life

September 16, 1975

 

September 16, 1975 John and I had been married exactly one month when I wrote this entry. We’d met for the first time 7 months ago, so even though we were legally man and wife I was still in the analyzing the “dynamics of our relationship” stage. We lived in a one bedroom apartment on Hoover, within easy walking distance of USC where he was in his second year of law school and I was working on my MFA in Professional Writing. I was working full-time as a secretary for Len Hill and Richard Marx, two program managers at NBC.

NBC ID Card_edited-1

The state of my moods depended on my reactions to people around me. On this particular day, I bounced from John making me feel lazy and uncreative to Shelly buoying me up with some positive feedback. I wish I could claim that in the intervening years I stopped letting the opinions of others determine my sense of self-worth.

Mood 1

That would be a lie. At best, I’ve become incrementally better at self-validation. I’m still inclined to dismiss positive feedback as false flattery and accept criticism as the absolute truth.  On the bright side, being thin-skinned means I’m not blind to flaws – in myself or my writing – when other people point them out. More often than not, what I initially perceive as criticism can be re-construed as good advice.

Open to criticism

Mood 2

Aristotle

In retrospect, John was right that pushing me harder wouldn’t have solved my writer’s block.  Creative energy does have to come from within. At the same time, I’m immensely grateful for Shelly’s encouragement.  Without it, I might have quit. I’m not one of those writers who have to write even if no one ever reads it. I write to be read and hopefully understood – to communicate.

Mood 3

That goes for this diary blog, too. This is as good a time as any to thank anyone who’s liked one of these or commented. Your feedback and validation keep me going.

 

September 14, 1965

September 14, 1965

The summer before I started high school
The summer before I started high school

This entry fails to convey the overwhelming confusion and excitement of my first day in high school. If my memory serves me well, Cabrillo Jr. High and the now defunct Jefferson Jr. High fed into Wilcox High, effectively doubling the student body and ensuring that at best any student might recognize half of the student body.  Naturally, the structure itself needed to be twice as large to accommodate approximately 2000 pupils. To me, it seemed huge. I’d never gone to school in a two-story building before.

Two Story School

I harbored many illusions about high school, gleaned from movies, TV and the Scholastic Book Club. Classes didn’t loom large in any of these narratives. Instead they focused on sock hops, meet-cute flirtations, proms, football games, gang warfare (West Side Story) and popularity.

I longed to be popular and, in my own misguided way, I tried. I didn’t succeed. I’m not sure how the chosen kids in the In Crowd reached their exalted status. Was their success due to their self-confidence or was their confidence due to their success? There seemed to be no objective criteria although good looks, athletic ability and the means to buy bitchen’ clothes and hot wheels didn’t hurt.

There was no category for Most Popular, but these categories were owned by the popular kids so I've selected a sampling.
There was no category for Most Popular, but these categories were owned by the popular kids so I’ve selected a sampling.

Laughing Way Through Life

I’m not saying Soc’s were stupid but being known as brainy was not a plus. Neither was  being a P.K.(preacher’s kid), not to mention an introvert. Aside from Carrie, no introverts ever got elected King or Queen of the Prom. My parents, however, were elected King and Queen of their high school prom. Unfortunately, they failed to pass their popularity gene down to me.

My parents as King and Queen in 1943
My parents as King and Queen in 1943

According to Ralph Keyes (Is There Life After High School), popularity comes with its own set of problems.  It’s hard to hold on to, for one thing – not only in high school but afterward. The adulation accorded a high school football star fades after graduation. It’s not that easy to duplicate – let alone surpass – high school glory days when the bar has been set unrealistically high. If you’re addicted to  applause, withdrawal is painful and it’s hard to hook up with a new supply in the real world.

In 1965, I would’ve gladly shouldered these burdens for a seat at the In Crowd’s table, proving how easily I forget who I am. I don’t like groups, for one thing. I’d rather watch from the sidelines than be the center of attention.  And I’d hate to lose the perks of membership in the Out Crowd – the freedom to be silly and screw up (when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose). The fierce drive to prove myself to people who rejected me.

I’ve heard it said that for a writer, a lousy childhood is the gift that keeps on giving. So is being on the outside looking in during high school.

On the outside looking in
“On the outside looking in.”

