A mystic told me to face East instead of North when I meditated. Resultantly MECCA, MECCA, MECCA, resounded in my minds ear continuously. So I went there.
It was an early spring late afternoon day in Reseda, one of many small towns which, over time had grown to the point of mutually commingling, it’s inhabitants with the expanding populous of the neighboring municipalities. Thus creating a conglomeration of such. Which was commonly known as the San Fernando Valley. If you viewed it from a plane at night, it would look like a spider web sprinkled with stardust spread down into a soup bowl. Of course the broth would be the ever present ”smog “a mixture of smoke and fog that perpetually plagued it’s atmosphere, and poisoned it’s inhabitants. Some medical groups claimed living in the valley, was the equivalent of smoking two packs of cigarettes daily. The year was 1983. The sensual seventies were over. There was a part of me that mourned their passing. I had met and moved in with the girl of my dreams and nightmares. I didn’t want it to, and she didn’t either. But the relationship was nearing it’s end. Several years earlier a friend had insisted I go visit his favorite Tarot Card reader her name was Julie. She had told me I’d end up in the movie business some where in that decade. That Karma was at hand. I was a now in Union Local 40, AC electricians servicing all of the big movie studios. It was enjoyable seeing how the movie business worked from the inside out. Every time I went to another studio I’d learn how to do it their way. This made for a lot of OJT * experience. I was working out of Universal, and there was a lot of overtime. So I was actually getting to accrue some savings. Life was good, except for the “ relationship. “
I’d taken some TV scripts, out of a dumpsters at one of the movie studio-lots, a few months back, brought them home, read them, and Concluded that : “ Any one could write this crap. “ So I taught myself how to write a feature. Not long after, I met a man in a spiritual meeting whom I’d vaguely known from previous meetings, almost a decade prior. He told me that his son was the head Story Editor at a major movie studios. I was familiar with the lot. I had worked them all as an electrician. The man gave me his son’s number at the studio, and told me to call him. My old acquaintance didn’t even want to see the script. Two or three days later I thought : “ Hey, When you worked real estate you did lots of cold calls* Treat this like just another cold call and just see what happens. “ So I did just that. I was just a little surprised when the fellow told me that his dad had mentioned me. And that he would personally look at what I written on his own time, cause there were lots of rules and procedures, if he did it while on the premises of the studio. So I met him briefly, and gave him the script. In the course of so doing, I’d casually mentioned that : “ Any nitwit could write one of those movie of the month production scripts “ which I’d taken from the studio dumpster. His eyebrows raised upon hearing that remark. As I left I wondered why he looked so surprised at that comment. Then dismissed it from my mind and went about my day.
It was around three weeks later that I decided to give this chap a follow up call, and see if he’d looked at it. At first he didn’t quite grasp who I was. Then I mentioned the name of the script.