Category: California Trips

The Day Mel Gibson Kicked My Cat

The true real life encounter of my cat with Mel Gibson.
Part of a new series about my real life in Hollywood-
Up In The Attic.

In a bygone era, I was the proud owner of a quaint theatre nestled in the heart of Hollywood—the Attic Theatre. My partner, Denise Reagan Wiesenmeyer, and I ran this cozy establishment, complete with a 50-seat auditorium, a small company of actors, administrative offices, and a rear dance studio that we leased out for classes and rehearsals.

Our theatre found its home in an aging edifice on Santa Monica Blvd. The building itself had witnessed decades of history as it was right in the middle of film soundstages, lighting and equipment companies, small production companies and the industrial part of the film business. I knew little of its early days, except for a fascinating tidbit: during World War II, the building had housed a parachute factory. Back then, parachutes were a novelty and considered a military weapon, and the building stood under military watch as these life-saving contraptions were meticulously packed.

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The building’s owner, an elderly gentleman, treated it as a mere revenue stream. Maintenance was an afterthought, and the structure bore the scars of neglect. I acquired the theatre from a man named Bill Sorrell, who, along with the Swayze brothers—Patrick and Donnie—had birthed the Attic Theatre. The Swayze siblings, fresh from Texas, had ventured to Hollywood with their wives, eager to make their mark in the film industry. Their fateful collaboration with Bill Sorrell gave rise to the Attic Theatre.

Perched on the second floor of the ancient building, the Attic Theatre became our creative haven. Denise and I assumed control in 1987, launching a vibrant repertoire of plays. By 1990, we had also taken over abandoned office space within the same structure and fashioned a humble four-room apartment complete with a kitchen. It lacked opulence but offered proximity to our artistic endeavors.

The old building 2016. The Attic was on the second floor left side. Building was shut down in 2001 and we moved to Culver City area.

As struggling artists, our lives revolved around the theater. We juggled outside jobs to make ends meet, but the Attic was our sanctuary—a realm where autonomy reigned supreme. No one dictated our choices; we were masters of our own destiny.

Our little theatre somehow defied the odds. Despite our shoestring budget and the building’s faded grandeur, the Attic Theatre thrived. We churned out good plays and sometimes even great productions. We were earning a reputation as a haven for artists—a place where creativity blossomed, and dreams took flight.

I had taken a brief business trip and Denise, my capable partner, held down the fort while I was away. She was the beating heart of our operation, both a good administrator and a wonderful theatre producer. Upon my return, we convened to discuss the theatre business and that is when she told me that a company by the name of Icon Productions had booked the dance studio for a reading of a screenplay. The name immediately caught my attention because I knew Icon Productions was Mel Gibson’s production company. In the early ’90s, Mel wasn’t just an actor; he was a cinematic force, weaving tales both in front of and behind the camera as a producer and director. I was shocked that such a prestigious outfit would choose our modest theatre. Our place, though well-maintained, was a little low rent for a major film company to use for their reading.

ICON Image

I kept the news from Denise. She idolized Mel Gibson, and I didn’t want to raise her hopes prematurely. But curiosity gnawed at me. Why here?

Days later, the phone rang—a production manager for Icon Productions was on the line. His concern? Parking. The executives attending the reading needed ample space. I inquired about the headcount: around 30. Our parking lot, alas, was a postage stamp—a handful of spots shared among tenants. I explained this to the manager, emphasizing that the spaces weren’t mine to allocate and that the executives would have to park on the street or arrange other alternatives. He assured me that this would not be a problem.

Mel Gibson as he is today.

It was then that I informed Denise that it was Mel Gibson’s company who was renting our space and that he might be there. She became so excited that I thought she was going to faint. Even though the production meeting for Mel Gibson’s company was still two days away, she went back there and immediately started cleaning up the studio to make it look as perfect for Mel Gibson as she could.

The day finally arrived—and my worst fears came true. The Hollywood elite, their luxury cars began arriving and filling the parking lot. Land Rovers, Mercedes, Jaguars—all vying for our meager parking spaces. The other tenants, unaccustomed to this overflow, erupted in protest. I was caught in the crossfire, played reluctant traffic cop, my pleas drowned out by irate voices.

The production manager, seemingly impervious to chaos, stood his ground. Executives, he declared, wouldn’t be relegated to street parking. Our arrangement meant nothing to him. I told him that maybe the cars would be towed by the other businesses. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I watched helplessly as the luxury cars multiplied, stacking atop one another while the other businesses’ patrons were relegated to the curb, and the tenants hurled colorful expletives my way.

And there, amidst the parking mayhem, Denise was star-struck. She’d met Mel, her eyes wide as saucers, and guided him upstairs. The plain and unassuming rehearsal studio was now filled with high powered movie execs including Mel Gibson as the executive producer, while production assistants scurried, setting tables, arranging chairs, and stocking coolers with drinks and lunch.

Example of a table read for a film. This was not Mr. Gibson’s read.

The script that they were reading was a new one that they were considering producing as a movie. There were no other movie stars there besides Mel. It was just executives hearing the production assistants read the movie out loud to see what they thought about it.

Occasionally Denise would go to the rehearsal hall to check if they needed anything, but I think it was secretly to see Mel. Down in the parking lot I had morphed from theater manager/owner to an impromptu parking valet, my frustration simmering beneath a veneer of professionalism. Yet, I wanted to keep their business in case they ever come back. Often, I would go upstairs to get keys from the production manager for a certain car to move so the other tenants’ customers could use the space. I was pissed off, but I just wanted to get through the day. They were booked for only four hours, and I managed to hold off the other businesses owners until finally it was over. Than all the executives began to leave and all the luxury cars that had been crammed into our parking lot like sardines, now vanished into the afternoon traffic. Eventually, everyone was gone, and I walked up to the office.  

