As if it was only yesterday, I clearly remember him
saying "God Damn, God Damn it!" and those words would crackle
again and again like the lashes from a bull whip. Because those words
were not spoken in desperate anger, but merely integrated into social
conversation, I began to recognize the odor of man's hypocrisy. I sensed
my father's uneasiness as he was truly embarrassed to allow another man
to swear in front of his five year old son, especially because we were
all standing at the entrance to "a house of God."
Twenty years later, standing again at the entrance to
that little church in Van Nuys, California, I recalled that
uncomfortable scene which had taken place under a warm summer sun
sometime ago.
However, now it was a dark serious night and without
my knowledge I was actually beginning to ride on that colorful rainbow
that connects life to death.
Craig and Ennis were moving the equipment inside
while Mark and I surveyed the natural setting in preparation for a long
nights filming. I had listened to many a sermon given in that little
chapel and always then my station was located in one of the hard wooden
pews. As I looked up to check the inherent lighting, I flashed back to
when I was a child. Many times on Sunday mornings, I gazed up to the
dangling amber glass fixtures and day-dreamed of the chocolate dipped
vanilla ice cream cone I would be awarded after church.
For staging purposes, the pulpit needed to be moved
and after pondering whether to drape the alter with the star of David or
the cross of Jesus, Mark and I decided that only a clean white linen
cloth would be appropriate, because this time, the Son of God was surely
coming irrespective of anyone's organized religion. As is normal in
moviemaking, prepping for the first shot of the first scene takes some
time and we were blessed with no exception here, but we were very
comfortable under God's roof and pleased to the point of excitement over
our planned scene.
Before we could roll film, Mark had to make a phone
call to some friends. Being about eleven o'clock at night, I thought it
was strange, but then Mark could be described as being a little strange.
I could not complain though, because casting the Second Coming in
persona was no easy task. Fortunately, right outside the church was a
pay telephone booth. I overheard Mark describe with certain details the
scene we were about to shoot and I thought his manner of speech was a
little odd. It seemed like Mark was a child seeking approval from his
father. We returned to the church and filmed the first scene to
"Well Here I am", the story of the second coming of Jesus
Christ in contemporary times. Shortly thereafter, I came to learn that
Mark's phone call that night was to a group of friends, later to be
known as the infamous "Charles Manson Family."
Before you begin to think that the blueprint for my
life was maybe extraordinary or different from yours, you should know
that I grew up very obscurely in Van Nuys, California, the center of the
San Fernando Valley. My father was an honest hardworking aerospace
worker and my mother spent many an hour attempting to remove waxy
buildup from the kitchen floor. My grades in school were mostly above
average and I cruised for chicks on the now legendary Van Nuys
Boulevard. Because of my sister's diabetes, the daily cost of medicine
greatly affected our potential for financial well being, to the extent
that college was well out of the question. These were prehistoric times,
before the advent of welfare, food stamps, Medicare and other marvelous
social inventions.
Fortunately, right out of high school, neighborly
connections landed me a job in aerospace. Life was now great, I worked
long hard hours and made lots of money. Alone, late one night, I managed
time to relax in the cockpit of the "Article" as it was
nicknamed then. There's no doubt that in that lonely hanger located in
an "area" surrounded by secrecy and intrigue somewhere in
nowhere U.S.A., a young man's imagination became unchained, but I never
could have imagined life's glorious nightmare lying in wait for me.
In August of 1967 I completed my two year military
obligation in the U.S. Army and began making use of the G.I. Education
Bill by attending traditional college. A short time later, I met the
long haired and bearded Mark Ross at a Hollywood acting studio. Though
Mark and I concluded the same, that the Vietnam War was some kind of
civilized insanity, our experiences to reach that conclusion were
somewhat different.
Prior to being drafted (drafted being an ancient term used to welcome
young men into the military, involuntarily), I was exposed to some of
this nations foremost defense secrets. By piecing together my direct
knowledge with the product of a young man's imagination, I was convinced
that if America truly wanted to win or end that cruel war, all we had to
do was unleash one of our exotic creations over Hanoi and the whole Viet
Cong population would surely drop dead of a massive heart attack.
