One of the blessings of my life' was a man named Samuel Lincoln Feinhandler.
"Sammy" to anyone who knew him or knew of him. He met my single mom about the same time she met my stepdad. They were contestants for her hand.
Put another way; they both wanted to be her third husband. l was a toddler at our first meet and l don't remember that, but my mom told me that we were good buddies before she chose my stepdad. One day, when l was about ten, mom and l were on a shopping trip in Elko when we encountered Sammy at one of our stops. She handled it like the reunion of two old friends and that seems to have bonded us. He became my go-to guy when l had a problem which l might not want to share with parents. l now think that my mom, who probably knew
him as well as anyone, also knew he would become something like a guardian
angel. That is maybe a little overstated, but, growing up l never asked his help
without getting it. Sammy and stepdad had much in common; Born within a couple years of each other, both were civic leaders in their respective home towns, both were known and loved by nearly all their fellow citizens. l used to think it would have been great id my mom had married both of them both. No,
even then l knew that not only is it not within the law, it would have to be considered hogging resources. Besides, if l were in need of his help, he could,
most days, be found at the Commercial Hotel, where it seemed he did most of
his business. So, who ya gonna call? l was pretty sure l had seen him in the
Commercial the nite before, though l didn't remember talking with him. l asked
the jailer to try to reach Sammy for me. (l didn't have dime one.) Honest to
Pete (his name) this jailer was just like "Mama Knolles" at Prince George's t
County Jail in Maryland. He said he'd try to reach Sammy right away. Before he
left, he asked, could you use a cigarette?
When l entered the cell at Elko County Jail it was about 7AM. lt was just after 8
when Pete went to call Sammy. lt was 1:30PM when Sammy still hadn't shown.
Or called. Pete is all "don't worry, he'll be here. He might be on a job and hasn't
got my message yet, you'll see, he won't let you down". And he didn't; At about
2PM, there he was, looking glad to see me, if not so happy about our location.
He was a little late, it first seemed, but, by the time he arrived, he had already,
totally done everything necessary for me to be released.l had only to put my signature on the judge's decision: Pay for the bad checks,(Sammy had done that) Leave Elko immediately and don't return before one calendar year. So, l
was out of there. " 'Bye, Pete. Thanks for your help. And the Camels! Much
appreciated!" Sammy drove me to a good hitch-hiking pick-up spot on the west edge of Elko. Before we parted, he said he was moved by our vis it the night before, when he says l wanted to give him a pile of the winnings to give back some of what he had done for me over the years. l did, vaguely sort of remem
ber throwing money around, giving some away but l had no specific memory
of any details. l had never had an alcohol black-out before that and l havn't
had any since. Nor do l intend to in future.
By dark that day, l was at Golconda, Nv. AKA " the actual effing middle of
nowhere." The best thing about it is the presence of railroad tracks, suggesting
that escape from there might be possible. l was wondering how fast l'd have to run to board a passing freight-train when headlights came into view. l waved
my bags and the car came to a stop. lt was a guy named Wayne Deaver, a
dis-barred lawyer from Roseburg, Oregon. When l got in the car, Wayne recog-
nized me: l was the guy that helped him out and gave him $200 of our winnings the night before, at the Commercial. l had no recollection of him or what he
told me, but l was just a little pleased with myself. He had told me his tale of woe and l helped him. Probably as drunk and as assinine as l've ever been,
before or since and l was sympathetic with his plight and helped him. Now he was glad to see me and happy to provide me with transportation. He also
welcomed me as a relief-driver. From Golconda, we each drove three hours and
found ourselves in San Francisco, checked into the St. Francis Hotel.
Wayne was a convincing talker and he set out to convince the desk clerk that
we were in SFO on business. Our reservations wer confirmed a week ago and must have been mis-handled by staff. lt was the night before November 11
(Armistice Day) and there were a lot of visitors in town and the only available
unit was one of the "alphabet" suites. Namely, suite M, one of three presidential
suites at that hotel. l'm temped to describe this nearly unbelievable accomoda-
tion, but l don't want to advertise Westin Hotels and those details are really not relevant to our story.
We stayed the night in suite M, but were awakened early (without a wake-up call) and told that hotel management had found us a nice room at the Drake
Hotel, a property owned by the same company that owned the St.Francis. l
have no memory of Wayne, during and after that move. l told management, at
the time of the move (into the Drake) that l had been sent to SanFrancisco
by my employer, who was to send my check in the previous week but it had
yet to show at General Delivery. l ran my bill up, taking all my meals in the
hotel restaurant, charging them (and my generous gratuities) to my room.
The restaurant staff liked me. Actually, the manager was pretty nice to me,
too.
l tried to buy the same ad l'd used in D.C. to attract "investors", but neither the
morning Chronicle nor the evening Examiner would publish it. When l offered to
re-write the ad, l was told that wouldn't work. State Law did not allow investment ad of that general format. l would really have to submit any investment ad thru an agency which understands State Investment Law.
l scratched my head and wondered what to do. l called a friend who had been
a classmate at Army Language School and asked his help. He drove to the City
from his home on the Peninsula and helped me run out on my hotel bill. He
parked his car in an alley, almost directly below my room's window. l crawled
out with my carpet bag and laundry bag and went down the very noisy fire
escape and my friend and l went south. Another Al's alumnus, who lived only
a block away from my friend and was also a friend of mine, offered a spare
bedroom in his folk's home, where he also lived. lt was understood that l couldn't stay long since l needed to continue the search for my biodad.
l enjoyed being with my hosts but was anxious to be on my way. l searched
the newspapers for something l might do to earn some money. A couple of days
passed without any kind of gain. My friends suggested that l borrow enough
from him to get to Sunnyvale on the bus and take up the search. l probably had
less than $10. then, so my friend's twenty was welcomed.
So, l got on a bus in San Mateo and rode down the Peninsula to the town of
Sunnyvale. When l put the dime in the phone, it occured to me that l could have made the call from anywhere. Of course, if l connected with my biodad from
the phone in Sunnyvale, we'd probably be in the same town and we'll have less
waiting for reunion. My first call was to 411 in Sunnyvale. l told the operator
that l'd been told that my dad's wife was an information operator in Sunnyvale.
Could she connect me with Mrs. Gideon? She said Mrs. Gideon didn't work
there anymore, but she was able to give me the Gideon's present phone
number. l kept her for a minute or two with my profuse thanks. By then,l had
almost certainly located biodad, and on the first call, to boot. l called the number she had given me. A lady with a very nice voice answered "Sunnyvale
Mountain Park, May l help you?"
"Yes, thank you. l'm looking for my dad, Leon Gideon. l was told that he could be reached at this (your) number."
"You must be Lanny".
"l am. Are you Mrs Gideon?"
"Yes, l'm Teri. Your dad is here, but he's out on the "back 40". l'll go get him , if you'll hang on a few minutes...Oh God,he'll be soooo happy. And surprised. You are probably the last person on earth he ever expected to see again".
