are kinds of nervous.” He said as he reached for the decanter of the great cognac.
“Yep, nervous and excited.”
“I see you noticed which cognac we are drinking. There are two times we’ll drink this. The first is if something great happened. The other is if something really, really bad happened.”
“Which is this?” I nervously asked.
“Standoff is great.”
I almost leapt off the couch. I could barely control myself before I said, “Thanks...and?”
“And I’d like to figure out how to get involved. You haven’t asked what I do for a living.”
“I haven’t had the chance. What do you do?”
“It’s a very long story. As we get going you’ll find out a lot more. For the purposes of this deal, I will put together a group to finance Standoff.”
This made a little nervous. Why dance around what he did to make all this money? He didn’t look Mafia. Fuck it! He said the magic words – finance and Standoff. As long as the lawyers I get to hire say what he’s doing and where the money came from is OK, why should I care?
“That’s great. How will you do it?”
He poured us each a glass of cognac. We lifted our glasses.
“To Standoff” He said.
“To Standoff.”
We finished those large drinks in one gulp and poured another.
“Well, I think I can put up about $3-5,000,000, but I don’t like being the only one at risk. I’ve already talked to a buddy named Stafford in California to see if he could put the papers together to set up a partnership for the film.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“I think we should be able to get this done. If it works, I always like putting my money back into the business. You may have to write another script.” He said with a big smile.
At that moment I don’t think Alice, Captain Kirk and Dorothy combined could have charted where my heart and imagination were going at light speed. This couldn’t be happening, but was. Man, this was incredible.
“Are you up to this?”
“If not I’ll die trying.”
“Don’t get carried away.”
We had a few more drinks. It hadn’t occurred to me that I still hadn’t found out anything about who Big Kahuna was. We were getting pretty tipsy. He suggested we go to Harry’s for some food. I remember asking him if his girlfriend would be upset at two drunks showing up at such a nice restaurant in our condition. He laughed and poured us each another drink.
I still don’t know how we got to or from Harry’s that night.
Near the end of the next week, Big Kahuna called me and said he had some news. Could I come over that night? He seemed less excited than before. Maybe Stafford hadn’t done very well. You get three strikes in baseball. We only swung and missed once.
When Big Kahuna opened the door for me, I noticed the good stuff sitting on top of the script. He wasn’t looking too happy.
“You already saw the cognac. Didn’t you?”
“Yep, is it that bad?”
“It might be sit down and have a drink.”
“What happened?”
“Stafford had a few meetings in San Francisco. One group wants to be our partners.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m not sure it is.”
“Why?”
“The way they want to do the deal is illegal.”
“How?”
“The accounting procedures are totally illegal. Stafford went over why it’s illegal with them. They tried to say it wasn’t.”
“Really?”
“I had my top accountant look at it. He was a Senior VP in taxes for a Big 8 firm before working for me. He said there was something weird about their specifics. He was very nervous about how they knew about all the intricacies of the plan they presented.”
This made me nervous. It made me really want to know more about Big Kahuna, but that was secondary now.
“What can we do?”
“We need to know more about these people. Would you mind if I spend about $10,000 to hire someone to find out who these people are and what the hell is going on?”
“$10,000”?”
“It will probably cost about that much, but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“It’s your money. How long will it take?”
“About two or three weeks. Maybe they just have bad accountants.”
“You don’t believe that do you?”
“No, but I’m not sure what to believe. I want to protect us.”
“OK, let’s do it.”
Chapter 3 – The First Time All Hell Breaks Loose
Throughout our lives people talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place as well as what you don’t know can’t hurt you. Few adages are as full of shit as these two.
Little did I know how close I was going to be to making rocks in a hard place?
I was about to find out what I didn’t know could hurt me for the rest of my life if I wasn’t careful. I was about to find out that no one should ever think anything could be farther from the truth than what don’t know can’t hurt you. Not can it hurt you, it can hurt everyone who comes in contact with you if you don’t watch it.
We’ve all heard about phones being tapped. People with cameras following people only happens in James Bond or Mission Impossible, it can’t happen to you or me. Crooks look like crooks. The government works for us.
I got the call and went to Big Kahuna’s apartment. His daughter and son were leaving as I entered the building. She met me with a sad smile. I didn’t bother with the elevator. I walked up the three flights of steps. I felt the muscles in my wrist tighten as I knocked on the door. Big Kahuna opened and waved me into the living room. There were no bottles on the table, but there were two folders sitting prominently on the mahogany table. Big Kahuna looked very serious as we sat.