Denise, her starstruck glow undiminished, wanted to thank Mel personally. So, we wandered back through the theatre, through the backstage, and opened the connecting door to the rehearsal hall.

Now remember we lived at the theatre space, and we had a cat. Our cat was named Squirrel, a beautiful female that we’d had since just after she was born. One day, a few years before, a very tiny kitten had somehow managed to survive extremely busy Santa Monica Blvd and had wandered up the stairs to our theatre and just sat there. Denise did not live with me at the time and so I tried to shoo the cat away, but she wouldn’t leave. So eventually I fed the tiny little kitten, and from then I belonged to her. Cats have a way of just kind of staking their claim on you and that’s what Squirrel did. There’s an old saying about cats that goes “dogs have owners, cats have staff”, and it is very true. Our cat got her name when Denise moved in because of the way she bounced and ran around all over the place like a crazy squirrel out in your front yard.

Mel Gibson as he looked at the time of kicking Squirrel

So, Squirrel had followed us back as we were saying goodbye to Mel Gibson and the production manager who had booked the space. There were still 2 production assistants there folding up the tables and chairs and packing up the food. Now Mel Gibson is not a big man. He is probably about 5’6 or 5’7 and had on cowboy boots to jack him up another couple of inches. Most leading men in Hollywood are actually quite short. He seemed fairly nice, and both Denise and I were fans of his. She was more gaga than I was, but I was very impressed that Mel Gibson was standing in my business.

While we are standing around saying our goodbyes, Squirrel who was a very people friendly feline was wandering around and she rubbed up against Mel Gibson’ leg. Inexplicably Mel Gibson drew back his boot and forcefully kicked Squirrel about 6 feet across the rehearsal room.

OWWWWWW!

I was shocked at his action and quickly checked to see if my cat was ok. I looked over at Denise, and the look on her face made it clear she was as upset as I was. Turning to Mel Gibson, I asked, “Why did you just kick my cat?”

Mel Gibson looked at me and said, “I don’t like cats. I don’t want them anywhere around me.”

I responded, “Well she’s our cat and this is her house. She only trying to be friendly.”

Mel Gibson said, “I don’t give a damn! Keep the cat away from me.”

Maybe it’s because I was irritated from 4 hours of re-parking the cars of over privileged and inconsiderate movie executives who had showed no regard for my business or the people who worked in the building, yet without hesitation, I told Mel Gibson, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Everybody in the room froze. The two production assistants regarded me with astonishment, as if I had blasphemed the Almighty.  The production manager was completely shocked. Mel regarded me for a second and said, “Well, you have a crappy theatre anyway.”

I said, “That may be true, but you’ve already paid me for it. Have a good day.”

At which point Mel Gibson turned, and he and his big cowboy boots stomped loudly down the wooden stairs to the parking lot. After he had quit stomping down the stairs, the production manager turned to me, “People don’t speak to Mr. Gibson that way.”

“Well people don’t kick my cat either. When you guys get all packed up, you can go as well.” I asked Denise to make sure that they left, and I picked up our bewildered cat and went back to our apartment.

I understood that some people have an aversion for cats for whatever reason, but you do not go into someone’s home or business and kick their cat that hard. I thought it was very arrogant and a cruel way to treat someone else’s animal and pet.

Mel’s mug shot after his arrest.

It was a few years later that, Mel Gibson had his major blowout with the Jewish policeman who pulled him over for drunk driving in Malibu, California. Mel berated the man, calling him all kinds of ethnic and racial slurs. When I heard the story, I was not shocked. During our encounter in the rehearsal room, I had concluded that he didn’t seem like a very nice man.

I’m still a Mel Gibson fan to a degree. I think he’s a wonderful director and a good actor, but I probably would not want to speak to him if given the opportunity. That is the true story of when Mel Gibson kicked my cat.

When Denise left to move back to Illinois because of an illness in 2000, the new owner of the building began trying to force all the tenants out. He raised our rent 4 times in 4 months. I was forced to move the theatre to the Culver City area on Washington Blvd and continued running it until 2016 when I sold the theatre company to another group.

The front door to the old Attic Theatre in Hollywood. Building is now vacant.

For the official record, I hereby attest that the following account is my own personal recollection of the events that transpired, over a quarter-century ago, within the confines of my theatre. The building is still standing on Santa Monica Blvd., though now abandoned since the year 2001. The other tenants and businesses have all gone or moved. I am unconnected to their present whereabouts.

My dearest friend and confidante, Denise, she passed away in 2007, her laughter and camaraderie forever etched in my heart.

As for the employees of Mr. Gibson and his company, I never knew them or their names, and have no idea where they currently may be.

The building as it looks now in 2023. Completely abandoned and derelict.

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Images of the Salton Sea, California

Escaping LA and the Salton Sea

Leaving California

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off too.” J.R.R.Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings.

It was 3:15 AM on March 16th and the Road was calling. I was wide awake staring at the ceiling. I had been trying to go back to sleep for the past 45 minutes and it just wasn’t going to happen. What I didn’t know was the strange last-day-in-California adventure that awaited me over the next 24 hours that would include casinos, a salt water lake, an apocalyptic ruin, an Alaskan in the middle of the desert, and a stripper/dance contest in Yuma, AZ. How did the Road sweep me away on this adventure?  Well, that’s where this story begins!

The Hacienda. My home for 20 years!

My house was empty! The place I had called home for 20 years was now completely empty.

Everything is gone except these things!