When he came to the phone, l knew in a minute that he really would be as happy to see me as l would to see him. lnside an hour later, we(dad, Teri, their
five-year-old son, Gorden and l) had great Chinese at Sunnyvale's famed
Mandarin Palace. After that, they took me to their home on Gobbler's knob.
f
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Employed 10 Part 2
l think l had heard "ball" as a verb once before, but hadn't figured out what was meant, at the time. But the way Rita looked at me when she used
"...to ball." left no doubt; l was her choice, that night for "overnite visitor". l
remember, for a few instants, feeling sorry that she had unknowingly picked
such a total loser. She deserved better; she was certainly no loser in any aspect of her life; smart, beautiful, unbelievably talented singer. she had her own distinctive singing voice (and delightful speaking voice) as well as the recognizable voices of some of the most popular singers of her time. So l resolved to try not to seem so much of a loser while l enjoyed time with a real
winner.We spent four nites and a few days together before she went to her next gig, which was at Harold's in Reno.
The hotel desk job at the Commercial was mostly fun. About half the people
l'd see, during my time at work were personally known to me. Some, l had
not seen for a while since l'd been away for a few years; it was great to see
(most of them) again. One day l rented a room to a Native American couple
and two of their sons. l put them in one of our better rooms (newly re-done)
with two double beds. Marvin, the bellman told me that they liked the room
(and said so) without being asked. l worked until 4PM that day. About 5PM,
Marvin successfully located me on my dedicated stool at the bar in The
"Paddock", located directly across the street from the Commercial's main
entrance. He said that the General Manager wanted me to go to the room that l had rented to the Native Americans and remove them. l told Marvin to tell the
G.M. that l said "no". Soon, the G.M. was with us. He repeated his demand
that l remove "the Indians" (his words) most people , in that time, used that
word. l told him that if my hiring had been done correctly, l would have been told not to rent rooms to non-whites and that would have done it. lf l hadn't
agreed, l would have been free to look for a job elsewhere. But since l wasn't
told about the discrimination practiced here, l don't think l should have to clean
up the mess on this one.
He thought l should, even though he intended to fire me. But not for renting the room to non-whites, or refusing to escort them out: when he thought he might fire me for the room rental, he had pulled my file and noticed that in the
previous week, (the week that had Rita in it) my earnings were $200 short of
paying my food and drink tabs. ( Rita especially liked rib-eye steaks and broiled
lobster tails, washed down with Glenfiddish Scotch.) Not to say the high tabs
were on her. l ate and drank my share (more than her, really.) And it was my
responsibility to pay it. So the firing was about not paying my tab in a timely
manner.(when the bill is presented on payday.) lt didn't surprise me, really.
l always look at receipts l've paid before l toss them and usually, even when
drinking, keep track of what's spent.But, in my experience, keeping track isn't
always followed by keeping up.
The next day, l rode the local to West County and paid Mom, Dad, Buddy, Buddy
and Sis a couple days visit. Mom cooked some fine meals. Visiting was a little
strained. After just a couple of years we found conversation a bit uncomfortable.
Over all, though it was a good visit. Except for one thing l did (or must have done) while there. Strangely, l don't now actually remember coming across my step-dad's check book, recently re-filled with fresh blank checks, but l do remember having it later and writing a bunch of checks from it over the next few months. On balance, l think it was a pleasant visit for all of us even if we
were all happy to see it end. Also, that visit marked the last time that all six of
us would be together. Mom offered a ride to the train station or l would have missed the train.
l was barely aboard when the train pulled out. Before l found a seat, l was approached by a big, loud, loquacious, colorfully- dressed man who introduced
himself as Pierre Arteaux. He said he was a French-Canadian lumberjack, in the
U.S. for the first time, and here on a mission. From his home in Alberta, he had
driven his old Chevy to a place about twenty miles north of Winnemucca. A tow
truck dropped him and his car at a garage in Winnemucca. The car needed another engine, so he dumped it. The owner of the garage that towed it gave him a few bucks for it and Pierre caught the next train to Reno where he would
work his newly-discovered system to beat the roulette wheel and make him a fortune. Somehow, he mistakenly boarded, not the next train TO Reno, but the
next train FROM Reno. l was interested enough in his system to let him keep
thinking that Reno was our destination. He told me that the trip had cost him
more than he expected and he really needed a partner to provide some start-
ing money. He said "This system starts paying right away, so it won't take a
fortune to get a good start. Once started, it's all gravy".
"Well, great" l said "looks like we're coming into Reno, already".
"l can't wait", he said. "l've waited all my life for this day. l thank my lucky stars" he said, looking skyward, l'm finally here. Right here in Reeeee, wait a
minute, that's not West", he says, pointing to the rear-end of the receding train,
from which we had so recently departed. Who knew? The guy,Pierre knew the sky like the back (and front) of his hand. (it was one of his hobbys). he jumped
up, did an airborne 180 and said "All right, oriented". Then, to me "What is this town", pointing to the ground. ln those years, the train stopped within 100' of
the Commercial Hotel Railroad Street entrance. Before Pierre knew what was
happening, we were in the Commercial Casino.
Pierre would not explain how the system worked but said he would pay me half
of his winnings for providing the starting cash, which $300. We walked around the busy casino looking for someone l knew who might loan me a stake. An
hour or so later,l was about to give up on the cash quest. Pierre had given up on me earlier and was himself looking for a financier. Just then, l ran into a friend
from West County, a friend of the family,really but he liked me and agreed to
help.
l get back to Pierre, who had no luck raising funds. We chose the roulette table
with the pretty young lady dealer who, almost immediately began piling up our
winnings. We took a dinner break in The Brand Room steakhouse (Rita's
favorite Elko dining place when she was with us. l remember it was between
nine and ten o'clock and our winnings-in-hand totaled 11K. Only 1K less than
than Art Warren "invested".This is turning out to be a great system and l have
no idea how it works. And l never would. A couple of hours after dinner, we are at 16K when a functionary from management visits us at our wheel and presents me with a statement of account for food and drink tabs and Pierre tells
me to pay it out of our winnings and adds"pay the guy that loaned us our starting cash now, too. Of course, it had to come from the winnings pile, but
it was great that there would be no argument about it. l commend Pierre, even
to this day.
lt was still far from dawn, when everything, at the roulette wheel, started moving in the wrong direction, except the wheel. Over about an hour's time
l twice went outside the casino to visit my friends at The Paddock and cashed
two forged checks, totaling $700. Pierre cut back on bets enough that we went
all the way to dawn before all of our winnings were lost.
Not as drunk as l'd been on earlier visits, that nite,but still staggering (the
losses, the losses) l tried to pass one more of step-dad's checks. The bartender
said "Sure". The cop that entered then, said "Put your hands behind your back
and turn around".
"...to ball." left no doubt; l was her choice, that night for "overnite visitor". l
remember, for a few instants, feeling sorry that she had unknowingly picked
such a total loser. She deserved better; she was certainly no loser in any aspect of her life; smart, beautiful, unbelievably talented singer. she had her own distinctive singing voice (and delightful speaking voice) as well as the recognizable voices of some of the most popular singers of her time. So l resolved to try not to seem so much of a loser while l enjoyed time with a real
winner.We spent four nites and a few days together before she went to her next gig, which was at Harold's in Reno.
