All About BACCI BOGIE

COMING OF AGE… Capitol Hill Cutie

The rumble of the plane’s landing gear coming down snapped me back to the present as the flight attendant announced our arrival into Dulles Airport. I straightened my new suit as I waited to disembark. Thinking about my present situation, I pondered how brave I was to take on this new adventure. To say I was green behind the ears would be an understatement. I had just graduated from the University of Alabama and had little life experience. My toolbox was virtually empty; but somehow along the road, I had gathered enough self-confidence to take on this life-changing escapade. To move to a city where I knew one person, had no established profession, and only a temporary place to live, was far outside my comfort zone. After all, I was 21 years of age and highly over protected.

Phil, a childhood friend, met me at the gate, and it was great to see him. He had moved to D.C. three years ago and was now a government lawyer. Our reunion, enhanced by the lovely flowers he handed me, was sweet as we hugged.

Phil found me a place to live with his friend Marge. It comforted me we would live in the same apartment house. However, I intended to find a Capitol Hill position and a place of my own.

I was not sure if my degree in Political Science would be the key to finding a place in the political world; however, I would give it a go.

I laugh when back to how naïve I was. My score on the “Street Smarts” graph was zero.

The next day, I began my adventure. It was the years of President Jack Kennedy, and I felt euphoric as I sauntered through the halls of Congress knocking on doors. It was maybe one hour after I began my search when I realized my bachelor's degree meant zip. Had I gone to secretarial school; I would have had a better chance of getting my foot in the door. Positions in a congressional representative’s or Senator’s office were hard to find, and after one week of wearing out the halls of Congress, my feet ached and my situation at Marge’s was tenuous.

Feeling disheveled and exhausted, I waited for the elevator when a man walked into me.. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile to stop a runaway train. He greeted me, and soon we were chatting like old friends. Somehow, my exhaustion turned to energy, and I accepted a dinner invitation. Bobby, a Michigan guy, was returning from an assignment in Berlin and was in D.C. for a debrief. I already knew enough not to ask questions, but during dinner he told me he worked in a secret unit for the military. He was a gentleman from head to toe, intelligent, and returning home to enter the seminary.

We shared an amazing evening, and by the time it was over we both were smitten. It was hard to say goodbye as he was leaving the next morning. When we parted, he left me with beautiful words. “I will never forget you,” he whispered as he hugged me with tears in his eyes. The next morning I found an envelope slipped under the door. The letter had water stains on it. Being the romantic I am, I decided they were tear stains.

After I consumed Bobby ‘s words, I headed out for The Hill. Someone had suggested to check out the Library of Congress, and I soon sat behind a typewriter working in the section where they wrote speeches for dignitaries. Much of what I typed was classified, and I had my very own shredder.

My manager was a seventy-two-year-old speechwriter who ogled me every chance he got. I successfully ignored him until two weeks later, when he out and out propositioned me. He injected a stipulation referring to my virginal state. He said if I was still a virgin, consider the offer void. Well, I proudly replied in the affirmative and he never bothered me again.

During the first month of being a member of the ‘burn bag division’—as they called it, I became curious about the men making their way through a locked door in the back of our office. Through my snooping, I activated my investigative talents and discovered an Air Force secret research unit. Hanging out with them was more interesting than my other options. Knowing their work was classified, I respected boundaries and never inquired about their research.

All this time, I continued to pound the halls of Congress. The Democratic Central Committee set up an interview with an elderly congressional representative from the great state of Alabama. It turned into a disaster as this ‘gentleman’ not only propositioned me but cornered me and put his hands on my body. He made me a travel offer, a wardrobe of frilly lingerie, and work; all of which I declined. In my indignant state of disbelief., I marched out of there to report him to the office who arranged the interview. Naively, I thought it would cause action. However, it was sloughed off, and they never contacted me.

Soon, beating the bushes paid off, and I found an opening with a Republican congressional representative from California. The entire staff was female, and that was my first experience working entirely with women. The experience was short-lived, as the congressional representative was killed in a small airplane crash. It was sad, as he was a wonderful man and easy to work for. The entire staff was flown out to California for his memorial service. He had helped to pass the bill establishing an area in Northern California as Point Reyes National Park, and his family held the service there. Many political notables attended, including some cabinet members. It was surreal watching these dignitaries’ slush through the mud in an open cow field. I will always remember the twenty-one-gun salute. After all, I was an impressionable twenty-one-year-old.

When we returned to the office, we learned the congressional representative’s replacement would be bringing in his own staff. I received two weeks of severance pay and took advantage of the downtime to look for another opportunity.

These positions were hard to find, as many wanted to work beside a congressional representative or Senator. I just left the Democratic National Committee’s office, where I filed a complaint. An eighty-something-year-old congressional representative had physically assaulted me in his office. The job interview went much further than I had expected. Along with the unwanted touching came an invitation to accompany him on his next jaunt to Europe. He also offered to provide me with an intimate apparel wardrobe, explaining he was part owner of a European lingerie company.

Again, I was twenty-one years old, a recent college graduate, and still a virgin with no exposure to the ways of the world. Little did I know what was waiting in the wings.

A few days later, I was strolling down the halls of the Old Senate Office Building and heard someone yell, “Blondie!” I walked back to the door I just passed, and there stood this six foot, four inch redhead dressed in his Capitol Hill finest. He looked like a grown-up Howdy Doody.

Inquiring if I was looking for a job, he invited me into the office for an interview, and I left the building with a new job in hand. I was to be the congressional representative’s Legislative Secretary, which meant I replied to his constituent’s letters under his signature. We worked hard, but we had fun.

When working on Capitol Hill, one hears many things that the rest of humanity isn’t privy to? These privileged professionals that serve our US government gain a richness of knowledge that sometimes is just too good not to share.

I never knew what political notable would walk into the office next. There was always something afoot or interesting about conversation, and I believed I made an excellent choice. My co-workers were all women, and we would usually lunch together. It was fun interacting with people with something in common. Activity around the Hill was stimulating, especially if one was interested in politics. The smoke-filled bistros were a gathering place, and it was not uncommon for a man to approach a woman with inappropriate proposals. I was warned about the womanizers that frequented these bars and had my guard up. The Hill was jammed with overly ambitious people who almost always choose a career over romance.

This mindset was not attractive to me, as D.C. was a stopover, not a destination. I had no idea where I wanted to land. There are few places of employment in demand greater than Capitol Hill. There were young people with master’s degrees and Ivy League MBAs enthusiastically answering phones and sorting mail, simply to climb the office ladder. That foot in the door, however, comes with a cost. Yet, there is little grumbling from the staff, as countless candidates at the door will gleefully take less to fill their jobs.

Through a family friend, I met someone looking for a roommate, and we rented an apartment on Capitol Hill. In our building lived many political types, including senators and congressional representative. Seeing famous people lounging around the pool or in the elevator was common. I quickly identified the buff men who filled the elevator and lobby one day as members of the Washington Redskins football team.

Another day I was at my desk, busy at work, when I heard a commotion outside the door. In popped Teddy Kennedy surrounded by a bevy of reporters. He came to each desk and had a few words with all of us. But sat down at my station. A reporter from Time Magazine rushed up to me, asking about my impression of Mr. Kennedy.

The congressional representative was a staunch Republican and was not happy when my interview appeared in the magazine. Fellow legislators teased him about it, and he let me know I made a mistake.

To make matters worse, I had been modeling on the side, and a few weeks later a photo of me appeared on the cover of the Washington Post Sunday Magazine; garbed in a leopard-skin coat, and inside the magazine in a leopard skin bikini. He was not pleased about that. The magazine spread resulted in many phone calls from college friends and lots of degenerates. I had to have my phone number changed.

What is that saying? “Three strikes and you are out.” The administrative assistant, not so tactfully, advised me to watch my extracurricular activities. He did not follow his own advice, however, when we all attended a Hill cocktail party, and he approached the infamous Jimmy Hoffa. You could hear the collective gasp in the room when Michael, 6’5” asked the short Mr. Hoffa if he was a criminal. Hoffa walked away without answering.

It seemed like I was always in disfavor, so I was surprised when I was given a ticket to attend a Joint Session of Congress.

Filled with excitement on the day of the event, I wore a new style dress with a tail hanging off the waistband. Yes, I did. I forgot about the tail when I sat down on the commode, and it went into the water. Horrified, I ran across the hall to my office and a co-worker snipped off the soaked tail.

I then hurried to the Capitol’s rotunda. As usual, it was packed with people going somewhere important. A big man was blocking the entrance to the chamber. I gently took my elbow and nudged him so I could get by. I did not notice the big, burly gladiators surrounding him. Suddenly one of them grabbed me. Startled, something told me to remain silent.

Within seconds, they pushed me off to the side. When the man I shoved turned around, and I was looking into the stern face of Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Living in the District was never boring. There were plenty of men around with exciting assignments to talk about. I dated Secret Service agents, Congressional staff, Federal employees, and pro ballplayers. If I had to pinpoint what was the most fun date, it would be with a baseball player from the Washington Senators. He promised if I came to a game, he would hit a home run for me—and he did.