Every stick of furniture, every piece of paper, every knickknack, tchotchkech, and geegaw that I had ever possessed was gone! Over the past week I had sponsored an estate sale and then a truck from a local charity had come by and picked up the last possessions that I had not wanted to keep. For weeks before that I had been packing and sorting and throwing out massive amounts of junk. Then out of a large 17 room house, I only had two small U-Haul pods of possessions left that I had personally loaded and sent on their way towards Atlanta. The only thing that was still left in the house was the long-time caretaker of the property that had allowed me to travel the world as much as I had and who also happened to be my roommate, Kirk. He would be staying in the house for about another month until it sold and then he would be off on his own new adventure. I had said goodbye to Kirk and then booked a room in a Koreatown hotel. After checking in, I had gotten a takeout pizza and two large cans of beer which I had in my hotel room while watching some terrible movie on TV. About 10:30 I realized that I was emotionally exhausted and just crashed only to find myself waking up at 2:30 AM. For the next 45 minutes as I struggled to go back to sleep, my mind kept going “It’s time to go. James, it’s time to go! The Road is calling! Let’s go!” 

The Road Calls!

So finally giving in, I got up, took a quick shower and got packed. I was checked out and had the car loaded by 3:45 AM. Before I left Los Angeles perhaps for the last time, I drove by my place one last time. My house, my home, my Hacienda that had been the center of my life for the last 20 years. As I sat in the car and looked at her there in the moonlight, I said one silent last goodbye. I was off on a new life adventure, and she was waiting for the next family that would call her home. I said a silent prayer for both of us, started the car and drove the two blocks to Interstate 10. I merged into the late-night traffic and headed east out of the City of Angels.

For days before leaving, I had tried to think of which highways I wanted to head East on. My sister had urged me to take my time driving across the country and see all the things that I wanted to see. Yet, I had made this trip four times in the last year and a half, and I had stopped every place that I had wanted to stop and had seen everything that I needed to see. So that morning as I drove out of LA, I had no clear plan as to where I was going to go or what my timeline getting to Atlanta was going to be. So I just decide on Palm Springs. I didn’t know if I was going stop in Palm Springs, chill out at Desert Hot Springs or just keep on moving, but Palm Springs was going to be my first stop.  Palm Springs is about 90 miles from Los Angeles and that 90 miles even on 8 lane freeways usually takes at least two and half hours because of the California traffic. Yet at four in the morning there is little to no traffic, so I pulled into the parking lot at the large Morongo Casino on the outskirts of Palm Springs about 5:30 AM.

Morongo Casino, Resort & Spa is an Native American gaming casino, of the Morongo Band of Cahuilla Mission Indians. The Morongo Casino was opened in 2004. It is open seven days a week, 24 hours a day. The hotel has 310 rooms, and several restaurants and bars are part of the complex. I was already vaccinated so I went inside to find breakfast. The 24-hour restaurant was closed because of Covid and reduced hours, so I got a muffin and coffee at the bakery. Then wandered around and played video poker with the help of a Bloody Mary until 7 AM when the Road called again urging me on.

It is at that moment that I decided to drive the 60 miles to the Salton Sea and check it out. I had lived in Southern California for almost 40 years and never even thought much about seeing it and it was now or never. I headed east on I-10 toward Indio and got off on California 86 South and drove pass Coachella, the home of the famous music festival, and continued on toward the Salton Sea. You reach a point where you can take either the eastern shore on Highway 111 or the western shore on Highway 86. I choose the eastern shore which would lead me toward an artist colony I had heard of called Bombay Beach.

The Salton Sea is a shallow, landlocked body of water that has a high concentration of salts. It was created by water runoff from the Colorado River in 1905 when an irrigation canal head gate was broken through by spring floods diverting a portion of the river flow into the Salton Basin for two years before repairs were completed. The water in the formerly dry lake bed created the modern lake that is about 15 by 35 miles. The lake would have dried up, but farmers used generous amounts of Colorado River water and let the excess flow into the lake. In the 1950s and into the ’60s, the area became a resort destination, and communities grew with hotels and vacation homes. However, by the 1970’s, the lake had begun to shrink and become more inhospitable to people and wildlife. In the 1980s, contamination from farm runoff promoted the outbreak and spread of diseases. Massive die-offs of the avian populations occurred, especially after the loss of several species of fish on which they depend. Salinity rose so high that large fish kills occurred, often blighting the beaches of the sea with their carcasses. Tourism was drastically reduced. During the 1990’s, the lake continued to shrink and the lake bed became exposed, the winds sent clouds of toxic dust into nearby communities making people sick and driving away what was left of the tourist communities. The Salton Sea has been called “the greatest environmental disaster in California”.

Advertising a place that no longer exists!

As I drove South on Hwy 111, I started to pass nurseries that grew palm trees but after a few miles even that sign of activity ended. You came into open arid desert with panoramic views of the lake on your right and nothing but endless desert on your left. I drove by what at one time had been communities, but now all the buildings were either boarded up or in disrepair. I drove by one community where people still lived, and I pulled off the highway to see what I could see. Most everybody in the community was older and at a local Community Center they were handing out food and supplies to the residents possibly because of COVID. What you soon began to understand is this is one of the last places that people with little or no resources can come to and stay in California. They could buy a cheap piece of property, or they might be able to find a room, small apartment or trailer for not much money, but there was just a sense of poverty and loneliness as I got back on Hwy 111.

The US Department of Interior has taken over much of the eastern shore of the lake and turned it into a preserve trying to maintain the wildlife and keep the lake from further eroding. There are many areas where the river has retreated so far from the lake that you can almost not see it from the highway, and these areas unless you have a pass or are willing to pay the daily entrance fee is the only way that you can get close to the lake. Finally I came to Bombay Beach which I had heard about on a television show which they had described as a colony of artists who were banding together on the edge of the Salton Sea. I turned off the highway into Bombay Beach and for the first few blocks as I headed towards the lake it seemed like it was doing well. There were a few art galleries, a restaurant, a couple of bars and a grocery store. Yet, as you drove the last few blocks toward the lake it suddenly became a cross between The Walking Dead and Mad Max. You had the feeling that you were in an apocalyptic ghost town and zombies were going to start walking down the road at any moment to eat you. For blocks, yard after yard of burned out houses and trailers were surrounded by junked furniture and trash. Every once in a while, you would see someone who had a small house or trailer who was trying to take care of their property but they were surrounded by chaos and garbage and ruin. It looked like a whole army of crystal meth heads had ransacked the town looking for anything that they could sell and moved on. The few people that I saw driving on the street or walking were all above 50 and they seemed old and beaten down. I drove out of Bombay Beach with a feeling of sadness at what looked like a desperate situation.