The hotel desk job at the Commercial was mostly fun. About half the people
l'd see, during my time at work were personally known to me. Some, l had
not seen for a while since l'd been away for a few years; it was great to see
(most of them) again. One day l rented a room to a Native American couple
and two of their sons. l put them in one of our better rooms (newly re-done)
with two double beds. Marvin, the bellman told me that they liked the room
(and said so) without being asked. l worked until 4PM that day. About 5PM,
Marvin successfully located me on my dedicated stool at the bar in The
"Paddock", located directly across the street from the Commercial's main
entrance. He said that the General Manager wanted me to go to the room that l had rented to the Native Americans and remove them. l told Marvin to tell the
G.M. that l said "no". Soon, the G.M. was with us. He repeated his demand
that l remove "the Indians" (his words) most people , in that time, used that
word. l told him that if my hiring had been done correctly, l would have been told not to rent rooms to non-whites and that would have done it. lf l hadn't
agreed, l would have been free to look for a job elsewhere. But since l wasn't
told about the discrimination practiced here, l don't think l should have to clean
up the mess on this one.
He thought l should, even though he intended to fire me. But not for renting the room to non-whites, or refusing to escort them out: when he thought he might fire me for the room rental, he had pulled my file and noticed that in the
previous week, (the week that had Rita in it) my earnings were $200 short of
paying my food and drink tabs. ( Rita especially liked rib-eye steaks and broiled
lobster tails, washed down with Glenfiddish Scotch.) Not to say the high tabs
were on her. l ate and drank my share (more than her, really.) And it was my
responsibility to pay it. So the firing was about not paying my tab in a timely
manner.(when the bill is presented on payday.) lt didn't surprise me, really.
l always look at receipts l've paid before l toss them and usually, even when
drinking, keep track of what's spent.But, in my experience, keeping track isn't
always followed by keeping up.
The next day, l rode the local to West County and paid Mom, Dad, Buddy, Buddy
and Sis a couple days visit. Mom cooked some fine meals. Visiting was a little
strained. After just a couple of years we found conversation a bit uncomfortable.
Over all, though it was a good visit. Except for one thing l did (or must have done) while there. Strangely, l don't now actually remember coming across my step-dad's check book, recently re-filled with fresh blank checks, but l do remember having it later and writing a bunch of checks from it over the next few months. On balance, l think it was a pleasant visit for all of us even if we
were all happy to see it end. Also, that visit marked the last time that all six of
us would be together. Mom offered a ride to the train station or l would have missed the train.
l was barely aboard when the train pulled out. Before l found a seat, l was approached by a big, loud, loquacious, colorfully- dressed man who introduced
himself as Pierre Arteaux. He said he was a French-Canadian lumberjack, in the
U.S. for the first time, and here on a mission. From his home in Alberta, he had
driven his old Chevy to a place about twenty miles north of Winnemucca. A tow
truck dropped him and his car at a garage in Winnemucca. The car needed another engine, so he dumped it. The owner of the garage that towed it gave him a few bucks for it and Pierre caught the next train to Reno where he would
work his newly-discovered system to beat the roulette wheel and make him a fortune. Somehow, he mistakenly boarded, not the next train TO Reno, but the
next train FROM Reno. l was interested enough in his system to let him keep
thinking that Reno was our destination. He told me that the trip had cost him
more than he expected and he really needed a partner to provide some start-
ing money. He said "This system starts paying right away, so it won't take a
fortune to get a good start. Once started, it's all gravy".
"Well, great" l said "looks like we're coming into Reno, already".
"l can't wait", he said. "l've waited all my life for this day. l thank my lucky stars" he said, looking skyward, l'm finally here. Right here in Reeeee, wait a
minute, that's not West", he says, pointing to the rear-end of the receding train,
from which we had so recently departed. Who knew? The guy,Pierre knew the sky like the back (and front) of his hand. (it was one of his hobbys). he jumped
up, did an airborne 180 and said "All right, oriented". Then, to me "What is this town", pointing to the ground. ln those years, the train stopped within 100' of
the Commercial Hotel Railroad Street entrance. Before Pierre knew what was
happening, we were in the Commercial Casino.
Pierre would not explain how the system worked but said he would pay me half
of his winnings for providing the starting cash, which $300. We walked around the busy casino looking for someone l knew who might loan me a stake. An
hour or so later,l was about to give up on the cash quest. Pierre had given up on me earlier and was himself looking for a financier. Just then, l ran into a friend
from West County, a friend of the family,really but he liked me and agreed to
help.
l get back to Pierre, who had no luck raising funds. We chose the roulette table
with the pretty young lady dealer who, almost immediately began piling up our
winnings. We took a dinner break in The Brand Room steakhouse (Rita's
favorite Elko dining place when she was with us. l remember it was between
nine and ten o'clock and our winnings-in-hand totaled 11K. Only 1K less than
than Art Warren "invested".This is turning out to be a great system and l have
no idea how it works. And l never would. A couple of hours after dinner, we are at 16K when a functionary from management visits us at our wheel and presents me with a statement of account for food and drink tabs and Pierre tells
me to pay it out of our winnings and adds"pay the guy that loaned us our starting cash now, too. Of course, it had to come from the winnings pile, but
it was great that there would be no argument about it. l commend Pierre, even
to this day.
lt was still far from dawn, when everything, at the roulette wheel, started moving in the wrong direction, except the wheel. Over about an hour's time
l twice went outside the casino to visit my friends at The Paddock and cashed
two forged checks, totaling $700. Pierre cut back on bets enough that we went
all the way to dawn before all of our winnings were lost.
Not as drunk as l'd been on earlier visits, that nite,but still staggering (the
losses, the losses) l tried to pass one more of step-dad's checks. The bartender
said "Sure". The cop that entered then, said "Put your hands behind your back
and turn around".
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Employed 10 Part 1
l didn't get near the money that l should have for the station wagon but when you buy from a dealer, you pay retail unless he has a reason (who knows) to sell it for less. When you sell to a dealer you're going to get no more than wholesale. Even a buyer/user will want to pay as little as he can. Bottom line; if you're in a hurry to sell expect to get less. l made a mental note to myself that l had to stop this stupid !#@$%&! and start doing right. (if l possibly can).
Keeping a low profile in North-Eastern Nevada, owing to it's low population was,
l thought best accomplished in Elko, the largest town in the County. lt was my intention to avoid the West County, where the population was very low and my
profile, owing to my recent history, too high. So l planned to ride the express train to West County, (SP express trains don't stop in Elko) then ride the SP
local train back to Elko, later in the day. The local train stops in all the towns along the line. Luckily though,an old friend who had become a police officer
since l'd last seen him, was at the train station and offered me a ride home. When l told him l had to go to Elko first, he said his next stop would be the Court House in Elko and he'd be happy to give me a ride. (As might be expected, Elko, the city is the county seat of Elko, the county).Ofc. Harv Clayton
was a West County native whose parents had come there from California about
the time,during WWII after the defeat of Germany, but before the Japanese
surrender. there was a very large increase in railroad traffic at that time,
especially that which headed west. Harv graduated high school in '57 and his job with the police force was his first. He saw it as temporary. He planned to work a few years, save money and go to college asap. his interest was Geology. l told him he was in a great place to doGeology. "Yeah", he said " the place brought me to the science." Not only did he intend to be a professional geologist
but he and his dad were already amateur geologists. (if,at any time,at any place
seemingly ridiculous ideas, or just senselessness' it COULD be tongue-in-cheek.)
