All Things Must Pass: The Legacy of Russ Solomon and Tower Records

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Tower Records, El Toro, CA #138. My home sweet home for nearly fifteen years.

Russ Solomon, the founder of the late, great record empire, Tower Records, couldn’t have gone out in a more fitting way.  Watching the Oscars with his wife, commenting on how ugly he found someone’s clothing, he requested a bit more whiskey.  When his wife returned with it, she found him dead from an apparent heart attack.  Russ had gone out with a bang with all of his feisty spirit intact.

Tower Records was an important part of my life from an early age.  Living in Southern California during the seventies, the closest Tower to us was the West Covina location (we lived in San Dimas).  Although I rarely visited, I remember requesting records for my mother to pick up while she was out shopping.

Our house was always filled with music.  Both my parents loved and listened to rock ‘n’ roll.  My father loved the Rolling Stones, Beatles, Creeedence Clearwater Revival, Chicago and others.  My mom was a big Janis Joplin fan.  After they got divorced, my mother’s taste grew to include artists like Neil Diamond, Helen Reddy and, of course, the disco-era music of the Bee Gees.  When Saturday Night Fever came out, we went to see it as a family (with my step-father) and every Saturday or Sunday morning, the soundtrack would click into the 8-track player.  Us three kids spent weekends at Dad’s house in Newport Beach.   As a handsome, single lawyer, he was open to having a varied record collection, often influenced by the music of the girls that he was dating.  Added to the familiar Stones and Beatles albums were music by Heart, Jefferson Airplane, Donna Summer and Bob Dylan.

As I came into my teenage years, I began to develop my own taste.  Having my own stereo system in my room allowed me to explore and experience music in a way that perhaps other kids didn’t.  I never realized how lucky I was to have that luxury; I thought all kids had their own stereos!  My younger brothers loved KISS while I gravitated toward Aerosmith.  My Donny Osmond crush had matured; I was now in love with Steven Tyler.  I also listened to a lot of radio and because I had access to a stereo, I made mixed tapes, mostly of dance and disco music, that made the rounds at my junior high school, especially among the many black kids that attended there.  And although I was genuinely friendly with many of them, I was also very naive as I found out that many of them thought that I was a “wannabe”, a term that I learned about the hard way when one of them taunted me in the hallway, sing-songing, “Be whatcha wannabe!”, implying that because I listened to black music I wanted to be black.

When we moved to Mission Viejo in Orange County, I was a lonely, awkward fourteen-year-old, getting ready to start high school in a brand-new town with no friends.  Music, my ever-present friend, was there to ease my pain.  After a rather enlightening introduction to FM radio stations like KLOS and KMET and the ground-breaking KROQ, I spent most of my free time in my room, surrounded by my Rolling Stones posters (I had forsaken Steven Tyler for Keith Richards by this time), listening to classic rock and new music and on Sunday nights, the Dr. Demento Show.  DJs became important and loyal friends.

A job stuffing newspapers for my stepfather’s early morning paper route allowed me my own money and where did I go to spend it?  Tower Records in El Toro.  Whether my mom took me or I rode my bike there, I spent hours on each visit, flipping through the record racks while wondering what was behind that beaded partition in the poster section.  (At the time, this Tower location still had a head shop; too bad I was a tad too young to benefit from it before it was removed).

My record collection grew and grew and included all the Stones albums and records from my youth, but now with new music like the Pretenders, Pat Benatar and the soundtrack to The Decline of Western Civilization.  My mother had always been a small theater actress and loved to give cast parties.  I remember at a  particular one there was an English fellow, who was a member of the cast, who knew that I was a Rolling Stones fan.  He handed me the Marianne Faithfull album, Broken English, and told me I’d love it, but no to listen to it if my mom was around (a reference to the explicit lyrics in the song, “Why’d Ya Do It?”).

