The Spiritual Teacher

"Right now, right here, you are free."  With these seven words George Falcon began each session.  The topic was always the same.  Who are we?  How do we live a spiritual life and what does this mean? Though he was unknown to the masses, George touched thousands of people and influenced multitudes of lives. He was a mentor, a teacher, a spiritual guide, a man of peace.  To know George was to know God exists.

I'd heard about George for years.  He was married to my best friend Lee's sister Belinda. Lee and I would have deep discussions about life and he would always say, "you have to meet George. He's amazing."

I met George at a Christmas dinner with Lee's family in 1986.  He sat at the end of the table with his aging parents.  He was professorial in appearance, with a thick beard and olive skin that belied his Latino heritage.  He wore a blue Adidas tracksuit (his standard uniform) and he was quick to smile and laugh.  Dinner conversation was lively and entertaining, but George was largely quiet.  When the conversation shifted to spirituality, I expected him to say something.  Instead he was content to listen in silence tending to his parents' needs.  When dessert was served, he took his plate of pie and ice cream and wandered to the living room to watch the Bulls play the Knicks.

George loved basketball.  This was how we first bonded.  We talked for hours about the Lakers and their chance at another championship.  He spoke about Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan and how they both hated losing more than they loved winning.  This prompted the first question I ever asked George.  "Are you saying hate is more powerful than love?"

He answered something to the effect of "love is a higher frequency emotion but sometimes we act more urgently to avoid the pain associated with hate." These spiritual/basketball talks were my first George lessons.  He loved to tell the story about Scottie Pippen and Karl Malone in the 1987 NBA Finals.  Game 1 was on a Sunday and with nine seconds left, Malone (nicknamed "The Mailman") had two free throws to give Utah the win.  Pippen stepped in front of Malone and said, "the Mailman doesn't deliver on Sundays."  Malone missed the shots and the Chicago Bulls won the game.  George used the story to emphasize the power of the "low self" over the body.  Pippen's statement was a subliminal suggestion planted in Malone's subconscious.  Malone could have countered the suggestion with his own statement such as "cancel cancel" as if to say 'I'm consciously canceling the words spoken to me.'  Instead, Malone took the bait and his body betrayed him.

It's been said when a student is ready a teacher will appear.  George was this teacher and I was a grateful and spellbound student.  I attended my first formal "George talk" in the late 80's.  We met at George and Belinda's Studio City home, about twenty of us seated on couch pillows around the living room. George began with a meditation, leading us through a series of breathing exercises to quiet the mind.  After fifteen minutes, George began the talk.

He spoke about consciousness and how the early Egyptians divided the mind into the low-self, middle-self and high-self.  The low-self corresponded to our subconscious, where the mind generates feelings, pictures and memories. George called the low-self "Annabelle," inspired by his small dog who was always yapping for attention.  This is how the low-self works.  While we attempt to quiet our mind we're distracted by noise such as hunger pangs or unpleasant feelings and memories.  Our job is to train our low-self to be aware of the distractions but not let them control our actions, like George ignored Annabelle's barking.

The middle-self is our conscious mind or intellect, where words, ideas and reasoning prevail.  George called the middle-self "Virgil," a nod to Dante's guide through hell in Dante's Inferno.  (In the story, Virgil lived a virtuous life on earth but was trapped in limbo unable to access heaven…an apt metaphor for our middle-self.)  The middle-self, our rational mind, can speak of concepts such as heaven and nirvana, but is unable to grok these experiences.  As George often said, "Virgil can lead you to the doorway, but he can't take you through."

The low-self and middle-self work together to create our identity, our ego, "the self." The low-self generates an emotion and the middle-self comes up with a story to explain the emotion.  The story is a "lie," but we believe it.  Over time, we become hypnotized by our individual stories.  We believe we are selves, separate from others and the world at large.  This leads to the major struggle of humanity, loneliness and a feeling of disconnection (from others and God).

The high-self is where we begin to recognize we are not that which we call "the self."  This is where we find freedom, where we touch love and peace.  The high-self is where we glimpse our true essence, where silence allows us to hear the "still small voice" inside.  George called the high-self "Beatrice," a tribute to Beatrice Portinari, the woman who inspired Dante's Divine Comedy.

George acknowledged the world can appear difficult, rife with pain and violence.  But he reminded us "reality is illusory."  Our world view is informed by the consciousness we resonate with.  The best way to change your reality is to shift your consciousness.  The intellect (middle-self) wants to remain in charge but our job is to be still, to observe our thoughts and feelings and return to our breath through meditation.  We are magnetic beings attracting a reality that matches our beliefs.  If we resonate with harmony, our life becomes more harmonious.  If we focus on discord, our life becomes more chaotic.

The George talks were high-minded and fascinating, but initially they had little impact on my life.  It wasn't until I experienced a personal crisis that I began to view the teachings differently.  I was 28.  I was living in San Francisco and my life was a mess.  My relationship was crumbling, my finances were dismal, my creative life was stunted and I felt like I was having an emotional breakdown.  I called George and asked if we could meet in Los Angeles.  He agreed and I drove to LA the next day.

I met George at a cafe in Larchmont Village.  He listened patiently as I explained how my life was falling apart.  After a few minutes he asked, "If your life was a basketball game what would you do right now?"  I thought for a moment.  "I'd call timeout."  "Good," he said.  "And what would you do during the timeout?"  "Rest for a moment and change my strategy." "Good," he said.  "Maybe you need to rest and design new plays."  "I can't rest, George.  I'm broke.  If I sit back and do nothing how am I going to pay my bills."  "I didn't say do nothing.  I said rest."  I was confused.  "How do you rest while you're active?"  George smiled.  "Now you're asking a good question."

George discussed how meditation allows you to take a break from the usurping energy of negative thoughts and feelings.  He said an hour of meditation equates to six hours of deep sleep.  He added that all emotions have a rhythmic counterpart in breathing--anger corresponds to one breathing modality, depression another.  By learning to consciously control my breathing rate I could begin to assert control over my low-self which at that point was controlling me.

George's words had extra weight given his own recent history.  In 1990, George was diagnosed with colon and liver cancer.  Lee and I visited him at the hospital the night before his surgery.  We expected to find a somber hospital room filled with anxiety and fear.  Instead, George gave an inspired talk to family and a few close friends.  He was smiling and energetic, no sign of worry.  The subject was "freedom" and how to proceed when your external reality does not match the perfection within.  I was stunned at how a man on the verge of life-threatening surgery was able to exhibit such equanimity.

The day after surgery, George was walking the hospital hallways.  He was released two days later.  Doctors estimated a six-month healing period but George was confident he'd need half that time.  He woke at 4:00 am each day, immersing himself in deep meditation while seated in his favorite leather chair. He ate judiciously, mainly fruit, broth and water.  Belinda acted as gatekeeper, keeping visitors away so George had time to heal.  I visited him a month after his surgery. He was quiet and reserved, his face thin and ashen.  He had a distant look, as if lost in thought.  Years later he explained he was focused on the inner healing tones above his eardrums, a meditation technique he would soon teach his students.