As we covered the twenty-plus miles to Elko, talking, laughing,reminiscing.
Gossip about this girl, that guy. What they did, said, etc., then and now. My current situation, in all it's grizzly detail popped in and out of my mind and l
wondered how things might instantly change for us if suddenly, over the police
radio came an A.P.B., identifying me,listing my crimes, including interstate flight
to avoid prosecution for those crimes. A federal offence from the time you cross your first state line. Good thing l wasn't a weed smoker then,l probably would have done a total freek-out and confessed to everything.Not really. More
likely, that being a weed smoker then, l would have done what was right and lawful. (except for the weed itself) But are any exceptions allowed?
l asked Harv to drop me at the Stockmen's so that l could get an early start
recovering some of my recent Vegas losses. Maybe even some of the earlier
ones, too? Sometimes it's just not my day: lt was about 11AM when Harv dropped me. At 2:22 PM, l was taking out another C-note fom the poke and
discovered that only one more remained. A check of the pockets yielded $6.06
L decided to cut way back on the gambling. (You know, you almost have to when you run out of the stuff used to make bets. Besides, that $106.06 would
come in handy if l wanted to eat something or sleep somewhere indoors, but
it probably wouldnt cover those things for more than a day or two. Hey! l
needed a job...soon. l went to the Stockmen's Hotel front desk and inquired about the availability of employment opportunities. The desk clerk checked
with management and learned that the Commercial Hotel (right across the street) had an opening for a desk clerk. l may not have been the best, in those days, at keeping a job, but even if l say so myself, l was very good at getting hired.The results of my interview that day would attest to that. They even had me start at their front desk that day at 7PM.
Even before the advent of casino gambling in Nevada (1931) the Commercial
Hotel was Elko's Grand Central Station. Everybody liked the place. With a restaurant better than most in Elko, a steak house "of world renown", A
cabare (since about 1940) that featured nationally-known music and comedy
acts. A forty seat bar next to a secluded cocktail lounge and 100 hotel rooms
upstairs, it offered just about everything that anybody might need on a visit
there. At the restaurant check-out there was even a mini drug store where you could get everything from aspirin and cold syrup to band aids and sanitary
napkins, and of course,magazines and newspapers. And from 5PM every day
the hotel desk was Elko's Western Union nite office. l worked 8AM to 4PM
Tuesday thru Thursday and 4PM to 12AM Saturday and Sunday. l could run a food and drink tab which was deducted from my weekly paycheck. l don't remember what the pay was but l thought it was satisfactory. The best part was the very nice single room provided gratis. l decided to totally quit gambling; l could live on what the hotel paid me, but l'd save money for a long time before
l'd have enough for any serious gambling. Or, in my case, seriously throwing
money away.
About three weeks into the job at the Commercial, out in the evening, enjoying
my Friday off, when l encounter my old friend Ron Rose, whom l knew from
our working together in the summers of 1953 and 1954 at Ruby Lake Wildlife
Refuge. We were happy to see each other and set out to party some in celebration. WE were within a couple blocks of the fairly-new Ranchinn Hotel,
built, owned and operated by the same folks who had the Commercial, it was a
log-cabin-looking place on the outside but plush inside with the same amenities,
but much more modern and spacious than the Commercial. As we entered, we
heard what sounded to me like the voice of Sarah Vaughn, singing "The Nearness of You".
l got the song right, but the singer was not Sarah (though it wouldn't have been out of the question for her to appear there). The singer was a very pretty young
lady named Rita Ellen. She was accompanied by a trio called "The Magnetics".
Ron and l sat at the bar, eyes glued (ears too) on Rita. of course we're talking
about hitting on that girl. (Actually, Rita was not quite a girl, being 25 at the
time). Ron's girlfriend showed up about then and it was only a few minutes before they left. Soon after, Rita Ellen and the Magnetics took a break.l bought
the four of them a drink and did not approach. They all waved a thank you. l
waved back and sat tight. lt's just good manners (l think) to recognize performers and their performance with applause or refreshment or smiling and waving, but let them (or in this case,Her) do the approach. lt's not likely to
happen, no matter what you do, but if it does?!!!
When l took the job at the Commercial,l promised myself to quit, or at least cut way back on the booz in an attempt to stop throwing money away in the casinos. So when Rita and the Magnetics finished their last set of the nite and
wished each other good nite, l sat at the bar, sober as a judge as Rita walked of the stage and then directly to the stool next to mine, where she sat and looked me right in the eye and said "l think l owe you a drink. What are you drinking?
"Right now l'm on a one-day wagon,but l'll drink a club soda with you. What
can l get you. Was that Metaxa?"
"Metaxa and Galliano".
We really got along great. She was so smart, so funny. l could talk all nite with
her. And did. The first time l looked at the front door, l saw the beginning of dawn. When l started to go on about talking all nite, she put a hand on my wrist, put her face close to mine and asked "Don't you like to ball?"
Keeping a low profile in North-Eastern Nevada, owing to it's low population was,
l thought best accomplished in Elko, the largest town in the County. lt was my intention to avoid the West County, where the population was very low and my
profile, owing to my recent history, too high. So l planned to ride the express train to West County, (SP express trains don't stop in Elko) then ride the SP
local train back to Elko, later in the day. The local train stops in all the towns along the line. Luckily though,an old friend who had become a police officer
since l'd last seen him, was at the train station and offered me a ride home. When l told him l had to go to Elko first, he said his next stop would be the Court House in Elko and he'd be happy to give me a ride. (As might be expected, Elko, the city is the county seat of Elko, the county).Ofc. Harv Clayton
was a West County native whose parents had come there from California about
the time,during WWII after the defeat of Germany, but before the Japanese
surrender. there was a very large increase in railroad traffic at that time,
especially that which headed west. Harv graduated high school in '57 and his job with the police force was his first. He saw it as temporary. He planned to work a few years, save money and go to college asap. his interest was Geology. l told him he was in a great place to doGeology. "Yeah", he said " the place brought me to the science." Not only did he intend to be a professional geologist
but he and his dad were already amateur geologists. (if,at any time,at any place
seemingly ridiculous ideas, or just senselessness' it COULD be tongue-in-cheek.)
As we covered the twenty-plus miles to Elko, talking, laughing,reminiscing.
