BECOMING CHESTER B
They aren’t mine… I wish they were, because I could write about them a lot… but Universal owns them. I guess I’ll have to give them back… or maybe I’ll keep them for a while longer.
"Don't let someone else's opinion of you become your reality." - Les Brown
The very young looking, curly headed twenty-two-year-old stepped off the cross county bus with his green military edition duffel bag, a half read, bent paperback novel and leftover snacks inside a crumpled brown bag. When he came home from his tour of duty, he found that he didn’t feel comfortable in his childhood home, in his childhood room. His mother still treated him like a teenager, but after what he’d seen in the military…nothing of the innocence he left behind; none of the virtuous ideals he possessed remained. In their place was sadness, disillusionment, and a loss of direction. He had some decisions to make about his future, and if his parents couldn’t see that he had aged; that he was a man, well then, he would have to prove it to them. After six months of trying to get his parents to comprehend, he packed up a few belongings and set out to get as far away from their East Coast home as he could. Southern California seemed like a good idea.
As he walked through the crowded bus terminal thoughts of his departure ran through his head. “Please don’t leave. You just got back. You’ve been gone for such a long time. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t make it back.” His mother had cried, begged actually.
“I’m goin’ ma. I can’t stay here.” He’d kissed her cheek before turning to his father. “I’ll let you know when I get there.” His father had only nodded his understanding and stretched out his hand. Chet grasped the outstretched hand and shook it. They were men. There would be no hugs, no teary goodbyes like his mother’s. She stood by sniffling into a tissue while his father simply turned and walked away reaching out and pulling his mother along. The heated words they had exchanged over the past several days had left an air of tension between father and son. His mother waved her tissue as he turned to board the Greyhound bus; his father never looked back.
Chet knew his father had planned on his returning home and going to college or maybe following his footsteps into the fire department. “It’s a Kelly legacy,” his father had yelled to him for days, but after his tour in Nam all he wanted to do was get away from anything that remotely resembled military order, strict rules and regulations. He wanted his hair to grow long, to wear what he wanted, to eat when he wanted and to sleep when he wanted. College was not in his plan. It never had been. His grades had been mediocre at best, and military life didn’t pay that well. Sure, he had a little savings, but dumping in all into an education did not appeal to him. His grandfather, father and brothers had told him many times of the strict regimen they held at the fire station. He knew the regulation haircut they wore wasn’t something he wanted after the buzz-cut he’d worn for several years. He planned to never have to wear a uniform again; especially green. The loud noises at the fires he’d watched them fight since returning home made him antsy and reminded him of the constant noises of battle. Chet hated the feeling of letting his parents down, but as he settled in a seat near the middle of the bus he knew leaving was something he had to do.
Now as he passed through the bus station and onto the sidewalk, he was hit with the reality that he didn’t have a clue where he was or which direction he needed to go. Not that it was new to him. His time in Vietnam had been filled with confusion and doubts about exactly which way to turn. He chuckled at himself. ‘You wanted to prove yourself Chester. Now you have your chance.’ In the service he had been a heavy equipment specialist. They had trained him in transport, but he had also learned to move and control heavy equipment. From the big trucks that carried the men to tanks, Chet had become an expert at maneuvering large objects through some pretty tight spaces and in some pretty hairy situations. On the long cross-country bus ride Chet had decided with that experience he might find work in the movie industry. ‘I wonder which way the Hollywood studios are in.’ He looked down the street in one direction and then turned and looked the other way. ‘Maybe I’ll just get a taxi. I’ll just tell them to take me to the Studios. Then I’ll go from there.’ He raised his hand to hail a taxi. One of the yellow cars with black checkerboard stripes pulled away from the curb and stopped in front of him. The driver jumped out and started around the front of the car. “I’ve got it.” Chet said as he opened the door, dropped the duffel on the floorboard and slid into the back seat.
“Where to?” the cabby asked in a voice that bore the sound of a heavy smoker, deep and gravely; evidenced with the wracking cough that followed the question.