Time went by quickly, and before I knew it I was driving cross-country with a co-worker to San Francisco. We went to work on the congressional representative’s reelection campaign for a month. The trip was filled with firsts, such as seeing my first genuine cowboy and going to my first casino in Reno, where I was asked to be a shill for a night. Not only had I never heard that word before but had no idea what I was to do. I sat on a stool in front of a slot machine, and the manager gave me about a hundred dollars in tokens. The voice of my boss telling me to watch myself after the Times story incident remained quiet. Andy, my travel mate, also remained quiet until we were back on the road. During lunch, she broached the subject and gently reminded me. The following were a few moments of silent prayer. And then affirmation from Andy. The congressional representative would never discover my innocent alliance with Harrah’s Casino.

and I rolled into the City by the Bay with elevated hopes of a great month, and we were not disappointed. Our boss was a third-generation San Franciscan, and all doors were open to us. We attended many parties and met interesting people. At one of these club parties, I was introduced to an elderly man who chatted about ‘must-sees’ while I was in his city. When the party ended, he mentioned his brother lived in Los Angeles, my next stop before I headed back to D.C. Attached to that information was that his brother was a star on the Ben Casey television series, and that he would be happy to arrange for me to visit the set if I would like. Whoa, I thought, trying to act cool. Ben Casey was the hottest television show, and I could not have asked for a better adventure while I was in Hollywood.

Time flew by and I was ready to go. My aunt and uncle asked me to stay with them for the week. All was taken care of. They picked me up at the airport and during dinner I shared my excitement about my plans to spend the next day on the Dr. Ben Casey set.

WELCOME TO TINSEL TOWN (the next segment will be posted on April 3. Please enjoy my website; especially if you are a dog lover as Bacci Bogie is easy to fall in love with.

Please read about our wonderful adventures as we traveled 500,000 air miles together.

Chapter Two

Hoorah For Hollywood

I was beside myself with excitement, and a bit nervous as well, as I dressed the next morning with care. I had no idea what to expect. Will I be discovered? I thought as I finished touching up my makeup. Or, would I be treated as a pest who came to gawk at famous people? Many scenarios ran through my head, however not the one that became reality.

Auntie and Uncle dropped me off at the studio gate with a reminder to call them when I was ready to leave. Being escorted to the set made me feel like an important person, and the receptionist invited me to have a seat.

Taking deep breaths as I shook hands with Doctor Zorba, Sam Jaffee—the brother of Abe Jaffee. He hugged me and introduced me to Vince Edward. Doctor Casey as if we were old friends. Vince invited me to sit in the chair with his name on it, and my adventure was in full gear. During the day, I met most of the crew; afterward, I had a coffee with one of the show’s regulars who I had a crush on.

I happily spent my Hollywood vacation with my new acquaintances, and when the dream was over, I had a job offer. If I moved to Los Angeles, Vince would hire me as his secretary. His show was flying high, and he became a huge star. How could I say no? So, I happily accepted.

On my return trip to D.C., I spent two days in Las Vegas. I was going to this famous oasis all alone. Where did I get the nerve to do this? I will never know

As I ambled around the casino at the Sands Hotel, I discovered the slot machines, lost my twenty-five dollars, and then found the blackjack tables. It might have been two minutes before the stick man noticed me watching and invited me to play. “Hey Blondie,” he said. “There is a place here for you.” My breath left me as I was looking into the deep blue eyes of an adorable man. When his shift was over, he took me to see a show, and I had a new friend. Okay... I had a new crush. It was not love at first sight, but definitely a strong mutual attraction. The next day, he took me to Lake Mead, where he kept a small boat. We enjoyed a beautiful Nevada day where I met several of his friends. They called him ‘Hollywood Bill’ because he was so handsome. The next few evenings, I hung out in the casino waiting for his shifts to end.

As I sauntered around the casino alone, I guess men thought I was looking for company and offered me a lot of money. Me, little Sandra Rubenstein, taken as a call girl. The thought made me laugh. For goodness sake, I had only recently lost my virginity.

On the flight back to D.C., I thought over the last couple of weeks, which resulted in two invitations. One for a job, and the other for a relationship. The only catch was that I would have to move to the West Coast. Why not? I was young with no ties and loved the mystery of it all.

Keeping in touch with Vince’s staff, I found out the offices they were building for him were behind schedule and it would be quite a while before I could start working. However, they offered to help me find a job and that was good enough for me and my impulsive nature.

Hollywood Bill met me at the airport, and we were heading straight for Los Angeles. As the plane took off, my spirits soared as high as the clouds. My imagination took hold of my thoughts as it seemed like I had all my bases covered. Or did I? Things worked out well during my stay in D.C., and there was no reason why my life in Hollywood would not be smooth as well. I wondered what was waiting for me around the bend. I would find out soon enough.

I HAVE POSTED BELOW A BONUS STORY. A heartfelt story for dog lovers…

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Imagine for a moment you are a dog. Not just any dog but a three-month-old, two-pound Maltese puppy. You are curled into a ball in a soft traveling case. Your very being is shaking because of the turbulence of the plane, but something inside you knows that, even though you have tiny legs, a furry body, and cold nose instead of feathers and wings, you belong in the sky.

My name is Bacci, that very doggie born to fly. And those memories of being on a plane became the first of many as I traveled 500,000 miles, soaring above the ground. But my life did not begin in the air and jetting from urban center to urban center.

A native of Suisun City, California, I knew what it meant to be a country boy too. My human family lived on a small farm, and I played with the cows, horses, and chickens daily. It was here I also developed my powerful will and shaped a high self-esteem. The smallest of five brothers and sisters, I learned how to defend myself early on. They called me “runt” but knew not to mess with me.

The Top Dog

One day a tall, blonde lady came to adopt one of us. She explained she wanted a small dog because of frequent air travel and said her new puppy would be a “jet pet.” Hmm.

The family had been watching a television show about farm animals. To see better, I stood on my hind legs. The family called the stranger Sandra. She had kind eyes and a warm smile, and I decided she would be a caring human mommy. It was love at first sight, and I whispered to my sister, “I hope she chooses me.”

What can I do to set myself apart from the others, I wondered? Then an idea flashed in my mind when I viewed horses kicking on the television program. To capture Sandra’s attention, I crept up beside her long legs gave them a nuzzle and started kicking my back legs in the air. And not just once but several times. When I kicked a doggie toy up in the air, everyone laughed, and Sandra picked me up. The strong, sweet aroma of what I later learned was Mommy’s signature scent, Chanel No. 5, filled my senses. Her hands were warm and comforting as I snuggled closer to her chest.

The rest is the history I am going to recount for you.

During the first three months of my life, my human parents called me Pinocchio. Thank goodness Mommy renamed me! “ Baci means kisses in Italian, you know,” she whispered. “We will spell it Bacci. And Bogie will be your middle name, for Humphrey Bogart, from the Maltese Falcon and in honor of your breed.” She laughed, rubbing me behind the ears. I became Bacci Bogie Glosser.

Chapter Three

THE GIRL…Life In The Fast Lane

Vince’s office kept their promise, and soon I was a secretary for a top Hollywood talent agency. Movie stars and other notables came and went regularly. When I answered the phone, often it was a famous voice on the other end. Our agency’s clients were the crème de la crème.

The offices were set up with the secretaries’ desks outside the boss’s office door. When the actors and actresses came in for meetings, I was the first one to greet them. It was also convenient for Milt, the boss, to snap his fingers when he needed me or call out Girl. Sometimes he tapped on the window. Whenever he tapped, I cringed.

The assistants were assigned to the bagel and cream cheese detail. That was our first project in the morning: to make sure everyone had access to the cream cheese, bagels, fruit, and coffee.

If this was designated ‘woman’s work,’ I’d have to pass. The last job I had before this was as a legislative secretary to a Congressman on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. There we started off our day by being yelled at because of errors we made the day before. Therefore, the bagel regime did not seem so bad.

This was not how I would spend my life in a 9 to 5 job; working for someone else. I was waiting for my hidden talents to be discovered. Where I would make a difference in the world, filling my inner soul with gratification and a sense of accomplishment. Not understandingidea what that would be, I continued greeting movie stars and supplying them with bagels and cream cheese.

All the stenographers were female, and the male bosses called us La Fille. That did not sit too well with us as we were assertive young women and did not see ourselves as The Girl. Besides, most of the secretaries were daughters of Hollywood insiders. They had been socialized on wealth and fame.

One day this extremely attractive actor came to meet with Milt. His name was one of those silly Hollywood names, Rad. His mission was to become one of Milt’s clients, but Milt was on the fence about signing him. Eventually he invited me on a date. Something about him did not sit right. I declined.

He did not take no for an answer and kept asking. No doubt I was tempted by his deep blue eyes, a perfect smile, thick black hair and a sexy voice. Not to mention his charm. However, the look in his eyes made me nervous.

After several weeks of invitations, I finally caved. I accepted his dinner invitation and he agreed to pick me up at my home. Rad arrived looking handsome and debonair, handed me a bouquet and off we went. I had known my share of actors, so I knew they did not all live like a king, but Rad set the bar low. His car could have been certified by the Health Department. I’d once heard you can tell about someone’s character by the way they kept their car.

The seats were tattered with empty coffee cups scattered on the floorboards and old clothes crumpled in the back. He sure did not impress me. I should have jumped out of the van then, but I didn’t.

We drove down Sunset on our way to the restaurant, and I realized he did not make the correct turn. I brought it to his attention, and he looked at me and said with a mean smile, “ we aren’t going to a restaurant.” I audibly gasped when he reached over and locked the door. He said not to try anything and to keep my mouth shut.