When I graduated in 1983, I went to live with my dad in Newport Beach while the rest of my family moved to rural Fallbrook.  I spent a year lazing about before my dad demanded that I get a job.  A trip to El Toro to get my hair cut led to a tip from my hairdresser, to whom I’d mentioned I was looking for a job.  “Go over to Tower,” he had said.  “Ask for Robert.”

Sporting a short skirt and a trim figure, I followed Robert, the store manager, into the back room where I was briefly interviewed and given a job working the Ticketmaster counter Tuesday through Saturday.  I had no idea what a punishment that was until later (that is another set of stories unto itself), but my nearly fifteen-year career at Tower Records began that April day in 1984.  I was nineteen.

Besides the dreaded Ticketmaster counter, I also worked in the new video section where my knowledge of foreign and independent films was fostered.  On the record side, my musical tastes branched out to include Bauhaus, the Cocteau Twins, the Cure and other so-called Gothic musicians.  Later, I became a Deadhead and followed the band around Southern and Northern California.  Still later, I learned about rap, international, jazz, vocals, grunge, metal and cocktail/lounge music.

And the friends.  Where do I begin?  A vast age group ensured that we all learned from one another as did the expertise of those that ran each music section.  Charlie, our fearless classic music buyer, was renowned throughout not just the county, but the state, it seemed.  Customers came from far and wide to listen to his advice and suggestions on not only specific composers, but symphonies, conductors, soloists and more.  An extremely smart and eccentric fellow, he could spend hours ruminating on not only classical music, but Egyptian history, science, lemurs and other exotic animals, the Grateful Dead and Frank Zappa.

Bob was our jazz buyer and he, too, knew his subject inside and out.  An accomplished musician, he played washboard in the South Frisco Jazz Band, who at one time was Disneyland’s New Orleans Square house band.  Bob knew everything about jazz, but also had a keen interest in World War II memorabilia, notably German uniforms, medals, runs, etc. and was also an avid train enthusiast.

Oh, the crazy times we had back in the day!  Kids these days couldn’t conceive of what went on at Tower back in the eighties and nineties. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll is a good start, but I don’t use those terms rhetorically.  Literally, I mean there was sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll going on at the store.  Hours-long lunches with record label reps where the alcohol flowed like water; Christmases with schnapps bottles stashed under the counters; breaks out to VW vans where copious amounts of pot were inhaled; cocaine snorted off records and sex in cramped bathrooms and makeshift offices.  Ah, yes, these were good times, my friends, never to be seen again, at least in that type of abundance and acceptance.  It was a good time to be alive and young!

After a few years in the video department, I moved over to records where I was the assistant tape buyer for a while before becoming the record buyer (probably the last one as CDs were already on their way to taking over).  Bob and I were appalled and wore our “Save the LP” buttons proudly every day to no avail.  When the receiving clerk announced he was leaving, I jumped at the chance to work in the back room and to have a Monday-Friday, 8-5 schedule.  I approached Robert and asked for the position and I stayed on as the shipping and receiving clerk for my remaining eight years.

Soon after, Robert left to go and manage the Boston store and in came out new manger, Dennis.  I was apprehensive at first; we all loved Robert, despite his sometimes explosive temper.  But Dennis and I soon became close friends.

My decision to leave Tower was a difficult one, but I sensed that big (and not good) changes were around the corner.  Our store was moving to a new location and was to be combined with an audio retailer, The Good Guys; my raises were too small and infrequent.  My heart was beating out of my chest as I approached Dennis to tell him that I was leaving.

It wasn’t long before my intuition panned out and the new location closed.  It was heartbreaking; some of the old employees were still there, including Charlie, who really had no other prospects.

Over my years at Tower and beyond, I kept in touch with everyone and hosted a big Halloween party yearly, which served as a reunion of sorts.  I became the Mother Hen and archivist for our store location, good, old Tower El Toro, #138.  Many ex-employees had moved away, but with the introduction of the Internet and Facebook specifically, we all found one another again and picked up right where we had left off.  Our Tower family was intact once again and more than one of us joked that Facebook had been invented for Tower El Toro employees to find one another again.

