I don’t really give a flying fork what any celebrity from Hollywood thinks about politics, global warming or any subject unrelated to pure acting. Their job is to entertain us and therefore make lots of money, that’s it.
Unless of course their name is Clint Eastwood, then I will listen. Intently. I respect Mr. Eastwood and this piece is written to show that respect.
Well, I didn’t really meet him at a bar, but some have said that I look like a younger Clint and it seems we have a connection over the years, and perhaps vicariously I have connected with many of the characters in his movies. You know, larger than life bad – asses carrying heavy weaknesses or flaws but we root for them because they do things we’ve always wanted to do but never could or would. Mostly.
During this bar scene, any dialogue that is actually a published Clint Eastwood movie quote will be in Italics. The rest is well, author creativity.
I walked up to the bar and there was an empty seat next to this older guy who had lanky legs that flailed out from the bar stool frame. He wore sunglasses, but I could see that little upper lip curl when he seemed to snarl at the TV when the news came on about the ISIS terrorists. That’s when I knew who it was, but realized no one else did, and he wanted it that way. I was compelled to sit by him but I knew I must protect him from the public and paparazzi.
“This seat taken?”
“Nope.” He barely glanced at me.
I sat down nervously next to him, surprised he didn’t respond with, “Reckon not.” But then this wasn’t the Outlaw Josey Wales movie set. Even so, I expected him to spit on the floor and hit the bar dog between the eyes. It didn’t happen. He continued to enjoy his beer in silence until he addressed the bartender with a commanding, but gravelly voice:
“Turn off that crap and let’s watch some football.” The bartender jumped immediately.
“Good move, Josey.”
He turned and looked at me and I thought my blood vessels had hardened into zig zaggy icicles. The lip curled up into a snarl and I knew he was squinting behind those sunglasses. Was he going to pull out his .44 magnum and blow my head off?
“So you figured me out. Just be cool about it.”
“No problem. Between us.”
He looked straight ahead for a few seconds then turned back to me. “You don’t look like a paparazzi, I’ve seen enough of those low lifes in my lifetime. What’s your name?”
“Carson. SR Carson.”
“Nice last name but funny first initials. Why the hell don’t you use your real name rather than SR?”
“Well, um, C…”
“Call me Rowdy”
I laughed because of the reference to his start on the TV series, Rawhide, but realized other names he could use like Josey, Philoe or Harry would perk up other patrons’ ears, much to his chagrin.
“So Rowdy, like you, I have a fan club and I must use SR initials to hide my real name from the paparazzi.”
“Yeah, know the feeling. So what is it that you do, SR, that has you running from them?”
“I’m a physician, and also a novelist as a hobby. Here’s my card.”
“Always looking for good stories. But novelists aren’t good screenwriters. They give too much damn detail. They’re creative as hell though. In Josey Wales, we took the option on the author of the novel, even though the guy was a drunk. Screenwriters took care of the practical aspects of it, but he had a good story, and we bought it and the rest is history. By the way, you going to order a drink Carson, or you just going to whistle Dixie?”
I detected a squinty smile under the glasses, and felt a sigh of relief. I ordered a tall cold beer. I realized he was feeling comfortable with me, and that was I’m sure hastened by the fact that he’d already downed a beer. But his fingers tapped with a musical rhythm on the bar counter, and I realized it was in perfect beat with the music in the background. He had good ears for his age.
My confidence surged, so I asked him a question, unrelated to movies. “What do you think of the gun control fight going on and protection of the second amendment?”
“I have a very strict gun control policy. If there’s a gun around, I want to be in control of it.” Nothing wrong with shooting – as long as the right people get shot.”
I laughed and nearly choked on my beer gulp. “Love it Rowdy. Wrote a quote something like that in my book too.”
“What was the quote?”
“Mr. Smokey demands respect, and always be on the correct side of the gun.”
“Ok, maybe I’ll ask you some more about the book later, but I need there to be a lot of action, and it has to show some deeper truths about humanity, with the protagonist conflicted and flawed in some ways. What’s the name of your novel, by the way?
“Blue Shadows.”
“Interesting title. You ever been married Carson?”
“Yeah, did that once. Didn’t work. Got out of it before she killed me, or actually, she almost did.
“There’s only one way to have a happy marriage and as soon as I learn what it is I’ll get married again. My wife is my closest friend. Sure, I’m attracted to her in every way possible, but that’s not the answer. Because I’ve been attracted to other people and I couldn’t stand’em after a while.” In fact, all marriages are made in heaven but so are thunder and lightning.”
I didn’t say anything in response. It was self explanatory. Just concentrated on my beer. But I found my lip snarling upwards a little too. I think he saw it. I did it effortlessly and naturally.
“What do you mean she almost killed you?”
“Well, in a matter of speaking, she destroyed so much in my life with devilish skill, she broke my heart. I wrote about it in my short story.”
“What’s it called?”
“Code Blue: A Doctor’s View of his Own Near Death Experience.”
“I’ll look it up someday.” He looked up when he heard the football game sharply interrupted by a news flash. It was politics: The president was going to make a statement about something. He snarled again and I calculated what the odds were of him pulling out his .44 and blowing away the TV.
Then he said it. President Obama is the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people.” And for that matter, maybe I’m getting to the age when I’m starting to be senile or nostalgic or both, but people are so angry now. You used to be able to disagree with people and still be friends. Now you hear these talk shows and everyone who believes differently than you is a moron or an idiot – both on the right and the left. Extremism is so easy. You’ve got your position and that’s it. It doesn’t take much thought. And when you go far enough right, you meet the same idiots coming around from the left.”
I bought him another beer, hoping to facilitate his word flow even more.
“Thanks Carson, I’ve got the next one. You see, there’s a rebel lying deep in my soul. Anytime anyone tells me the trend is such and such, I go the opposite direction. I hate the idea of trends. I hate imitation. I have a reverence for individuality. Respect yourself. Self – respect leads to self-discipline. When you have both under your belt, that’s real power.”
With that, he picked up his beer and went to the piano in the corner of the bar, as if it was reserved for him. I knew he played jazz piano since he was young, but I figured today that he would play “Sweet Rose of Alabamy” from the Outlaw Josey Wales. I was wrong. It was beautiful jazz piano, at its finest. I listened for about a half hour and he was still playing while the patrons drank and looked at him curiously, still unaware of who he was, and I was pleased we were able to keep it that way, for his sake. I walked up to the piano and he kept playing, then said, “Your novel intrigues me. You like my movie quotes, give me a few from your book.”
“Ok,” I said. “Face the fear head on so the fear won’t consume you.” “But if you so much as think about messing with me again, I won’t be as nice and gentle, and you will be in the intensive care unit, recovering from multiple trauma from my hands. Do you understand me brainless one, or do I need to talk slower?”
“I like it Carson.”
He kept playing but I had to go. Had to make rounds early the next day.
“Take care Rowdy and thanks for playing the ivories for us.”
“No problem Carson. Love to play. By the way, I owe you a beer. I’ve got your card.”
Mr. Eastwood is to be respected. He is a talented and good man. He made my day.
SRC