Immediately, fear snaked its way down my spine. I stopped breathing, afraid of what might come next. Looking straight ahead and trying to keep calm, I asked where we were going. He answered, “ You will find out soon enough.” “Surely, you are joking “I murmured” However, his stern look reflected he was not kidding around.

I considered jumping out; however, his grasp tightened. An inner tremble took over my body and my eyes started tearing up. Why didn’t I listen to my intuition?

After a 30-minute drive which felt like 30 hours, he finally stopped in front of an old, dilapidated house. By this moment, I was frozen with fear. He yanked me out of the car, tied my hands and led me into a dump. The room dirty and smelled funky, I felt sick to my stomach. I thought about putting up a fight. However, how could I? My hands were tied and my mouth taped shut.

He finally led me into a bedroom which was dirtier than the rest of the house. Beer bottles and left-over food strewn around and crumpled sheets on the bed. At this point I was ready to vomit. However, I did not have a chance as he pushed me down on the bed.

My mouth was taped shut, and I had trouble breathing. I laid there for about one hour. Eventually he returned, took the tape off and untied me. I begged him to release me. With that, he became hysterical until tears ran down his face. He fell off the bed laughing. Finally, Rad confessed this was all a ploy. He expected me to tell Milt what a good actor he is. And then of course, Milt would sign him to a contract.

I swallowed with relief and then demanded he take me home. When we arrived at my front door, I jumped out as fast as I could. He smiled and said, “I hope you and your boss will now believe I’m ready for the big screen. And sped off.

Milt stopped taking his calls and Rad never got the big break he was looking for.He disappeared into the abyss where most losers end up, the land of rejection.

In thinking back, the lesson I took away from this incident: Listen to my inner voice as it is usually spot on.

I decided it was present to more on and accepted an administrative position with an upscale movie studio. The organization was headed by a famous producer All the bosses were well known producers, directors, and other Hollywood insiders. Interesting movie deals were made right and left, and only big stars graced our doorway.

The secretaries were held in higher esteem than my last place of employment, and I enjoyed that. My days were spent in the office and my nights at the Whisky a Go Go or PJ’s night club. These were two of the places that young women, like me, went to dance and meet the Hollywood party group. It was great fun and indeed, I met many people.

I became friendly with the girlfriend of a well-known actor, and when he was out of town on a shoot, she would invite me to go with her to parties. One day she called and said we were going to a gathering at an incredibly special person’s home. She would not tell me who and added, I would not be disappointed.

As we headed out, I tried to pry the name from her but all she said was not to worry. Of course, I was curious who she was talking about and would soon find out. We parked in front of a rather modest home, which surprised me. I thought if this person were so special, he would live in a more extravagant home. As we walked up the steps, I noted there were two doors at the top. She explained the “in” guests were to enter one door while the others went in the second entrance. She guided me to the “in” door and when it opened, I was looking at the face of Elvis Presley.

Taking a deep breath, I shook his hand, hoping I was not trembling. He was casually dressed. Black leather gloves on his hands, tight designer jeans and a white shirt. He had a smile that could stop a train and invited us to come in. This was the person I watched on television who performed in front of hundreds of screaming young girls. When he came to Miami to perform, I begged my parents to let me attend the show, but they refused, saying I was too young. And now, here I was sitting next to him.

I admit I was star struck. He was surrounded by his bodyguards, who were also his friends. We had a great evening listening to music and chatting. I learned that Jimmy Reed was one of his favorite artists, and he hummed along with the record. It was great fun and I left exhilarated. My friend smiled at me, knowingly, as we drove home. She had called the evening perfectly when she told me I would be thrilled.

Of course, I did not ask for a photo or autograph, that would have been embarrassing; however, now I wish I had a signed photo collection of all the famous people I met. Sheila was good friends with a few of Elvis’ friends and we were invited back. The next day I was at her house when the bodyguard called. I was chatting with him when Elvis took the phone. I must be honest and admit I do not remember exactly how it happened, but Elvis and I had a little tiff. I had a disagreement with him but cannot recall why. I remember thinking it was bizarre to argue with Elvis Presley.

Life returned to somewhat normal. Rumors started flying that The Great One would be coming into the office the following day. Oh, my goodness, I remember thinking. What would I wear? How silly of me, as if I would meet him. He had a meeting with a well-known producer. My office was not situated where I could see him., Of course, I would take assertive action to fix that. I cased the area to see what I could arrange. There was a closet along the corridor Frank would take to get to his meeting.

I arrived at the studio all excited and prepared the closet so I could fit into it without hurting myself. Ten minutes before he arrived, I hid in the closet. Yes, I was slightly nervous and yes, I made a mistake. As he was about to pass the closet, I bent over to see him and felt out of the closet right at his feet. You can imagine the rest.

My boss was not happy, although everyone had a solid laugh at my expense.

The guy who teased me the most was an intern I had become friends with. We often went to lunch and I enjoyed listening to his stories. The gossip was that he was a brilliant writer and had already produced a couple of films while still in college. He became a huge success, directing some of the most successful films of our time.

My escapades at the nightclubs Sheila and I frequented put me in the lap of one of the owners. When I went to the club, we would have dinner and usually share a table with someone famous. I had the pleasure of sitting next to one star when he became so perturbed at people asking for autographs and interrupting his dinner. Finally, he had enough; he took the paper in front of him, placed it in his soup and signed it. That incident stuck with me all these years. Another was when a fan came up to s star at our table and asked if he was Glen Ford; The man said yes, but he was not. The fan did not know the difference. We all had a decent laugh.

I dated Chuck for a while and became friends with a beautiful starlet who was often there with his house mate. Her television series was a number one hit. I often wondered if I would get used to being with regular people when I left Hollywood.

Hollywood people had an aura about them, that differed from the norm. Their sense of elitism mostly excluded the reality outside of their world. Even the non-show business residents carried an elite air.

Dating several sons of “A” list actors was interesting and exciting. With promises of visiting family ranches and the like, my excitement needs were met on a regular basis. Then there were the ex-husbands, and ex- boyfriends of famous actresses. Probably my most exciting date was the flight to San Francisco for dinner. Arnie rented me a fur to wear and took me to the most expensive restaurant in town. He was the ex of a gorgeous, well-known actress and knew how to make women feel special. I knew I was dating out of my element. Here I was 22 years of age and dating men old enough to be my Dad.

The man I most admired was a writer of a television series that had a mild cult following. Everyone seemed to hold him in high esteem. He was older, handsome, and funny. Not to mention, brilliant. I loved his company, and we had a platonic friendship which was fine with me. What I remember about our relationship most vividly, was the night he showed up at my apartment; dead drunk and crying. He explained he just signed the deal of his life. I didn’t understand as I thought he’d be happy. The temperament of a true artist… beyond my comprehension.

Did I feel I was out of my realm, yes, I did? However, the benefit of the experience was great. I departed Hollywood with an increased sense of self. If I could hold my own there, I could hold it anywhere. Hollywood plus Washington, D.C. equaled I was comfortable talking to anyone. Regardless of their position. This became invaluable as I continued my way toward fulfilling my purpose. I was not sure what the purpose would be as at that point in my life, I still had no idea of my talents.

My family wanted me to leave the Land of the Kings and Queens as they wanted me to develop a different type of life. I had a cousin living in India on an Ashram. She sent me letters about meditating on plants to make them grow. One letter impacted me greatly and I moved back to Miami for 9 months. I pondered my adventures while I decided where I would go next. So far, I had lived in Florida, Alabama for college, Washington D.C. and Los Angeles. Now I was back in Florida. Was I playing the psychological game of Rickshaw? That means one keeps moving hoping to find themselves; however, they bring self with them.

I became a trainee at a local department store. Thinking I would become a clothes buyer. I was quickly disillusioned as the trainee program included shlepping clothes between departments. That was not my idea of making a difference.

Did I miss Hollywood? Absolutely. The excitement and the fun of inclusion were gone. I’d watch television and marvel when I saw men who I had dated. Big deal. I was lonely and wished for a relationship. It was about then I started to realize I had a problem with the fear of intimacy and abandonment.

What would I do about it? Well, ignore it of course.

My girlfriend, Carol and I decided to take a long weekend vacation in the Caribbean. We flew to Puerto Rico for a long weekend. She was a striking redhead and I, a blond, made an eye-catching twosome. We were hoping for an adventurous time.

Two months before I left for the Caribbean, I had watched the World Series. One pitcher caught my eye. A stunning man who pitched a no-hitter. It was a fleeting, not possible crush.

His performance won the title for his team. I fell in love, so to speak, with a dream, a total fantasy. I had become used to getting high off the action of my dating experiences and was hoping for a little romantic interlude in the Caribbean.

As we were registering at the hotel’s front desk, I saw a sign welcoming the World Champs to Puerto Rico. The Minnesota Twins were on the island to play an exhibition game.

I looked at my friend and blithered,” I must be dreaming.” As we waited to register, I turned around and almost fainted. There he was not two feet behind me. We exchanged looks and my heart was beating a mile a minute. I was almost hyperventilating and pinching myself and decided this was a cosmic coincidence.

Although I never took over five minutes to get dressed, that night I took 30 minutes. I had an instinct that” dream man” and I would end up together to enjoy the beauty of Puerto Rico.