“You are going to get be scared by this report. You won’t have seen anything like it before.”
I was sweating and shitting bricks. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ll go over the report. Then I’ll give all the reasons of what caused this mess. I should have told you a lot more before today. I’m sorry.”
We picked up and read the report. Jesus fucking Christ. This shit can’t be real. My hands were trembling. I looked at him. He reached and put his hand on my shoulder.
“This can’t be true.”
“Every word is. Remember when you talked to the Senator a couple of weeks ago? It really was him. I raised a lot of money for him and for Reagan. What you read is the truth.”
Cognitively I understand I read that report a quarter of century ago and what I’m about to describe cannot have happened in real life. It had to be Jason Bourne or James Bond. I wasn’t. I can still see these pages. I can still see the pictures and finger prints in my minds-eye.
The report started by showing bank accounts at Bank of America in San Francisco that had over $12,000,000 in cash in them. Who keeps that kind cash in bank accounts?
On the next page were driver’s licenses, Social Security cards and pictures of two men as well as credit reports that only went back about three years. Who has $12,000,000 in cash but had no credit cards four years ago?
I didn’t know what was coming next, but I knew it had to be really bad for me.
There were a few of pictures of a party at a fancy hotel in San Francisco. Stafford was there with the two guys whose driver’s licenses we had along with two or three other people I didn’t know. Someone had circled the “investors” hands on a couple cognac snifters.
The next page had pictures of those glasses with fingerprints next to each.
The next page was a hand-written note. It said, “Big Kahuna, all I can tell you is each man is a Federal Government employee. I can’t tell anything else. Be careful, Paul.”
I knew who Paul had to be. Who the fuck is important enough to scare one of the best friends of the President of the United States? What the hell had I gotten myself into? Who the fuck is Big Kahuna? How much trouble am I in here?
I didn’t know what to do next. Big Kahuna was bigger than I, but I had enough adrenalin flowing through my veins to pick him up and through him across the room to let him know I was serious and needed to get some answers. I glared at him. He looked at me for a moment. Then he bowed his head.
“I’m really sorry. I never thought they would do anything like this.”
“Who are THEY?”
“The IRS and FBI.”
“WHAT?” Being pissed was quickly overtaken by intense and complete panic.
“Both are after me. I never thought they go to these lengths.”
“Do you think it might have been the right thing to do to tell me the IRS and FBI are after you before we got this far?” Now I was pissed. How dare he put my ass in this sling!
“You’re right. I’m really sorry.”
He really looked sorry. I didn’t know what to do. “Why are they after you? Why would they go this far to get you? Who are you?”
Rather than going into the strained back and forth that ensued, how about if I tell you a little about Big Kahuna. Although he was only in his late-30s, he had already led an interesting and exciting life. He is one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.
At sixteen he was bored with HS and got his father to sign for a loan to allow him to buy three gas stations. By the time he was in his early twenties he had over one hundred stations and was partnered in a refinery that produced most of the gas his stations sold. Being that he wasn’t tied to any national oil company chains, when the oil crisis hit, he got squeezed out of the market. It caused him to go bankrupt.
He was down to his last $35,000. His mother confirmed this bizarre part of the story me a few months later. Big Kahuna felt he got screwed by his accounting team so he decided to read and learn the entire IRS code. He has that type of intelligence. After doing so, he came up with an idea that was very similar to the Pre-paid Legal that exists today, but his was for accounting. If you joined his service for about $350/year, you could get a lot of high-end accounting advice. He gambled that most would not use very much of the service do them and that an overwhelming percentage of those who did had problems that could be served by clerks. He was right. Within a couple of years, his company was worth tens of millions of dollars.
When the IRS found out a high school dropout owned the company, they came after him with all they had. First they decided to audit most of his clients. The results made matters much worse as a significant portion of his clients got refunds. Big Kahuna quickly went up their hit list.
Then came their real anger. They threw the several kitchen sinks at him. They even pulled a tried and true prosecutorial ruse. Big Kahuna was charged with about seventy felonies. The jurors knew this. Soon after the trial started, the feds dropped all but about eight or so. As defense lawyers will tell you, when this happens defendants rarely get off. The jury sees dropping all those charges as a sign of good faith making the remaining charges look more likely to be true. He was convicted and was out on bail when I met him.
He handed me correspondence from Laxalt and other members of Congress that supported him.