Gossip about this girl, that guy. What they did, said, etc., then and now. My current situation, in all it's grizzly detail popped in and out of my mind and l
wondered how things might instantly change for us if suddenly, over the police
radio came an A.P.B., identifying me,listing my crimes, including interstate flight
to avoid prosecution for those crimes. A federal offence from the time you cross your first state line. Good thing l wasn't a weed smoker then,l probably would have done a total freek-out and confessed to everything.Not really. More
likely, that being a weed smoker then, l would have done what was right and lawful. (except for the weed itself) But are any exceptions allowed?
l asked Harv to drop me at the Stockmen's so that l could get an early start
recovering some of my recent Vegas losses. Maybe even some of the earlier
ones, too? Sometimes it's just not my day: lt was about 11AM when Harv dropped me. At 2:22 PM, l was taking out another C-note fom the poke and
discovered that only one more remained. A check of the pockets yielded $6.06
L decided to cut way back on the gambling. (You know, you almost have to when you run out of the stuff used to make bets. Besides, that $106.06 would
come in handy if l wanted to eat something or sleep somewhere indoors, but
it probably wouldnt cover those things for more than a day or two. Hey! l
needed a job...soon. l went to the Stockmen's Hotel front desk and inquired about the availability of employment opportunities. The desk clerk checked
with management and learned that the Commercial Hotel (right across the street) had an opening for a desk clerk. l may not have been the best, in those days, at keeping a job, but even if l say so myself, l was very good at getting hired.The results of my interview that day would attest to that. They even had me start at their front desk that day at 7PM.
Even before the advent of casino gambling in Nevada (1931) the Commercial
Hotel was Elko's Grand Central Station. Everybody liked the place. With a restaurant better than most in Elko, a steak house "of world renown", A
cabare (since about 1940) that featured nationally-known music and comedy
acts. A forty seat bar next to a secluded cocktail lounge and 100 hotel rooms
upstairs, it offered just about everything that anybody might need on a visit
there. At the restaurant check-out there was even a mini drug store where you could get everything from aspirin and cold syrup to band aids and sanitary
napkins, and of course,magazines and newspapers. And from 5PM every day
the hotel desk was Elko's Western Union nite office. l worked 8AM to 4PM
Tuesday thru Thursday and 4PM to 12AM Saturday and Sunday. l could run a food and drink tab which was deducted from my weekly paycheck. l don't remember what the pay was but l thought it was satisfactory. The best part was the very nice single room provided gratis. l decided to totally quit gambling; l could live on what the hotel paid me, but l'd save money for a long time before
l'd have enough for any serious gambling. Or, in my case, seriously throwing
money away.
About three weeks into the job at the Commercial, out in the evening, enjoying
my Friday off, when l encounter my old friend Ron Rose, whom l knew from
our working together in the summers of 1953 and 1954 at Ruby Lake Wildlife
Refuge. We were happy to see each other and set out to party some in celebration. WE were within a couple blocks of the fairly-new Ranchinn Hotel,
built, owned and operated by the same folks who had the Commercial, it was a
log-cabin-looking place on the outside but plush inside with the same amenities,
but much more modern and spacious than the Commercial. As we entered, we
heard what sounded to me like the voice of Sarah Vaughn, singing "The Nearness of You".
l got the song right, but the singer was not Sarah (though it wouldn't have been out of the question for her to appear there). The singer was a very pretty young
lady named Rita Ellen. She was accompanied by a trio called "The Magnetics".
Ron and l sat at the bar, eyes glued (ears too) on Rita. of course we're talking
about hitting on that girl. (Actually, Rita was not quite a girl, being 25 at the
time). Ron's girlfriend showed up about then and it was only a few minutes before they left. Soon after, Rita Ellen and the Magnetics took a break.l bought
the four of them a drink and did not approach. They all waved a thank you. l
waved back and sat tight. lt's just good manners (l think) to recognize performers and their performance with applause or refreshment or smiling and waving, but let them (or in this case,Her) do the approach. lt's not likely to
happen, no matter what you do, but if it does?!!!
When l took the job at the Commercial,l promised myself to quit, or at least cut way back on the booz in an attempt to stop throwing money away in the casinos. So when Rita and the Magnetics finished their last set of the nite and
wished each other good nite, l sat at the bar, sober as a judge as Rita walked of the stage and then directly to the stool next to mine, where she sat and looked me right in the eye and said "l think l owe you a drink. What are you drinking?
"Right now l'm on a one-day wagon,but l'll drink a club soda with you. What
can l get you. Was that Metaxa?"
"Metaxa and Galliano".
We really got along great. She was so smart, so funny. l could talk all nite with
her. And did. The first time l looked at the front door, l saw the beginning of dawn. When l started to go on about talking all nite, she put a hand on my wrist, put her face close to mine and asked "Don't you like to ball?"
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Employed 9 Part 4
In the end,Art would not put up $14K, but he did go for $12K. For that, the agreement l wrote paid him 83% of our proceeds and paid me 17%. At least,
that's how it would have been, if l hadn't decided to become an intentional crook. Really though, l knew it was crooked to tell the guy that got my rubber check to re-deposit it since l knew it would bounce again, l just didn't realize it could mean a three-year sentence. Sure, l wound up with one year probation
but l had a feeling l'd probably screw that up too. So l figured my best bet was
to get Art's money and get the hell out of the Eastern U.S.
Before the teller at Art's bank started counting the 12K, (120 C notes!!!) he
asked Art "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Don't you worry" Art said,"this young man's idea is going to make us a lot of
money". After Art dropped me at home, l took a cab to a used-car lot l had
recently noticed that stocked late-model cars in like-new condition. l chose a
silver and black 1957 Chevy station wagon with 23,000 miles on the odometer.
(The better to carry all my stuff and also have a comfortable place to sleep.)
By the time my housemates got home from work that day, l was all packed and ready to go. Goldstein agreed to take over for me as manager and rent-collector. He , like the rest of the group, was surprised that l was leaving, since
they all knew that l was on probation. l told them that l was just going to visit
my family in Nevada for a few days. l'd have plenty of time to return for my next monthly meeting with my probation officer. (Our first visit had been on the
day after l was released from jail. Ray wondered why, if l was planning to return soon, would l take my finished paintings and all the painting materials and tools.
l told him that if the paintings are with me, l can sell them if l get a chance and
l need the tools and materials in case l'm inspired to paint something. He, and the rest seemed un-convinced and probably thought l intended skip out on the
court. l applaud their reasoning powers.
l left Riverdale about 9 AM the next day, Tuesday, Sept. 1,'59. By noon the next day l was at the south end of the Appalachians in Knoxville, Tennessee and there joined US Route 66. Since l wanted to visit relatives living in the Las Vegas area, mostly to gather info that l hoped would help me to locate my bio-
dad, of whom l had no memory, since my mom took me and left him before l
was a year old. l got off Rt 66 and onto US 93 a few miles west of Kingman, Az
passed the little town of Chloride Az, where my parents lived before l was born
then on to Vegas by mid-day Sept 7th which was labor day and six days since l left DC. lt was monday, last day of the long weekend and most non-resident
celebrants had left town. There was still a lot of out-bound traffic, much of it
(most really) was cars with California plates. On my way into a bar, to use the phone, l passed a newspaper peddler pushing his stuff: "Read all about it" he
said "Read all about it, white man marries prune picker" l hadn't heard that
expression for a long time. l havn't visited Vegas much since the 60s and when
it's necessary to visit there, l spend most of the time in a hotel room or in the
country around Vegas. in those days, prune picker is what Nevadans called
visitors from California. As a kid growing up in Nevada l heard Californians
referred to as prune pickers pretty regularly. Having learned,early-on that l was a trans planted California native, l wasn't really comfortable with that phrase.