And right I was. After dinner, Carol and I sauntered into the casino. It was packed with all sort of notables from the baseball world. We had a great time. I found myself seated at the bar next to the famous manager who asked me to meet him for a drink.

I had other ideas, I refused his offer and walked over to the blackjack table. In a few minutes, Dream Man was at my side. We talked and he invited me to join him for a walk along the ocean. The next 6 hours of enchanting conversation was fascinating. This was my first experience having a social chat with a black man. And yes, once again, I was star-struck. When the sun came up in the morning, we were still chatting by the ocean. It was time for him to prepare for the game.

After the exhibition game, it was life to leave. And as luck had it, we were on the same plane. Jim and his friend, a catcher, joined us. As we chatted, I noticed the white players staring at us. During our talk by the ocean, he had told me about the racism the black players experienced. I was so sad and jarred. I had a big taste of prejudice as a Jewish person but nothing close to my new friend’s continuing plight. I didn’t know what it meant but knew it meant something. The plane landed in Miami and we exchanged phone numbers along with a promise to see each other again.

A few weeks passed and I was getting ready to move to New York City. I had spent the weekend at my parent’s home. During dinner the phone rang and my Mom told me there was a man on the phone with a heavy New York accent.

It was dream man.

The next time I saw him was in Baltimore. He invited me to come to Baltimore to attend a game. We arranged for his friend to take me to the game and he would be pitching. I couldn’t believe I would watch him in person. I didn’t realize the attention two women, one black and the other white, would attract.

People were turning around and staring at us. This did not bother me as my focus was watching the man on the mound. He promised he would pitch a no-hitter. I was beyond ga ga. I walked into a stadium filled with thousands of people and my friend was pitching.

He kept his promise, and he came to New York to see me when he had a game close by. We remained friends for a long time.

After a while, we lost touch, although I kept my eye on his accomplishments. In my golden years, as I look back on my life experiences, I never forgot the man who first brought diversity into my life.

Fifty years ago.

CHAPTER FOUR WILL BE ABOUT MY LIFE IN NEW YORK CITY.

Chapter Four

New York: And Some

The plane from Miami International Airport had been two hours late. Murphy’s Law kicked into place as we struggled to catch a taxi. Long lines everywhere. I hoped this was not a sign of how the rest of the night would lay out. After we finally settled in the cab and began our trek to Manhattan, I took a deep breath. My friend and traveling companion Suzie, whispered, “I can’t believe we are actually going to spend the night in Joe Namath’s apartment.” I was less impressed as I had known Joe for a long time and his date for an NFL owner’s dinner in Miami. That was an interesting experience as a team owner slipped me a note when Joe was away from our table.

My connection with Joe was through my favorite man in the world, Ray Abruzzese. We were best friends in college. Ray and Joe were great buddies, roommates and also teammates playing for the New York Jets. There is a little-known story about how Ray was part of the agreement when Joe signed with the Jets. I will write about that later.

The cab wove in and out of the traffic from JFK airport as we headed for Manhattan. It was already after midnight and I wondered if any of the 3 roommates would be home. Ray told me he would leave the apartment key with the doorman. All three men were supposedly out of town.

We arrived at the building, no problem with the key and made our way up to the apartment. By this time, it was already 2 p.m. No one was home and we settled into Ray’s bedroom. I could not wait to crawl into bed as the trip was exhausting. All too soon, there was a knock at the door. It was the third roommate, the now famous Joe Hirsch, who became well known as a sportswriter. He was furious and ordered us out of the apartment. Incredulous, I had some words with him but certainly was not going to stay under the circumstances. Suzie and I were both grumbling as we made our way out, into a city already sizzling with no place to go. The doorman mentioned the Barbizon Hotel for Women.

Suzie and I stayed at the Barbizon amongst women of all stations in life. I found a job with a small advertising agency, a tiny apartment on the upper East side and Suzie and I went our separate ways. My apartment was an L-shape, furnished and had a doorman. All for only $125.00 a month. I was happy.

Early weekday mornings found me one of thousands on subways struggling in the New York city commute. I had never been on a subway and it was a cultural awakening. My first subway ride proved to be a disaster. Due to the inept abilities of my new beautician, my hair had turned orange. I adorned a wig to hide the disaster and when the subway made its first stop, the man behind me grabbed onto my hair and the wig came off in his hand. I was duly mortified.

Work at the ad agency was humdrum and I found myself missing the excitement of the Hollywood movie studio. I also longed for the night life as I had no one in Gotham to party with. Ray was busy with Joe and their night life. Ray regarded me as a little sister and refused to bring me along with the two handsome guys during their wild escapades.

I was rescued from my boredom when I heard from the man who captured my heart in Puerto Rico. He invited me to come to Baltimore to watch him pitch against the Orioles. He arranged with a close friend to accompany me to the game. Mary met me at the train station, and we headed to the stadium. From the time we entered the stadium, I noticed something strange. People were staring at us as we made our way to our seat. I did not realize the attention two women, one black and the other white, would receive.

People were turning around and staring at us like we were freaks. This did not bother me as my focus was watching the man on the mound. He promised he would pitch a no-hitter. Now look, I was beyond ga ga. I walked into a stadium filled with thousands of people and my friend was pitching. He was stunning and I held my breath during the impeccable game.

Afterward, the three of us went to a night club in the Baltimore projects. It was a time of unrest in Baltimore and the projects were often lit up with fire. However, I did not give it a thought as I walked into the night club and a spotlight hit us. Everyone greeted him with joy and enthusiasm. I was greeted with icy stares. It was a few moments before I realized I was the only white face in the club. Jim held my hand tighter as he introduced me to a few of his friends. The evening was one I never forgot as we danced the night away. He came to visit me in New York several times and we remained friends for a long time. Eventually we lost touch, but I always kept my eye on his accomplishments.

Summer was at hand and on the weekends the city emptied. People travelled to the beaches and I shared in the rental of a house on Fire Island. At this time, I wasn’t concerned with life purpose or commitment. I just wanted to have a normal life. Being a child of Miami, Florida, spending the weekends at the beach felt familiar.

Fire Island brought into my life an undercover agent for a New York State law enforcement agency. John was an exotic looking man of Philippine heritage, owned a boat and totally obsessed with me. He was overly smitten and if a man looked at me sideways, John was in his face. I came to find out that his extreme behavior was due to the paranoia of white people staring at us as he was very ethnic looking. As part of his job, he carried a gun which heightened my fear. When I would leave work, he was always waiting. On the weekends, we would journey to Fire Island and enjoy his boat and other water activities. He insisted on me becoming aware of the workings of the motorboat in case of an emergency. One weekend, he fell out of the boat and if I hadn’t swerved the boat away from him, he could have been severely injured. He was forever grateful and bought me a colored television set. After the summer, we drifted apart as I had enough of his jealous behavior and broke up with him. One day I returned from work and found his initials carved on the face of the television set. My therapist said I was lucky it was not my face.

I had engaged the services of a therapist as my anxiety attacks had returned. My relationship with anxiety attacks began early in my life. Without going into the details of my dysfunctional, tragic childhood, I will tell you that I am a survivor of a horrific fire. At the age of four, my parent took me to a circus. Right when the clowns entered the circus ring, a pyromaniac went into the bathroom and set the tent on fire. Hundreds burned to death and my mother was the last one out of the tent, before it collapsed. She disappeared out of my young life. Her hospital stay lasted nine months and my life was turned upside down. To this day, when I hear sirens or smell smoke, I react differently than someone who has not experienced the horrors of a fire. Post Traumatic Stress became my sidekick.

After the television incident with John, I changed jobs. I found a position with producers of television commercials. My responsibilities were varied including running the VIP penthouse for clients, interviewing talent and location work. And thus began my” Mad Men” experiences.

Without getting specific, if you watched a Mad Men episode, you have a sense of my New York City experience. Entertaining men at the VIP penthouse was not to my liking. I did not drink, preferred early evenings and dating married men violated my values.

Ray remained a constant in my life and his friendship continued to be a “ray” of sunshine. One day he asked if I would consider accompanying Joe’s mother, Rose, to a Jets game. It was my pleasure to spend time with the mom of the famous Joe Namath. Ray made the arrangements and we attended the game together.

The next few months crawled by and when my phone rang one Saturday night, in February 1968, I was ready. I picked up the phone and heard a deep Southern accent. It was my college roommate, Dolores, calling from Atlanta. She drawled my name and explained she was on a blind date and my name came up during conversation. Dan suggested they call me and here they were. After all these years, my old high school buddy was back in touch. He told me he had been keeping tabs on me for a long time and invited me to Atlanta to visit. The tickets arrived the next day and within the week, I was off to Atlanta. Ray took me to the airport, and we laughed that maybe this could be the one. It was Leap Year and I had hoped that my search was over. Dolores and Dan met me at the gate, and I thought to myself, nope, no way.

Dolores was driving and we were chatting away when Dan leaned forward and reminded me that it was Leap Year. And I responded, “Okay, will you marry me?” He grabbed my hand, smiled, and answered, “Maybe.” We went on to another subject and six weeks later I became” Sadie, Sadie, married lady.”