Desperation this way!

Continuing south on Hwy 111, it ultimately dumps out on Interstate 8 that runs between San Diego and Phoenix along the US southern border with Mexico. I turned left and headed east towards Yuma, AZ. A few years ago was the first time I’d ever gone to Yuma, and I have now been back five times. There’s something about this desert community and its colorful history mixed with it easy paced lifestyle that just appeals to me, although the extreme summer heat can makes it very inhospitable. As I drove east, I decide to stop one more time in Yuma before I headed towards Atlanta.

Yuma is located on the southwestern edge of the state of Arizona near the borders of California and Mexico. It is home to a number of snowbirds in the winter and other visitors are often enroute to Los Algodones, Mexico for cheap medical services or for the shopping. Yuma has been a stopping point for centuries. Before dams were constructed up and down the Colorado River, the river ran fast and deep and stretched wide in places, yet because of granite outcroppings the river was squeezed into a narrower channel and Yuma Crossing became known as the safest and easiest place to cross the river. The first Spanish conquistadors who helped settle Los Angeles and San Francisco did not sail up the California coast to settle those areas, they used Yuma Crossing on their way towards California.

Gowan Headquarters in the former US Post Office Building.

I pulled into town and checked into one of several hotels located in Yuma. There are all levels of hotels here from cheap to very luxurious because of the flow of Americans who cross into Los Algodones for easy to obtain medical treatment and prescriptions. I choose one relatively near the historic downtown area of Yuma. It was about noon and the weather was in the mid-80s in March as I headed downtown to get something to eat. Arizona had fairly open Covid laws so as I walked around, I saw people wearing masks and some people not. After lunch, I walked around the historic downtown area and saw many of their restored historic buildings. Some dating from the late 1890s all the way up until the 1960s. Yuma is one of the wealthiest farming communities in the United States specializing in growing winter vegetables for the US market. The Gowan Company is a family-owned agricultural business that started in Yuma and grew into a global leader in seeds and agricultural solutions. They have bought up many of the historic buildings and preserved them using them for office and storage space including many mid-century architectural gems.

Former JCPenney’s store from the 1950’s!

My odd schedule finally caught up with me and I went back to the hotel for a nap. Later, around 8 PM, I ventured out for dinner in the same downtown area. Afterward, I took another walk and ended up at the Red Bird Cage, one of the oldest saloons in Yuma, a real dive bar with friendly bartenders and a great juke box. It was a little close in there with a very casual mask and social distancing policy, but I managed to find a quiet corner of the bar to seat by myself.  As the bar began to fill up, a young couple sat down next to me, and we started talking. They were cousins and both really attractive people. Turns out he was an exotic dancer working in the Phoenix area mostly, and she (who I will call Ann) lived in Alaska working at the canneries up there about half the year. The other months, she returned home to Yuma to work in a family business, but she now really preferred Alaska. She told me that she almost did not return to Yuma this year because she just loved Alaska so much.

Colorado River

After talking for about an hour, some of their friends showed and things got a little rowdier. After a couple of rounds of drinks, they started talking about going to the strip club for the “dance off”. I asked what that was, and it turned out that there was some kind of dancing/stripping contest at the local club to see who had the best routine. Ann seemed to be in lust with one of the strippers and wanted to go support her. The whole gang got up to leave for the club, and Ann invited me along. With nothing better to do, I tagged along. Now going to a strip bar in the middle of pandemic is a very interesting undertaking with everyone wearing masks inside including the strippers as they walked around trying to get men to buy drinks. It was very strange to see a woman wearing almost nothing sit at a table chatting up a potential customer with a mask on. The image was just too weird for words.

The “dance off” began and Ann’s favorite came on second. Ann enthusiastically cheered her on while throwing dollar bills on the stage. By now it was about 1 AM and this time the Road was not calling, it was my Bed. So I said good night and drove back to the hotel. Yet as I got ready for bed, I reflected back on the past 24 hours and marveled at all the different things that happened. My leaving LA in the middle of the night, the casino, the desolation of Salton Sea and Bombay Beach, then driving to Yuma, meeting a woman in a desert bar who worked in Alaska and the strip/dance off contest. All in all, an extremely interesting way to leave California.  

Thanks for coming!

*Special thanks to Wikipedia for historic information on Salton Sea, Morongo Tribe, and Yuma, AZ. All photos by James Carey except The Open Road @ Popular Science/popsci.com and Leaving LA @KCRW LA.

**Quote from The Fellowship of the Ring, JRR Tolkien, Houghton Mifflin, Inc., 1938.

Ode to a Home

A house is a home!

Well the packing continues, and we’re almost done. Painters and carpenters, realtors and workmen have been constantly coming in and out of the front door as I have packed and hauled boxes and things out of the attic and basement. Opening boxes of stuff I haven’t seen in years, giving stuff away and holding an estate sale which got rid of my record collection and most of my movie poster collection and my comic book collection. Yet there is so much left in this house!

When I first moved into this neighborhood called West Adams or Kenny Heights or Western Heights, a historical neighborhood just west of downtown Los Angeles, the neighbors called my three story, 65-foot-wide house built in the Spanish Mission Arts and Crafts style – the Hacienda because it looks like a Spanish Hacienda. And that name stuck not only as a nickname but as a reference to our house and also as the name of the business that grew out of having four extra bedrooms and other living spaces that this piece of property provided.