Why would anyone dis-respect a person making a living picking fruit?
l've been telling you how l have near totally avoided casinos (at least since
early 1960) but before that it was different and that Labor Day in Vegas was
one of my worst encounters with casino gambling. The tuesday morning count
of available resources found me a little shorter than what might be imaginable.
The C note count was 48. Loose change was $13. OK, the Chevy wagon took
about $2,400 of it, but all other expenses couldn't have taken more than $150
to $200, so it was obvious that my drunken gambling was definitely not helping me to get ahead.
L spent a couple of days at my aunt Marie's place. She insisted on doing my
laundry and cleaning and pressing my only two suits with her steam iron.(That
worked great, l might add). She also told me everything she knew about my
dad's location and situation: He and his wife lived in Sunnyvale Ca. She wasn't sure where my dad worked, but his wife was an information operator for the phone company there. l was totally stoked. Her information was a couple months old but l figured it was going to lead me to finding him. To celebrate
the good news, l went back to the tables, figuring l'd have to do well on a nite
that followed such a happy day. Starting at the Thunderbird's cabaret bar with
two double scotch and sodas and a half-hour of Jenny Leigh, then moved right
over to the nearest craps table. lt's amazing how fast those guys can make C-notes disappear; The next morning's resources count (God, l hated that part)
revealed a persistent leakage; present were 21 C notes and $7. change. No problem; l figured l'd just sell the wagon, buy a big suitcase for my stuff, leave my finished paintings with aunt Marie and ride the train to my next two stops:
visit with my dad's younger brother in Salt Lake City and Elko County,Nv to
spend some time with mom and dad and brothers and sister, before continuing
to Sunnyvale, Ca.
Uncle Dick was very interesting and interested. He knew a lot of stuff and could be very funny. He had a way of telling a serious story with a message but
leaving you laughing at the end. After we had a nice dinner and an evening of
TV, he retired, leaving me to watch some late-nite TV. Before he crashed, he
called me to the kitchen to show me how he avoided spilling his first glass of wine in the morning, due to having the shakes in the morning. He simply
poured a glass at bed-time (when the shakes were absent) and put it in the cupboard above the sink for easy morning access.
A couple of hours after l fell asleep, Uncle Dick awakened me. He was near
hysterical " They've done it again, Lanny. Those Goddam Japs are bombing
Pearl Harbor right now".
"What?, no way!"
"lt's on the TV, come on!"
Sure enough, Kamakazi Dive-bombers sinking big ships,etc. But of course the film we saw had been shot on Dec.7,1941, not the middle of Sept. '59. At first
Uncle Dick insisted it was happening at that moment and stuck by his guns until
l switched the TV through the other available channels and found none of the others carrying the attack. When we went back to the first channel he'd had on
and saw FDR addressing the nation on the Monday following the "day that will live in infamy" it became obvious to uncle Dick that we were watching a documentary about WWll. When he finally got it, he was so relieved,so happy
that he fell into a laughing jag that must have taken ten minutes to stop.
Next morning he gave me a ride to the train and in just a few hours we arrived
in that little town in Elko County Nevada, which l never mention by name, to
avoid embarassing anyone unfortunate enough to reside there.
c
that's how it would have been, if l hadn't decided to become an intentional crook. Really though, l knew it was crooked to tell the guy that got my rubber check to re-deposit it since l knew it would bounce again, l just didn't realize it could mean a three-year sentence. Sure, l wound up with one year probation
but l had a feeling l'd probably screw that up too. So l figured my best bet was
to get Art's money and get the hell out of the Eastern U.S.
Before the teller at Art's bank started counting the 12K, (120 C notes!!!) he
asked Art "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Don't you worry" Art said,"this young man's idea is going to make us a lot of
money". After Art dropped me at home, l took a cab to a used-car lot l had
recently noticed that stocked late-model cars in like-new condition. l chose a
silver and black 1957 Chevy station wagon with 23,000 miles on the odometer.
(The better to carry all my stuff and also have a comfortable place to sleep.)
By the time my housemates got home from work that day, l was all packed and ready to go. Goldstein agreed to take over for me as manager and rent-collector. He , like the rest of the group, was surprised that l was leaving, since
they all knew that l was on probation. l told them that l was just going to visit
my family in Nevada for a few days. l'd have plenty of time to return for my next monthly meeting with my probation officer. (Our first visit had been on the
day after l was released from jail. Ray wondered why, if l was planning to return soon, would l take my finished paintings and all the painting materials and tools.
l told him that if the paintings are with me, l can sell them if l get a chance and
l need the tools and materials in case l'm inspired to paint something. He, and the rest seemed un-convinced and probably thought l intended skip out on the
court. l applaud their reasoning powers.
l left Riverdale about 9 AM the next day, Tuesday, Sept. 1,'59. By noon the next day l was at the south end of the Appalachians in Knoxville, Tennessee and there joined US Route 66. Since l wanted to visit relatives living in the Las Vegas area, mostly to gather info that l hoped would help me to locate my bio-
dad, of whom l had no memory, since my mom took me and left him before l
was a year old. l got off Rt 66 and onto US 93 a few miles west of Kingman, Az
passed the little town of Chloride Az, where my parents lived before l was born
then on to Vegas by mid-day Sept 7th which was labor day and six days since l left DC. lt was monday, last day of the long weekend and most non-resident
celebrants had left town. There was still a lot of out-bound traffic, much of it
(most really) was cars with California plates. On my way into a bar, to use the phone, l passed a newspaper peddler pushing his stuff: "Read all about it" he
said "Read all about it, white man marries prune picker" l hadn't heard that
expression for a long time. l havn't visited Vegas much since the 60s and when
it's necessary to visit there, l spend most of the time in a hotel room or in the
country around Vegas. in those days, prune picker is what Nevadans called
visitors from California. As a kid growing up in Nevada l heard Californians
referred to as prune pickers pretty regularly. Having learned,early-on that l was a trans planted California native, l wasn't really comfortable with that phrase.
Why would anyone dis-respect a person making a living picking fruit?
l've been telling you how l have near totally avoided casinos (at least since
early 1960) but before that it was different and that Labor Day in Vegas was
one of my worst encounters with casino gambling. The tuesday morning count
of available resources found me a little shorter than what might be imaginable.
The C note count was 48. Loose change was $13. OK, the Chevy wagon took
about $2,400 of it, but all other expenses couldn't have taken more than $150
to $200, so it was obvious that my drunken gambling was definitely not helping me to get ahead.
L spent a couple of days at my aunt Marie's place. She insisted on doing my
laundry and cleaning and pressing my only two suits with her steam iron.(That
worked great, l might add). She also told me everything she knew about my
dad's location and situation: He and his wife lived in Sunnyvale Ca. She wasn't sure where my dad worked, but his wife was an information operator for the phone company there. l was totally stoked. Her information was a couple months old but l figured it was going to lead me to finding him. To celebrate
the good news, l went back to the tables, figuring l'd have to do well on a nite
that followed such a happy day. Starting at the Thunderbird's cabaret bar with
two double scotch and sodas and a half-hour of Jenny Leigh, then moved right
over to the nearest craps table. lt's amazing how fast those guys can make C-notes disappear; The next morning's resources count (God, l hated that part)
revealed a persistent leakage; present were 21 C notes and $7. change. No problem; l figured l'd just sell the wagon, buy a big suitcase for my stuff, leave my finished paintings with aunt Marie and ride the train to my next two stops:
visit with my dad's younger brother in Salt Lake City and Elko County,Nv to
spend some time with mom and dad and brothers and sister, before continuing
to Sunnyvale, Ca.