We did it. It was whirlwind with an emphasis on whirl. Eloping in Atlanta was strange as we had no friends with us at the courthouse. So, the judge kidnapped a couple, who was waiting to get divorced, and they became our witnesses. I hoped this was not an omen of the future. We did it. It was whirlwind with an emphasis on whirl. Eloping in Atlanta was strange as we had no friends with us at the courthouse. So, the judge kidnapped a couple, who was waiting to get divorced, and they became our witnesses. I hoped this was not an omen of the future.

Business brought us to Fort Worth, Texas, where I joined a knitting class and as I knitted, hummed the tune, “If They Could See Me Now.” From Hollywood to Ft. Worth, Texas, was not my idea of an ideal lifestyle. Then we moved to Dallas.

I choose not to dissect the four years of my marriage except to say I was blessed with a beautiful baby girl. Dan bought me my dream house in an exclusive area of Dallas. We resided in an 18-room Tudor-style home with a nanny, maid, and gardener, and traveled extensively. My status in life changed from a very middle class twenty something girl to a life which afforded me luxury. And an especially important thing happened. I learned from my husband, a consummate salesman, how to sell on the phone. This would be an invaluable skill as I developed my profession some twenty years later.

Unfortunately, I became a single mother of an 18-month-old baby. I sought employment and landed at the Dallas Morning News writing obituaries. Was this how I was going to spend the rest of my life? I didn’t think so, and when the invitation came from my old friend Carol, to visit her in Aspen, Colorado, I jumped at the invitation.

(Chapter Five will focus on my life in the famous ski resort, Aspen, Co.) Here is a teaser.

AN ODE TO THE LITTLE KITCHEN. Aspen, Colorado 1974

MOVED TO ASPEN IN 1974 AND THE FIRST THING I DID WAS TO EXPLORE, THIS LITTLE VILLAGE SO

BEAUTIFUL AND QUAINT LOOKED LIKE A SCENE MANY ARTISTS WOULD PAINT.

ONE DAY I WAS ROAMING AROUND’ LOOKING FOR A NEW CAFE, THE LITTLE KITCHEN

HAD JUST OPENED...IT MADE MY DAY. MOVED TO ASPEN IN 1974 AND THE FIRST THING I DID WAS TO EXPLORE, THIS LITTLE VILLAGE SO

BEAUTIFUL AND QUAINT LOOKED LIKE A SCENE MANY ARTISTS WOULD PAINT.

ONE DAY I WAS ROAMING AROUND’ LOOKING FOR A NEW CAFE, THE LITTLE KITCHEN

HAD JUST OPENED...IT MADE MY DAY.

I OPENED THE DOOR AND HEARD SOME FOLKS SINGING AND SEATED AT THE PIANO WERE A FEW WORLD-FAMOUS BEINGS. WOW, JACK AND JOHN TO NAME JUST TWO AND RIGHT BEHIND ME WAS A FAMOUS SPORTS ANNOUNCER. I WONDER WHO? (Hint: BB)

JUNE KIRKWOOD, THE KEEPER OF THE DOOR WOULD STAY IN BUSINESS FOR 7 YEARS MORE. SHE WAS SMART AND CLEVER, A FRIEND OF ISABEL MACE, TWO CREATIVE WOMEN WITH ELEGANCE AND GRACE.

THE KITCHEN WAS A GATHERING PLACE WHERE YOU MET MANY CHARACTERS INDEED. MANY ESCAPEES FROM THE BIG CITIES... A DIFFERENT BREED. I GOT TO KNOW ONE OF JOHN''S SONG WRITERS HIS NAME WAS JOE. HE MARCHED TO A DIFFERENT DRUMMER AND TOLD ME SO. AS I HAVE LOOKED AT HIS UPDATES THERE IS A CENTRAL THEME OF COURSE, THE LOVE FOR HIS HORSE WAS ALWAYS A DRIVING FORCE.SOON NINA CAME ALONG AND BECAME PART OF JUNE'S TEAM, ANOTHER TREASURE TO ADD TO THE SCENE. OUT OF THE BLUE SOMEONE SURFACED HIS NAME WAS GARMS. HIS CODE NAME WAS PENQUIN AND HE DID CAUSE SOME HARM. HIS CONNECTION TO THE KITCHEN WASN'T STRONG JUST SERVED AS A DROP OFF PLACE FOR INFORMATION HE PASSED ON. I WROTE A NOVEL ABOUT HIM HE CLAIMED TO HAVE BEEN JUST A PAWN.

FOND MEMORIES OF THE KITCHEN AND PEOPLE I GOT TO KNOW. I DIMLY REMEMBER JUNE SINGING SO GAY AND FOR THE EXTRA ENTERTAINMENT, WE DID NOT HAVE TO PAY. I FELL FOR ONE OF THE WAITERS, HANDSOME AND BRIGHT, MANY WOMEN IN TOWN THOUGHT HE WAS A HOT POTATO AT LEAST FOR ONE NIGHT. (hmm who was that?)

AS YOU SEE IM NOT A POETESS JUST SOMEONE STILL IN LOVE WITH MY MEMORIES OF THE 70''S. NINA AND JUNE AND THE KITCHEN ARE SURE A PART OF THAT. DO I LONG FOR THE OLD ASPEN? HEY DWIGHT, JOE, AND MICHAEL, WHAT HAPPENED?

I OPENED THE DOOR AND HEARD SOME FOLKS SINGING AND SEATED AT THE PIANO WERE A FEW WORLD-FAMOUS BEINGS. WOW, JACK AND JOHN TO NAME JUST TWO AND RIGHT BEHIND ME WAS A FAMOUS SPORTS ANNOUNCER...HMMM I WONDER WHO? (Hint: BB)

JUNE KIRKWOOD, THE KEEPER OF THE DOOR WOULD STAY IN BUSINESS FOR 7 YEARS MORE. SHE WAS SMART AND CLEVER, A FRIEND OF ISABEL MACE, TWO CREATIVE WOMEN WITH ELEGANCE AND GRACE.

THE KITCHEN WAS A GATHERING PLACE WHERE YOU MET MANY CHARACTERS INDEED. MANY ESCAPEES FROM THE BIG CITIES... A DIFFERENT BREED. I GOT TO KNOW ONE OF JOHN'S SONG WRITERS HIS NAME WAS JOE. HE MARCHED TO A DIFFERENT DRUMMER AND TOLD ME SO. AS I HAVE LOOKED AT HIS UPDATES THERE IS A CENTRAL THEME OF COURSE, THE LOVE FOR HIS HORSE WAS ALWAYS A DRIVING FORCE.SOON NINA CAME ALONG AND BECAME PART OF JUNE'S TEAM, ANOTHER TREASURE TO ADD TO THE SCENE. OUT OF THE BLUE SOMEONE SURFACED HIS NAME WAS GARMS. HIS CODE NAME WAS PENQUIN AND HE DID CAUSE SOME HARM. HIS CONNECTION TO THE KITCHEN WASN'T STRONG JUST SERVED AS A DROP OFF PLACE FOR INFORMATION HE PASSED ON. I WROTE A NOVEL ABOUT HIM. HE CLAIMED TO HAVE BEEN JUST A PAWN.

FOND MEMORIES OF THE KITCHEN AND PEOPLE I GOT TO KNOW. I DIMLY REMEMBER JUNE SINGING SO GAY AND FOR THE EXTRA ENTERTAINMENT,

Chapter Five

THE JOYS OF LIVING IN ASPEN COLORADO….1970s

The flight into Aspen was a scare a minute but I fell in love with the mountains before the plane landed at the ski resort. Raised in Miami, Florida, the flat of flat land, mountains were unfamiliar. I had a natural affinity for them and felt safe and nurtured being surrounded by the high lands. By the time I left Aspen, I had made a deposit on a cute condo situated minutes from the big mountain and was a resident six weeks later. Yes, an impulsive move but as you know by now, I had an impulsive personality. I was perfectly happy living the life of a single mother, in a safe, small community. Financially, I was set for a few years at least and was delighted by the thought that my four-year-old would be skiing down a mountain by the age of six.

I trust you will enjoy reading the following story about my first experience on Aspen Mountain…called Star Struck.

STAR STRUCK

When I boarded the plane in Dallas, headed for Aspen, Colorado, I had no idea that this trip would be life-changing. It was late summer in 1974, and I was ready for something exciting to happen. I mean, how long was I going to be stuck on the obituary desk at the Dallas Morning News? Then, an old friend invited me to visit her in Aspen, and I jumped at the chance. I would be there for one week, or so I thought.

Flying over the Rockies was an adventure . The downdrafts Despite the dips and drops, I fell in love with the mountains by the time the plane hit the tarmac in Aspen.

The vista before me was breathtaking, and the week in the charming little ski resort was beyond expectations . My impulsiveness took over any rational thought process, and within the month, I had leased a condo within walking distance of the majestic ski mountain.

Besides the excitement of it all, being a single mom injected practicality into my decision. Living in a small, safe mountain village and raising a child on my own left nothing more to be desired. Children of Danielle’s age—four—who lived there were already skiing, and the lifestyle was perfect. There was a baby mountain where kids congregated to lunch and ski. Part of the charm was seeing toddlers sitting on their parents’ shoulders as they skied down the mountain. There were also ski classes for the little ones, which were pure entertainment to watch . Babies who didn’t look old enough to walk, flying down the mountain on their parent’s shoulders was too much cuteness.

