by Chris Evans
In the whole time we lived in Los Angeles I can only recall it raining once and that was for no more than a couple of hours in the middle of the night. This didn’t, however, stop the ‘freak’ rain shower becoming the lead story on all the local news channels. They showed non-stop rolling footage all morning of the overnight rain ‘as it fell’, interviewed eyewitnesses who had ‘seen the rain’ and went on to list the countless road-traffic accidents as LA motorists failed to cope with these ‘adverse weather conditions’. Hilarious.
The jet flight-path is another big factor of LA life, whether you live below or above it. Our house was above it, which meant that incoming jets to LAX were below our line of sight on their approach – apparently this is quite a big deal, almost as important to a property in LA as having a sea view would be to a flat in Brighton. The television traffic helicopters, on the other hand, buzzed no more than a few hundred feet over our rooftop on a daily basis. In fact KTLA’s Jennifer Shriver of ‘Skycam 5’ could be seen as clearly from our garden as she could on our television screen.
Having completed our initial internal nesting, we needed some wheels to get about. A task I was very much looking forward to, as I set out in search of a sixties Mustang convertible. After an interesting induction into the Californian classic car market, I hooked up with a character called Reuben, who had more Mustangs than he knew what to do with. He kept the majority of them in single garages all over the Valley area, a little suspicious but that was no concern of mine, as long as he could provide me with what I wanted.
After spending most of a day following him from one seedy lock-up to the next and inspecting seven of his surprisingly immaculate babies, I plumped for a 1964 1/2 convertible model – the first of the Mustangs ever made. Black, with white leather, she was a beauty, complete with original white electric hood and an FM radio, the first to be fitted as standard to any car in the world.
Bill, on the other hand, had her eye on a rather wonderful Land Rover V8 ragtop that she had spotted for sale. British by birth but with an American twist, this left-hand drive limited edition automatic version of the world-famous powerhouse was the mirror image of my Mustang to look at, with white exterior body, black roof and black leather inside. We came across this magnificent specimen of engineering in the far more traditional surroundings of a classic car dealer, one of the many that serve to satiate the tastes of the Beverly Hills car nut. Back home in our garage these two icons of automotive design complemented each other perfectly and with our wheels now sorted our temporary materialistic madness was almost complete.
New wardrobes were towards the bottom of our to-do lists but flying visits to Melrose soon sorted these out as well. This was the least expensive of all our forays into the retail world, until that is, I picked up a pair of combat trousers that I thought were $110. I’m embarrassed to tell you that there was another naught involved somewhere. I still look at those trousers with contempt today.
For anyone who is sceptical when it comes to the gene and environment theory, I would urge them to take a month out in Los Angeles. I have never eaten more healthily or been fitter than I was when Bill and I lived there, but without having to give it a second thought.
The famous Farmers Market, which is a fitting testament to the past in the almost space-age setting of what is now the Grove precinct, is almost the opposite of our food shops, inasmuch as it’s nigh on impossible to buy anything that is bad for you. Everything looks good, tastes good and is good.
As Bill and I let nature take over and just lived how we felt was right, the weight fairly began to fall off us and as for drinking too much alcohol – forget it, wasn’t going to happen. The whole weekend social scene is based around outdoor physical activity, interspersed with long, healthy lunches or early diners with no more than the odd glass of wine or perhaps one or two freezing-cold beers.
The beach is littered with volleyball courts, the gyms are more like theme parks than sweatboxes, and then there are always the hills for hiking up or mountain biking down. Oh, and don’t forget the lakes, will you?
Bill and I were in love with each other, in love with our new home and in love with Southern California. With a newfound vigour and the zest for life once again coursing through our veins, it wasn’t long before Bill and I were chomping at the bit to do more with our days than just join in the LA scene.
We were both ready for fresh challenges, and for Bill it was back to acting. After a few false starts with various acting groups and creative classes, she chanced upon a quiet genius by the name of Sabin Epstein, an acting coach of fine repute who lived in a modestly hip four-storey house in the hills of West Hollywood.
He was like an acting Buddha who lived upon high, ready and waiting patiently should another worthy student come within reach. I used to drop Bill off at Sabin’s three or four times a week and then go and hang in one of the coffee houses nearby. Here I would read, mostly about writing and how to do it. I found the subject of writing fascinating and could feel myself being drawn closer and closer to perhaps having a bash.
These were very happy times. I was happy, Bill was happy and together we were ecstatic.
Each time Billie came back from Sabin’s she was more inspired than the last, now more certain than ever that her future lay in the world of theatre, television and film.
Whilst she continued to study, I had decided you can only read so much about writing before it becomes an excuse not to write. It was time to put down the books and power up my computer. Would I be any good? I was about to find out. Right from the start I wrote all day and every day about anything and everything. I wrote poems, short stories and even a comedy drama. I also wrote the first hundred pages of my original autobiography, a very angry book that would have been neither use nor ornament to anyone, full of little more than bile and unashamed self-aggrandisement.
It was during one of these early writing sessions – when I was staring out over the pool searching for inspiration – that the house phone rang. It was Michael, my agent back in England.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m writing,’ I replied.