“Uh, take me to… um, the studios.” Chet stumbled over the words as he settled against the back of the seat.
The cabby half turned and glared at him through the rear view mirror. “Which studio?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
Chet looked up at the glowering eyes in the mirror. Clearly, the guy had very little patience. He noticed he had long wavy blond hair and wore a shirt that looked like something one of the Beach Boys would wear only this guy was way too old to be a member of that group. Realizing he really knew nothing about California, Hollywood, or the movie business he asked, “How many are there?”
At that, the cabby turned further around and looked directly at him. “Look kid, there are studios all over the place here in Hollywood, big and small. What are you looking for?”
“A job, I’m looking for a job.” Chet sat up straighter. “And, I’m not a kid.”
The cabby noticed the green jacket that spoke of time in the service; the stress lines around the cabby’s eyes and frown began to smooth out and a grin slowly spread. “Ok, I guess you aren’t. A job, huh? Well are you an actor?”
“No, but I was thinking they must need people who can drive big rigs and move stuff around.”
“Sure, sure, but are you a union member?”
“Union?”
“Yes, sir, you can’t work in the industry if you aren’t in the union. How about I take you somewhere to get some rest and think about the job situation. You can call the union and find out how to sign up. The number’s in the yellow pages.”
Chet’s shoulders slumped and he turned toward the side window. He’d hoped it would be easy to find a job in a place like Hollywood, but it didn’t look that way. “Okay, I guess I am tired. Any suggestions?”
The cabby turned back to face the road. “I know a place. It’s cheap and clean. There’s even a diner, and it’s close to Universal Studios. You can start looking there after you figure out how to join the union.”
Chet nodded his thanks and looked back out the window at the passing scenery. He’d had second guesses about California on the bus ride; now, he was thinking maybe his father had been right all along. A long sigh escaped from his lips.
“Don’t give up hope so easily, buddy. You’ll find something.”
Chet woke the next day with the sun shining on his face through a slit between the curtains in the small room. He must have been more tired than he realized, because after negotiating what he considered a fair price for the week, he found his room, leaned back on the bed, and promptly fell asleep. He didn’t even take off his shoes, which he now toed off, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. His toes curled, enjoying the freedom from the hot tennis shoes they had been trapped in all night and half of the day, if the beam of light causing him to squint was a true indication of the time. Chet groaned from stiffness, rolled over, slid off the bed, stood slowly and stretched out of his jacket, letting it fall across the end of the bed. He tilted his head from side to side trying to work out all the kinks in his neck. Then, he slowly padded to the bathroom to take care of a pressing need.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, Chet groaned again. He looked like hell. His eyes were puffy and his hair… well it never really looked neat with all the curls except when they had buzzed it off when he reported for the draft; right now, it was sticking up everywhere. Padding back into the other room, he reached down for his duffle that he had placed on the floor beside the small round table and two chairs in front of the window. He slung it over onto the dingy brown bed spread and dug around until he found his shaving kit and fresh clothes. The only way to tame his hair and feel human again was to take a long hot shower. At least, he hoped it would be hot. This wasn’t the Ritz Carlton. He knew from experience that some smaller hotels and motels lacked in amenities like really hot water. A lukewarm shower was not what he needed or wanted right now.
Much to Chet’s surprise, the shower was steamy hot and very satisfying. He stood for a long time letting the hot water sluice from his shoulders and down his back, feeling his taught muscles give in to the onslaught of hot streams of water. He reached for the soap, fumbling with the damp paper wrapper to free the bar inside, wadded the wrapper up and after three unsuccessful attempts, managed to sling it off his wet hands into the bathroom floor. Then he grabbed the wash cloth and began to apply suds to his chest. He was proud of his body. After the strenuous exercise program at boot camp and serving his time in the military, Chet felt he had a pretty impressive chest and six-pack. He smiled down at himself as the suds slid off with the water, until they slithered down his muscular legs and danced around in a pool of water before disappearing down the drain. Like most young men his age, Chet had other needs that he attended to while he had the soap in his hands.