The IRS is above the law. It’s the only agency everyone in the government fears. They understand this and take it out on those they don’t like or those they fear. You really have no recourse. It’s almost impossible to beat them and they know it.
I was very confused. Did he do it? If he did why would so many important people be on his side? Where did this leave me? Do the FBI and IRS know I was a victim? Should I take his money if he offers it? What should I do?
Big Kahuna was atypically humbled and at the same time angry. It was a weird. He was beaten but defiant at the same time.
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Whatever you do, I’ll understand. I really do want to help you get Standoff made.”
I was getting frustrated. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“They will be on you for a while regardless of what you do.”
“Fuck. Thanks. So I’m screwed no matter what?”
“Paul thinks there still might be a chance for me to get out from under this. If I do, I’ll fund it myself for putting you in this situation. If I don’t get off, the bastards will take it all.”
“Then why put the money in now so they can’t get it.”
“That’s a headache I can’t give you. If I don’t get off, they will stop your movie the minute I go to jail. They will keep coming and keep coming after you.”
Talk about damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Big Kahuna and his family seemed so real, so genuine. What should I believe? What should I do?
“Big Kahuna, I’ve got to think about this. My ass is in the ringer.”
“Whatever you do, I’ll understand.”
I got up and left feeling like I had just gone ten rounds with Marvin Hagler in a phone booth. As I walked down Walnut Street I knew I was being watched. Everyone was out to get me.
Chapter 4 – The World Changes
Not surprisingly I didn’t sleep at all that night. Thinking back I don’t think I slept much for about a week. Fearing my phone was tapped I made most of my calls short for a while. Not wanting to put my friends on any lists, I consciously didn’t place many calls that week.
I came to the realization that I had no good options here. As bizarre as it sounds, I started thinking about all the I Spy shows, detective shows and James Bond movies I had seen to help me decide what I should do about Big Kahuna.
Sometime soon thereafter I went to New York to see the “consultant”. I knew what his response would be. He would want me to stay close to Big Kahuna hoping money would fall out of the sky for him. The shrapnel and collateral damage wouldn’t impact him. I was coming to the realization that he would throw me over the side in a heartbeat if any heat came his way. Due to this mindset and understanding his greed, I was going to start taking a more aggressive stance towards him. He would have to start earning his money. If I am going to be in the line of fire, I had to taking a few shots myself. Once again I had no clue of the long-term repercussions I was about to cause. This was the most rational way to handle the “consultant”, but man did it screw me for years to come.
When we met, his nervousness and greed were drawn into his gruesome countenance. As I went deeper into the story beads of sweat appeared on his face. I could see his squirrelly mind working until he pulled an idea out of his ass.
“You’ve done promotions and concerts haven’t you?”
“Why?”
“A famous promoter from South Africa has called Cream. He wants to do a series of concerts in Africa next year. Are you interested?”
“Why me?”
“It’ll take creativity and determination. That’s you.”
“Do I have to find the money?”
“No. He says he has the money.”
“No one will play in South Africa.”
“Talk to him. Maybe you can avoid that.”
“Have him call me.” I said knowing that in those days calls to South Africa would cost about $2 per minute and that a “promoter” would talk for an hour or so at the drop of a hat. My finances were starting to dwindle. I didn’t want to pay for any $150 phone calls. Especially since the chances of this being utter bullshit were about 99%.
“I’ll do it.”
As I went back to Philly I knew I had to do something with Big Kahuna. When I got home I called him to set up a meeting in a couple of days. It was set.
A strange turn occurred when I went to his apartment. His mother was there. She was a very sweet lady with no sense of pretense and appeared to be a June Cleaveresque grandmother to the kids. Her presence took the edge off of the tactics I had decided to take. Being that there was a full house; Big Kahuna suggested we go to a bar in the neighborhood for drinks and a sandwich. That made a lot of sense.
As was the case in Center City Philly, the most direct route to where we were heading took us down an alley. I remember looking over my shoulder a couple times. Was I being overly paranoid? Reality was about to come crashing down upon me.
“Turn around and smile.” Kahuna said.
“What?”
“There’s a guy who’s going to follow us who wants to take you picture.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Sorry, but I am. You might as well get it over with as soon as possible.”
“Jesus Christ.” I was pissed at Big Kahuna and at the asshole who was about to take my picture. I turned around and looked directly at him. Seeing that he took the picture and left.
We got to the dingy bar, went inside and ordered some drinks.
“I’m sorry about all of this. Are sure you want to keep getting together?”