‘Writing. Why?’
‘Because I want to.’
‘Oh I see, well forget that for now. ABC Television want you to go and see them. They’ve heard you’re living over there and they want to offer you a job.’
‘Really?’ I said.
‘Yes, really. Now here’s the number, write it down and don’t lose it.’ I did as instructed.
I told Bill the second she arrived home.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said. ‘You’re bloody brilliant, why wouldn’t they want to give you a job?’
Billie was always encouraging and full of confidence on my behalf, so with these words of support still ringing in my ears, I picked up the phone to find out what the legendary American television network wanted with an old has-been like me.
TOP
10
VISIONARIES
10 Marcus Aurelius
9 Leonardo da Vinci
8 George Orwell
7 Gandhi
6 Sam Goldwyn
5 Jim Henson
4 Charlie Chaplin
3 Lennon and McCartney
2 Walt Disney
1 Jesus Christ
ABC TELEVISION HAD EVOKED MAGIC FOR ME ever since I read a book about Walt Disney. Walt didn’t believe in money as a concept and firmly believed it was just a phase we were going through that would eventually pass. He was convinced we would one day revert back to the system of bartering, moving away from what he referred to as ‘this ridiculous system of paper with cash sums painted on to it.’
Although how he supposed people would gain entry to see his much-loved films by offering a sack of potatoes up to the cashier bemuses me. In fact, lots of his ideas lead me to suspect he may well have been away with the fairies for much of the time but then again some of the best people are.
[Ahem – author clears his throat nervously.]
This doesn’t, however, make me worship him any the less. I think he is the most innovative and fearless force entertainment has ever seen. His story is one of the all-time great tales of overcoming adversity. Not that any of it would have happened without his big bro’ Roy and the aforementioned ABC TV.
Due to Walt’s rather original take on money, Walt’s brother Roy, the financial brains behind the outfit, declared him bankrupt relatively early on and stripped off any financial power or responsibility whatsoever. Not in a dastardly Dallas kind of way, as JR might have done to Bobby, but merely to protect Walt and allow him to keep doing what he wanted.
One day, however, Roy marched into his kid brother’s office. It was 1951 and the Disney Corporation were $11 million in debt.
‘This is serious,’ said Roy gravely. ‘We are $11 million in debt and the bank is about to foreclose on us.’ There was a moment’s silence and then. Walt laughed.
‘Why on earth are you laughing?’ asked Roy, not exactly enamoured with his bro’s reaction.
‘Because I can remember when the bank wouldn’t lend us a hundred dollars. Have they really gone and lent us eleven million?’
I have a suspicion that this story is the source of that rather brilliant and beautiful line, ‘If you owe the bank a thousand dollars that’s your problem, but if you owe the bank a million dollars, that’s their problem.’
Regardless of whose problem it may have been it was clear to Roy, and now Walt, that if they wanted to stay in business they would have to make some gesture to pacify the banks. Financial ruin was no longer knocking on their door, it was about to break it down. As a result, Walt agreed to do something he had hitherto been dead against, despite his brother’s many and varied protestations to the contrary.
For years ABC TV had been begging Disney to allow them to buy the franchise to Mickey Mouse for a television show. Walt was super-protective of his first and biggest animated motion-picture star, and the last place he wanted to see his famous mouse was on a small glass screen in the corner of every living room in America. But now he had no choice, if he wanted to keep his company afloat, Mickey had to go to make-up and get in front of the camera week in, week out to entertain those kids.
And so it was that the world witnessed the birth of the unstoppable Mickey Mouse Club on TV.
Now, I hope you know me well enough to have figured out that I wouldn’t be telling you this story unless there were more to it than just a brief lesson in survival. The twist in the tale is that the Mickey Mouse Club, via the global medium of television, was so successful that it catapulted the Disney name into a stratosphere that even the great visionary himself had failed to imagine was possible. And here’s the best bit. As a result of the programme Walt never wanted to make, Disney went on to accumulate enough money to realise all his dreams, with enough cash left over to actually buy out ABC TV.
Now that’s a result.
What exactly this Disney-owned company wanted with me I had no idea but I was looking forward to climbing into my delicious drop-top and finding out. When I arrived at the Disney lot, there was a barrier, a very big barrier, and out of a brightly painted hut strutted a man, a very big man.
‘How may I help you, Sir?’ The man may have been very big, but he was very polite – Disney-polite, to be more precise.
‘Hi, my name’s Evans.’
The very big man looked down at the clipboard he was holding.
‘I’m here to see a Mr Lloyd Braun.’
As I uttered these secret words, the need for the very big man to look at his clipboard any further seemed to vanish.
‘Ah, certainly, Sir. Mr Evans, if you would like to drive up to the main building and park in space 001, there will be somebody to meet you.’
Wow, this was cool.
Space 001 was no more than a few feet away from the front doors of the six-storey glass-fronted structure that housed the American Broadcasting Company.
‘Mr Evans, so good to see you, and nice car, if I may say so,’ chirped a small, smiling brunette. ‘If you’d like to come with me, I’ll take you in.’