Two months after surgery, George was giving talks again.  He looked fit and healthy, back to his pre-surgery weight and jovial as ever.  Rather than curtailing his schedule, he dove into his teachings with a vengeance.  He gave talks at galleries, restaurants, yoga studios, production offices and private homes.  He resumed seeing private clients, working 12-14 hour days.  On any given day he drove as far south as San Diego and as far north as Santa Barbara.  It's as if he were suddenly conscious of his limited time on earth and wanted to make sure not a second was wasted.

In 1991, I moved back to Los Angeles.  I began seeing George twice weekly for private sessions.  He asked me about the tattered journal I carried with me. I told him this was where I recorded my daily thoughts and feelings.  "So that's your low-self and middle-self manual," he said.  I never viewed it that way but he was right.  "It's time to begin a high-self manual," George said. He gave me an assignment.  Purchase a new journal and fill two pages a day with a single statement written over and over.  The statement: "I am the Temple of the Living God."

I hesitated.  I knew George was Christian.  Having grown up in a Jewish household with Orthodox grandparents, I was worried I was entering dangerous ground.  I voiced my concerns.  "George, I'm Jewish.  I don't want you to try to make me a Christian.  I'm not comfortable with that and to be honest, the thought scares me." George smiled.  "Have I mentioned anything about Christianity?" "No," I said. "Have I mentioned Christ?"  "No."  "Have I mentioned religion?"  "No." "We spoke about designing new plays.  That's all we're doing right now."

I began journaling immediately.  At first it was awkward.  I felt like Bart Simpson trapped in a Catholic school principal's office.  After a few days, the words became a mantra.  I spoke them aloud as I transcribed page after page with the sentence "I am the Temple of the Living God."  The writing was soothing and questions entered my mind.  Does "the Temple" refer to my body or my spirit?  Who is the "I" in the statement--my mind, my feelings, my soul?  If I am "a Temple of the Living God," does this mean God is alive inside me?

I noticed small changes in my life.  I became more attentive to cleanliness, shaving and showering each morning instead of waiting until the end of the day.  I ate better, avoiding alcohol and sugar and opting for salads and fresh fruit.  I cut back on my use of profanity (f-bombs were my adverb of choice).  I became more conscious of the movies and books I selected, choosing positive stories instead of dissertations on life's misery.  I started making lists of things to be grateful for, the warmth of a sunny day or the simple miracle of indoor plumbing.

Slowly, imperceptibly, my life improved.  I found a job with a bunch of friends.  I reconnected with Lee.  My aunt gave me a car.  I began dating a beautiful woman from my past.  And I spent more time with George.  Monday mornings became "Breakfast With George" as Lee and I joined him at a Spanish restaurant on 3rd Street.  While George ate his favorite dish chilaquiles he used Lee and I as guinea pigs to practice new spiritual teachings.  He emphasized the need "to take it to the marketplace," using the lessons as a practical means to improve your life.

On one occasion, a couple was having an argument at a nearby table.  The spat devolved into a screaming match.  George said, "This is a great opportunity to practice peace.  What are some things we can do right now to help this couple?"  I said, "We can pray for them." "Good," George said.  "But if you're praying for a desired outcome--their peace--then it's your will doing the praying."  Lee added, "We could ask God to pray for them"  "Better, but again it's you asking God for a specific outcome instead of deferring to God's will."  I said, "We could visualize them in the light."  "Good," George said.  "But there's something you're both missing."  Lee and I were stumped.

George used the occasion to deliver an important spiritual lesson.  Rather than focus on the couple who was having a fight, he directed us to focus on ourselves. He asked us to close our eyes and begin our breathing exercises. He told us to imagine a feather resting on our upper lip.  Our breathing should be calm as to not disturb the feather.  He directed our attention to the center of our foreheads, to our pineal gland, our "third eye."  He said to focus on the peace inherent in our breathing, urging us to watch for a bright white light that would appear in the proximity of our pineal gland.

After several minutes, George asked us to open our eyes.  He asked how we were feeling.  Though neither of us encountered a bright white light, we both felt a sense of profound peace.  "What else," George asked.  We looked around the restaurant. The dining room was quiet and the couple had left. During the meditation, I'd lost focus on the couple.  I was only aware of a feeling of peace.  As I returned to "reality," my outer life resembled my inner tranquility.  I recalled a quote attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.:  "Be the peace you wish to see in the world."

George gave us a valuable lesson, one he would soon crystalize in his teachings.  "Right now, right here, you are free."  The world outside is connected to the world inside.  ("As below so above.")  When dealing with a perceived problem (illness), our first step is to acknowledge our true essence is free from all lack.  Step two is to recognize the perceived problem as a lie (illness cannot exist in the presence of perfect health).  Next, we are to visualize imagery that reminds us we are part of a divine whole.  This might be a wave in the ocean or the branch of a tree.  We then turn to the breathing exercises.  We focus on our breath, becoming still and quiet, releasing the thoughts and feelings that appear.  The longer we remain in this state, the faster our outer world will resemble our inner one.

George continually reminded us there is "power and wisdom in letting go."  By choosing to release a negative thought or feeling, we are opting for universal consciousness over self consciousness.  He spoke of theosis, a divine union without distinction.  He referenced the Zen Buddhist concept of "not two," falling short of saying we are God but recognizing we are not apart from God. He utilized a myriad of Eastern philosophical texts, urging us to read the Diamond Sutra and the Tao Te Ching.  His favorite quote from the Tao was "the Tao does nothing yet leaves nothing undone."

George often referenced movies in his teachings, particularly ones that featured master-student relationships.  These included The Karate Kid, The Matrix, Hoosiers, Remo Williams and Star Wars.  He adored the films of Steven Seagal and Chuck Norris and especially loved Bruce Lee's Enter The Dragon.  His favorite tv show of all time was Kung Fu.  He also loved reading.  Two of his favorite books were The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis and The Life and Times of Joseph L. Greenstein written by Kung Fu creator Ed Spielman.

Some of my favorite memories include pick-up basketball games with George and Lee at parks around town.  George was a stellar basketball player in his teens and his love for the sport remained into his 60's.  He was a trash-talker on court, goading players toward their weak spot then blocking the shot with surprisingly quick hands.  Once George tried to steal the ball from an opponent and dislocated his right index finger.  He closed his eyes and bent the finger back into place.  When I asked if he was okay, he replied, "I always suspected that finger had karma."  (Who knew body parts had karma?)

Driving with George provided additional lessons.  He drove like an old lady, observing the speed limit and granting others the right of way.  When someone tailgated or honked at George, he pulled over and let them pass.  Once, George and I left a restaurant in separate cars headed for his home about six miles away.  I drove in my typical frenetic style, constantly changing lanes and passing slower cars.  I made it to his house only thirty seconds faster than him.

My connection with George ran deep.  I encountered him while visiting the Grand Canyon in the 90's.   A few years later my wife and I ran into him while vacationing in Hawaii.  In 2007, my wife and I were honored to have George preside over our wedding.  We participated in a six-week marriage course with George where he reminded us our union was a three-way contract between ourselves and God.  Having George seal our marriage pact made the ritual sacred and profound.