It’s hard to watch furniture that you’ve had in your life for 20-30 years, and in a few cases since I was born, being carted out the front door and loaded onto a truck by two men who really don’t care about the furniture at all. They are junk man and I have hired them to clear my house after on an estate sale that really didn’t get rid of a lot of things. I also don’t have time to hold endless garage sales to try in make this stuff go away. My house has 17 rooms. Why 17 rooms you ask? Are you an idiot? Well my first wife and I bought it for a song and then it became a business and I’ve run it as a guest house and an AirBnb since 2005. Literally hundreds of people have stayed at my house as guests. I’ve made friends with people all over the world. I met my second wife here. We’re no longer together but for a while she helped me run this place and also helped me write a one man show about my experiences of running a guest house where people from all over the world stayed.

But it’s time for me to move on. And it’s hard to see furniture that you care about being taken out and just thrown on the back of a truck with no attempt to protect them. You hope that they will end up going someplace where somebody cares for them but you’re not sure. It’s part of letting go. It’s not easy but it’s necessary.

I wonder if furniture has karma? Whether tables and chairs, sofas and antique desks have feelings and wonder where they’re going and what their outcome will be? Will they end up with someone that cares about them or will they end up in a junkyard?

I know houses have that because I felt it. My house and I’ve had a symbiotic relationship for 20 years. When I first bought her, she was in terrible shape and no one had lived in her for six years and over the past 20 years I have replaced the plumbing, the wiring, the roof, the furnace twice, painted the entire interior of the house all 17 rooms except for the dining room (I just never got around to that), sanded all the floors and made her beautiful and livable again. All during that time she has taken care of me by providing me with an excellent side income. Yet it is now time for us to part ways. I can’t afford to do the repairs that she needs to have done that will elevate her from just a comfortable house to an amazing house and that’s something she deserves. And my time in Los Angeles has ended and it’s important for me to go somewhere else. I will miss her. She has taken care of me and watched over me and provided me a place of comfort and retreat when the outside world got too tough. But as we part ways, I am hopefully she will be reborn as the magnificent house she deserves to be.

I miss my furniture, but I knew by taking it with me it would just weigh me down and I needed to let a lot of things go both materially and spiritually. I’ll miss my beautiful old house. She’s been my constant companion for 20 years. The place I could always come back to and be rejuvenated. I will miss my magnificent lady, my Hacienda, my house, my home!

Obtaining Cliché Status!

I am sure you have heard the old cliche about the guy who gets a divorce from his wife, sells his house and all his possessions and then takes off on a trip around the world to find himself? Well, I always thought that was a stupid idea! The wanderlust part of me always thought it was kind of cool, but the practical part of me thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Who gives up their life, their possessions, their job, their business to set out around the world to find themselves because wherever you go there you are. So just deal with it!

Well I have become that cliche!

The Cliché

Due to a dissolving marriage caused by lies, cheating, manipulation, and resentment, my wife and I decided to divorce each other after nine years together and five years of marriage. A very stormy relationship filled with passion and anger and arguing and love. Our views on marriage were just too different, and so what at first was two people trying to figure out how to hang onto each other became two people who were tired of the battles until it became two people who just didn’t care anymore. Like most guys, I hung on longer than my wife did. It has been my experience that when a woman tells you that she’s no longer in love with you, that’s the end and she’s not coming back. Guys tend to hang on longer and rehash the relationship over and over again to find out where it went wrong or what they did wrong or how they can put it back together or will she come back, and the answer is always no. So I found myself still hanging on and waiting for my wife to come back even though she had already found another lover and had moved on with her life. Unfortunately, she never told me that. She kept telling me that she was still just licking her wounds and staying at home to avoid the pandemic and working extremely hard at her job as a film translator. We had decided to blocked each other on social media to save conflicts and hurt feelings, yet one day a good mutual friend showed me her Facebook page and it was filled with references to her new boyfriend and the exciting new life they were leading. So what had started out as an amiable divorce proceeding that we did ourselves quickly dissolved into anger and accusations that ended up with us both ending all communication with each other.

So much stuff to get rid of

The result of which was a deep depression that was helped along by the COVID-19 restrictions in Los Angeles which took me a long time to work my way out from. Then one day I woke up and knew it was time to get out of here. I’ve lived in my home for 20 years. It has taken care of me, provided for me, created a business for me, and for much of my adult life as it was the first thing I had ever owned it defined me to a degree. It’s a large arts and craft house located in a historic neighborhood in Los Angeles and I have lived there with great pride as I have tried to restore this home over 20 years. In many ways I thought I would always be there till the end of my life. Yet with the dissolution of my marriage I realized that the City of Los Angeles a place that I’ve lived in for almost 40 years had suddenly seem to become two blocks wide and one block deep. That all my neighbors seemed to know more about me than I did. I felt like I had become a social pariah and that nobody wanted to talk to me or be my friend. Of course that was not true but everything in my house and everything in Los Angeles had become an emotional trigger for me that made me recall my wife and our failed relationship.

The stuff that is going with me.

So one morning I woke up and I became the cliché. The feeling became so strong then I could literally not sit still. I became the man who is literally getting rid of all of his possessions in an effort to find a new direction and a new life. My destination at least temporarily is an apartment in Atlanta, Georgia where as soon as I arrive and unpack my few possessions, I will probably jump on a plane and go to the Caribbean for two months to work on a suntan, lick my wounds and drink my share of umbrella drinks.

One of these is mine!