I thought for a few moments. Usually, a direction can be seen in most situations. You have to remember the country was just coming out of Viet Nam and Watergate. Few people respected anything or anyone involved in our government. Add to this every part of Big Kahuna’s story seemed to make sense. The events in San Francisco were exactly like the government excesses of the past decade. How could such a major crook have such great kids and June Cleaver as a mom? Even a US Senator was on his side. Maybe this work itself out over the next couple of months. Whatever was going to happen what was I supposed to do? How could I protect myself and keep going forward? Once again, the question in my head became, why me? Why is it always me?
“I think I do, but I am confused.”
“I understand, but you read the transcript. You know I’m innocent.”
I had read thousands of pages of testimony, legal wrangling, technical issues of IRS statutes and enigmas wrapped in contradictions. I thought it looked like a kangaroo court, but isn’t that what a great defense lawyer is supposed to do.
“I think it looks that way. Plus if you really had done something obviously wrong why are your buddies in DC still hanging around?”
“Thanks, hopefully they can get me out of this shit soon so that we can get Standoff made.”
In one of the few moments of clarity I said,”Right now I’m hoping to take the baby step of not going to jail first.”
“I understand.”
“If they want you this bad, what about me?”
“As long as they get me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
That wasn’t an answer that made me feel any better. What did it mean? If he got off, the IRS and FBI were going to pressure me? Boy that was a great thought. Did I want to make Standoff this badly? Could I get out of this now if I wanted?
Not much happened the rest of that day, but the guy with the camera drove home the reality of what being around Big Kahuna could mean to me long term. Prior that moment in the alley, the situation was mythical and hypothetical. Yes, there was a trial and a conviction, but all the powerful people trying to help softened the effect. That one geek with a camera crashed all those feelings of comfort or hope. This was real life. Real life had real consequences.
A couple days later the South African promoter called me. He was very colorful on the phone. Like every other South African I had ever talked to, he tried to downplay the severity of the horrors of apartheid. It wasn’t as bad as the world said. At this I naively thought there might be a scintilla of truth in what people were saying. If they were lying, how could sleep at night?
I had lived through our Civil Rights movement. I knew how bad it was for blacks in America during my childhood. Even after the laws were passed in the US blacks couldn’t get jobs or find places to live. In college, there were consequences to be paid for being friends with some of the few black students at Wake Forest. It wasn’t that subtle in those days, but it wasn’t apartheid.
How could good people do the evil that some say was occurring on a daily basis in South Africa? Luckily, his plan didn’t include any shows in South Africa. Originally it was like a travelogue. There would be a show in Israel, at the pyramids in Egypt, a couple of places I don’t remember with the final show at Victoria Falls to be shown via closed circuit TV worldwide like the Ali-Foreman fight. He said had the money and the locations.
Why did he did he need me? Why not call Bill Graham or someone like that. During the second I asked him, why me? He said he had known my “consultant” for years and that he suggested working with me. This had a very positive impact on my ego and might have a great impact on my wallet.
I put it on the line to him. The people representing groups big enough to carry off such a tour would demand to see bank guarantees and site contracts. I would need to access to both before talking to anyone. He stalled for a minute. I held my ground. The South African promoter told me he would be in New York the next month and would have all that data then. I said that’s when I could start working on it.
Back in Philly, things seemed to be going well for Big Kahuna. He was upbeat and even sent his mom home to California. It’s not like it was a walk in the park or anything. Back in those days technology wasn’t as good as it is today. Often we could hear the clicks of the phones being bugged. The funniest tapped conversation was the one we heard guy eating chips on the line. At times we even said hello to the people listening into our calls.
The week before I was to meet the South African promoter in New York, I went to have dinner and watch a game at Big Kahuna’s. He looked very down.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“It doesn’t look good. They aren’t going to hear my appeal.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have one more chance or I’ll have to go to jail.”
“That sucks. Sorry to hear it.”
Right about then there was a serious knock on the door. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting anyone and appeared very nervous. Was the government calling in his bail?
He called out, “Who’s there?”
“Mr. Kahuna, Senor Lopez asked us to pay you a visit.” Came from a voice with a Spanish accent from behind the door.
A quizzical smile edged onto his face as Big Kahuna opened the door to let two men in black suits, with black glasses into the apartment. One had a briefcase that was attached to wrist by a pair of handcuffs. They took their glasses off and glared at me.
The one without the briefcase said,”Mr. Kahuna may we speak to you in private?”
Big Kahuna looked at me. That said, “You can say anything you need to in front of my associate.”