Over time, George focused on the role the body plays in spiritual progression.  Perhaps inspired by his own illness in 1990, he recommended that students observe their own relationship to sugar, wheat, caffeine, alcohol, meat and dairy.  It wasn't unusual to find George in the midst of a juice-only detox or raw-food cleanse.  He offered meditation seminars incorporating water-only regimens emphasizing the need to cleanse the body of toxins.  He gave day-long workshops urging complete silence, focusing only on one's breath and asanas.  His goal was to show us we were not just free from negative thoughts and feelings but from the addictive foods and chemicals that often controlled our lives.

George and I always called each other on our birthdays catching up on the Lakers and their hopes for the coming season.  Though we saw each other less frequently, I applied his lessons every day.  I'd be walking somewhere and I'd recall one of his statements as if he were speaking the words anew.  "God does not give you his life to improve your life.  He gives you his life so you have His life."

As the years progressed, George attracted a new group of students.  He increased his workload, leading more workshops and seeing a wider array of clients.  His teachings became available online attracting new acolytes from around the world. Those close to George urged him to slow down.  But he was dedicated to service and continued a torrid pace into his mid-70's.

For some reason, I forgot to call George on his birthday in April, 2016.  A few months later, I left him a message.  Strangely, he didn't call back.  Early on the morning of July 22nd, Lee called.  He was crying and his words were faint. "Georgie is gone," he said.  "He left us last night."  At the age of 78, George's cancer had returned.  He kept the news to himself, sharing it only with those closest to him.  The illness was fierce and spread quickly.  His body was ravaged and he died in a month's time.

As word spread, a wave of shock spread through the community.  Like most of his his students, I was stunned.  How could George die?  This seemed impossible.  We knew he was mortal, but he seemed beyond death as if he'd mastered life and all it's pitfalls.  Everyone thought the same thing, that George would continue teaching into his 90's like the wise old Yoda we knew him to be.  Now he was gone.

I lived the next few weeks in a fugue state.  At the memorial, George's students expressed a similar sentiment.  People gave heartfelt tributes, sharing how George had rescued them from addiction or saved their marriage or guided them through a life-threatening illness.  We heard anecdotes about George's love of kung fu movies and his penchant for See's chocolates.  We hugged and cried and reminded each other that George's spirit was still intact, he'd merely left his body.  Beneath everything there was a deep sadness.  George had been a father figure. Now, suddenly, we were all on our own. Only one thought gave us peace.  "Right now, right here, George is free."
(5" x 7", black ink print)

To view videos of George Falcon's teachings go to: https://vimeo.com/georgefalconteachings

The New York Cabbie

In 1979, after finishing college in New Jersey, Peter Honig moved to New York City.  Not knowing what to do for money, he saw an ad in the New York Times looking for a taxi driver. With no experience and little knowledge of local streets, he contacted the Ann Service Corporation, one of the largest taxi companies in the city.  The company did a background check on Honig and agreed to help him obtain a Hack License.

A Hack License allows a driver to operate a Yellow Medallion Taxi in the five boroughs of New York.  A Medallion identifies a cab as part of the Taxi & Limousine Commission, the governing body of New York taxis.  In those days, a Medallion cost $62,000.  Today, the cost is over $800,000.

Honig passed the TLC written test, paid $30 and received his Hack License. He joined the ranks of 30,000 fellow cab drivers in the city.  Most were American born men aged 40-50.  There were a few Caribbean drivers and a large number of immigrant Russians who'd been doctors and lawyers in the old country.  Honig, who played in a punk rock band, was among the small percentage of young musicians who drove cabs.

Drivers worked a 12-hour shift starting at 6am or 6pm.  On Honig's first day, he arrived in the morning to find a long line outside the Chelsea taxi station. He waited two hours only to be told there were no remaining cabs.  The next day, he arrived a half-hour early but again failed to secure a cab.  On his third day, a fellow driver told him to "grease" the dispatcher a five-dollar bill.  This worked and Honig had his first cab.

Drivers were given two options regarding the lease payment.  They could work for 40% of the meter total and the cab company paid for the gas.  Or they could pay $62 per day ($82 for a night shift) and pay for their own gas.  Most rookies opted for the 40% option and the day shift since it was less intimidating.

"No one tells you what to do," Honig says.  "You're given a cab and you just start driving."  In his first year, Honig stuck to picking up businessmen. Though they tipped poorly, they were safe and reliable.  They also gave the driver specific directions helping Honig quickly learn the Manhattan streets. Honig averaged between $50-$75 a shift his first year.  (Today, New York taxi drivers average about $150 a day.)  Though the work was relatively easy, Honig found it depressing and stressful.  He couldn't believe he'd spent four years in college to become a cab driver.

Honig settled into a routine.  He picked up his cab at 6:00 am and headed uptown looking for fares.  On a good day, he'd find a businessman on the Upper West Side needing a ride to Wall Street.  From there, he'd take a fare to midtown then another passenger downtown.  A typical 12-hour shift yielded 40-50 fares and covered 200-250 miles.

Some passengers only traveled a few blocks.  To Honig, these short rides were great.  Since the meter started at $1.25 and ticked ten cents every 1/8 mile, the total added up quickly.  A common misnomer is that cab drivers choose busy streets to jack up the meter.  This is not true.  Traffic is an enemy to taxi drivers and passengers alike.  Time spent in traffic means less fares per day.  Smooth sailing streets equate to more money and better tips.

Honig drove a Checker Cab.  The Checker line was the most famous cab in America.  The hulking sedans fit six people in the back and had a bulletproof partition between driver and passenger.  Most of the cars were beat to hell and had no air conditioning, unreliable radios and inadequate shock absorbers.  "I remember one car was so trashed, there was a hole in the floorboard," Honig recounts.  "Every time I hit the brakes I saw the street flying by."

On slow days, Honig and his fellow Checker cabbies often played demolition derby. "If we saw a driver taking a quick nap, we'd ram the back of his cab to give him a courtesy wake up call.  We'd also make sure to knock off any passenger-side mirrors since the missing mirror was considered a badge of honor."

After a year, Honig opted for night shifts realizing he could make more money and encounter less traffic.  "It was scary at first.  There were certain areas you avoided like Harlem, parts of Brooklyn and the Lower East Side.  But nights were easier and more exciting."

Honig perused high-end restaurants, nightclubs and bars.  He found a niche among Japanese businessmen frequenting mahjong gambling parlors in Midtown.  Many of the businessmen lived in Westchester County, a coup since once you left the city you could charge double what the meter read.

"One time I was driving two Japanese guys on the Hudson River Parkway when I fell asleep behind the wheel.  I was woken by the sound of a loud megaphone screaming, "WAKE UP!"  A police car had pulled beside me and noticed I was sleeping while driving 70mph down the highway.  They must have had somewhere really important to go because they didn't pull me over. I didn't get much of a tip that night."

Intoxicated passengers were a mixed bag.  Sometimes they gave larger tips, sometimes they puked and soiled themselves.  "Friday and Saturday nights were crazy.  I had couples that had backseat sex, prostitutes who gave blow jobs to customers and junkies who shot up while I was driving.  One time I picked up Billy Idol and his posse and we all smoked weed together."