‘Thanks and thanks.’ I tried to sound snappy, relaxed and up to speed. The truth was, I was none of these things, but I was excited, very excited.
As we waltzed past the reception desk and stepped into the elevator I noted it was full of various people of differing demographics. Not only that but when the small brunette lady pressed the button for floor 6, they all looked round to see who it was that she might be taking there.
It suddenly struck me that there was a pecking order going on here to do with which floor you worked on. As the elevator stopped at each level there was a silent competition to see who had to get out and who would make it to the next round. Those that survived each time nodded respectfully to each other in a display of mutual congratulation. After the 5th-floor stop, the small lady and I were alone – we gave each other the nod. We had won.
With the number 6 now illuminated, we had arrived at our destination and as the doors parted I was given the next insight on my crash course in American corporate structure. Whereas the previous five floors had looked like normal offices, this floor looked more akin to the inside of a country club. The walls were oak-panelled, expensive rugs lay over shiny parquet flooring and antique leather chairs lined the walkways.
‘Welcome to the executive floor, Mr Evans. Mr Braun will be ready for you shortly, if you’d like to take a seat. What can I get you to drink?’
I ordered tea, more to be British than because I wanted one, although as I’ve already told you, I do love my tea.
Lloyd’s office was exactly as you might imagine the head of a US television network’s office should be. At least, it was exactly as I thought it should be. It was very masculine, in a hunting, shooting, fishing, Harvard kind of way and there were so many shelves! Awards and pictures of his family battled for pride of place; I wasn’t sure which was winning so I turned my attention instead to the seating area. Yet more leather furniture to be witnessed here and then there was the obligatory bank of six televisions – a must-have for a network president – all on, all showing different channels.
But where Lloyd had done best was with his view. The office was situated on one of the four corners of the top floor and the double aspect afforded the spectator a one hundred and eighty degree panorama of the San Fernando Valley. It was inspiring, to say the least.
A smiling Lloyd welcomed me, after which we were joined by an equally smiling – though altogether more beautiful (sorry, Lloyd) – Andrea Wong, his vice president. She was hot, hot, hot, dressed perfectly in a pink power suit, consisting of skirt and jacket. She also wore black stilettos, with black stockings to match – meow! That’s the way to do it.
There were two additional human beings present but other than say ‘Hello’, they barely spoke the whole time I was there. I think their presence was to ‘meat the room’, as they say in the States – a strange American concept designed to give a meeting a greater air of importance simply by increasing the number of attendees.
‘Chris, I’ll be up front with you,’ said Lloyd, after a couple of minutes of small talk. ‘We want you to work for us, and we want to pay you $1 million a year.’
It was a good job I wasn’t drinking my tea at the time, or I would almost certainly have spat it out all over Lloyd’s executive designer everything. $1 million wasn’t the most I’d ever been paid, but it wasn’t a bad opening offer from someone I’d never met before, who was yet to tell me what he actually wanted me to do. Did they want somebody killed, perhaps?
I decided it might be a good idea to find out.
‘Er, right Lloyd, wow, that’s fantastic. What exactly would you like to pay me that fabulous amount of money for?’
Lloyd laughed, then Andrea laughed. The other two guys thought about laughing but were a little too late, so opted for a nod and a quick grin instead. Lloyd explained that he and Andrea had a plan for me. They were both familiar with my TV work in
the UK and wanted me to be a consultant to their entertainment department.
‘We will provide you with an office here … on the 6th floor.’ Lloyd paused for dramatic effect whilst everyone smiled in unison. ‘We have already earmarked an assistant for you and of course you will also be allotted a parking space. What we would like you to do in return is watch our entertainment output, along with that of our rivals, and simply tell us what you think.’
‘That’s it?’ I said, waiting for the catch.
‘That’s it. No curve ball, that’s all we want you to do. Just tell us what thoughts you have concerning what we and others in our business are doing.’
‘Can I work from home?’ I joked.
‘Sure, why not? Whatever suits you best,’ said Andrea, without missing a beat.
I was impressed but I’m always brutally honest in these circumstances as it’s a fast-track to knowing where you really stand. I had to push them to tell me more.
‘I’m not sure I would be worth the money,’ I volunteered.
‘Sure you would,’ enthused Lloyd. ‘Let’s give it a go now. What show has most caught your eye since you’ve been over here?’
‘Well I love Live with Regis and Kathy, I watch it every day.’ It was true; I was a big fan of their daily mid-morning talk show, which conveniently happened to be on ABC.
‘Sure, sure, but that’s been there for years, it does what it does – it works, we know, yada yada yada. Name another one.’
‘Alright then,’ I said, beginning to enjoy our little game. ‘How about The Bachelor?’ Another one of ours again.’
I hadn’t even realised. I’d just said it off the top of my head. This was going far too well.
‘See, you’re a company man already,’ said Lloyd, making himself laugh. ‘So tell us, what do you think of the show?’
Now here’s the thing; I did have a problem with The Bachelor. Because I’ve worked with such formats most of my life, it really irks me when I see a lazy flaw, or something that could easily be made better. Whenever I see this, I automatically try to figure out what’s wrong or what’s missing. My ego and professional pride were pleased I had something to say.