 

September 8, 1979

September 8, 1979

With John at 10 year high school reunion
With John at 10 year high school reunion

Maybe some people go to their high school reunion with no motive other than to share a good time with old friends. Not me. I RSVP’d to show my former classmates I wasn’t the loser they remembered.  Just to be on the safe side, I brought an entourage – my sister Joyce, husband John, and two friends. Sure, it practically screamed insecure, but at least I wouldn’t wind up sitting at a table by myself. I wore my favorite outfit – an ill-advised Evan Picon vested skirt suit that failed to stand the test of time.

I wanted people to think I transcended high school but in truth I was obsessed with it – so much so that at age 29 I posed as a high school student and returned to Wilcox as a student for a brief spell – but that’s another story.

 

Disguised as high school student for my return enrollment at Wilcox in 1981. I hoped the huge hair would draw attention away from my face.
Disguised as high school student for my return enrollment at Wilcox in 1981. I hoped the huge hair would draw attention away from my face.

Suffice to say, it’s no coincidence that well over half of my scripts and teleplays concern high school kids. It became my specialty. It was easy to channel adolescent minds, because my own mind was mired in adolescence.  While I might be excessive, I’m not unique.

In Ralph Keyes’ excellent book Is There Life After High School, he distills his experience, research and interviews to three major points.

  • These memories focus on comparison of status and
  • High school is the source of indelible memories
  • Status comparisons continue long after graduation, in a society shaped fundamentally by high school
Big hair to compliment my chic ensemble

On the outside, I’d travelled far since high school but on the inside the neurotic outsider I used to be ran the show. I drank too much, talked too much, got too giddy and too grandiose.  The harder I tried to be one of the cool kids, the more I proved I was not.

These photos are, I think, cheats from later reunions.
These photos are, I think, cheats from later reunions.
Carolyn Sakuaye, Ruth Anderson and.....
Carolyn Sakuaye, Ruth Anderson and…..
Sandra Hegwood, Ray Prevost, Fred Hegwood
Sandra Hegwood, Ray Prevost, Steve Hoffman

 

August 26, 1969

8-26-1969

 

MY PARENTS CIRCA 1969
MY PARENTS CIRCA 1969

This entry is a perfect illustration of the tricks memory plays. I would have sworn that my father came to LA to inform me of the call to San Diego and that today was the first time I was aware of the possibility. I was even more certain that it was on this day, at LAX, that he dropped the bomb – it was a done deal, they were committed to moving and I had no say in it. This, too, is apparently false. Who am I kidding, apparently? If the battle for truth is between my diary and my memory, the diary scores a knock-out.

SNEAKY FAMILY PREPARES TO ABSCOND
SNEAKY FAMILY PREPARES TO ABSCOND

If I hadn’t written everything down in my diary, I’d buy my own fiction in which, not so coincidentally, I am cast as the hapless victim. Until I came across this particular entry, I believed my version was 100% accurate. It turns out none of it is factually true.

In my defense, my version was emotionally true  to my feelings about abandoning  Santa Clara for San Diego.  I felt blindsided and betrayed. When I left to attend UCLA, I expected to return to Santa Clara every Christmas and summer – where else would I ever want to go?  I didn’t remember any other home before Santa Clara.  The shocking realization that – aside from a quick dash to box my earthly possessions for a move to a city I’d never seen and where I knew no one – aside from that, I could never go home again. The house I grew up in would be occupied by strangers.

Inverted Hurt

 

Good-bye

If I ruled the world, my family would never leave Santa Clara (or age, for that matter). My parents would live in our old parsonage which would look exactly like it used to – but that hasn’t been true for 47 years now.

And I’m still not completely over it.

DEL MONTE THEN – We didn’t own our house; Hope Lutheran owned the parsonage, we just lived there. The new pastor thought it was too small (no duh) and the church sold it in October, 1970, for $27,700. It was your basic three bedroom two bath Lawrence Meadows tract house. My thanks to Lester Larson who posted this 1956 Lawrence Meadows brochure, below,  on Facebook. The floor plan depicted in the brochure was ours; I think that may even be our house in the picture.

Lawrence Meadows

 

OUR HOUSE IN LAWRENCE MEADOWS IN SANTA CLARA
OUR HOUSE IN LAWRENCE MEADOWS IN SANTA CLARA

DEL MONTE NOW – This is what our house looks like today.  Apparently it now has six bedrooms and three bathrooms and the estimated value is (gulp) $1, 308,597.

House Now

 

August 24, 1979

To put this in context – I’d just learned that my spec script, which had been optioned by Steve Friedman’s Kings Road Productions to be a feature film, was going to be re-written by another writer. Bill Froug was my screenwriting professor and mentor at UCLA.