"The first time I was robbed was halfway through my second year of driving.  It was about 5:00 am and I'd had a great shift.  I was at a red light at 44th and 8th Avenue near Times Square.  I had a wad of cash between my legs and I was counting the night's take.  My window was open and there was a transvestite prostitute standing nearby.  She asked, 'Hey you.  Can you tell me what time it is.'  As she talked, she walked toward the cab."

"I looked at my watch and she reached into the cab, grabbed all my cash and started running.  I got out and ran after her but she had too big a head start. I got back in the cab and drove after her.  Unfortunately, I didn't close my door all the way.  I chased her up 44th Street and hit the gas to make it through a red light.  As I took a tight turn, the door opened and the momentum propelled me out of the cab tumbling into the street.  I watched as my cab smashed into the wall of a XXX Theater.  The transvestite disappeared into a nearby alley.  I limped back to my cab.  The bumper was trashed but the engine was still running so I was able to drive to the station.  I had to pay back the $250 out of my own pocket."

Honig was robbed several more times in the next few years.  One night, he made the mistake of driving a guy to score drugs on the Lower East Side.  As he waited for the passenger to return, two Puerto Ricans approached him. They stuck a knife in his face and made him get out of the cab.  "Take it easy," one of the men said.  "We just want your money.  Don't fuck around and you won't get stabbed."

Honig hid his money in a hole in the sun visor.  He told the men he had no cash since he was just starting his shift.  They didn't believe him.  They searched the car, looking in the glove box, underneath the seats, beneath the floor mats.  At the last moment, one of the guys slammed the visor and a wad of cash spilled out.

The guy with the knife yelled, "You motherfucker" and stabbed Honig in the stomach.  Fortunately the wound was not deep.  Honig returned his cab to the station then had a friend drop him at the emergency hospital.  He received several stitches and still has a scar to this day.

Honig's worst cabbie experience came in 1981.  It was early morning and he was coasting down 7th Avenue when he heard a loud thud on the right side of his car.  He stopped the cab and got out.  He saw a pile of garbage in the street and figured he'd hit a trashcan.  As he approached the garbage, he realized it had eyes.  He'd hit a bag lady.  The woman appeared to be in her seventies.  She was completely motionless and silent.

Honig found a pay phone and called the police.  By the time they arrived, the woman was dead.  A witness came forth and told police the woman had tried to jump in front of a trash truck and another taxi earlier the same night.  The cops told Honig the woman likely committed suicide and he was not to blame. Regardless, Honig was despondent.  He took several weeks off before he was ready to drive again.

By 1983, Honig tired of the grind of the continual 12-hour night shifts.  "The things that once seemed exciting--the grime, the edge, the seediness--had become depressing.  I'd become a vampire and developed some very unhealthy habits.  Plus, the city started harassing drivers, making sure we kept proper trip sheets and had up to date paperwork.  It took the fun out of the job. Once the fun was gone, being a cabbie was kind of a drag." (5" x 6", black ink print)

The Other Kevin Smith

Kevin Stofer Smith began his career in Hollywood one month after graduating high school.  He followed his older brother Albert to the now defunct Producer's Studio in 1976 where his first production job required him to shatter twenty large mirrors and sweep up the shards for a Boz Scaggs music video.  Thirty-eight years later, Kevin hopes any bad luck has been left behind him.

Kevin joined the commercial production company Paisley Productions in 1977. The Paisley gang included director David Farrow, producer Christine Kitch, executive producer Steve Brodie, Cinematographer and future Academy Award nominee Caleb Deschanel (father of Zooey & Emily), Music Video Director Kevin Kerslake (director of "Nirvana Live! Tonight! Sold Out!") and Ruth McCartney (of Macca Rock and Roll Legend and present day Digital Diva).  Paisley would be Kevin's production home for the next 12 years.  He worked his way from Stage Manager to PA to Production Coordinator to First Assistant Director.  In 1980, the Director's Guild opened their doors to commercial directors.  At age 21, Kevin became the second youngest person to obtain a 1st A.D. DGA Card.  (The youngest was 7-year old Justin Henry, the child actor from Kramer vs. Kramer, who was given a DGA card as a birthday present joke by Dustin Hoffman.)

Kevin traveled to more than 30 states and worked on hundreds of television commercials for Paisley with his mentor David Farrow.  Notable shoots included Hertz Rental Car with O.J. Simpson, Billy Carter Beer, the infamous Yugo Automobile and the popular "Don't Squeeze the Charmin" spots with Mr. Whipple.  Mr. Whipple, played by veteran actor Dick Wilson, was known for being a prankster on set.  During one Charmin shoot, Kevin watched as Mr. Whipple grabbed his chest and fell to the floor.  The crew laughed, believing this was another practical joke.  Turns out Wilson was having an actual heart attack.  Fortunately he survived to make many more awful commercials.

While working on a Ford commercial in Central California, Kevin was tasked with cueing thirty wild horses to run in the surf of Pismo Beach alongside a Ford Mustang convertible.  While setting up the master shot, the trainer, hearing a helicopter test cue of "Release the Horses," mistakenly released the animals prematurely.  The horses ran 3 miles up the beach and onto Highway 101 forcing police to shut down the freeway.  A dozen animals made it to the nearby town of Grover Beach where a local 12-year old girl began corralling horses and tethering them to parking meters.  Nobody was hurt and the next day's local headline read "Filming of Ford Loses Horsepower."

During a spot for Right Guard Deodorant, nobody knew the prop man was freebasing cocaine.  Just after lunch, Kevin heard a loud explosion.  The prop man had lit his crack pipe while labeling hero deodorant cans which caused the aerosol cans to explode.  The blast destroyed the prop truck and incinerated the entire stash of Right Guard hero product.  The prop man luckily escaped unhurt.

A commercial for Ford Trucks in the desert called for several pickup trucks to be dropped from an overhead cargo plane and parachute gently to earth. One of the parachutes did not open.  The 4,000-pound truck hit the ground at 200 miles an hour.  The impact left a massive crater and sandwiched the truck into a 4-inch metal pancake.

Kevin worked with many celebrities over the years.  He shot Princess Cruise commercials with Gavin "Captain Stubing" MacLeod, Lemon Pledge with Florence Henderson, Ford with Telly Savalas and Mazda commercials with James Garner.  On one Mazda shoot in Goat Rock Beach, California, Garner insisted on doing his own stunt driving.  Garner took a tight turn too fast and slid off a cliff.  The car flipped and rolled and came to rest upside down against a grip van.  Fifteen feet in either direction was a 500-foot drop to the Pacific Ocean below.  Garner claimed he was okay but was flown by helicopter to a Sebastopol hospital where he was given full body X-Rays.  Kevin and David Farrow looked on as the doctor recounted Garner's injuries.

"You've damaged your L2 and L3 vertebrae," the doctor said.  "No, no," Garner said.  "That was from Maverick."

"Well it looks like you have a crushed C3 cervical neck injury."  "Rockford Files, Season 2," Garner said.

"And your cracked left knee?"  "That was 1969, Support Your Local Sheriff," Garner replied.

Garner told Kevin, "Son, when you fall off your horse, you have to get back on it."  Two hours later Garner and the crew were back on set to grab the ultimate helicopter sunset shot.