In 2015, I heard about the Tower Records documentary that Colin Hanks had made, All Things Must Pass.  An exclusive screening and reunion was to be help in Sacramento, the home of Russ Solomon and the original Tower Records location.  I had to go and there I met Russ for the second time.  I had met him in 1990 when a Tower friend and I took a road trip to Sacramento to visit her family.  While there, we stopped by the Tower corporate office where we were greeted warmly and given a tour, then asked if we wanted to meet Russ.  Of course we did!  We were shown into his office and there he was behind his desk, music memorabilia surrounding him on the walls, shelves, etc.  We talked for a few minutes and he asked if he could take us to lunch-what a surprise and honor!  Russ took us to a restaurant on the riverfront.  He was gracious, kind, engaging and funny.

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Me and Russ at the screening of “All Things Must Pass” and Tower reunion, Sacramento, October 2015.

After viewing the documentary with hundreds of other Tower employees, Colin Hanks and Russ himself; going to parties and events around town and meeting a lot of new Tower friends, I came back home and decided to have my own reunion for our store, Tower El Toro.  I got to work planning it and in October of 2016, I hosted fifty friends from as far away as Colorado for a day and evening of music, food and reminiscing.  Reconnecting with old friends was good for our souls and once again, our Tower family was together.  No other job (I hesitate to call my time at Tower a “job”; it was more like hanging out with friends everyday, listening to music) created the bonds and camaraderie that Tower did.  We are a worldwide family and when we meet another member, we embrace one another as an unquestioned member of our special tribe.

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Tower Records, El Toro, CA #138 Reunion, October 2016.

I consider myself among the lucky ones who can claim membership in the Tower family. The friends I made are lifelong, the music I was exposed to will be forever in my soul and the memories will keep me smiling until I die.  Thank you, Russ, for creating the most magical, wondrous infusion of freedom, music, individuality and common freakiness the world may ever know.  The misfits found a place to call home, a forever family to belong to.  Rest in peace and we’ll all see you on the other side.

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Upcoming Book Signing, Reading and Slideshow, Saturday, October 14 at Pipe & Thimble Bookstore, Lomita, CA 11AM-2PM

 

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Book Signing at Pipe & Thimble Bookstore in Lomita, California

I will be reading from and signing copies of Red, White & Blues:  Book One” as well as playing a slideshow that will showcase events, fashion, culture and music from the years that the novel takes place:  1964-1977.

If you are in the area, please stop by!  I will have copies for sale, but if you have your own, please do not hesitate to bring it!

Thank you for your support of indie authors and bookstores!  Please be sure and review and recommend “Red, White & Blues:  Book One”!

Chapter One from the Forthcoming Sequel to “Red, White & Blues”.

Chapter One:  1979

July 4th.  The last one of the decade.  Edie Clark is busy with food and children.  Her husband, John, is out in the garage with some of his brothers from the motorcycle club, the Souls of Liberty.  Stories and bottles of liquor, spare motorcycle parts, sweat, laughter.

It has been nearly two years since John’s brother, Pete, was murdered while working the late shift at a local gas station.  Two years without convictions or sentences.  Every day John calls the prosecutor.  Every day he is told to be patient; that they will get what they deserve.  It is all John can do not to attempt to take justice into his own hands.

Sandy Porter, the woman Pete Clark left behind to raise their now nearly ten-year old son, is sitting on a swing in her backyard.  She is drunk.  She holds a cigarette, nearly burnt down to the filter and stares off into oblivion.

“Come on, Mom,” Jimmy says, taking the cigarette from her fingers.  “Aren’t we gonna go to Uncle John’s?”

Sandy sighs.  There are so many reasons why she doesn’t want to go there this year.  Two of them are men.  Men that used and then discarded her and they will be there, staring at her, telling stories about her.