The lead guy motions for the other man to put the briefcase onto the dining room table. He took a key from his pocket and opened the briefcase.
“Out of respect for all you have done for our country, Senor Lopez has prepared diplomatic passports for you and your family should you decide you need them. Should we prepare another for your associate?”
What was going on here? What are they talking about?
“Tell Senor Lopez thank you. But I need to think about it.”
The lead guy started to take the handcuffs off the other guy when the Big Kahuna stopped him.
“Please hold onto them, I’ll call you in the morning with my decision and whether my associate needs your services.”
They nodded and left. Big Kahuna motioned for us to go out on the fire escape to talk.
“What was that?”
“I helped write their country’s new tax laws. I guess they don’t think I should go to jail. They will get you a diplomatic passport if you want one. They are great to have. You can’t be stopped at customs. Makes getting in and out of airports a lot easier.”
“Not to mention if we both took them, they couldn’t tap our calls again.” I said with a laugh.
“That is true.”
“Why are you hesitating?”
“I don’t think I did anything wrong. If I do this I show my kids that you can do anything you want and get away with it if you have enough money. I’m not sure I want to do that.”
“Would you rather go to jail?”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but you should decide if you want the papers while the offer is open to you. If I say no, you are out if you wait.”
“Thanks, but why would I need to do it?” I wish knew what was going to happen later then.
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know Kahuna. I don’t have kids. I think I would take them as an insurance policy.”
“That’s the only reason I’ll take them. You know they’ll take everything I own if I do.”
“Won’t they do that anyway?”
“Probably.”
“Didn’t the Senator say the IRS was above the law?”
“He did. Even he is afraid of them.”
We had a couple more drinks but didn’t talk about the matter again that night. This confused me greatly. If he was a crook, why didn’t he jump on this incredible out? If he didn’t think he’d get off, why not take the passports?
The next morning he called me to ask if I wanted my passport saying he didn’t think he would take his. All I had to do was have a picture taken and go to their consulate. I’d have the passport in minutes. I had no reason to expect that I would ever need it. I told him I’d do whatever he decided to do. He thanked me. Man I wish I had that decision to do over. Why will be crystal clear later. Rarely do you get to look back on decisions that could have changed your life this one could have. At the time it seemed like the absolutely correct decision to make. It wasn’t.
Things were getting crazier. I told Dick I was losing my mind. In his own way he said something like if I was thinking I was crazy here I’d probably be considered normal in Los Angeles. This made sense in a perverse sort of way. A throw line got me thinking.
So many things go on in my life. None were blowing up. None were taking off. It’s the worst of all possible outcomes. Hope can lead to greatness or destruction.
I met the South African promoter in New York. Everything seemed to be in order. A mentor in Philly checked his bank information for me. Looking back seemed is a good word. We met for a few hours in Cream’s conference room. After running through a number of names we decided I should try for Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye.
I remember laughing inside thinking about my first calls to their representatives. In my heard I heard the phones slamming down and all the laughter at someone nobody ever heard of having the audacity to call the greatest entertainers in the world promising concerts in front of the pyramids and Victoria Falls. Hell, IRS and FBI might be after me, why not the DEA and an asylum or two. The sick part was this seemed to be true.
I was losing focus on Standoff and my life in general yet didn’t see it. I plowed ahead to everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Miraculously Marvin Gaye’s people seemed receptive. Of course they would. No one in the US or Europe wanted anything to do with drugged out, whining, primadonna. Soon after I was in touch with him he showed up two hours late for a concert appearing in a well worn pair of pajamas. I let them know what the drug laws in Africa would be.
I had worked out all the tour details. While putting it all in place I didn’t realize how much was involved. One afternoon I decided to put it all in order. To do so I brought all the notes and all the manila folders down putting them on a large dining room table. I was stunned to see the entire eight foot table covered in paper. That was impressive.
Soon came the bad news Big Kahuna was off to Allenwood. He’d be sharing the facilities with many of Abscam convicts included South Philly Congressman Ozzie Meyers.
Within about ten days I got a frantic call from Gaye’s management. He had gone off the deep end. They couldn’t control him. Perfect. My whole world was coming crashing down on top of me at once. What next?
Fuck it. What did I have to keep me in Philly or New York? Nothing.
Where was the best chance to get Standoff made? Los Angeles, I’m going to follow Dick’s advice and move. It had to be better than what was happening to me here.
The Titanic was the safest ship ever built.
California here I come.
Chapter 5 – The Calm Before More Storms