The casualness of the town reminded me of a college campus. Aspen was an old mining town. Zoning laws kept developers under the thumb of the City Fathers. It was the intention of the locals to keep the ambiance of the town charming and quaint. And the night life was busy and exciting. It was easy to meet people, and all the locals had something in common: Love for the mountains and nature. Sometimes, the wonder surrounding me gave me the feeling that I was living on the backlot of a movie studio.

Ski season was just around the corner and the big mountain loomed before me. Skiing was always a challenge for me, as it wasn’t part of my DNA and didn’t come naturally. Despite this, I put on a brave face and joined my friends on the opening day of the big mountain—known as Ajax Mountain—where most locals skied.

That morning, the lift line was packed. The weather was cold and windy and the snow icy. With fear in my heart, I chanted, I can do this.

As I stood in line to get on the chair, my body became one with the snow. I suddenly found myself laid out spread eagle and had no idea how to get up. I laid there for what seemed an eternity, convinced that everyone was laughing at me. The ski day had not even begun, and I was already in distress. I tried to lift myself up clumsily when I saw a huge hand reaching down to help.

I grabbed on to it, and when it hoisted me up, I was looking directly into the whimsical face of Jack Nicolson. Hardly after recovering from that surprise, I soon experienced another.

On my next trip back up the mountain , my chairlift partner seemed vaguely familiar, and I soon recognized him as Starksy from the Starsky and Hutch television show. Wow, this is fun, I thought as we got off the chairlift and skied down the mountain.

Pretty soon it was lunchtime, and I had promised to meet my friends at Gretel’s, a popular eatery on the mountain. The place was packed, but I found them at the back of the restaurant. Sitting with them was another familiar face—someone who had made me laugh often. There was an empty seat next to Buddy Hackett, a famous comic. He was trying to eat his lunch, but people kept coming up to him asking for autographs. At some point, I guess he had it as he took the paper from the fans, plopped it into his soup, and signed his name.

When I got up to go get my lunch, I noticed one of my earrings was hanging loose and the stud was missing. Without thinking, I blurted out, “My stud is missing.” Choking on his soup, Hackett laughed. He then dropped to the floor and crawled on all fours yelling, “Has anyone seen a stud?” It was a sight to behold.

Skiing down the mountain at day’s end, I recognized Robert McNamara and his wife shushing next to me. What a day, I thought to myself as I walked into Little Nell, an after-ski bar. Welcome to ski season in Aspen Colorado.

Aspen At Its Best

Life in Aspen was a dream. I could not have hoped for more. I often felt I was living on the backlot of a movie studio. People were always available for fun lunches and I couldn’t leave my house without seeing someone I knew. It was easy to make friends and my daughter, Danielle, loved her new lifestyle. She was only four but experienced a type of freedom she had not known before.

In the 70’s, Aspen was a classless society. People, of all economic levels, came together as a community. I read the news on a local radio station for a short time, enjoyed the sports activities available living in the mountains and partied a bunch. There were an abundance of available men and I was more than content.

The drug culture surrounded me, but I was never tempted. I struggled to become a mountain girl; however, never quite fit the mold of a rugged woman. Toward the end of the 70’s, I wrote a novel about a law enforcement officer who came to Aspen and chose to go undercover to impact the drug community. He was a fascinating character and I focused on the book for quite a while. It was read by agents as well as a few publishing companies. I did not have a clue how to write a book and wrote it by the seat of my pants.

Writing the novel lit a little fire in my belly. Not enough to leave the wonderful lifestyle in Aspen but it did start my thought process. I knew I had a modicum of talent to finish a 500- page novel; however, like I said, it lit a little fire.

For the next two years, I continued my party lifestyle and of course, my single mothering. There were an abundance of single moms to interact with and play dates were easy to find. I initiated a weekly column in one of the local newspapers writing color stories. That kept me engaged in the community and I enjoyed the interaction.

I will forever be grateful for my Aspen experience. Unless you were there, you cannot understand. Every day waking up to incredible natural beauty, no noise, no traffic and few people. Meeting friends for lunch in cute, unique restaurants and little stress. Yes, one might look at it as hedonistic; however, there were many hard-working residents, who worked two or three jobs in order to live in ‘heaven.’

However, my need to fulfill a purpose grew inside of me. I was asked to take on the public relations position for a new club opening in town and that kept me occupied. Marketing memberships was part of my responsibilities. I have inserted a bit of prose I wrote to describe my experience on opening night.

I wrote it for a summer course I took at the University of Northern Colorado.

The Prince That Turned Into A Frog...

ANDRE’S CLUB OPENING NIGHT GALA… Aspen 1979

THE PRINCE THAT TURNED INTO A FROG

IN THE YEAR 1979, ASPEN WAS SUFFERING THROUGH SOME FACE LIFTS. THE WINDS OF CREEPING CHANGE WERE BLOWING; SOME PEOPLE BUILT WALLS; OTHERS BUILT WINDMILLS.

A FANCY CLOTHING STORE HAD OPENED ON MAIN STREET, GLITZ AND GLITTER FILLED THE RACKS; NOWHERE WERE WALMART’S STYLISH BACKPACKS.

THE LOCALS SMILED WITH THEIR NOSES IN THE AIR, WITH THE FOLLOWING WORDS DRIPPING OFF THEIR LIPS, ‘I’M NEVER GOING IN THERE.’

ANDRE HAD HIRED ME TO SELL MEMBERSHIPS FOR HIS NEW CLUB, A HARD JOB. A PRIVATE CABERET WAS NOT PART OF THE ASPEN BEAST. WE VIEWED CHANGE AKIN TO THE WINGSPAN OF VULTURES. MOST OPPOSED GROWTH WANTING TO HOLD ON TO OUR MOUNTAIN CULTURE.

DEVELOPERS WERE CREEPING IN WITH BLUEPRINTS IN HAND AND IN THEIR POCKETS THE THREAT OF SCOOPING UP ALL AVAILABLE LAND.

I DIDN’T DARE USE THE WORD EXCLUSIVE AS PART OF MY PITCH AND SOMEONE EVEN CALLED ME A WITCH. NO ONE WAS WILLING TO WRITE A CHECK. BUT THEN FOLKS GAVE IN. THE MEMBERSHIPS STARTED TO GROW; MY ACTIVE LIST WAS FILLED WITH NAMES YOU WOULD KNOW.

A GRAND OPENING GALA WAS PLANNED TO INCLUDE ‘RODEO DRIVE ELITE,’ ONE NEVER KNEW WHO THEY MIGHT MEET.

I HEARD MOANING AS I CONTINUED PHONING. COME LUCY, COME CLORIS, COME GEORGE AND JACK; OH, IT'S GOING TO BE THE PARTY OF THE YEAR. NO TURNING BACK.

IT WAS A SOLD-OUT CROWD AND LOCALS CONTINUED TO GROAN NICE AND LOUD. ANDRE HIRED A KITCHEN AND RESTAURANT STAFF FROM THE STATE OF MINNESOTA. IT WAS A SOLD-OUT CROWD AND LOCALS CONTINUED TO GROAN NICE AND LOUD. ANDRE HIRED A KITCHEN AND RESTAURANT STAFF FROM THE STATE OF MINNESOTA.

BRIAN, MERLIN AND MARY, INTERVIEWING AND HIRING WAIT STAFF. THAT COULD MAKE ANYONE DAFF.

THE DAY OF THE OPENING, NERVES WERE A TWITTER; ESPECIALLY WHEN ANDRE DISCOVERED THE CHEF HAD TOLD A LIE; HE WAS NEVER AN EXECUTIVE CHEF BUT A SOUS CHEF BY AND BY. ANDRE TOOK STEPPED IN, SWEAT ON HIS BROW. AND EMPLOYEES WERE ASKING, WHAT DO WE DO NOW?”

THE CLOCK TICKING AWAY AS THE BEWITCHING HOUR GREW NEAR, WHEN ON OUR DOORSTEP WOULD APPEAR. THE EXCITED PATRONS WHO CAME FAR AND WIDE; PROBLEMS CROPPED UP WHICH PUT THE STAFF IN A TIZZY; “PETER’S PRINCIPAL” KEPT EVERYONE BUSY.

ALL PITCHED IN AS A TEAM WORKING TOGETHER; SOMEONE PUT ON A RENDITION OF ‘STORMY WEATHER.’MARY AND BRIAN DOING THEIR BEST AS THE FUTURE OF THE CLUB WAS PUT TO A TEST. SOON IT WAS TIME FOR GUESTS TO ARRIVE, THE ENGINE WAS RUNNING AT ITS BEST.

IT WAS TIME TO SERVE, BUT THE FOOD WASN’T READY; OUT CAME FREE DRINKS AND PATE; ALL WORKING HARD TO MAKE THE GLITCHES GO AWAY.

TWO HOURS LATE, WHAT TO DO; DISAPPOINTED FACES AND GROWLING STOMACHES WHO WOULD GET SERVED FIRST? SOME WERE GOOD SPORTS, SOME STARTED TO CURSE.

THE LAST THING I REMEMBER AS THIS WAS LONG AGO, LUCY SCREAMING AT GARY THAT HER FOOD WAS COLD. SHE SAID IN A HUFF, SHE HAD WAITED TWO HOURS AND WASN’T HAPPY; YES, LIFE CAN BE HARD AND PEOPLE GET SNAPPY.