Kevin's favorite actor to work with was Jonathan Winters.  After wrapping a Cheetos commercial, Kevin joined Winters in the actor's motorhome where they smoked weed together.  Winters shared a bit of trivia about Cheetos. He told Kevin, "If you're ever stuck in a cave without a source of light, all you need is a pack of matches and a bag of Cheetos."  Winters proceeded to light a Cheetos puff and the trailer was illuminated with an astonishingly strong flame.

After Paisley closed their doors in 1989, Kevin continued making commercials as a First AD and Producer.  He also directed music videos and HDTV promos for Two And a Half Men, Everybody Loves Raymond and King of Queens. Kevin also began producing spots for Norms Restaurants, something he does every fall with Black Lab Productions.  In the 90's, Kevin bolstered a relationship with Cinematographer and Executive Producer Bob Eberlein, founder of the production company Image Streams. Along with Production Supervisor Jan Skorstad, Image Streams began producing live action sequences and test shoots for major studio productions. Some of Image Streams recent VFX and Green Screen credits include the films Gravity, Gatsby, I Am Legend and the new Tom Cruise film Edge Of Tomorrow.  Kevin and Eberlein also produced the Oscar Opening for the 2008 Academy Awards.

In his spare time, Kevin considers himself one of the world's greatest Rolling Stones fans.  He has attended somewhere north of 75 Stones concerts in his life (he lost count long ago).  In 1999, he flew to London to see the Stones play at Wembley Stadium.  His first show was a 1973 "Benefit for Nicaragua" at the Los Angeles Forum.  His most recent show was this past year in San Jose.

I worked with Kevin in the early 90's.  He was hired to produce and direct a television show about the legendary Route 66 for Sat1 German Television.  The Los Angeles shoot lasted several days culminating in a celebratory lunch in Malibu.  As the German producer Hans prepared to pay the tab, he discovered his wallet was missing.  The wallet contained $25,000 cash needed to pay the crew and the remaining production expenses.  Hans fell into a panic at which point Kevin took over.  We all hopped into a production van with Kevin at the wheel.  We retraced our steps from the day and found ourselves stuck in a Santa Monica Freeway traffic jam.

It had been raining and Hans suddenly remembered leaning out the passenger side window to snap a photo of a rainbow.  He theorized that's when the wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket.  Kevin weaved through traffic and spotted a thick brown wallet in the second lane.  He stopped the van, ran onto the freeway, dodged passing cars, retrieved the wallet and gave it to the grateful producer.  All the money was still there.  Kevin shrugged off the "needle in a haystack" miracle as just another day in the world of Film and TV.  (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Finance Director

Steve Rose is Director of Finance at a Fortune 500 architectural, engineering and design firm in California. I met Steve during high school and we became great friends united by our love for sports, baseball card collecting and the movie Caddyshack.

Steve excelled in all sports but his great love was golf. He competed in numerous Junior Golf Tournaments and during one match he took future PGA Pro Duffy Waldorf to a sudden death playoff before losing on the second extra hole.

Steve and Duffy became great friends and drinking buddies. (Steve would be Best Man at Duffy's wedding.) As Duffy's golf career began to take off, Steve asked if he could caddy for Duffy in a tournament. Surprisingly, Duffy said yes.

Their first tournament together was the Winnebago Classic on the mini-tour. The environment was casual and relaxed and Steve's lack of caddy skills posed no problem. At least until the second round. Duffy was on pace to set a course record. As they reached the 18th green, Duffy had a 10-foot putt to set the record. Steve reached into the bag for the putter but it was gone. "You don't have your putter do you, Duff," Steve asked. Duffy stared back. "No."

Realizing he'd left the putter on the previous hole, Steve sprinted to the 17th green, grabbed the club, ran back to the 18th hole and watched as Duffy calmly drained the putt. Duffy went on to win the tournament and Steve earned $750 for his 3-day effort as caddy.

When Duffy joined the PGA Tour Steve again asked to caddy in a tournament. Duffy offered Steve the 1992 Phoenix Open. The PGA environment was different. Most of the caddies were pros themselves and caddying was how they made their living. They didn't take kindly to outsiders coming in for a weekend of casual fun.

Duffy gave Steve a few tips: where to stand, when to tend the pin, make sure to avoid the eye line of other golfers. "Return the club to the bag after I'm done with it. I don't need you sprinting through the course for forgotten putters." Steve viewed his job primarily as cleaning clubs, carrying the bag and keeping Duffy loose and relaxed. Their chemistry was effective. As they played Round 4, Duffy was tied for the lead with 9 holes to go. Mark Calcavecchia went on a birdie run to win the tournament but Duffy took second place earning him $108,000. Steve's share as caddie: $2,500.

Steve would caddie for Duffy numerous times over the next few years. Duffy's playing partners included some of the game's greats: Phil Mickelson, John Daly, Rocco Mediate. At one tournament, as Steve stood on the green Duffy yelled out, "Don't move. You're standing on Mickelson's mark." Duffy walked over and instructed Steve to press down hard then slowly lift his foot. If the ball mark were to move, Duffy would suffer a two-stroke penalty (costing him thousands of dollars). Fortunately, the mark did not stick to Steve's foot and Steve was able to resume breathing again.

Caddies are not allowed to wear spikes. During the 1994 Kemper Open in Maryland, the tournament was interrupted by rain. As play resumed, Steve was carrying Duffy's bag up a steep hill when he lost his footing on the slick grass. The bag went airborne and Duffy's clubs were thrown into the rough. The gallery gave Steve an ovation as he collected himself and gathered the clubs.

Though Duffy finally hired a permanent caddy in 1998, Steve would have one last stint as caddy. Golfer Paul Stankowski, who Steve met through Duffy, needed a caddy for the 1998 Los Angeles Open. On the second hole, Stankowski asked for Steve's feedback on a putt. Steve studied the break then said "the putt will break 6 inches right to left." Stankowski struck the putt.  The ball started right, as Steve predicted, then it broke even further right far from the hole. Steve didn't realize that all greens at Riviera Country Club broke toward the ocean.

Steve no longer caddies but his love for golf remains. He is still friends with Duffy. More important, he makes sure to return his club to the bag after each use. (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Carpenter

It was the summer of 1988 and Kevin Cross was looking for a place to live. His actress girlfriend Leigh wanted to live in the Hollywood Hills but Los Angeles rents were soaring. "It's too damn expensive," Kevin said. "I'm freelance and you're unemployed. How are we going to afford it?"
     "I had three auditions and a callback last week.  It's only a matter of time."
     "You've been saying that for six months."
     Leigh pouted and Kevin relented.  Their relationship was rocky and maybe a new place above the flatlands of Hollywood was what they needed.
     Kevin scoured the local papers and rental guides. All he could afford was $600 a month and everything north of Sunset Boulevard was more than $1,400. He called a realtor in Laurel Canyon.
     "Do you know anybody who's having a hard time selling their house who might be open to renting?"
     "Well there is this one place..."
     In retrospect, Kevin should have asked some questions.  But he always considered himself a pragmatist and $450 a month sounded pretty good.
     Kevin met the aging realtor halfway up Wonderland Avenue. The home was a two-story stucco townhouse with flaking paint and rusted bars fronting the balcony. It wasn't much to look at but the neighborhood was gorgeous.
     "How long is the lease?"
     "Month to month," the aging realtor said.
     "I'll take it."
     "Don't you want to look inside?"
     "I've seen all I need to see."

