Father and Roy in Hollywood

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Letters to and from A Son of A Bitch

2 November 1987

Jack,

This finds me in Hollywood across from Gauman's Chinese theater, in the heart of sin-city--Grumman's maybe it was and is now named Mann's so maybe Mr. Mann bought it, anyhow I had a sumptuous breakfast at Burger King and bought the newspapers and will in a short while go to see tiny tits and the Bronx flash and see about getting my expense check. They must think I am a big rich Southerner. I am hoping the receipts from Burger King and even cheaper places if I can locate them will bring them to the conclusion that I need my money.

The flight out was very long and boring seated between a Japanese girl and a man wearing jeans and a moustache reading an Alastair McLean novel and drinking water. The Jap miss did not eat or drink anything or say anything but something in Japanese that sounded like "Oink-Oink," to which I replied Moshe-moshe a-noney-ah so desca, which I think means just a moment if you please, ah, yes thank you, at which she turned her face to the window and seemed to quit breathing for about an hour.

So I had my flask of Jack Daniels in my breast pocket of my Brooks Brothers jacket and so I ordered some club soda and the waitress brought me 7-up but I was lucky and tasted it and rang the alarm that lands the plane and ejects the pilots and she came and asked what the matter was and I said you dunce, you drab, you baggage, you gave me 7-up and I asted you plain fer CLUB SODY! So she put off the light and the plane came out of the dive and the pilots were reintroduced to the cockpit and she brought the club soda with apologies and peanuts and I poured in some Jack Daniels and enjoyed the company of my flask--all the company there was to be had between Mademoiselle Butterfly and Mr. Reader.

ROY MET me at the airport and we talked about his wrecks and nearly had another one the way there when some motorcycles Roy did not think were important nearly hit us as he pulled squarely out in front of them while talking about Greg B. who died yesterday of a heart throbber at age 73 and was at death head of an office with 129 lawyers in it and whango the motorcycles nearly swat us and then some cars Roy had not considered nearly got us and he said: "I knew a guy once that was killed when a motorcycle hit his car on the driver's side. He was no great loss. It was a good thing when he died. I didn't like him nobody really liked him." "Who was he?"

Roy never answered, just changed the subject and we pulled in around behind this hotel which has been cleaned up some and the man we thought was the doorman turned out to be a parking valet and Roy kept trying to tell him to take the bags and boxes out of the car and he kept saying no but he would park it and Roy kept saying: "God
damn it, take the bags out first, don't park it with the bags in--"

So finally, Roy and I unloaded the car, the valet parker being too good for such work and then when the valet parker tried to park the car Roy said: "Fuck, I will park on the street." And so the valet got the claim check back from me and Roy went and parked on the street. I could hear the tires screeching and the horns blowing while he was about this and did not look but just adamantly faced elsewhere and finally we got to the check in desk and they said my room was paid for but they need my credit card for "incidentals" and since the production company already owes me about two grand after Mobile and ain't ponied up as yet. So I said well I do not need a phone or any incidentals and the desk clerk said but you should be grateful after all they are paying your hotel room rent and I said, asshole, desk clerks do not rebuke me, you keep out of this it is these Hollywood tycoons that want to borrow my money to run their business. "Did you say tycoons?" he said. "I meant shitheads!" "Excuse me, shitheads?" He said: "I will not wait on you." I said: "Now things are looking up at last."

A woman came extra polite and checked me in and at Roy's urging I gave up my credit card and got a phone after all.

Love,

Old Man


My father was hired by a Hollywood producer to give advice on a movie about carnival life. I forget the name of the movie. I think it really didn't work out for him. In later letters he never got paid what they promised.

12 February 2011

Dear Dad,

I am glad you and Roy made it safely to the hotel and were able to check in.
Was the Japanese girl pretty?

Love

your son, Jack.


Jackson Delano Maybolt,
Urban/Global Poverty Law Center