LATER THAT EVENING AFTER THE PARTY WAS OVER; THE STORY GOES THAT ONE OF THE KITCHEN STAFF HUNG HIMSELF. I CAN’T RECALL WHO; BUT SOMEONE IN A MESS. AND ANDRE’S CLUB WENT ON TO BECOME A BIG SUCCESS.

(Please give me a poetic license regarding alliteration. repetition. Onomatopoeia, rhyme, syntax and theme)

Poet Extraordinaire: Sandra Glosser

BIRDLEGS PRODUCTIONS STORIES

Part two of Chapter Five will be posted in two weeks.

Chapter 5

THE JOYS OF LIVING IN ASPEN, COLORADO...PART TWO

After returning from my summer school experience, I started researching places in the country where there was a heavy gathering of proponents of Transactional Analysis (The I’m Okay believers). Hands down, all roads led to San Francisco. I remembered the month I had spent there working on the Congressman’s reelection campaign those many years ago. Deciding on San Francisco was an easy choice.

As I wrapped up my life in Aspen, I felt torn. I knew I would return as soon as I established a profession where I could travel to make money, but live here. Sounded like I would need to create a miracle to accomplish such, but I had a good feeling. I put my condo on the market in a down market at that. However, I told myself my positive attitude would create a sale. I began doing my affirmations and visualizations seeing the For Sale changing to Sold, imagined putting the money in my bank account and said “So It Is.” And let it go.

Aspen served me well in my progression towards fulfilling my purpose. I was a different person when I left Aspen then when I had arrived. The experience had been multi-dimensional and generally felt good all the way around.

After settling in Foster City, a bedroom community for San Francisco, I started the process. As expected, my phone rang one day and it was Jim, the Aspen real estate agent. Yes, I had received a cash offer on my condo and was granted my asking price. Having money set me up for finding an internship.

Looking back on this whole experience, there were gentle nudges from up above. It was uncanny how everything I attempted turned out fantastic. I easily found a mentor who was a professional trainer, something I never considered. For one year, I followed her around as an intern. Went with her to all the seminars she presented, and I learned. Not that she was consciously teaching me, but I was inhaling her every move. I watched and listened. During this time, I enrolled in a behavior modification course and watched, listened, and participated. I reconstructed my inner core to a point and discovered many behaviors that served as blocks to my progression as a self-actualized woman. It was a beginning. The effectiveness of the trainers for this course were amazing. I took in their skills and combined them with the ones I had learned from my mentor Madeline. And then I was ready. Madeline was not happy when I informed her, I would be starting my own training company. In fact, she was nasty. She insulted me; however, I took the insult, turned it into a positive and ran with it. The old turning a lemon into a lemonade theory.

During my internship, I had made contacts that I would follow up on as I marketed my new company to organizations like Bank of America, IBM, Wells Fargo and Hewlett Packard. Madeline had reminded me that the only segment of the corporate population I could invite to my seminars were secretaries as I had minimal skills. I inhaled a ‘thank you,’. I contacted the training directors of these Fortune 500 companies and offered programs to support personnel since no one was addressing them. If you remember back to the beginning of these tales, I had served as a secretary for several businesses and knew the ins and outs of being “The Girl,” from experience.

I’m not sure where I got the nerve, but I offered a showcase to the training directors of these corporations to be held in the club house of my apartment complex. It was situated on an island in Foster City, California, with lovely grounds surrounding the waterway. The night before the presentation, I was having strong performance anxiety symptoms. Awake the whole night, anticipating the worse, I finally fell asleep in a pool of sweat. In the morning, I got Danielle, my daughter, off to school and carefully dressed. I presented myself as a professional woman and I looked like one as well. However, I felt ill. The closer the hour came when people would be arriving, the sicker I felt. The positive attitude was within me; however, the physical part of me was not cooperating.

As I got up in front of the twenty-person audience, I felt dizzy and knew I would have to take drastic measures. I looked at the eager group and said the following. “I am fighting the flu, took some medicine and am experiencing side-effects.” Please take the next ten minutes to introduce yourselves to each other and I am going to step outside into the fresh air.” I exited the room, found a cool spot and prayed. In my head, the success or failure of my new company would happen in the next hour. Repeating all mantras, I ever heard, mixed in with all stress management techniques I ever learned, happened in the next ten minutes.

Miraculously I felt the fear lift and I could breathe again. I went back into the seminar room and knocked them dead. From that showcase, I received a contract with Wells Fargo, Bank of America and IBM. I had hit the ground running.

Coming up with a fee structure was an interesting exercise. I did not feel qualified to charge clients the same fee experienced speakers were charging. However, I was told under no uncertain terms, I had to. If I charged less, it would be a message to my clients that I was less than. Under undue stress, I charged the going $500.00 a day rate.

During the next two years, I worked Silicon Valley companies. My evaluations were always excellent, and my client list grew. At that time, the San Francisco area was still considered small, and I didn’t mind travelling up and down the Bay Area. I was still driving my old mountain car and decided I wanted an up-scale Mercedes Benz. I wanted it; however, the banks did not want me. I was told I did not qualify and to come back. At that point, I started practicing the same visualizations and affirmations I had used to sell my Aspen Condo. I would see myself driving a MB, making the lease payments, etc. This continued for a year. I then went to see my bank manager who turned me down again. However, another bank accepted me. When I went to my bank manager and told him, he went to his board about restructuring their lease deals and I was accepted.

I still did not qualify; however, I was driving a brand-new Mercedes. How did this happen? How did I recover at my showcase presentation and how did I sell my Aspen Condo for cash in a down market? I have no answers. My best guess would be I had a high vibration with the Universe but you, the reader, would think it was hog wash and I do not want to upset you. (Wink wink).

Around 1983, I attended a professional speaker’s meeting and met a man who ran a training company across the country. He hired me on the spot to present secretarial programs in four cities a week: one week a month. This was perfect. That would enable me to continue with my corporate clients but to travel. Four cities a week was a bit hard on my back, rear-end and stress level; however, I did it. Facing a group of strangers every time I ascended a stage, was challenging. However, I did it. Handling travel cancellations and the like in order to be in the next town for my presentation, was difficult. However, I did it. More than once, I hired a car to drive me to the next town if my flight was cancelled. This experience toughened me up and my core with it.

After one year of this insanity, I signed a contract with the American Correctional Association to present Stress Reduction seminars for Correctional Officers. It again would take me national, but the frequent travel would ease. Preparing for this adventure, the association arranged for me to visit San Quentin prison so I could get a slight feel for prisons. This was an experience I never forgot as when the prison gate closed, with me on the inside, I heard the following. If anything happened, while I was inside, the great state of California would not be held responsible. My strong need to feel safe, was put on hold for two hours.

Due to the rapid success of my career, I could now afford to live in the city of San Francisco and found a great apartment with a view of the bay, across from a lovely park and in Pacific Heights. Through a rather gutsy move, I began traveling for another national seminar country and was back on the road.

Traveling for a living, added another layer of confidence onto my psyche as I got use to entertaining myself, spending a great deal of alone time and warding off hungry male salesmen. My frequent flyer miles on United Airlines were piling up and I was enjoying travel perks such as first-class upgrades and the like.

Rather proud of my progress, I started making plans to return to Aspen.

I had a passion for my new-found career; however, my need to fulfill my life’s purpose was still floating around. In my gut, I felt there was much more I could do. I still was not sure what. And, yes, I was on the right road, going in the right direction but did not know where I was going.

Chapter One…

MY TWENTY-FIVE – YEAR LOVE AFFAIR WITH TWENTY-THOUSAND LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS…The Birth of Birdlegs (1985 – 2010)
Do you believe that being in the right place at the right time can change your life? It’s happened to me too many times for me not to believe that it’s true. I was watching the local news when a story about the San Francisco Police Department’s latest community outreach program captured my attention. There was a video of several police officers on a boat sailing around the bay. With them was a bunch of teenagers holding fishing poles as the officers instructed them. The group was part of an outward bound type program that the police department sponsored. All- of -the- sudden, I had a ‘light-bulb’ moment. I immediately picked up the phone and called the agencies community relations unit. After finding my way to the officer in charge of outreach, I explained who I was and my mission. The next week, I was presenting my brilliant idea to a group of officers. I proposed I, in partnership with the department, would offer a seminar for minority teens on How To Prepare For A Job Interview. The Lieutenant in charge of programs loved the idea and invited several of his peers to observe the workshop. It would be held at a high school located in ‘the hood’ and I would meet up with my “bodyguards” at the Police Academy. Of course, this program would be a showcase to show the department what I could create. My intention was to refocus my career from corporate training to police training. I had no idea how that would happen; however, I just kept listening to my inner voice and followed my nose, so to speak. I knew my powers were juiced up and something fantastic was waiting for me. The belief made it so.

Stay tuned in for The Birth of Birdlegs…How the Nickname came to be…

Chapter Two…

Policewoman Without A Gun
It goes without saying that the workshop for inner city teens was a big success. Several of the attending officers were soon taking the Sargent’s test and started taking copious notes from my text. I noted that I was the only white face in the entire room and that threw me back to the night I spent in a Baltimore nightclub. If you haven’t read my story about my “Mad Men” days in New York, you can reference that at: baccibogie.blogspot.com.