Yet, trying to sell your house and get rid of all your possessions takes a little bit more time than you might think. I was thinking that I might be able to accomplish this in just a few weeks. Yet this odyssey has been now going on for three plus months. My house is 116-year-old, and while wonderful does need a few upgrades. It’s a hot market and it’s a hot property but there’s a lot of stuff to get rid of, there were things that my realtor wanted me to deal with before he would put it on the market, and I had to deal with a tenant problem. I have a guest house in the back and a tenant that I needed to move out yet because of the COVID-19 rent restrictions and California’s tenant relocation laws, I had to pay this man several hundred dollars to leave because it’s not his fault that my life has imploded. There is a sum that I’m legally required to pay him, yet he wanted to hold me up for much more money because of the COVID-19 eviction restrictions so this caused a logjam. My realtor wanted me to spend hundreds of dollars on fixing up certain parts of my house which I knew the next owner is just going to come in and rip out, so we came to an understanding. And trying to find a reputable estate sale company took some time but we’re almost there. The few repairs start in just a couple of days, the tenant will be leaving by the middle of the month and the estate sale is next week, so progress is made. If all goes well, I’ll be out of here in a month saying goodbye to LA and headed to my next adventure wherever that may be, Atlanta or beyond.

The packing never ends.

This will be a little bit of an ongoing series that every once in a while, I’ll drop in a new story about my wanderings as I transitioned from one life to another. I hope you enjoy the ride and thanks for continuing to be part of my blog.

Three Days at Zion National Park – Days 2 & 3

Again I apologize for the lateness of this follow-up article on Zion National Park. As you know from my last blog, my short film Divorce During Pandemic is getting a lot of activity on the film festival circuit and I have been busy with that. Also because of the length of time between the first blog on Zion and this one I’ve decided to combine day 2 and 3 of the trip into one blog.

The 2nd morning I woke up at my hotel in La Verkin and drove the 17 miles to Springdale to the official entrance to the park. The 1st day I took the more difficult Watchman Trail but today I was taking the Pa’rus Trail which serves as the main trail into the interior of the park. If you recall from the previous blog the only way to get around the park is to walk, rent a bicycle or take one of the shuttles. And you can only get the shuttle pass the night before online for a dollar. You cannot purchase them at the park. If you miss the online sale then you can get a free ticket at 3 PM in the afternoon from one of the rangers at the shuttle pick-up and drop-off point. Other than that you’re on your own and all the really interesting sites and trails like the Emerald Pools Trail that leads to both the upper and lower pools and the Riverside Trail are farther into the park about 4 to 5 miles. You can only reach them by hiking in on foot or renting a bike. It behooves you unless you’re in there for an all-day hike is to take the shuttle which have several drop off and pick up points inside the park. For the shuttle schedule you can find that online at https://www.nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/zion-canyon-shuttle-tickets.htm or pick up a shuttle guide from at the park headquarters at Zion.

Now the Pa’rus Trail is a much easier trail than the Watchman. It’s paved and it follows the course of the Virgin River as it runs through the park. It’s 1.75 miles in length (doubled to 3.5 round trip) and it’s not strenuous at all. However since it is paved, it’s the only pathway that bicycles can reach deep into the park so you are sharing the trail with bicycles so be cautious of that. There are some lovely views as you walk this trail. You also see a couple of waterfalls that are man-made. They are part of a water system that both the national park and the town of Springdale have worked out for them both to share the river and to keep it clean and flowing. Springdale uses the river of drinking water and other uses.

So I walked the full length of the Pa’rus Trail and got to the end of it where it joins the road that the shuttle buses use to take you further into the park when I realized I had made a mistake by not renting a bicycle originally. So I turned around and took a very leisurely 1.75 mile walk back the way I came. I had lunch at one of the restaurants that are very near the gateway to the park and then went and rented a bicycle. Now they can be rented on 2, 4 or 8 hour schedules. I asked the lady who ran the bicycle concession about the safety of the bicycle since they did not provide a lock or a chain and she told me that that theft inside the park are very rare. There are places to park the bikes at each trail head but you didn’t have to worry about them being stolen. If your bicycle actually was taken, then just take somebody else’s or let one of the shuttle bus drivers know that your bicycle has been taken and that they would take you back to the beginning of the park where you can tell the bicycle concession what happened.

So firm in that knowledge, I rode my bike back up the Pa’rus trail to where it meets the shuttle bus road that takes you further into the park. At this point the road is all uphill. Now I’m not as young as I used to be, and the elevation of this point is anywhere from 4000 to 6500 ft plus above sea level. You have to be aware to altitude sickness or just plain shortness of breath if you live in a lower area like myself. I live in Los Angeles which is at sea level, so I made it about another mile and half before I gave up. I cannot tell you what the Emerald Pools or the Riverside Trail look like but I understand they’re absolutely gorgeous. I turned around and rode my bicycle all the way downhill to the Pa’rus Trail and then on toward the park opening with stops along the way to pause by the waterfalls. The water looked inviting but there was a poisonous algae bloom in the water at that moment the was harmful to humans and deadly for dogs to drink. So it is VERY IMPORTANT to check all park postings before entering the park for possible dangerous situations. I dropped off my bike and drove home. All in all I walk or biked that day about 8.6 miles. It was a good day.

The next day I decided to visit the back country of Zion National Park, an area called Kolob Reservoir. If you want to experience the solitude and grandeur of Zion National Park without all the tourists that gather around the gateway in Springdale this is the place for you. Here you will find lovely high-country meadows, brilliant vistas and back country hiking and camping where it seems that you are the only person around. The park headquarters is where you get permission and licenses to use much of the remote back country of Zion but if you follow Kolob Terrace Rd which just off Utah 9 located in the town of Virgin. It is about about 10 miles from Springdale you will be able to drive all the way up to the reservoir through rolling pastureland, brilliant vistas, plateaus, ravines and canyons, and forests. This side of Zion is much greener then the red rock desert setting around the park headquarters. This area is more used for pasture land for the many ranches that dot this part of Utah. The road is in fairly good shape especially when you are crossing through the park. However sometimes it goes out of the park and crosses private land, and the quality of the of the road is not quite as good . But overall it is a safe drive that elevates from about 4000 feet to about 8000 feet which is where you will find the Kolob Reservoir which was created when they dammed Kolob Creek.