For seven months, she had an intense affair with Lucas Blackhorse.  He and Julie Hartford, his girlfriend and Sandy’s best friend, had moved in after Pete’s death initially to help with the mortgage and taking care of Jimmy.  After six months of living under the same roof, Sandy took more than just monetary help from Lucas.  She was so vulnerable and he was perceptive, selfish.  One cold night, an extra glass of wine, a sympathetic touch.

Two months passed before Julie realized what was going on.  Rage fueled by bitterness and betrayal lead to Julie moving back to her old apartment in Pacific Grove and taking her six-year old daughter, Pandora, with her.  She and Sandy’s relationship has never been the same.  In the aftermath, Lucas and Sandy’s relationship began breaking down.  Five months later, Lucas left.

December 1978.  Enter Kevin Miller, the one-eyed biker.  He and Sandy hoped to weather the holidays in a drunken, lustful haze.  For two months, they staved off depression and a real fear of being so lonely over Christmas that they simply wouldn’t make it alone.  They shared some good times, but it was clear early on that Sandy would never be able to fit into the biker lifestyle.  Too headstrong, opinionated, stubborn.  Besides, Kevin’s devotion to his club and motorcycle left her alone much of the time, so the relationship really did nothing to put her fears to rest.

The worst was yet to come for Sandy.  In January, Lucas contacted Julie.  He wanted her back.  She refused and he left the next day for Wisconsin, intending to spend the summer-maybe longer-with his mother and relatives back on the old reservation.  By March, Kevin had gone and Sandy was alone again.  Julie called Lucas; he could return if he married her.  In April, there was an informal ceremony in San Francisco.

This is why Sandy does not want to go to the Clarks’ 4th of July party.

“Mommy?”

Sandy is shaken from her thoughts.  She follows her son back into the house.  He pulls a tub of store-bought macaroni salad from the fridge, setting it on the kitchen table next to a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. Sandy packs it all into a paper grocery bag.

“Okay, honey,” she says.  “Go and get a jacket.   It’ll be cold later.”

Mike Blackhorse packs his family into the Jeep that he bought his wife, Sarah.  With the two children growing, he thought it better than the Volkswagen Bug that Sarah had been driving them around in.  Free, now almost nine, and his six-year old sister, Eve, climb in the back.  Eve holds a Tupperware container filled with cut-up vegetables; Free balances a bowl of dip on his lap.  Sarah has a cake up front.  Mike starts the car and they are off.

In February of 1978, Mike purchased the vacant lot next to his auto repair shop and hired two more mechanics, Greg and Paul.  Mike’s old mentor, Ernie Mueller, came down from San Francisco and literally wept at the site of Mike’s shop and his success.  It was one of Mike’s proudest moments. The two men had a picture taken in front of the shop that was now hanging in the office.

At the Clarks’, more club brothers have arrived. The driveway is crowded with choppers; chrome glistens in the sun, burning oil fills the air.  Morgan Stewart is in his sixth year as President; John is still the Sergeant at Arms.  VP Big Al Riley had begun to have heart issues, so Salem Lund was elected Vice President.  His co-ownership of Full Throttle Customs and the Swizzle Stick with Morgan and his general intelligence made him the natural choice. His old position of Road Captain went to Justis Jones. Dewey Leightner is still Treasurer but Melvin Robideaux is now Secretary as Clayton “Spider” Carvell had been imprisoned for possession of an illegal firearm and a small amount of methamphetamine.  In his absence, the club looks after his wife, Sam, and two very young children, two- year old Travis and one- year old Casey.

Alex Lund, Salem’s twin brother, is now an unlikely part of this scene.  Since starting his own legal practice and moving to Carmel, the twins had resumed their close relationship, spending a lot of time together.  Alex has also become the club’s go-to attorney, except for any cases that involve his brother.  Those he gives to his newly acquired partner, Frank Abbott.

