Joe Posner's "Cup of Joe"
Pour yourself a cup of joe and pull up a chair.
by Joe Posner
Did I ever tell you about my close encounter, with Ray Bradbury, of the third kind? Take a slurp of your Martian Mocha Java and read on, Earthman?
Some backstory first, if you please.
When I was a kid back in Cincinnati, Ohio, I was an avid science fiction reader. By ten or eleven years old, I had read my way through all the sci-fi in the children's section.
Wandering over into the grownup section of the library, I spotted a book with an unusual cover. It portrayed some ruins partially covered in red sand. I was intrigued. The book was "The Martian Chronicles."
Unwilling to wait to get home, I sat down in the library and began Bradbury's Martian adventure. What a trip!
While Rod Serling had opened up my imagination, Bradbury opened up my heart with his uniquely, poetic prose.
Because of my family's Los Angeles move in '63, I've had the chance to encounter various actors, writers, artists and musicians over the years. It's that kind of town.
As a result I've had four Bradbury encounters over the last 40 years. The Bradbury encounter, of the third kind, was the most noteworthy.
The year was 1997. "NYPD Blue" was on TV. Clinton was president. "Conspiracy Theory," with Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts, was at the movies.
There was an item in the paper about Bradbury speaking at the Pasadena library. I knew right away I had to go.
The library's meeting room was packed with fans of Ray and friends of the library. Bradbury was being honored for his many years as a friend of the Pasadena Library.
When it came to be his time to speak, Ray told entertaining stories about the role the library played in his life, as well as about his long career.
Dressed in a well cut suit, Ray looked happy, healthy and wise.
At the end of his speech, Bradbury sat at a table to sign copies of "Fahrenheit 451" and speak briefly with each fan.
I purchased a copy of the book, then joined the line before it got too long.
When it was my turn, I introduced myself and explained I had first met him in 1965. Bradbury smiled and remarked "And you look just the same!" Since I was 5 feet tall then, with a baby face, and am now 5' 11', with a full, dark beard, I was amused by Bradbury's quip.
I explained that I was now a professional writer, and thanked him for his encouragement long ago to an aspiring young writer. Ray smiled broadly and extended his large hand. The handshake, warm and dry, is one I'll never forget. Bradbury autographed my book and then it was my turn to leave the line.
***
I'm sure many people have had THEIR Bradbury encounters over the years. As for me, I'm happy for the times Ray shined on me.
Have a great week!
joeposner@earthlink.net
by Joe Posner
Welcome back!
Did I ever tell you about the time I was on the set of the cult TV series "Kolchak: The Night Stalker," starring Darren McGavin? Enjoy some of your Spooky Java and read on, friend.
The year was 1974. Art Garfunkle and Jim Croce were on the radio. College kids were wearing Adidas. Corduroy jackets were cool.
I was a year out of USC film school and had decided to try to break into TV writing. For some reason, I wanted to write for the new "Kolchak: The Night Stalker" TV series.
In the pursuit of that goal, I had written a spec TV script called "Mr. Medusa," about this Greek guy who could turn people into stone. My agent had submitted it to the show's producers. We hadn't heard back from them yet.
My college buddy Ted Kaplan was a tour guide at Universal Studios, where "Kolchak" was being shot. When I told Ted of my desire to crash the "Kolchak" sets Ted gave me a big smile. "No problem," he said with confidence.
Soon, we were driving to Universal Studios in Studio City. It was one of those warm summer days LA is known for.
Because Ted was a tour guide, we were able to get on the Universal tour tram for free. We sat toward the back, listening to the toothy guide's spiel.
At one point, when we all got out to get a tour of Lucille Ball's old dressing room or some such nonsense, Ted and I faded back, leaving the tour group without being noticed.
Soon, we were exploring Universal Studios by ourselves. First, we popped into the offices of Levinson and Link, producers of "Columbo." Lucky for us it was empty, as we had no business being there.
Next, we visited the "Emergency" set. No one was there either. I guess they were at lunch.
Our third stop was the sound stage where "Kolchak: The Night Stalker" was shot.
The episode being shot that week was "The Zombie," the second episode, which was aired September 20, 1974.
First we went onto the set for INS, the news service where Kolchak worked. I guess that set wasn't being used that day, as Kolchak/McGavin was away from his desk.
On another part of the sound stage, we saw bored-looking stage hands rocking a truck from side to side, simulating a zombie attack. The zombie wasn't present either. I guess the undead have to eat too.
Just then, we spotted star McGavin, flanked on either side by some big associates in suits, heading straight toward us.
Ted and I looked at each other and gulped. We were about to get tossed from the "Kolchak" sets, ending our secret Universal tour in shame. Ted might lose his tour job as well. We were screwed.