Along Kolob Terrace Road are many trails trailheads that lead off into the back country, and in this part of the park you will find trails like the East Rim, Hop Valley, Wildcat Canyon and The Narrows all trails worth hiking if you are into serious hiking. Some of these trails are 10 miles long, so please consult the Wilderness guide that the park provides for you so you know exactly what you’re getting into.

Because I was returning to Los Angeles that evening, I took a very short hike on a beautiful trail that wandered through a pine forest and scrub brush scenery. The views were amazing. Although it was October it was still 89 degrees in the day and the sun was blazing hot. So after about two hours, I headed back to my car and on toward LA.

The beauty of Zion is undisputed and the ability to be out in nature after being cooped up in my house for months because of the pandemic was exhilarating. I would do Zion National Park again in a heartbeat. And whatever you want to experience – paved trails like the Pa’rus Trail or crowds that you would find at the opening of the park or backcountry trails where you’re the only one there – Zion National Park can provide it. The people are friendly, the scenery is incredible and being out in nature is amazing and healthy for us especially during these strange times.

The Making of Divorce During Pandemic!

Shooting a short film during Covid 19!

When you are a director of either film or theatre, or any other type of live or filmed performance art form, the ultimate excitement is to be able to do your project with a truly excellent group of professionals. Professionals who are dedicated to their craft and actually know what they’re doing. That was my experience recently when I shot the short film Divorce During Pandemic, a short film script that I had written based on real events and I had the opportunity to turn into an actually short film.

Crew shooting a close up of the lead actor.

Of all the types of directing that exist in the performing arts, directing film is the ultimate experience for a director. In any other form of live performance as much as the director wants to control the final product they cannot, because it’s live and the final product will change every single performance. Live performance is up to the live performers not to the person who conceived it or directed it or produced it. Yet with film, the director gets to choose how to tell the story because they control the edit of how the film will look. Now of course they had to get the correct shots and coverage in order to be able to tell that story but once you have that you can tell a story out of sequence, or you can change the narrative of who the story is about, or really the possibilities are limitless given the imagination of the director and the amount of footage that they shot.

Director of Photography Fernando Madero framing a shot.

Divorce During Pandemic is exactly that. It’s a true-life story of what happened when a married couple that is breaking up exchanges divorce documents during the early weeks of the pandemic. That could be sad, but the situation could be surreal as well, because the couple is wearing masks and gloves and practicing social distance. The film could be funny or a comment on not only the breakup of the marriage but the distance that’s created between a couple when they’re forced to wear mask and gloves to deal with each other. So in the editing room I was presented with the opportunity to either make a dark comedy or a sad tale of two people struggling to move on with their lives. I’m not going to tell you which choice was made you’ll just have to wait to see the film. Yet the opportunity to work with skilled professionals – a director of photography, a sound mixer, a camera assistant, a grip, a production manager and first assistant director who were top notch and a team of producers who gave me everything that I needed to shoot my movie under budget was amazing. Who could ask for more!?

The director discussing the next setup with the DP.

Yet we had the added element of shooting during a world changing virus, so we had to be concerned for the safety of the cast and crew who were truly heroic in shooting this short. My producers provided us with all the PPE that we needed and tried to keep following social distancing, but shooting a film is so all encompassing when you are doing it that it is hard to always remember to stand 6 feet apart. Yet, we managed and all are safe and well, and the film looks great.

The talented Laura Walker (The Wife) waiting for her next take.

So the film is currently in post-production as we do color correction, fix the sound, and work on the opening title and closing credits. Hopefully, the film will be on the festival circuit in the next few weeks and we’ll be talking about it more here at TripswithJames.com. I would like to take the opportunity to thank my cast and crew for the outstanding work that they did that day, and to thank them for the amazing ultimate experience of directing – shooting a film with professionals on a script that you have written and watching it all come to life beautifully ! What more could have film artists ask for? My answer – absolutely nothing!

The gifted David J. Phillips plays The Husband.

More to come on Divorce During Pandemic in the coming weeks!   

Special thanks to Corbin Timbrook, Shelby Janes, David J. Philllips, Laura Walker, Fernando Madero, Garrett Stone, Reece Miller, Genaro Magana, Kirk Bruner, Attic Studios.

ATTIC STUDIO PRESENTS -Our New SHORT Film – Divorce During Pandemic

A short film based on real events!

Followers of this blog know that I am a director of stage and film, and I am proud to announce pre-production for my new short film – Divorce During Pandemic – loosely based on a true situation.

We start shooting on August 12th and we will be dropping info about the shoot and the film on this blog occasionally over the next few of months. So stay tuned!

Daily Photo – July 24, 2020

Tree exists in only 2 places in modern times.

 Monterey cypress, is a species of cypress native to the Central Coast of California. The native range of the species during modern times is confined to two small relict populations near Carmel, California, at Cypress Point in Pebble Beach and at Point Lobos. Credit – James Carey

California Snapshot – Santa Barbara, Pismo Beach, Carmel, Monterrey -Where Are the Masks?

Where is your mask?

Leaving Los Angeles on Thursday, July 16th, I drove north on US 101 on a brief road trip to get out of Los Angeles after being cooped up in my house for months. I wasn’t going to go visit anyone or go party, I just needed to see some different environments and to experience what was going on in the world of California during a pandemic.