Uncle Dick was very interesting and interested. He knew a lot of stuff and could be very funny. He had a way of telling a serious story with a message but
leaving you laughing at the end. After we had a nice dinner and an evening of
TV, he retired, leaving me to watch some late-nite TV. Before he crashed, he
called me to the kitchen to show me how he avoided spilling his first glass of wine in the morning, due to having the shakes in the morning. He simply
poured a glass at bed-time (when the shakes were absent) and put it in the cupboard above the sink for easy morning access.
A couple of hours after l fell asleep, Uncle Dick awakened me. He was near
hysterical " They've done it again, Lanny. Those Goddam Japs are bombing
Pearl Harbor right now".
"What?, no way!"
"lt's on the TV, come on!"
Sure enough, Kamakazi Dive-bombers sinking big ships,etc. But of course the film we saw had been shot on Dec.7,1941, not the middle of Sept. '59. At first
Uncle Dick insisted it was happening at that moment and stuck by his guns until
l switched the TV through the other available channels and found none of the others carrying the attack. When we went back to the first channel he'd had on
and saw FDR addressing the nation on the Monday following the "day that will live in infamy" it became obvious to uncle Dick that we were watching a documentary about WWll. When he finally got it, he was so relieved,so happy
that he fell into a laughing jag that must have taken ten minutes to stop.
Next morning he gave me a ride to the train and in just a few hours we arrived
in that little town in Elko County Nevada, which l never mention by name, to
avoid embarassing anyone unfortunate enough to reside there.
c
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Employed 9 Part 3
Losing the job at C.I.C. was no big deal. l just shifted the time l'd been spending there to Home Optical. As a near full-time job it more than made up for the loss of the income at C.l.C. and l much preferred the actual work at Home Optical.
For the next month or so, l was able to buy materials for paintings. At that time
l was thinking about putting small ads in Car magazines like Motor Trend, Car &
Driver and others, offering to do original oil paintings of customer's cars as seen
in the photo that the customer supplies. So l did three paintings of my favorite
Hudson on three canvases of differing dimensions. The car a different color in
each painting. None black, as the actual Hudson was. Once finished l hanged the three in the basement, near each-other on the wall facing the basement entrance. By the time all that was in place, l had realized that a considerable amount of money was going to be needed just to purchase the ads, and that
would only be the beginning.The idea is moved to the back burner.
Just when l had begun to think that Home Optical (H.O.) might make me a wealthy man, my supervisor there,(the guy that had first made me aware of the
company and whose name now escapes me) informed me that H.O. had been
purchased by a large optometry and optical practitioner who would employ a
gang of phone-solicitors. (l was invited to apply, but when l did, about a week later, l was told it had been decided to postpone, indefinitely, the re-opening).
My friend Ron still had re-po work for me ( actually the source of my most steady employment in this period). But it wasn't enough by itself, so l wound
up trying a plurality of positions. One of the early ones was driving a Hires Root Beer delivery truck, which lasted about two weeks. For about a month l worked as a waiter for a Hot Shop chain restaurant in northwest D.C. Later, l hooked up with Capitol Periodicals, where l used what Ben and Ted had taught me about
cold-call magazine subscription sales. lt felt good to be doing work that
constantly reminded me of times spent with my two great friends and mentors,
and while l think l did everything the way l was taught, my results fell a little
short of my results in Reno. A lot short, actually. Enough that, in less than two
weeks, l gave up on it.
The batch of paintings finished just before l began the three paintings of the Hudson (there were four or five of them) were still on the walls at Otto's, a
cocktail lounge/caberet in D.C.s "Germantown". Dan Filbert was the proprietor
of Otto's and he suggested that it might help to move some (or all!) of the batch
if l spent more time shmoozing patrons in person. Something l had done with some regularity since first starting to display my paintings in partnership with
proprietors of eating and drinking establishments, but while l enjoy being around people and am comfortable selling them stuff,when it comes to works
that l have personally produced, l would prefer that some other competent
salesman take the honors (and the 30% commission).l said as much to Dan.
He pointed out that his 30% was for the use of the wall space. l had what must have been a great rejoinder for him, since he then cancelled our deal. Could he
do that, l wondered? Next thing l knew, customers were helping to load paintings into the Hudson.
Money got tight. l bounced a check for about $150. l asked the person that had it, to re-deposit it. When it bounced the second time, the law in Maryland
considered it a felony. A warrant was issued for my arrest, which was executed
at about two A.M. on Friday, Aug. 15,1959.
The jailer at Prince George's County jail, 0ne Edward Knolles was called Mama
by his charges and he really was like a mother hen to us.This was my first time in jail and l was surprised that someone in charge of prisoners accused of serious crimes would treat them so well. That didn't do much for the anger l felt
for being locked up over a single bounced check for $150. l had no idea how bad it could get, though. l was held a week before l went to court. On the way to the courtroom, l saw a man in a suit that l thought might be a lawyer. l stopped him
and introduced myself as one who needed legal representation. He was a lawyer
and when he learned it was my first arrest, and that the charge against me was a single bounced check, he said that he could probably get me probation with no
jail time. After hearing the details of my crime, the judge found me guilty of two
non-sufficient check charges (the same check, bouncing twice),sentenced me to
eighteen months in the Maryland House of Corrections for each charge. He
suspended that sentence and required me to serve one year on active probation. Having completed that, the three year suspended sentence would
be recinded.
Well, that was a lot better than what might have happened without the lawyer's
help. How l would pay the lawyer was yet to be known. lt wouldn't be a big deal,
though; He only charged me $100. When l started thinking about money, l had
an idea: What if l put an ad in, say the Washington Post, inviting investors to put money in my idea to sell car-buffs oil paintings of their favorite car(s). That
seemed the best way to approach this particular idea.
