by Ed Nelson
“No I’m someone who followed their training. I was never in danger. I didn’t have to make a conscious decision to go into a known danger. Those are the heroes.”
As I told her this I imagined I heard machine gun bullets rattling off a descending landing craft door. I was never there but I would never forget the sound.
“The publicity won’t cause me any harm but I’m not making myself out to be something I’m not.”
By the time I returned to the studio the news was all over the place. One of the grips gave me today’s LA Examiner, it had my rescue of little Billy Gates front on center on the entertainment page. It was actually a credible report. I liked the fact that they mentioned my Boy Scout Life Guard training.
I realized this may get me another lifesaving medal but I didn’t care. It certainly should help the Scouts recruiting. I wondered briefly if they had a recruiting merit badge. I should qualify by now.
There was a story on the front page that caught my eye. The gang war in New York City had gone hot. There had been half a dozen killings in three incidents over the weekend. Whoever had killed Paul Grant had really set something off.
After checking in on the set I headed back to the stunt area. I took a little razing from the guys.
I heard, “Help me I’m drowning,” several times, but it was all in fun.
My sword work was now credible. I wouldn’t ever be a professional, but I now kept the pointy end aimed in the correct direction.
The records I was keeping on my weights and reps showed that I was improving all the time, and the tightness in my shirts was a testimony. I would have to buy new ones in the near future.
Before I left the studio I stopped at the office and asked if there had been any calls for me. They had a stack of call slips for me. All the usual news outlets wanted an interview. I returned one call; it was to the BSA National Headquarters. I was being put in for the Award of Merit. This would give me all three of the BSA lifesaving medals.
I was also told they intended to do a Boy’s Life feature on me. I hadn’t any problems with this as without my scout training I couldn’t have saved those people. I owed the scouts and believed in the movement. I wasn’t a badge hunter as Baden-Powell called them, but I didn’t turn down honors justly earned.
After I let myself into my apartment I realized that there had been no reporters lurking so this story wasn’t that big of a deal, that, or I was boring them already.
I did call home to let Dad know that everything was okay. He was glad to hear it. He also let me know that Mark Downing at Detroit Faucet had hired a female design engineer out of Michigan State. She had won several awards for her design work in school so he had high hopes. Dad made a point of letting me know that the salary was the same as a man for the same job.
I told him about the pictures I had commissioned and hoped to see them tomorrow. They would give an idea of my vision. I didn’t feel like cooking so two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made a good dinner. I am sure the food groups were represented somehow. To avoid dishes I ate over the sink. Very efficient! I don’t think I will tell Mum.
I watched TV for a while. They had a segment on the nightly news about me saving another life. They played it straight, reporting the news. I was half afraid I would become a comedy routine for Red Skelton or Jack Benny.
When I went to bed I reread the book about Castor and Pollux, the story was fun but the parts about asteroid mining made me wonder if it would ever be possible. A bigger question with the expanding population of earth, would it be a necessity.
Chapter 43
Tuesday morning it was raining lightly so I kept the top up on my T-Bird. I noticed it was time to run the car through a car wash and vacuum out the front and back seats. Going to the beach last weekend had left it messy. That was even after using the woody station wagon. What a disaster if we hadn’t.
On the set the writers were in a tizzy. It turns out Yale had never admitted females. You would think it was a world class disaster. Well they would have to reshoot one scene where it was mentioned. They now had Ellen’s character Lilly going to Bryn Mawr outside of Philadelphia.
Not only that the writers had flunked math. The story starts in 1889, Sir Nick dies in 1918. How could he have been married thirty three years? Fortunately that was an easy fix.
To say Mr. Wayne was pissed was an understatement. I wish I had something to write with as he tore into the writers. I heard so many useful phrases, but I wouldn’t be able to remember them all. I also found out that Mr. Wayne was a hot burner. He got angry, let it out, and then got over it immediately.
If he had been drinking at lunch, and he got upset later, it could get really nasty. They tried to shoot all his scenes in the morning to avoid this situation.
We worked hard well into lunch time. I had to grab a sandwich, and eat it on the go, as I drove to Hollywood High. I tossed the wrappers in the backseat. Maybe this was why I had to get the car cleaned.
Before Miss Powell walked in, Nina and I hugged for a moment. She told me that a slacks and a sports coat would be appropriate for Saturday night. I was to show up around six and help her make certain everything was ready. Also since she was her Dad’s hostess she would have to mingle with the guests. I could join her or entertain myself. I told her we would play it by ear.
I was really feeling comfortable with the class material. I had been spending time with my text books when waiting on the set and early in the evenings. Not every evening but most. I was ready to start my official tests for the State of California tomorrow.
Returning to the set we worked into the evening. Someone had left a newspaper so I read the front page. The situation in New York was getting out of control. The FBI had just announced they had a gangster by the name of Joe Valachi in custody. He had named the head of the five major crime families. Before this no one had ever talked.