Fort Ord Beach, Marina, CA

The observations that I’m going to make are wholly unscientific . I didn’t take any polls or do any headcounts or any interviews. This is strictly my observations as I walked through sections of different communities and noticed roughly how many people had masks on and did not have masks on as they interacted with other members of the public. While every store that I went into required face coverings of some nature, I was surprised at the amount of people in California who were not wearing face coverings at this moment of increased infection rate and a new push by the governor for people to stay home, wear face masks, and practice social distancing.

The Author at Cannery Row, Monterrey, CA

The first place I stopped was in Santa Barbara for lunch. I first took a long walk on the bike path along the shoreline just south of the Marina. It was about 11 AM when I got to Santa Barbara. The sky was overcast and it was a cool late morning. Most of the people that I passed along the bike path were doing some kind of exercise and they are allowed not to wear a face covering while their exercising, but of the mothers is walking their babies, couples casually riding bicycles or people walking their dogs, I would say 50% of them were not wearing a face covering.

Pismo Beach with Pier in background.

As I drove up State Street was one of the main shopping streets in Santa Barbara I notice that the street was blocked off in many areas so that the restaurants could move outside to have outside dining. I parked in one of the many municipal parking lots that Santa Barbara has in that part of town and went to a CVS to get some supplies for my trip and get a sandwich for takeaway. Now many people consider Santa Barbara to be a very upscale community and overall that is true , but along State Street there has been a noticeable decline in the quality of the businesses. You see many more homeless people and people who were just down on their luck than you used too. So the population that I was looking at was everything from a homeless person all the way to very affluent people and many tourists. You could not go into any store or any restaurant whether it was ordering inside or sitting outside without having a face covering. Yet, I was amazed at the sheer amount of people who walked around either with a face covering underneath their chin or with nothing at all who were interacting with other patrons or service people who were waiting on them. The strangest situation for me is when a family of four or more people will be walking around and half of them will have masks and half of them won’t. I can’t quite figure that out. The choice of wearing a mask or not wearing a mask seems to cross all ages and all races from very young to very old, from white to African-American to Hispanic and Asian.

Local signs in Pismo Beach that no one seemed to consider.

Back in the car I headed north towards Pismo Beach where I was going to spend the first night of my road trip. Pismo Beach is quite spread out but I stayed in a tourist area known as the motel district off of Price St. This is a four by four block section filled with restaurants, bars, gift shops and hotels that are near the beach and near Pismo Beach Pier. I got to Pismo Beach about 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon and checked into my hotel and went out walking around this area until about 8:00 o’clock at night. The beach was very crowded and all the takeaway places had long lines in front of them since out indoor dining was completely closed off. The three places that offered outdoor dining were jammed with long lines waiting. This part of Pismo Beach has a large cross section of all types tourists and easily 75% of the people that I saw on the streets either had no mask at all or just did not wear them. They would hold them in their hand, in their pockets or wear them underneath their chin. It was like nobody knew that we were in the middle of a very contagious pandemic and that you could infect or get infected by the person standing right next to you. Again the family dynamic of some wearing a mask and some not wearing a mask was very interesting.

Sand Dollar Cove off PCH in Pacific Valley, CA

Next day I drove up PCH through San Simeon and Big Sur. I also stopped at my favorite place along the coast which is an area called Pacific Valley and specifically a State Park that leads down to a beautiful beach called Sand Dollar Cove. I’ve been coming to Sand Dollar for over 30 years as long as I’ve lived in California. It is always been a very popular place but in the last 6 to 7 years it has become exceptionally busy. This weekend was no different with 50 or more cars parked along both sides of the highway and the small parking lot at Sand Dollar completely filled. Now of course we’re in the outdoors at a beach and a campground and social distancing is very easy to practice here but at least 60 to 70% of the people that I saw walking around had no masks on them at all. This was a very white group of people . I didn’t see a single person of color the entire 2 hours that I was there, but it was families, surfers, backpackers, and people who were on the road in vans and large campers so again a cross section of people all ages and not many masks

Tree on the beach in Carmel, CA

My stop for the evening was Carmel, California home of Clint Eastwood and a very wealthy white enclave with a much older population. After I checked into my hotel, I wandered over to Ocean Street which is the center of this shopping area of Carmel. I noticed almost everyone had masks on. Of course again no indoor dining but a lot of outdoor establishments for people to sit drink wine and have dinner. All service personnel had masks on and the majority of the people walking or standing in line getting into places had masks on. It was actually noticeable when someone did not. Maybe that’s because they’re wealthier or they’re older so they’re more concerned about their health or whatever reason you would like to come up with, but Carmel had the highest ratio of people wearing a mask on the street that I had seen thus far. It does not mean they like it though. I heard several conversations of people complaining about the uselessness of masks.

Fort Ord Beach and Dunes

The next morning I drove a short distance to Seaside, CA where I was staying the night. This was definitely a working class neighborhood and the percentage of people I saw wearing masks was about 50%. I stayed here so I would be close to the Fort Ord Dunes Park which is located along the Monterrey Bay where the former military base Fort Ord was located. It is now a federally and state protected area with wonderful biking trails and a lovely mostly unused beach which stretches for 4 miles along the coastline. After the spending the day hiking around Fort Ord. I drove over to Cannery Row in Monterrey for dinner. Cannery Row is a huge tourist magnet and here you got a pretty good cross section of races and ages. The very interesting thing that Monterrey was doing was you were required to wear face mask and if you got caught not wearing one by the police, they gave you a $100 fine. So almost everyone had a mask on all the time.

Cannery Row at Sundown

So what is this little snapshot show us? Really nothing definitive. Just that there are still a large contingency of Californians or tourists who visit our state, who don’t wear masks. Also it’s just not when they’re walking by themselves or they’re with their family, they do this when they’re interacting with other patrons, other tourists and service personnel at the height of an incredibly contagious pandemic. Make of that what you will.

Please be safe! Be well! And please wear a mask!!     

All photo credits – James Carey, Attic Studios