As McGavin and company reached us, he gave us both a pointed look, said "Good afternoon, gentlemen" and kept on walking.
Ted and I waited a moment or two, then fled across the lot, rejoining our tour tram that had stopped to check out some phony boulders. Nobody had even noticed we were gone.
***
Although I ultimately never sold my script to "Kolchak," I still have fond memories of my unauthorized trip to the set and my close encounter with Darren McGavin.
Have a great week!
joeposner@earthlink.net
by Joe Posner
Welcome back!
Did I ever tell you about my involvement in the Phony Nuclear Alert Caper? Enjoy some of your Nuke Java and read on, friend.
The year was 1968. Nixon was president. Girls' skirts were short. Guys' sideburns were long. "Mission: Impossible" was on TV.
The '60s were scary times. A lot of people, including government officials, feared a nuclear attack, could happen at any time.
As a result, Civil Defense alert boxes were located in many schools. At my school it was located in the principal's office.
Yellow and somewhat smaller than a cereal box, it was mounted on the wall. It had three lights: one green, one yellow, the other red, indicating the nation's nuclear alert status.
My buddies and I were HUGE "Mission: Impossible" fans. We even made a student film called, "Mission: Improbable," spoofing the popular show. I played Jim Phelps, the group's leader.
My friends included Kyle, an artist; Tim, a straight "A" genius; Derrick, an exotic car nut and Carl, an electronics wizard. I was an aspiring writer with an overactive imagination.
One day I decided it would be cool to trigger a Phony Nuclear Alert, throwing the school into a tizzy. It would be a world-class prank that would be remembered for years.
I told my buddies. It sounded petty cool to them too.
Since none of us had spent enough time in the principal's office to get a good look at the Civl Defense alert box, Kyle the artist discreetly peered into he principals office and drew a detailed picture.
The plan was to create a false box, slightly larger than the original. We were gonna somehow sneak into the principal's office and slide our phony box over the original
Carl the electronic genius was going to have a gizmo in OUR box that he could trigger remotely. At a predetermined time, he would go to a phone box located outside the administration building and remotely trigger the box, causing our red light to go on, indicating a nuclear attack was imminent.
Somewhere along the line, I began to consider the potential consequences of our planned prank. What if someone got hurt in the ensuing panic? Was it against the law to fake a nuclear alert? Would prison time be involved?
I reluctantly summoned MY Impossible Mission Force, informing them that we had to abort our plan, because of potential dire consequences. My gang was disappointed in me.
I was relieved.
Sometimes, however, late at night, I wonder, what if ...
Have a great week.
joeposner@earthlink.net
by Joe Posner
Welcome back!
Did I ever tell you about the Brown Badge of Coolness? Enjoy a swig of your Flashback Java and read on, friend.
The year was 1969. Richard Nixon was president. "Star Trek" was canceled. Desert boots were cool. Women liberationists were burning bras.
A little back story, if you will... I lived a very sheltered life in high school. The only alcohol I consumed was the occasional glass of champagne at a wedding. Then it was time for college.
In September, 1969, I started my first semester at the University of Southern California. Time had apparently frozen in the '50s at U.S.C. Would you believe pantie raids were still going on?
Although drugs weren't very prevalent, you could float a boat down the dorm hallway with the amount of alcohol being consumed.
Not by me, however. Despite a lack of adult supervision, no alcohol of any kind had passed my lips in the three months I had lived in the dorm.
I was content to watch "Star Trek" reruns, drink hot apple cider and thumb through back issues of "Analog" sci-fi magazine. I guess you could say I was a nerd.
One night, clean and sober Joe got invited to a drinking party down the hall. The prevalent drink was vodka and Coke. For reasons I no longer recall, I decided to drink.
After the fifth drink, I fell into a closet. I don't remember doing this. I believe it's called an alcoholic blackout.
Two drinks later, I apparently attempted to find my way back to my room down the hall.
For some reason, I entered the stairwell along the way. Almost immediately, I stumbled down the stairs. A somewhat less inebriated buddy caught my head, preventing it from smashing into the concrete landing.
I am told that four friends carried me up into the gang showers we all shared. Stripping me naked, they put me on my back, training all four showers on me.
After awhile, they dried me off and carried me to my room. Dressing me in my pristine white terry cloth robe, they tossed me onto the bed.
Sometime during the night, I threw up.
When I woke up the next morning, I noticed a large brown stain on my white robe. Opening my door, I stepped out to the cheers and applause of my dorm buddies.
I had gotten drunk. I was now cool.
Have a great week!
joeposner@earthlink.net