In the meantime the gangs were still gunning each other down. This week a Daniel Garcia of the Norsemen was gun downed by members of the Italian Red Wings. Then Anthony Lavonchino of the Italian Sand Street Angels was killed by the Mau Maus. I never knew there were so many gangs in New York. Maybe they were like the minor leagues in baseball.
Whoever killed Paul Grant had really upset the applecart in New York. It sounded like some long delayed justice was being served.
As I was getting ready to leave for home, Mr. Grey showed up with the pictures he had promised. They were beautiful. Now that is a strange thing to say about water faucets, but they had cleaned and polished the faucets, then took the pictures on what looked like black velvet. They were like works of art.
I thanked him profusely. He told me not to worry about it, he had fun doing it. Better than some of the studio jobs he had, trying to make some old woman look young and beautiful. At least the faucets couldn’t swear at him if they didn’t like the shots and they held their poses as long as needed.
I thanked him once more and thought, “This guy needs to get a life!”
There were two sets of the pictures so I stopped at the studio office on the way out and mailed a set to my Dad.
I was ready for a real meal so I went home and cleaned up and changed out of my western shirt and jeans. After donning my new casual uniform of slacks, golf shirt, which I still refused to call a polo shirt, and sport coat I went to the Brown Derby. I was surprised when Mr. Cobb recognized me and found me a table right away.
Mr. Baxter was there with his family. When he saw me he took me over to his table and introduced me to his wife, daughter and granddaughter. The little girl who they called Emmy was a delightful child. She was about the same age as Mary. Apart from being very pale she appeared to be okay. She had energy.
Mr. Baxter must have sensed my noticing this because he said, “You should have seen her a month ago. It was enough to break your heart.”
We talked for a few minutes more, never bringing up directly how I helped the family, but you could tell I had friends for life.
On the
way back to my table I mused that I had better never forget there were real people affected by my business dealings.
After a good steak and a Cobb salad, which I had found out the hard way was invented by Mr. Cobb here at the Brown Derby. I had made the mistake of stating, on the set, that I met a man named after a salad. Boy did I get razzed. It is a good thing that I liked the salads, because one was put in front of me at lunch, in the cafeteria, every day for a week, compliments of Mr. Cobb.
I went over my Latin vocabulary that evening as that was my weakest area. By the time I had done that for two hours I was ready to go to sleep. As a matter of fact I think I slept through my last two declensions.
Chapter 44
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday afternoon had been set aside for me to take my exams for the State of California to see if I would graduate from the ninth grade. My first one was Biology.
I headed over to the set to find Mr. Wayne to show him the portfolio of faucet pictures. He wasn’t there but I was told that he would be in the cafeteria. He was, but sitting with a woman whose back was to me. I was hesitant to interrupt but Mr. Wayne saw me and waved me over.
As I approached the table I heard the woman say, “John, I’m so bored I have to find a new direction.”
As I neared the table I saw the woman’s profile. It was the most elegant face in the world. At least that is how Time Magazine had put it. The raven haired beauty was none other than Anna Romanov the actress.
Miss Romanov was the actress of choice if you needed someone to play a noblewoman or woman of great personal power. She was versatile acting in comedies, and dramas, she had performed on stage and screen.
It had been written that she was a cross between Katharine Hepburn and Grace Kelly. She was perfection. She was also my Mum’s age. Dang!
When Mr. Wayne made the introductions I managed not to stutter and stammer or otherwise make a fool of myself. It was close. She was gracious in acknowledging me.
“Rick, what brings you here?” Mr. Wayne inquired.
I don’t care how many times he tells me, he will always be Mr. Wayne to me.
“I wanted to share the faucet photos with you,” I replied while opening the folder.
“Faucet Photos?” inquired Miss Romanov.
I handed her the file. She leafed through them, and then went back through them slowly. These are pieces of art, where did you get them.
Mr. Wayne said, “Pull up a chair Rick and share your whole story.”
I told her about owning an interest in a faucet company, seeing these old pieces on the set and in the prop room here at the studio, my thought on doing a direct placement in the movie, tying it into the TV special planned around me, and then having Detroit Faucet sponsor.
I then told her how DF had just hired an award winning designer to bring designs of this nature to our product line, and that we would also be updating all of our catalogs. I sort of crossed my fingers on all of this because it was all in my head. I hadn’t discussed it in any detail with Dad. To make matters worse I had never had any conversation on any subject with Mark Downing the majority owner.
Miss Romanov asked Mr. Wayne, “How old did you say this young man was?”
“I didn’t but he is fifteen going on forty.”
“I was just telling John that I’m getting bored and that I need a new interest in my life. These pictures give me some ideas. I would like a few days to think things through and I may have a presentation for you and your partners. May I have these photographs please?”
“No!” Of course I didn’t say no, what I really said was, “Why certainly Miss Romanov I can get another set easily.”
I did resolve to bring my parents and business partner up to speed as quickly as I could.
Miss Romanov stood up, Mr. Wayne and I also rose.
“It was very nice to meet you Richard. I will be in contact with you.”