Feeling refreshed after his shower, Chet stepped out into the California sunlight and quickly donned his sunglasses. It sure was sunny in California. Looking to the left and then to the right, he decided that the diner the desk clerk had told him was just next door must be near the street. After making sure the “Do not disturb” sign was on the door knob and that it was locked, he turned that direction and started walking.
3/2/19
As he walked through the crowded bus terminal thoughts of his departure ran through his head. “Please don’t leave. You just got back. You’ve been gone for such a long time. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t make it back.” His mother had cried, begged actually.
“I’m goin’ ma. I can’t stay here.” He’d kissed her cheek before turning to his father. “I’ll let you know when I get there.” His father had only nodded his understanding and stretched out his hand. Chet grasped the outstretched hand and shook it. They were men. There would be no hugs, no teary goodbyes like his mother’s. She stood by sniffling into a tissue while his father simply turned and walked away reaching out and pulling his mother along. The heated words they had exchanged over the past several days had left an air of tension between father and son. His mother waved her tissue as he turned to board the Greyhound bus; his father never looked back.
Chet knew his father had planned on his returning home and going to college or maybe following his footsteps into the fire department. “It’s a Kelly legacy,” his father had yelled to him for days, but after his tour in Nam all he wanted to do was get away from anything that remotely resembled military order, strict rules and regulations. He wanted his hair to grow long, to wear what he wanted, to eat when he wanted and to sleep when he wanted. College was not in his plan. It never had been. His grades had been mediocre at best, and military life didn’t pay that well. Sure, he had a little savings, but dumping in all into an education did not appeal to him. His grandfather, father and brothers had told him many times of the strict regimen they held at the fire station. He knew the regulation haircut they wore wasn’t something he wanted after the buzz-cut he’d worn for several years. He planned to never have to wear a uniform again; especially green. The loud noises at the fires he’d watched them fight since returning home made him antsy and reminded him of the constant noises of battle. Chet hated the feeling of letting his parents down, but as he settled in a seat near the middle of the bus he knew leaving was something he had to do.
Now as he passed through the bus station and onto the sidewalk, he was hit with the reality that he didn’t have a clue where he was or which direction he needed to go. Not that it was new to him. His time in Vietnam had been filled with confusion and doubts about exactly which way to turn. He chuckled at himself. ‘You wanted to prove yourself Chester. Now you have your chance.’ In the service he had been a heavy equipment specialist. They had trained him in transport, but he had also learned to move and control heavy equipment. From the big trucks that carried the men to tanks, Chet had become an expert at maneuvering large objects through some pretty tight spaces and in some pretty hairy situations. On the long cross-country bus ride Chet had decided with that experience he might find work in the movie industry. ‘I wonder which way the Hollywood studios are in.’ He looked down the street in one direction and then turned and looked the other way. ‘Maybe I’ll just get a taxi. I’ll just tell them to take me to the Studios. Then I’ll go from there.’ He raised his hand to hail a taxi. One of the yellow cars with black checkerboard stripes pulled away from the curb and stopped in front of him. The driver jumped out and started around the front of the car. “I’ve got it.” Chet said as he opened the door, dropped the duffel on the floorboard and slid into the back seat.
“Where to?” the cabby asked in a voice that bore the sound of a heavy smoker, deep and gravely; evidenced with the wracking cough that followed the question.
“Uh, take me to… um, the studios.” Chet stumbled over the words as he settled against the back of the seat.
The cabby half turned and glared at him through the rear view mirror. “Which studio?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
Chet looked up at the glowering eyes in the mirror. Clearly, the guy had very little patience. He noticed he had long wavy blond hair and wore a shirt that looked like something one of the Beach Boys would wear only this guy was way too old to be a member of that group. Realizing he really knew nothing about California, Hollywood, or the movie business he asked, “How many are there?”