Now Salem arrives, Sadie in tow.  She is carrying their eleven- month old daughter, Rowan.  After discovering that she was pregnant, Sadie and Salem had married. To please his parents, there had been a wedding at the Swedish American Hall in San Francisco, much to the amusement of his club brothers.  Clearly, the ties that he had to his parents were still strong, despite all the grief that he continued to inflict upon them.  A more fitting party was held the following weekend at the Souls’ clubhouse before the newlyweds took off for a honeymoon in Sweden, where Salem’s younger sister had returned after her own marriage.

Sandy and Jimmy come through the back gate.  Edie gently lowers her three and a half- year old daughter, Jessica, down to the grass and goes over to help with Sandy’s bag.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, embracing Sandy.  “How are you?”

“Great,” Sandy replies, but flashes a look to Edie that means she is anything but.

“Is Pandora gonna be here?” Jimmy asks.

“I think so, but why don’t you go and play with your cousins for now?”  Edie steers the boy in the direction of her two sons, Warren, six, and Shane, five.

Sandy follows Edie over to one of the picnic tables.  “I assume that means Lucas and Julie are coming?”

“They’re invited,” Edie says, uncovering the macaroni salad.

Sandy sighs.  “Well, I guess I can’t avoid them forever.  I’d like to, though!”

Free and Eve Blackhorse come over and set the vegetables and dip down on the table.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Free asks.

Edie points him to the front yard.  He goes off running with Eve trailing behind him.  They nearly trip their parents on their way back out the gate.

“Stay around here!” Mike shouts.

Sarah sets her cake down with the other desserts while Mike goes off to grab a beer from one of the many coolers.

“Happy 4th!” Sarah says.

Sandy nods.  “Yep!  I’m gonna go put this wine in the fridge.”

“How’s she doin’?” Sarah asks Edie.

“Not great, but she’ll be fine.  She’s got to get back on her feet.  I think it’s a good sign that she came!”

“Yeah, it ain’t gonna be easy seein’ Lucas and Julie,” Sarah admits.  “I could just kill him for doin’ what he did.”

Morgan Stewart spots Mike at the cooler and walks over.  He opens the lid and pulls out an icy bottle.

“How are ya, Blackhorse?”

“Great!  You?”

“Never better!”

Morgan pops the top off his beer with a pocketknife and drinks down half the contents.  “That’s good shit!  Gotta keep Ol’ Smiley grinnin’!”

He turns to watch Kim Daniels walk over to Sarah and Edie.  True to his word, he still hasn’t married her.  His two sons have joined him this 4th of July.  Lane is now twelve and has grown sullener with each passing year.  Invariably, it is Morgan’s fault that the boy is the way he is.  The four hundred miles between he and Valerie is no barrier for blame.  Being raised in San Francisco by his mother, Victoria, seven-year-old Max seems to be faring better.

“Oh, God!” Edie says as Kevin Miller enters the backyard. “Here comes trouble.”

Sandy is still inside.  Kevin strides over to Morgan and Mike, claps his president on the back and then grabs a beer.  He is unconcerned about seeing Sandy and does not understand the awkwardness it will bring her.  Hell, he was never looking to settle down and if that’s what she thought, it was her fault, not his.  Still, when he sees her come out of the kitchen and stop short, his face flushes.  Gathering herself, she walks past him and back toward Sarah and Edie.

“Hey, girl,” Kevin says and grabs her arm.

Sandy stares him down, her body tense.

“Calm down,” he says, and then loosens his grip.  “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Sandy laughs.  “Yeah,” she says and walks off.

Morgan shakes his head.  “Let it go, brother.”

“What?  I don’t want any bad feelings and weepy chicks ruining my day, that’s all.”  Kevin downs his beer.  “Besides, it ain’t your business.”

“I know,” Morgan says, and walks off to find another distraction.

Kevin reaches into the cooler for another beer.  “You know that broad pretty well,” he says to Mike.