     Kevin and Leigh moved in that weekend. There was a bit of a roach problem and the house needed a thorough cleaning but the two were happy with their new digs.

     The nightmares began immediately. Each evening, around 2:30 am, Leigh dreamt of a gray-haired man in his 50's pushing her out of bed. As she stared into his face the man's eyes became blood red and he screamed. Leigh woke up in a cold sweat and Kevin spent the rest of the night trying to calm her down.

     Kevin reasoned that Leigh's dreams had something to do with their recent struggles. Perhaps he was the old man pushing her out of bed. Kevin vowed to be kinder. He bought flowers, cooked dinner and began placing lit candles around the house. Despite his efforts, Leigh's nightmares continued. In one especially horrifying dream the gray-haired man raised a knife and plunged it into Leigh's body. Leigh awoke screaming.

     "We have to move," she said.

     "We're not moving."

     "There's something wrong here."

     "It's the Hollywood Hills.  Isn't this what you wanted?"

     "Either we move together or I go alone. This place is haunted."

     "You're crazy," Kevin said.

     Leigh moved out a week later.

     Kevin was heartbroken but he figured their relationship was doomed anyway.

     A few weeks later on a Saturday morning Kevin was watering plants beside the driveway. A Hollywood Tour Van stopped in front of his house. The tourists stared out the window at Kevin as the driver spoke into a microphone. Kevin couldn't hear what was being said but he reasoned they mistook him for a celebrity. He'd always had a passing resemblance to the actor Richard Dreyfuss.

     The shoe dropped a week later. Kevin was sitting in his living room with a six-pack of beer watching the local news. Suddenly the television screen flashed an image of his townhouse. The TV Anchor spoke with honed gravitas.

     "Tonight marks the seven-year anniversary of the Laurel Canyon Murders. On this night in 1981 four people were savagely murdered in a small home on Wonderland Avenue. The killings involved porn star John Holmes and a local strip club owner who sought revenge for a drug deal gone bad."

     Kevin leaned forward as the television displayed an image of his living room circa 1981, splattered with blood. A body bag rested near the fireplace. Kevin looked toward the very same fireplace just five feet away. A brown stain was visible on the shag carpet. Similar stains dotted the rest of the room.

     "Son of a bitch," Kevin yelled.  He dropped his beer and ran out of the house.

     Though he wore only sandals, shorts and a T-Shirt, he sprinted down Wonderland Avenue as if the house were on fire. He kept running until he reached the realtor's office halfway down Laurel Canyon.

     "What the hell, man? How come you didn't tell me about the murders?"

     The aging realtor was eating a Cup O'Noodles. "Have a seat, please."

     "I don't want a seat. I'm gonna sue your ass."

     "I'm sorry you're upset, sir. But California disclosure laws only apply to home buyers not renters. You have no grounds for a lawsuit."

     "You rented me a possessed house you son of a bitch. My girlfriend left me and tourists think I'm some kind of freak."

     "Calm down, please. We can work something out."

     "What's there to work out? You have me living with psycho ghosts."

     "What would make it right?

     "Huh," Kevin asked.

     "You moved into the house because it was cheap, correct?"

     "Yeah so."

     "So how about if I found you another place for even less?"

     "What is it, some kind of rape house?"

     "Just trust me."

     Two days later Kevin moved into a small bungalow two blocks from the Laurel Canyon Country Store. The place was a bit moldy and it needed a paint job. But it had a backyard and a spacious garage. It also had a lemon tree filled with ripe, beautiful fruit.

     Leigh moved in a week later.

     Kevin asked about the history of the house this time. No murders had happened here. Nor was there a record of torture or kidnapping or animal cruelty. Kevin was confident Leigh would be happy. He also felt the tour vans would stay away. Of course Kevin wasn't crazy about living in Charles Manson's old home. But those were the days when Manson was still trying to make it as a rock star. He hadn't gone off the rails yet. No need to alarm Leigh. Plus, $400 a month was pretty damn good rent. (6" x 6", black ink print)

The Entrepreneur

Josh Richman is godfather of the Los Angeles club scene.  His record of renowned clubs includes "Grand Ville," "Teddys," "Les Deux" and "Greystone Manor." He is a founding member of the Alliance, an event promoting agency that organizes A-List parties for companies like Sony, Cadillac and Heineken. With his ever-present fedora and walking stick, Josh has no business card, no office and no website. His success is built on a vibrant personality and a magnetic pull to the people and places "that matter."

Josh and I grew up across the street from each other in a Studio City suburb. We were best friends as kids but Josh was always a step ahead of me.  While I listened to Elton John, Josh listened to T-Rex.  While I watched Beanie & Cecil, Josh viewed Fritz The Cat.  Josh's family was the first in the neighborhood to subscribe to the Z Channel and we spent many nights watching movies like Freebie and the Bean and California Suite.

We were both latch key kids. We played sports year round until the streetlights came on and we scoured the nearby Auto Graveyard beneath Mulholland Drive searching for snakes and scorpions.  We shared the surreal experience of seeing our local ice cream man suffer a heart attack and crash his truck into a fire hydrant.  We also raised hell together, breaking into people's homes and rearranging their furniture and changing their answering machine messages.

At age 5, Josh began recording radio commercials with his father Don Richman, a legendary radio producer and tv writer.  As a teenager, Josh parlayed his radio experience into an acting career.  He appeared in The River's Edge, Heathers and Natural Born Killers.  Josh was orphaned by the deaths of both parents by age 21.  His surrogate family became confidantes like Johnny Depp, Robert Downey Jr. and Keanu Reeves.  In 1991, he forged a relationship with Axl Rose that led to Josh writing the Guns N' Roses music video "Don't Cry" as well as his directing the video for "Live And Let Die."

In 1992, Josh produced the film The Last Party in which Robert Downey travelled along the presidential campaign trail. Josh was also manager for the rock band Deadsy which featured lead singer Elijah, son of Cher & Gregg Allman. Always a diehard USC Football fan, Josh is a Dodger dugout staple and a courtside regular at both Lakers and Clippers games. Like his father, Josh is a true renaissance man and I'm fortunate to call him a true friend. (6" x 8", black ink print)

The Furniture Designer

I met Raymond Arias in the early 90's at a Hollywood Flea Market. He was selling religious shrines he'd built from wood and glass incorporating images of angels, saints, the Virgin Mary and other Catholic icons. His work was compelling and I immediately bought a few pieces for my home. Soon, I began seeing these small shrines everywhere. At parties, at restaurants, on tv shows, in hotel lounges. Ray's creations garnered an enthusiastic following and in 1995, Ray and his lovely wife Michelle opened the retail store Furthur in Silverlake. The store was named after Ken Kesey's psychedelic school bus and soon Furthur became a "Best of Los Angeles" pick in numerous local magazines. Ray's goal with Furthur was to present an antidote to cheesy Ikea-grade "assemble it yourself" goods and instead offer high-quality, affordably-priced furniture to local residents. Ray began creating gorgeous Spanish style mosaic tables, handcrafted wrought-iron chairs and cast-iron beds with mosaic tile headboards. His designs were wholly original and the furniture was crafted in a local Los Angeles warehouse. Soon, Ray and Michelle began importing cabinets from Indonesia, drapery from India and candle lanterns from Morocco. Furthur became a Willy Wonka Factory for adults with all manner of colorful and exotic goods in lieu of chocolate. For years friends have told Ray "you need to raise your prices, you should go after the Beverly Hills crowd." Ray kept his equanimity. He never forgot his aim to make sure people in mid-range economic brackets could have access to beautiful things just like rich people. He's hoping that one day he can again return to creating his delicate religious shrines. (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Writer

Aram Saroyan is a renowned poet, novelist, playwright and biographer. His father was legendary author William Saroyan and his stepfather was actor Walter Matthau.