THE LATE GREAT BILL FROUG
THE LATE GREAT BILL FROUG

 

August 24, 1979_edited-1

DRINKING IS A SHORT-TERM SOLUTION
DRINKING IS A SHORT-TERM SOLUTION

My agent and my mentor were correct. Having your work rewritten by someone else is part of a writer’s life in the film business (less so in television but it still happens).  I ended up rewriting many more scripts by other people than having my own scripts rewritten which ought to make me feel better but it doesn’t. The fact is, it always sucks to be told you’re off the project – especially when it’s your own original spec script.

I suspect other professionals would react the same way if this was routine practice in their business. Imagine a surgeon being told that a new surgeon in town had been hired to  remove the heart he’s just transplanted in order to insert a better one – or an interior decorator who gives her best only to learn all of her work is off to Goodwill and a new interior decorator will start from scratch. It hurts to be replaced. And it never got easier, although I did get better at hiding my emotions. (Hint: It is considered bad form to cry like a baby when – not if – this happens to you.)

AS YOU DRINK,, BROOD ABOUT REVENGE
AS YOU DRINK,, BROOD ABOUT REVENGE

I understand why it sometimes has to be done. Sometimes it even works out for the best. It’s easy for a writer to get tunnel vision and see only one way to solve a problem. New eyes spot new solutions. Given the fortunes and executive jobs attached to the success or failure of a film, no wonder so many execs play it safe and bet on the flavor of the month instead of a newbie. If the “hot” writer tanks, at least they had a reasonable basis to believe he’d succeed.

If and when it happens to you, remember it’s not personal. It’s only business. And then cry your eyes out in solitude.

Cry your eyes out

 

 

August 21, 1966

At the Beach With Sandy 1

August 21, 1966_edited-1

 

Be Careful

At tne Beach With Sandy 2

Sandy wasn’t a friend who’d waste a day bronzing in the sun or swimming. We were always playing some kind of fantasy game or plotting an adventure whether it was leaving different footprints in the sand or talking to the ouija board at midnight on my front lawn. If a spectral car didn’t hurtle out of the night, we’d find another way to terrify ourselves.

PhotoBooth S & KPhoto Booth K & S

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our ouija board told us his  name was Rehsi and he was from the planet Asteron.  He wasn’t exactly a gifted, fast-tracked ouija board.  He was probably held back a few years. I don’t think he ever answered a single question correctly but being clueless didn’t keep him from making dire predictions.

Rehsi

I know some people think ouija boards are scary and demonic but for Sandy and me it was a fun spooky game. Not for an instant did I believe that we were summoning dark forces to serve the devil. Maybe I would’ve been more scared if I’d seen The Exorcist.

animated-scared-image-0012

STRANGLING EACH OTHER WAS ALWAYS FUN WHEN WE RAN OUT OF OTHER IDEAS.
STRANGLING EACH OTHER WAS ALWAYS FUN WHEN WE RAN OUT OF OTHER IDEAS.
HMMM. SANDY SEEMS MORE SERIOUS ABOUT STRANGLING ME THAN VICE VERSA.
HMMM. SANDY SEEMS MORE SERIOUS ABOUT STRANGLING ME THAN VICE VERSA.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 19, 1968


August 18, 1968_edited-1

 

REAL ID from 1968 - NOT 18
REAL ID from 1968 – NOT 18

People go to fairs and carnivals for fun, not to wallow in existential despair over the human condition. Given this reality, my own psyche was the dark cloud hanging over the corn dog stand that summer. Everywhere I turned I saw another story about loneliness, suffering, and doomed lives. There was a little boy, about 7, that hung around – son of a “carny wife” (woman who moves in with a carnival man for a month or two). All of the grown-ups kept telling him to get lost – but there were no children his own age for him to go to. He was just so – alone, (Where is he today?)

My friend JoAnn Hill, who lived in Willow Glenn, got a job in another food venue. We hung out together when we had breaks at the same time. She was tall – at least 5’11” – and model-gorgeous with long blonde hair. Walking around with her was an instant inferiority complex.

 

JOANN HILL
JOANN HILL

 

Since JoAnn and I worked there, we got free rides – not always a good thing.  The guy who controlled the spidery ride wanted to impress JoAnn so he gave us what felt like hours of extra spinning – I was almost sick to my stomach. Things didn’t improve in the sweltering heat of the Pup Hut. A bad situation got worse when I was tasked to shove sharp sticks into hundreds of naked doggies. It was truly the stuff of nightmares.