“Yep.”

“Well, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“Not sure.”  Mike does not want to get involved in this.  At all.

“Fuck it!” Kevin says, and then he, too, walks off.

It is dusk by the time Lucas and Julie show up and she marches straight over to Sandy.

“Look, we need to talk,” she says.

Sandy finishes off her glass of wine.  “Alright.  Let’s go inside.”  She refills her glass and offers one to Julie. They sit down at the kitchen table.

“It’s been three months since Lucas and I got married,” Julie starts.  “Please, can’t we put the shit behind us?”

Sandy runs her finger around the base of her glass.  “He hurt me, Julie.”

“He hurt me, too!  So did you, but I can’t go on like this.  We’ve been friends for too long to let a man get between us.”

“So you’ve forgiven me?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?  Have you forgiven him?”

“I don’t know.  No, I guess not fully.  Not yet.”  Julie sighs.  “The truth is I guess if it really came down to it, I’d rather have you than him.”

Sandy smiles.  “That’s funny.”

“Why?”

“That’s how I feel, too.  I just don’t know if I’m ready to see him again.”

“You don’t have to.  Besides, I don’t think he wants to see you, either.  He knows he’s an asshole!”

Julie gets up from her chair and goes around to Sandy, hugging her from behind.  “I love you!  I’ve missed having you in my life!”

Sandy can feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks.  “Me too,” she sputters.

Mike has found his way to the garage.  Under a huge Souls of Liberty flag, a game of darts is going on in one corner, a game of pool in another and lots of drinking and laughing in between.

“Hey, Mikey!”  John says.  His eyes are red slits and he sways slightly on his stool.

It always amazes Mike how much alcohol these guys could put away, but then he remembers when he had just returned from Vietnam and how much he was drinking himself.  These guys were doing it in happiness for the most part; he had been doing it in despair.

“Come on in,” Morgan says, raising a beer bottle.  Pretty wasted himself, he throws an arm around Mike’s shoulders.  “How’s your bike runnin’ these days?”

“Pretty good.  I keep it up even though I don’t ride it too much, ya know!”

“Hey!”  Morgan says conspiratorially.  He points his beer bottle in Mike’s face.  “You know what?  We both have a brother who spent time with Sandy…and didn’t survive!  Is she a man eater or what?”

Mike smiles, but is not sure where this is going.  These guys were so unpredictable when they were drunk.

“Yah, I guess we do,” he says.

Morgan nods.  “You know what else?”  He leads Mike down the driveway, his arm still around his shoulders.  “You ever think about joining a club?  Our club?  We could use a guy like you.  You keep your bike running, you’re responsible, you were in Nam.  I bet you can fight.  You get along with all of us…”

Mike is taken aback.  He has thought about it, but only in fantasy terms.  Only when he sees them ride through town in a pack, wishing he were going wherever they were off to.  To be a member of the Souls of Liberty would take so much of his time.  Time that he simply didn’t have.

“Morgan, I appreciate it.  Really!  I’m…honored that you would ask me, but I just don’t think I could find the time.”

Morgan nods.  “Yeah, well, you think about it, okay?“  He lets his arm slip from Mike’s shoulders.  “It’s a good club.  I think you could use us.”

“I know what you mean,” Mike says.  “I do.”

“I know you do.  Think about it, alright?”

Mike remembers the morning when he confessed his absolute worst secrets from Vietnam to Morgan.  Aside from Pete, who took the knowledge to his grave, he was the only other human being in Mike’s world who knew what he had done.  He knows exactly what Morgan means.  And they both know that Mike will decline the offer.

San Clemente is a sleepy, Southern California beach town.  Haven Hartford has made it his home.  He and his girlfriend, Seta Kapoor, had tied the knot after being together for two years and now have a five-month old daughter, Drisana.  After spending the better part of his time working on new paintings, Haven had an extremely successful run of shows at galleries in Laguna Beach where he sold all of his work.  As the money came in, he began to think more and more about opening up his own art store and studio in San Clemente, a town where he had become very comfortable.