Aram came of age in the 60's and his early writings were heavily influenced by the Beat Generation. He met the beat triumvirate of Kerouac, Ginsberg & Burroughs and Aram's book Genesis Angels chronicles the life of beat poet Lew Welch. Saroyan's philosophy of writing owes much to Allen Ginsberg's exhortations of "First Thought Best Thought" and "Candor Ends Paranoia."

In 1967, Aram and his friend the poet Ted Berrigan traveled to Lowell, Massachusetts to interview Jack Kerouac at his home.  It was a few months before the summer of love and people were always showing up at the house to see the author of On The Road.  Kerouac's wife Stella was the gatekeeper and she tried to shoo Saroyan & Berrigan away.  After they insisted they'd come to interview Kerouac for The Paris Review, she finally let the men into the house.

By this time, Kerouac was a "bull-like ruin." Sitting in the darkened living room, Berrigan gave Kerouac a handful of Orbitrols (Kerouac called them "forked clarinets").  The two poets watched as Kerouac reminisced about his days with Neal Cassady riding around the country "free as a bee...We had more fun than five thousand Socony Gasoline Station Attendants."

Kerouac expressed his admiration for Aram's father, William Saroyan.  "I loved him as a teenager, he really got me out of the nineteenth-century rut I was trying to study, not only with his funny tone but with his Armenian poetic."

Kerouac played piano for the poets then composed a spontaneous haiku:

Sparrow

with big leaf on its back

windstorm.

Kerouac riffed on the origins of Buddhism and the impact of Zen on his writing.  "When a man spit at the Buddha, the Buddha replied, 'Since I can't have your abuse you may have it back.'"  Aram asked Jack the difference between Buddha and Jesus.  Kerouac said, "That's a very good question.  There is none."

As their meeting came to a close, Kerouac recited his poem Mexico City Blues.  He asked Aram to repeat the words after him, line by line:

Delicate conceptions of kneecaps.

Like kissing my kitten in the belly.

The quivering meat of the elephants of kindness.

When the poem was complete, Kerouac rewarded Aram by saying, "You'll do, Saroyan." To Aram, this was the equivalent of a literary knighting.

Currently, Aram teaches creative writing at USC. Aram's 2007 collection Complete Minimal Poems received the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America. His latest book is Door to the River: Essays and Reviews from the 1960s into the Digital Age. (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Actor

Lee Montgomery began his acting career at age 10 in the Disney film "The Million Dollar Duck." He went on to appear in more than 50 films and tv shows, acting with such legends as Bette Davis, Walter Matthau, Peter Fonda, George C. Scott & Peter Falk. Lee and I met in 1983 while working on the zombie movie "Night Shadows." We quickly became great friends and spent the next decade tooling around Los Angeles making experimental videos. One of our sojourns brought us to LA International Airport after hours (this was pre-911). Feeling courageous (and a bit stupid) we climbed up the baggage carousel and ventured onto the runway with our camera gear. With no security present to stop us, we made it to where planes were taxying for takeoff. We videotaped the entire experience up to and including the moment where we were both arrested for trespassing. "60 Minutes" had just aired a piece on shoddy airport security and authorities wanted to make an example of us. Fortunately, our video included a baggage handler telling us on camera to "be careful up there" as we climbed up the luggage carousel. Our lawyer argued this was "implicit permission" for us to explore the airport grounds and we were let off with "misdemeanor trespassing." Lee and I remain friends to this day. He is a true spiritual acolyte who has taught me that belief in God and healthy skepticism can co-exist. In addition to his acting chops, Lee is a talented musician and songwriter. (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Documentary Director

Filmmaker Tommy Sowards does not do soft and cuddly. As a graduate film student at UCLA he directed music videos in the emerging gangster rap genre. Tommy became friends with renowned rapper Kurtis Blow who introduced him to several members of the "Rollin' 20's" Bloods gang.  Tommy spent the next decade documenting the underbelly of Los Angeles gang life. The resulting film Slippin: Ten Years With the Bloods offers a rare glimpse inside LA's gang culture.

Tommy first met the gang in 1992, the same year as the LA Riots.  After an introductory phone conversation, Tommy was told to wait at the corner of 56th & Western, a rough LA neighborhood.  A rickety limousine pulled up and Tommy got into the backseat.  Five gang members were "all flamed up" in red clothes and bandannas.  Within seconds, several guns were pointed at Tommy's head.  The young men wanted to know why Tommy was interested in them.  Was he a cop? Was he some sort of informant?

Tommy kept his cool.  He calmly rolled a joint, took a long hit and passed it around the back seat.  The gang members put away their guns and joined Tommy in a ceremonial smoking of "the peace pipe."

Over the next six months, Tommy hung out with the gang.  They played basketball, drank 40's, had barbecues and played cards.  Tommy met the gang members' girlfriends, their grandmothers, their babies.  A trust developed and Tommy was given a crash course in "the hood."  He learned the meaning of gang signs and how to discern between rival gang "tags" (graffiti).  He learned the cryptic slang unique to the Bloods.

Tommy told the gang of his desire to document their life on video in a non-judgmental fashion.  The gang members agreed.  Tommy traveled to Germany to obtain a small amount of funding.  He put together a six-person German crew and by the middle of 1993 they were ready to begin shooting.

On Day 1 of production, a German still photographer quit on the spot.  He wasn't ready for the real-world intensity of the South LA streets.  Tommy manned the main camera himself.  He wanted to capture something real, something deeper than the after-school special sensibility of Boyz N' The Hood.

The first part of the film covers the years 1993-1996.  We get to know the lives of Dig Dug, Jumbo, KK, Low Down and Twerk.  We watch as the men deal drugs out of their homes, explain their use of rap music and exhibit their fascination and knowledge of a wide array of weapons.  We see their preoccupation with killing and being killed.  We also see funny moments as when Low Down takes a job as a "court summons deliverer."

The men have no education, no structure, no functional family guidance.  Their lives are insulated and hopeless.  At one point, Dig Dug takes some of his gang money and hires a tutor to teach him to read.  But this is a rare moment.  Unlike Hollywood, there is little redemption or glory.

The emotional heart of the film occurs in April, 1993 when CK ("Crip Killer") Lil' Mike is killed by a rival gang.  After Lil' Mike's death, the gang members begin questioning themselves.  They pour 40's over Lil' Mike's grave wondering why they kill their own people, why they keep themselves down.