At that, the cabby turned further around and looked directly at him. “Look kid, there are studios all over the place here in Hollywood, big and small. What are you looking for?”
“A job, I’m looking for a job.” Chet sat up straighter. “And, I’m not a kid.”
The cabby noticed the green jacket that spoke of time in the service; the stress lines around the cabby’s eyes and frown began to smooth out and a grin slowly spread. “Ok, I guess you aren’t. A job, huh? Well are you an actor?”
“No, but I was thinking they must need people who can drive big rigs and move stuff around.”
“Sure, sure, but are you a union member?”
“Union?”
“Yes, sir, you can’t work in the industry if you aren’t in the union. How about I take you somewhere to get some rest and think about the job situation. You can call the union and find out how to sign up. The number’s in the yellow pages.”
Chet’s shoulders slumped and he turned toward the side window. He’d hoped it would be easy to find a job in a place like Hollywood, but it didn’t look that way. “Okay, I guess I am tired. Any suggestions?”
The cabby turned back to face the road. “I know a place. It’s cheap and clean. There’s even a diner, and it’s close to Universal Studios. You can start looking there after you figure out how to join the union.”
Chet nodded his thanks and looked back out the window at the passing scenery. He’d had second guesses about California on the bus ride; now, he was thinking maybe his father had been right all along. A long sigh escaped from his lips.
“Don’t give up hope so easily, buddy. You’ll find something.”
Chet woke the next day with the sun shining on his face through a slit between the curtains in the small room. He must have been more tired than he realized, because after negotiating what he considered a fair price for the week, he found his room, leaned back on the bed, and promptly fell asleep. He didn’t even take off his shoes, which he now toed off, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. His toes curled, enjoying the freedom from the hot tennis shoes they had been trapped in all night and half of the day, if the beam of light causing him to squint was a true indication of the time. Chet groaned from stiffness, rolled over, slid off the bed, stood slowly and stretched out of his jacket, letting it fall across the end of the bed. He tilted his head from side to side trying to work out all the kinks in his neck. Then, he slowly padded to the bathroom to take care of a pressing need.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, Chet groaned again. He looked like hell. His eyes were puffy and his hair… well it never really looked neat with all the curls except when they had buzzed it off when he reported for the draft; right now, it was sticking up everywhere. Padding back into the other room, he reached down for his duffle that he had placed on the floor beside the small round table and two chairs in front of the window. He slung it over onto the dingy brown bed spread and dug around until he found his shaving kit and fresh clothes. The only way to tame his hair and feel human again was to take a long hot shower. At least, he hoped it would be hot. This wasn’t the Ritz Carlton. He knew from experience that some smaller hotels and motels lacked in amenities like really hot water. A lukewarm shower was not what he needed or wanted right now.
Much to Chet’s surprise, the shower was steamy hot and very satisfying. He stood for a long time letting the hot water sluice from his shoulders and down his back, feeling his taught muscles give in to the onslaught of hot streams of water. He reached for the soap, fumbling with the damp paper wrapper to free the bar inside, wadded the wrapper up and after three unsuccessful attempts, managed to sling it off his wet hands into the bathroom floor. Then he grabbed the wash cloth and began to apply suds to his chest. He was proud of his body. After the strenuous exercise program at boot camp and serving his time in the military, Chet felt he had a pretty impressive chest and six-pack. He smiled down at himself as the suds slid off with the water, until they slithered down his muscular legs and danced around in a pool of water before disappearing down the drain. Like most young men his age, Chet had other needs that he attended to while he had the soap in his hands.
Feeling refreshed after his shower, Chet stepped out into the California sunlight and quickly donned his sunglasses. It sure was sunny in California. Looking to the left and then to the right, he decided that the diner the desk clerk had told him was just next door must be near the street. After making sure the “Do not disturb” sign was on the door knob and that it was locked, he turned that direction and started walking.
3/2/19