In October of 1978, The Art Haven opened downtown and the Hartfords moved to a two-bedroom apartment near the San Clemente Pier.  Haven began offering art classes on Thursday evenings and was so over-booked that he had to place tables out on the sidewalk.  Life has finally fallen into place for him.

When Pandora, his daughter with Julie, comes down for the summers, he takes her surfing with him.  The little girl amazed her father and friends with her innate skill. With determination, fierce brown eyes fixed on the waves, Pandora seemed older than her mere four years.  Haven had no doubts that this girl was something very special.  Despite his excitement and pride, he couldn’t shake another feeling that seemed almost like fear.  Seta, too, saw something unexplainable in the child, a maturity that seemed overbearing in a sense.

In San Francisco, Maura Weston is managing the bookstore, Moonstone Books.  She and her son, Toby, now twelve, live in a small house near Golden Gate Park.  Louise Powell still owns and oversees the operations of the bookstore, but has given up many of the daily duties to Maura, concentrating on her tarot card readings instead.

The apartment above the store has been sitting vacant for some time now, and Maura is on her way to meet a new prospective tenant.  As she walks toward the store, she can just make out a man standing near the stairs that led up to the one-bedroom apartment.

“Hello!” Maura says, extending a hand.  “I’m a little out of breath!”

“Hi,” the man extends his hand.  “I’m Asher Levin.”

Maura takes his hand.  “Maura Weston.  Come on up.”

The man follows her up the stairs and then waits on the landing while she opens the door.

“It may be a bit musty,” Maura says.  “I’m afraid I haven’t been very diligent about opening the windows up here.”

Asher Levin laughs, closes the door behind them.  “It’s a one bedroom?”

“Yes.  It’s great for one person…or a couple.  Would it just be you or…?”

“Yes, just me.  Oh!  And my pet cat, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”  Maura pulls the curtains back in the kitchen and opens the window.  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Levin, if I may ask?”

“Of course!  I’m a teacher over at City College on Phelan, but I’m also studying to get my PhD in Psychology. I’d like to teach at one of the universities.”

“Well!  Impressive!  That’s wonderful!  What do you currently teach?”

“General Psychology.  It’s interesting, but not really enough for me.”

Asher peeks into the bedroom.  “May I?” he asks, and then proceeds into the small room.

“Of course!”  Maura says.  “There’s an attached bathroom back there as well!”

“I like it,” he says, returning.  “What do we do about that?”

“Great!  I just have some paperwork here…”

Maura watches as he fills out the application.  His writing is neat, small.  His hair is black and curly; he has a well-kempt beard and moustache.  He wears round glasses.  He somewhat reminds her of Cat Stevens.

As they head out of the apartment, Maura explains the hours and operations of the bookstore below.  Asher listens politely before heading back to his car, a well-worn red Karman Ghia.

“See you next week, then!”  Maura calls.  “Oh!  What’s your cat’s name?”

“Freud!  What else?”

Louise Powell has been engaged to photographer Avery Booth for one month now.  Micheaux, Louise’s nine-year old son, has taken a deep liking to Avery, which has made things easier on everyone, especially Louise.  Knowing how much the boy had loved his father, Cain, she feared that he would never allow another man to be as a father to him.  However, Mikey was only five when Cain was shot and killed on duty while working for the Oakland Police Department, and although he remembers his father well enough, he had still been young enough to be able to accept someone else.

Louise is relieved when she hears that the apartment has been rented.  She hopes that he will stay for some time as the added income really helps.  Avery’s photography business did very well (as did the bookstore), but extra money always came in handy, especially with a growing boy in the house.

Louise had hoped to move to Monterey, especially after Pete Clark’s murder, but the bookstore and Avery’s photography didn’t make it plausible.  Instead, they rented a large, four-bedroom apartment on Fulton St. that was within walking distance of Moonstone.  There was plenty of time to plan for their future.