Within a couple of days after my week in jail, l placed the following ad in The
Washington Post: INVEST ONE-THOUSAND DOLLARS TODAY, ENJOY A RETURN
OF FROM TWO THOUSAND TO FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS IN LESS THAN A YEAR
CALL DAVID AT XXX XXXX. The phone started ringing well before breakfast on
the day the ad appeared. By noon, l had been visited at home in Riverdale by
seven or eight prospects, all very interested in getting a piece of my deal. l had
arranged the sun room in such a way as to display much,if not all, of my oil painting tools so that l appeared ready and able to produce a gang of painted
automotive pulcritude. l provided my prospects with the details of how my
discovery, to hasten the drying of paintings, allowing us to produce four to five
times the paintings as would be normal, withot ill effect to the painting. The ad
was to have run for a week, but l cancelled it after the second day. That was
the day l met Art Warren.
lnitially, l thought l would need about twelve to fourteen thousand thousand
dollars to set up and operate the car portrait idea. My ad mentioned $1,000.
l figured l'd sell shares at $1.000. each. Some prospects might just buy one share, while others may want several. Somewhere north of a dozen
prospects l talked to in the first two days were comfortable with one share;
a hand full felt that 2 to 4 shares might fit them. But Art Warren wanted
ten shares and he wanted to be the only investor. l said l needed $14k for it
to work. He said he had plenty of net worth, thanks to a son-in-law (his only
daughters husband) who was a securities trader who had steered him into
some real winners over the years. And Art didn't want to lose any of his winnings made possible by his son-in-law. Of course, his son-in-law had re-
commended against my car art deal. At that point,l was almost to the point of
doing the project for real. But while in jail that week, l told myself that if the court didn't just let me go, upon my making the check good, l would run the
oil-painting cars deal as a con game, rather than a legitimate business partnership, and take as much of the un-suspecting citizen's money as l could get away with. Art was an old guy,probably as old as l am now, but he had all his faculties and seemed quite healthy and spry. The money l would take from him would not leave him short. l could be wrong about that, but the information
l had on him, came from him, so l tended to trust it. And yes, hd trusted me.
For the next month or so, l was able to buy materials for paintings. At that time
l was thinking about putting small ads in Car magazines like Motor Trend, Car &
Driver and others, offering to do original oil paintings of customer's cars as seen
in the photo that the customer supplies. So l did three paintings of my favorite
Hudson on three canvases of differing dimensions. The car a different color in
each painting. None black, as the actual Hudson was. Once finished l hanged the three in the basement, near each-other on the wall facing the basement entrance. By the time all that was in place, l had realized that a considerable amount of money was going to be needed just to purchase the ads, and that
would only be the beginning.The idea is moved to the back burner.
Just when l had begun to think that Home Optical (H.O.) might make me a wealthy man, my supervisor there,(the guy that had first made me aware of the
company and whose name now escapes me) informed me that H.O. had been
purchased by a large optometry and optical practitioner who would employ a
gang of phone-solicitors. (l was invited to apply, but when l did, about a week later, l was told it had been decided to postpone, indefinitely, the re-opening).
My friend Ron still had re-po work for me ( actually the source of my most steady employment in this period). But it wasn't enough by itself, so l wound
up trying a plurality of positions. One of the early ones was driving a Hires Root Beer delivery truck, which lasted about two weeks. For about a month l worked as a waiter for a Hot Shop chain restaurant in northwest D.C. Later, l hooked up with Capitol Periodicals, where l used what Ben and Ted had taught me about
cold-call magazine subscription sales. lt felt good to be doing work that
constantly reminded me of times spent with my two great friends and mentors,
and while l think l did everything the way l was taught, my results fell a little
short of my results in Reno. A lot short, actually. Enough that, in less than two
weeks, l gave up on it.
The batch of paintings finished just before l began the three paintings of the Hudson (there were four or five of them) were still on the walls at Otto's, a
cocktail lounge/caberet in D.C.s "Germantown". Dan Filbert was the proprietor
of Otto's and he suggested that it might help to move some (or all!) of the batch
if l spent more time shmoozing patrons in person. Something l had done with some regularity since first starting to display my paintings in partnership with
proprietors of eating and drinking establishments, but while l enjoy being around people and am comfortable selling them stuff,when it comes to works
that l have personally produced, l would prefer that some other competent
salesman take the honors (and the 30% commission).l said as much to Dan.
He pointed out that his 30% was for the use of the wall space. l had what must have been a great rejoinder for him, since he then cancelled our deal. Could he
do that, l wondered? Next thing l knew, customers were helping to load paintings into the Hudson.
Money got tight. l bounced a check for about $150. l asked the person that had it, to re-deposit it. When it bounced the second time, the law in Maryland
considered it a felony. A warrant was issued for my arrest, which was executed
at about two A.M. on Friday, Aug. 15,1959.
The jailer at Prince George's County jail, 0ne Edward Knolles was called Mama
by his charges and he really was like a mother hen to us.This was my first time in jail and l was surprised that someone in charge of prisoners accused of serious crimes would treat them so well. That didn't do much for the anger l felt
for being locked up over a single bounced check for $150. l had no idea how bad it could get, though. l was held a week before l went to court. On the way to the courtroom, l saw a man in a suit that l thought might be a lawyer. l stopped him
and introduced myself as one who needed legal representation. He was a lawyer
and when he learned it was my first arrest, and that the charge against me was a single bounced check, he said that he could probably get me probation with no
jail time. After hearing the details of my crime, the judge found me guilty of two
non-sufficient check charges (the same check, bouncing twice),sentenced me to
eighteen months in the Maryland House of Corrections for each charge. He
suspended that sentence and required me to serve one year on active probation. Having completed that, the three year suspended sentence would
be recinded.
Well, that was a lot better than what might have happened without the lawyer's
help. How l would pay the lawyer was yet to be known. lt wouldn't be a big deal,
though; He only charged me $100. When l started thinking about money, l had
an idea: What if l put an ad in, say the Washington Post, inviting investors to put money in my idea to sell car-buffs oil paintings of their favorite car(s). That
seemed the best way to approach this particular idea.
Within a couple of days after my week in jail, l placed the following ad in The
Washington Post: INVEST ONE-THOUSAND DOLLARS TODAY, ENJOY A RETURN
OF FROM TWO THOUSAND TO FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS IN LESS THAN A YEAR
CALL DAVID AT XXX XXXX. The phone started ringing well before breakfast on
the day the ad appeared. By noon, l had been visited at home in Riverdale by
seven or eight prospects, all very interested in getting a piece of my deal. l had
arranged the sun room in such a way as to display much,if not all, of my oil painting tools so that l appeared ready and able to produce a gang of painted
automotive pulcritude. l provided my prospects with the details of how my
discovery, to hasten the drying of paintings, allowing us to produce four to five
times the paintings as would be normal, withot ill effect to the painting. The ad
was to have run for a week, but l cancelled it after the second day. That was
the day l met Art Warren.
lnitially, l thought l would need about twelve to fourteen thousand thousand
dollars to set up and operate the car portrait idea. My ad mentioned $1,000.
l figured l'd sell shares at $1.000. each. Some prospects might just buy one share, while others may want several. Somewhere north of a dozen
prospects l talked to in the first two days were comfortable with one share;
a hand full felt that 2 to 4 shares might fit them. But Art Warren wanted
ten shares and he wanted to be the only investor. l said l needed $14k for it
to work. He said he had plenty of net worth, thanks to a son-in-law (his only
daughters husband) who was a securities trader who had steered him into
some real winners over the years. And Art didn't want to lose any of his winnings made possible by his son-in-law. Of course, his son-in-law had re-
commended against my car art deal. At that point,l was almost to the point of
doing the project for real. But while in jail that week, l told myself that if the court didn't just let me go, upon my making the check good, l would run the
oil-painting cars deal as a con game, rather than a legitimate business partnership, and take as much of the un-suspecting citizen's money as l could get away with. Art was an old guy,probably as old as l am now, but he had all his faculties and seemed quite healthy and spry. The money l would take from him would not leave him short. l could be wrong about that, but the information
l had on him, came from him, so l tended to trust it. And yes, hd trusted me.
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