 

Feeling Sick_edited-1

And that’s why I’ve never consumed another corn dog.

 

August 16, 1982

August 16, 1982_edited-1

 

THE LATE GREAT BRILLIANT WRITER & MUSICIAN, DAVID ACKLES
THE LATE GREAT BRILLIANT WRITER & MUSICIAN, DAVID ACKLES

 

CD&GA

Chris met his future BFF when he was two; he and Geo Ackles both attended the Church of the Lighted Window’s Montessori School. I noticed that whenever I picked CD up, he was with the same boy who – at that time – bore a striking resemblance to CD.  Unfortunately, one of them (I don’t remember which) moved to another pre-school. As these two-year-olds lacked the social skills to exchange phone numbers or arrange play dates, a beautiful friendship almost died before it began.

But fate intervened! My in-laws stopped on their way to Temecula and took CD and me out for lunch at Bob’s Big Boy.

By miraculous coincidence, David Ackles was there with his son George. Our two-year-olds were delirious with joy. They leapt across the restaurant to greet each other like long lost brothers.  David and I exchanged phone numbers and promised to get them together.

Twins

I assumed we’d facilitate play dates but otherwise pass like parental ships in the night. I was astonished to learn David was a fellow WGA member as well as a talented singer/songwriter who recorded for Electra (check out Road to Cairo – my favorite of his songs – if you haven’t heard it).

DAVID ACKLES SINGING HIS SONG,"ROAD TO CAIRO," IN 1967
DAVID ACKLES SINGING HIS SONG,”ROAD TO CAIRO,” IN 1967

 

Not only that, he was witty, charismatic and just plain delightful – and although it almost seems impossible – it gets BETTER!  His wife, Janice, was just as quick, hilarious and fun as David.

Before long, we were dressing up and role-playing mystery games with Joyce and John Salter, Terry McDonnell, Matt Rowell, Anne Kurrasch, Jake Jacobson and others. I wish I’d had the foresight to tape or film a few of those sessions. We laughed until it hurt.

The world lost a great artist and we lost a great friend when David died of lung cancer on March 2, 1999 but his music lives on – as does the friendship between Chris and George.

PLAYING A MYSTERY GAME - Top row: Joyce Salter, John Salter, Anne Kurrasch, Terry McDonnell, David Ackles; bottom row: me, Janice Ackles
PLAYING A MYSTERY GAME – Top row: Joyce Salter, John Salter, Anne Kurrasch, Terry McDonnell, David Ackles; bottom row: me, Janice Ackles

August 14, 1967



August 14, 1967

Writing Alone

Writing this in 2016, I know I was far from the only person to grow up feeling “different” – that old line about how everyone else got an instruction manual about life but I didn’t.  If anything, I’ve come to believe that practically everyone feels that way to some degree. And in fairness, I can’t say my parents ever pressured me to be a certain way – quite the contrary. They were adamant about making my own decisions, telling me not to base my choices on a desire to please them or a need to rebel.

K by the River

Given this, where did the feeling I wasn’t as good as the girl they wanted come from? I still think my sister Janet’s birth had something to do with it – they brought home another baby because I failed to be “interesting” enough.  But I’ve bitched about Janet enough. (See Kathy vs. the Alien Baby for more.)

Naturally, I tried to conceal my less than admirable character traits. Sometimes I successfully hid them from myself. It’s still a struggle for me to recognize anger, for example. I was well aware of other negative tendencies – jealousy, sloth, vanity and greed for example – but did my best to keep them under wraps.

Sooner or later they all slipped out, though – because you can’t hide your secret self forever.

July 29, 1980

 

July 29, 1980

Me with Chris (I only called him CD in my diaries) in 1980
Me with Chris (I only called him CD in my diaries) in 1980

John and I were the first to get married and have children in our group of friends – consequently, Chris grew up surrounded by adults. It’s not surprising that he identified early with grown-ups; the last thing he wanted to be was just another child.  When he was around other children, as in the school situation described above, he wanted to assume an adult role. Helping me enforce order on the other children running down the mountain was a perfect outlet.

Once, when he was still under ten, a friend attempted to seat him at the children’s table with his brother and sister and younger cousins.

Not A Child! he said.

He was, to me, like I suspect all children are to their mothers, the most adorable and intelligent little boy / young adult in the world.

CD (Chris) in 1980
CD (Chris) in 1980
Another picture of CD in 1980
Another picture of CD in 1980