She then walked away in that regal fashion of hers.
John Wayne said, “When she asked for those pictures I almost thought I heard a no.”
“You’re kidding, she could have asked for my heart and I would’ve ripped it out then and there.”
“Yeah, she has that effect on men. I wonder what she is thinking of.”
“I don’t know but I have some ducks to get in a row.”
My first stop was Mr. Grey at the photo lab. He actually had ten more sets of prints. Overkill was the name of the job. He told me if I went over a hundred sets he would have to have a charge code.
From there I borrowed an office with a telephone. I did have to tell them to charge it to Sir Nicklaus. My first call was to Dad. I was in luck he was about to leave for Dayton to pick Mum up at the airport. I filled him in on everything up to my conversation with Miss Romanov. He gave me Mark Downing’s phone number and told me to bring him up to date on everything.
When I called Detroit Faucet I told them this was Rick Jackson of Jackson Engineering calling for Mark Downing. I was put through immediately. Mark and I spent a few minutes getting to know each other. Dad had told him the patent holder was a teenager and was currently working on a movie with John Wayne. So it wasn’t all a shock.
When I told him about the photographs of the specially designed faucets he was impressed. When I told him about the direct placement in the movie he got excited. Then I added that it would also be part of a TV special he was starting to stutter.
On top of that I would provide the money for DF, as we both were now calling the company, to be a sponsor for the special. He was speechless at this point. When I suggested we update all the catalogs and have a special design section put together by our new design engineer I could hear some strangled sounds. I decided to wait on what Miss Romanov had to say before I told him. He sounded too young for a heart attack, but you never know.
I apologized for moving so quickly without consulting him, did he have any problems with this plan. He managed to get his voice back and tell me that it sounded fine to him. Would I please send him pictures of the faucets?”
I told him that would be no problem. I asked if he minded if I talked to the Warner Brothers CEO about using the faucet designs as is, or would we have to come up with variations.”
“Can you get into see him?”
“I’m dating his daughter and will be at his party at their house tomorrow night so I will have a chance to talk to him, probably not at the party, but somewhere along the way.”
“This opportunity is unbelievable. I will get to work with Sally as soon as we get the pictures.”
“Who is Sally?”
“Oh, she is the designer we hired, Sally Enright. Rick you really need to come to Detroit and visit our facility.”
“I will on my next trip east. We should have a break in a few weeks maybe I can make it then.”
“Rick, I must say a month ago I had just bought my sisters share of the business to keep control. I had no idea how I would be able to save it beyond that. Now it looks like DF is going to take off like a rocket.”
“Mark, I just had a thought, we need a copyright on DF and a logo to go with it. Detroit Faucets is a good solid name, but in the world of fashion it is too boring. We need to change the brand but not lose the heritage.”
“You are right Rick. I have been toying with a similar idea. I like DF because it came to us naturally in our conversation. Not only that if we have to we can say DF stands for Designed Faucets or some other variation.”
“Good thought Mark, while we are throwing out ideas, think about a designer catalog in several languages such as Spanish, French, German or Italian.”
“We even could do it in British English and call them taps.”
“Good one Mark, my Mum would love it.” From there the conversation descended to the inane so we said our goodbyes. I knew I was going to like Mark and ours would be a good relationship.
After taking care of my business communications I went to the little schoolhouse on the lot. Hmm, that had a ring to it, Little Sch
oolhouse on the Lot. That would be a good name for a TV show, instead of lot use, mountain, plain, lake, prairie or something like that.
The schoolroom was busy with the little kids. Mr. Danson took me to a separate office where a very sour faced person was waiting. We were introduced briefly. He was a state employee who was detailed to monitor my tests for the week. I could tell I would never be friendly with this guy.
I knew I would never be a fan when he had me turn my pockets out. Apparently he thought I was going to cheat. He even made me roll up my sleeves and checked the inside of my cuffs and my arms to see if I had anything written on them.
I decided he was one of those, petty bureaucrat’s, that must be endured. I made no attempt to engage him in conversation, just listened as he explained the exam rules, mainly use a number two pencil and be sure to put my name on the top of the answer sheet.
He asked me if I had any questions and I replied, “No sir.”
Those two words were the extent of my conversation with him. I took the exam well within the allotted three hours. Actually two hours. I silently handed in my answers and left. Oh joy!
From there I went to what was becoming, more and more, my home away from home the stunt area. I spent an hour on my sword work, an hour lifting, and then went on to the gym for my boxing workout. My work with the bags was going well. They had me skipping rope for several days, but decided I didn’t need that work.
My reflexes in the ring weren’t where they needed to be. I had learned to throw different punches such as hooks, jabs and uppercuts. It was when to throw them and the defensive moves that weren’t there yet. It was the same story every time I took up a new physical effort, learning to react automatically, without having to think it through.
When I arrived home there was a package on the doorstep. My hairdryers had arrived. I had to open them immediately. They were beautiful. This batch had white housings but I knew they could do any color we asked for. I started thinking about who I would give one to out here.