Tommy completed production in 2003.  He approached Christopher Koefoed, the editor of Menace 2 Society.  The two men cut 180 hours of footage down to a taut 84 minutes.  The resulting documentary won Best Film at the Montenegro Film Festival.  It played to packed audiences at the Tribeca Film Festival and ultimately screened on Showtime.

Some critics were offended that a white filmmaker had the nerve to make a first-person movie about black America.  But Executive Producer Kurtis Blow and editor Koefoed (who is black) helped give the film street-cred among gangs.  As Tommy said, "I'm just the white wall on a black tire."

Slippin' has since been shown at colleges, prisons, inner-city churches, police departments and army bases.  Tommy went on to make documentaries about prison rehabilitation efforts for Latino gang members and the world of extreme martial art fighting. His new film is about Wallid Ismail, a legendary martial artist who pioneered competitive MMA fighting in Brazil.  (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Reality TV Producer

Javier Winnik is a veteran in the reality tv world. His producer credits include "Last Comic Standing," "Weakest Link" & "Dog Eat Dog." We've been friends since high school and during college we often videotaped private events to help pay our bills. One such event was Nathan Spiegel's barmitzvah at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. For us, the night was an epic disaster. Among the evening's lowlights: we stepped on a $20,000 violin while crossing the stage for a better camera angle; we set a large photo of the barmitzvah boy on fire with a hot camera light; we accidentally unplugged the PA system while Nathan was reciting his thank you speech; and worst of all, we mistook the boy's uncle for his father and spent the evening videotaping Uncle Shlomo in extreme closeup as he danced, socialized and nibbled on chopped liver. The only footage we captured of the "real Mr. Spiegel" was a blurry pan across the dance floor which we had to reference over and over while editing the video in order to get Mr. Spiegel to pay us. Though not quite reality tv, I'm certain the Spiegel barmitzvah remains the most "surreal" video Javier has ever worked on. (5" x 7", black ink print)

The Liquor Store Proprietor

Tommy Bina is owner of the legendary Canyon Country Store.  Located halfway up Laurel Canyon, the store was immortalized by Jim Morrison in the song Love Street as the "store where the creatures meet." Originally built in 1908 as a lodge for local hunters, the Country Store was the center of the Los Angeles counter-culture hippie movement in the 1960's.

Tommy bought the store in 1982 and quickly became a staple of Laurel Canyon life.  He loves to tell the story about the time a stylishly-dressed man came in asking for "Flakes," a British candy bar. When Tommy realized the man was David Bowie he began stocking the chocolate.  He added "English Kit Kats" for Mick Jagger and specialty French wines for actress Christina Applegate.  Before being accused of murdering his wife, Robert Blake, in an effort to quit smoking, kept an open pack of cigarettes behind the front counter.  He asked the staff to dole them out to him, one per visit.  Though overpriced, the store is a place where music & film celebrities do their local shopping.  I once inquired of Tommy, "Why is your milk is so expensive?"  He responded, "Don't ask me, I don't shop here."

Every year, Tommy gathers locals in front of the store for the annual "Canyon Photo day."  Tommy can also be seen on Sunday mornings with a garbage bag in hand cleaning trash from the Canyon streets.  The store remains much like it was in the 60's and Tommy is the eclectic steward of Laurel Canyon history. (6" x 6", black ink print)

The Screenwriter

A few years ago, Joe Forte was writing a script for a Harrison Ford action film that called for a crucial kidnapping scene. Yearning for authenticity, Joe hired an ex-Israeli Mossad agent/story consultant to kidnap him at some unforeseen time and space. (This is true.) Two weeks later, Joe was exiting a Big 5 Sporting Goods store with his wife when two men came out of nowhere, put a hood over Joe's head and thrust him into the trunk of a black Mercedes and sped away. Joe had neglected to tell his wife about the kidnapping ruse so she obviously became hysterical. She called the police who told her to wait at home for a ransom request. Joe meanwhile was taken to an empty warehouse and tied to a chair before his hood was removed (even Israeli story consultants resort to cliches). For the next hour, the two Israeli "bit players" screamed profanities at Joe and threatened to waterboard him. Realizing his wife must be frantic, Joe begged the men to let him call home and tell her he was okay. The Israelis refused then insulted Joe for his cowardice. After two hours, the men loosened Joe's ropes and left. Joe squirmed free and exited the warehouse. He found himself in North Hollywood, just two miles from the Big 5. He called a friend to drive him home then spent the rest of the weekend apologizing to his wife. Only in Hollywood. (4" x 6", black ink print)

The Salesman

Conrad Romo is a lifelong salesman who's hocked everything from pens to chimney cleaning services to fresh meat to computer diskettes. He's also a talented writer who crafts honest stories taken from his own life. He is a devout practitioner of Zen Buddhism who studies at the Zen Center in midtown Los Angeles.

A few years back, the Zen Center experienced a series of break-ins by a convicted sex offender.  The perpetrator (who turned out to be an ex-student of the Center) entered the premises at night and attempted to sexually assault female residents. Conrad, who had several years training in the Israeli martial art of Krav Maga, decided to get involved. He volunteered to serve as an all-night security guard. In accordance with non-violent Buddhist teachings he armed himself only with a can of mace.

The first two nights passed without incident.  Conrad caught up on his reading and wrote letters to friends. By the third night Conrad was exhausted. He found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Sometime after midnight he fell asleep. He was awakened by a loud noise in the kitchen. He opened his eyes, disoriented and confused. He reached for the mace knocking his glasses to the floor.

A blurry figure moved through the kitchen toward the adjacent residency hall. Filled with fear and surging adrenalin, Conrad moved toward the figure. The perpetrator attempted to enter one of the dorm rooms.

"Don't move," Conrad yelled. He pointed the mace toward the man. In the darkness, the man mistook the mace for a gun.

"Don't shoot me, please."

Conrad did a quick mental calculation. The guy could be on drugs.  He could have a gun. He could have grabbed a knife from the kitchen.

Realizing the danger, Conrad aimed the mace and unleashed a heavy dose of pepper spray. Unfortunately the canister was pointed backwards and Conrad maced himself. He screamed. The suspect pushed past him and ran toward the kitchen. Conrad gave chase.

Conrad caught up with the man as he was halfway out the kitchen window (the same way he'd broken in). Conrad doused the man's face with three heavy sprays of mace. The man yelled and fell out the window. Conrad called the police then spent five minutes rinsing his own eyes.  The man escaped but he would never break in again.

A few years later, Conrad heard that the man committed suicide. The Zen Center conducted a special ceremony blessing the man. Conrad objected to the ritual. The man had terrorized the facility. He shouldn't be celebrated.

At the ceremony, the Roshi lit candles around a wicker basket which represented the "hungry ghost" or  departed one. Residents were asked to leave offerings in the basket to help the man's passage into his next incarnation. People added flower petals, pieces of fruit, little carved Buddhas. Conrad waited for everyone to leave before adding his own tribute. He placed a canister of mace in the center of the basket. He'd already scared away the man once. He wanted to make sure the man would never return.

Conrad currently hosts a once-a-month writing salon in Los Angeles called "Tongue And Groove." He is a bonafide Los Angeles iconoclast. (4" x 6", black ink print)