Why Now is the Perfect Time for “Red, White & Blues” to be Made Into a T.V. Series

AARP Baby Boomers (Sean McCabe)“What did I just read?”  You may well be asking this question, but by the time you finish reading this blog, you will (hopefully) be agreeing with the headline instead.

With the sequel to my novel, “Red, White & Blues” getting closer to completion (yes, I’m STILL editing the final draft), I have been thinking about just how much material I have between the two tomes for a great fucking television series.  With the first book at 760 pages and the second threatening to be close to that, there’s many seasons worth of material with lots of great stories, characters, locations, etc.

When “Sons of Anarchy” first aired, I thought, “A show about a motorcycle club!  Why hasn’t this been done before?  Will this even be any good?”  I wanted it to be.  After all, my own novel involves a fictitious motorcycle club (Souls of Liberty) and it would sort be like fantasizing about my own story being played out before my own eyes.

It was good.  It was engrossing, the characters engaging , likeable and sympathetic-even the ones that did bad things.  Just like my own characters whom have garnered sympathy and likability from those that had read and reviewed the book.  While the show had some contrived, cliched and over-the-top moments, it was far and away one of the best television shows I had seen (along with “Hannibal”, “Mad Men” and HBO’s “Deadwood”).  And those moments didn’t bother me much because I am a firm believer in the need for cliches and the like when trying to reach a broad and varied audience.  Sometimes it’s the only way to reel everyone in.

Now that “Sons of Anarchy” has ended and Kurt Sutter has moved on to other projects (which I applaud him for as well as ending the show), there’s a gap that needs to be filled.  A new show about a motorcycle club needs to be placed in front of the now starved and longing public, who  have developed a special place for those guys that some of them probably never even knew they could have.  But it also needs to be more.

A new show has also caught my eye that could be seen as bridging the gap between something like “Sons of Anarchy” and the brilliant modern period piece “Mad Men”, also now gone.  “Aquarius” has popped up on CBS and although it isn’t the greatest show out there, it is tapping into a niche that someone feels needs to be filled (myself included).  The Baby Boomers are feeling nostalgic and hungry for shows that cater to them.  Where are all the hippies, hipsters, bikers, stoners, musicians, freeloaders and just plain Sixties and Seventies folk?

Here!  Over here!  “Red, White & Blues” follows a group of diverse (ethnically as well as personally) friends through the seminal years of 1964-1977.  We’ve got hippies, artists and bikers.  We’ve got the Vietnam War and those left behind.  We’ve got men returning to find a changed country and little sympathy or understanding.  We’ve got sex, drugs, rock n roll, babies, children, marriages, divorces and deaths.  We’ve got changing ideals and lifestyles alongside those who stay true and steady to what they believe.  There’s whites, blacks and Native Americans.  There’s San Francisco, Vietnam, Wisconsin, Mississippi and Monterey.  In short, we’ve really got it all!

With the sequel picking up just two years later and covering the years 1979-1990, the show can go on!  The children are becoming teenagers now, growing up in an era of new technology and a changing music scene.  And there’s a new group of people introduced:  the gay community in San Francisco during the early days of the AIDS struggle.  Now we have familiar but also new situations to deal with:  puberty, teen sex, personal goals and successes and failures, intertwined lifestyles, AIDS and cancer, deaths and births.

So all you screenwriters out there or scouts looking for that next big television show that will fill a growing gap, I suggest you look at the Baby Boomer Generation, of which I am a proud member (albeit on the tail end).  Here is where your audience is, your material, your stories.  It’s time to retell our stories, let us revel in our nostalgia and show the younger generation (who are for the most part quite curious about the Sixties,Seventies and even Eighties) what we lived through and why were are who we are.  For better AND for worse.  “Red, White & Blues” and the upcoming sequel is your answer.