When the workshop ended, I made mental notes of my next step. I had noted during the day that several of the officers were demonstrating signs of stress buildup. That was when I had my second “light bulb” idea. I mentioned to the Lieutenant in charge of outreach that I was open to presenting to the Unit a program on Stress Reduction. He responded exactly the way I predicted. “We don’t have a budget for that.” I offered to do it with no cost. And he jumped on the idea. During the next two weeks, I designed a course titled “Stress Behind The Badge,” and my excitement grew. Twenty officers attended and loved it. The evaluations were excellent, and I also had a great time. The audience was challenging; however, fun to work with, and I sensed I was on the brink of another chapter in my career.

A week later I was accepting a luncheon invitation from the Lieutenant in charge of the San Francisco Police Academy. And I was beside myself. After the incident with the Mercedes Benz Lease, I had convinced myself I possessed special powers. (if you did not read the beginning chapters about my adventurous life, I again refer you to: baccibogie.blogspot.com). Well, not really but unusual access. At the beginning of the luncheon meeting, the Lieutenant alluded to that adage about being in the right place at the right time. It seemed the Police Chief had asked to have the In-Service training revamped. He wanted every officer of the three-thousand-person agency to go through some type of Interpersonal Skills training. They were looking for a provider and had received excellent feedback about me. Ta-da I thought as my inner smile consumed my entire body. And so, the progression began. Policewoman here I come. A two-year contract with the San Francisco Police Department.

Chapter Three…

Police Ride Alongs 101…
After looking over the long contract to conduct Interpersonal Skills for the entire agency, I was ready to sign up. What it meant to me was a steady paycheck, no travel for two years and a chance to make a difference in a world of ‘on a need-to-know basis only.” That brought to the forefront that my relationship with the department would be kept to myself and not discussed with anyone. I’ve always kept that promise through the years in not bringing any issues to the public that were considered private.

I was to introduce myself to the population by engaging in ride-alongs. In the 80’s the nature of crime was different than it is now. Always dangerous but not as crazy. Yes, I had to sign a release but not much more than that. I was going to learn about the sub-culture on the job. And had no idea what I was going to do. My lifestyle was about to change as I was used to going to sleep early and not be out on the town in the wee hours of the morning. The process sounded exciting and I looked forward to the adventures that laid in wait.

My first ride along was with a two-man team. I sat in the front seat and was instructed what to do in case of a.b.c. or,d. I believed the officers would be on their best behavior as they had a citizen in the vehicle watching. It was a pretty quiet night until we got a domestic violence call. We entered an apartment where an older couple was having a row. The wife was beating up her husband with his wooden leg. I found that sad as I watched and listened to the techniques the officers used to handle the situation. Before I knew it, we were on our way to another situation. We entered a dark building where it was reported that a suspect might be hiding. I followed the officers into the darkness. They had their guns drawn and I was frozen with fear as they concluded there was no one else in the building. Soon, it was time to return to the station and check in. The officers were sharing our experience about the elderly couple when someone quipped, “Poor guy and he didn’t even have a leg to stand on.” I remembered that all these years as it was my first time hearing the dark humor that cops use to help diminish their stress.

Tune in next week as I progress from the street to the classroom. If you would like to read the first chapters about my adventurous life, please visit me at:

Baccibogie.blogspot.com

Chapter Four…

SHOTS FIRED
During the next month, I spent hour after hour in police cars. Some officers were welcoming, many were not. There was no way I could understand the constant stress they experienced. If not from the streets, then the department itself. Starting with the environment itself. Often when we answered a call in the projects, the aroma of urine tickled my nose. That was just one of the smells that were pervasive. My olfactory nerve was getting quite a workout. Everyday activities such as cooking or cleaning could produce offensive odors. Many personal care products are scented, such as candles and air fresheners. Depending on the area an officer was assigned to affected what he inhaled on a daily basis. These were hidden stressors, smells they got used to which could affect their health.

I learned a lot about the rigors of the job that had nothing to do with the dangers of the street. Including interactions between the supervisors and officers who worked the streets. It was going to be an interesting exercise to transfer what I experienced riding in a police car to a classroom where I would have additional challenges.

As the time drew near for me to start the programs, I increased my personal habits of stress reduction. I had been told that police audiences could be extremely challenging to say the least. And had also been informed that I was a trail blazer. At least in the state of California law enforcement training. No one knew of a former outside female instructing In-Service training. I would be facing prejudice towards a woman ‘telling armed officers what to do.’ The warnings of shenanigans were also afoot as to what I could expect in the way of sexual innuendos and flat out verbal challenges. You would think I was put off by the possibility of conflict; however, in some ways, I turned it around into believing that my skills could only be honed. Trust me, I had no idea where the bravery sprang from.

The last ride-along before I began the formal workshops, concluded with a high-speed chase. All I knew was when I heard the shots fired at the police car I was cowering inside of, I stopped breathing. It was a moment in time I would never forget.

Join me tomorrow when I share with you the unforgettable first day in front of forty armed men. Not only was it mandated they spend the day with me but I needed to receive great evaluations.

Chapter Five…

The Birth of Birdlegs
Opening Day with my first police group, was at hand. As I parked my Mercedes Benz in the parking lot filled with police vehicles and pickup trucks, I felt all eyes on me, hearing their minds about the suited lady in the fancy car. I felt, as I walked, naked. As vulnerable as I felt the first time I stood on a stage facing a 500 person audience.

The Lieutenant had requested private time with me before I began the festivities. I instinctively knew that today’s success was imperative. Word would spread quickly among the troops. My, now, police supervisor reinforced that. He reminded me that the basic nature of a trained police officer was to be suspicious, judgmental, a critical thinker and see-through bullshit quickly. He reinforced it was mandatory training and resistance would be high. The last thing he said shook me just a little. “If you walk out of that room at 5:00 p.m. without any scars, consider it a successful day.”

I took his departing remark as a joke; however, you know what they say about jokes containing a modicum of truth. There were three training truths that I took into the room with me. Number One: Maintain control of your audience; Number Two: Feed them something they didn’t expect and Number Three: Get your audience involved quickly.

The Lieutenant introduced me and a question quickly floated from the group. “What is her law enforcement background?” Whoops, I thought, zero to one. My turn. I asked how many were looking forward to spending the day with me in a classroom? A few raised their hands and I went on to explain why there weren’t more positive reactions. They laughed at my jokes and slowly I felt the room warming up. After my introductions I invited them to move their chairs into a circle. The non-verbals expressed, ‘you must be joking.’ I explained to them the benefit of not spending the day in a class room style training and most agreed. Now that I was finished softening the environment I proceeded with my first interactive exercise. How To Remember Names…the process included everyone coming up with a descriptive nickname. Mine was Birdlegs. They loved that I was making fun of myself and that nick name lasted the whole of my long career training officers.

The day flew by and it was now time for evaluations. I needed for them to be excellent to set the stage for the rest of my contract. When I left the Academy, I checked for scars and noted none. As I perused the evaluations in the comfort of my apartment, the tears rolled down my cheeks. They were beyond my expectations. Not perfect. Everyone didn’t love me; however, I was thrilled with 92percent. It was the comments that got me. Many took the time to write me personal notes that expressed gratitude for the day. I called the Lieutenant who had read them as well and he closed our chat with “Welcome to the San Francisco Police Department.”

Chapter Six…

Dirty Harry
Several months passed and my experience with SFPD grew more pleasing every day. I had made a decision to get to know as much of the department as possible and offer training for units that were not included in the original contract. On my own time, I continued the ride alongs in every district of the city. I also spent time in the Communication’s Center where the dispatchers performed their important duties. My thought process concluded that the officers who I got to know before they attended my workshop, would become my allies. The more allies I had, the better. As there was still resistance to the training and some officers weren’t shy about giving me a tough time. For example, at the beginning of one of the programs, a box of toilet seat covers was delivered to me as a gift. The next gift I received was a box of condoms. And so it continued. Good and challenging.

One day I was in City Hall wandering around saying hello to new friends. I happened upon a meeting the Narcotics Unit was having and the Captain invited me to join them. Some of them addressed me as Doc and that stuck along with Birdlegs. Another day I wandered into the Robbery Unit to meet their Lieutenant. As I shook his hand, there was a certain familiarity about him. And then I connected the dots. This was the San Francisco Lieutenant that Clint Eastwood patterned Dirty Harry after. There was also another officer in that Unit who performed a great deal of extra work in crime movies and I walked his beat with him the next day. I was having a great time. And, started feeling a part of the department. And there was one more thing.

My heart knew that working in this environment and making a difference in police officer’s lives, was feeling like purpose work. I had strived toward these moments for many years and the inner gratification I was experiencing was life changing.

I have enjoyed a 30-year career as an international motivational speaker/ trainer with expertise in law enforcement training.

My clients included top-notch corporations such IBM, Bank of America and Wells Fargo. One day I was home, in San Francisco, watching television and saw a group of police officers out on the Bay with teenagers. I thought that looked like fun and a 'light bulb' went off in my head. I picked up the phone and called the police department's training unit and asked for a meeting. To make a long story short, that meeting resulted in a two-year contract with the San Francisco Police Department and acted as a springboard for a career training law enforcement officers across the country.

My first experience as a writer started with the Dallas Morning News as an obituary writer. My bizarre sense of humor helped me maintain a sense of well being and the opportunity to write feature stories for the newspaper increased my appetite to become a writer.

When I moved to Aspen, Colorado, I wrote a newspaper column and then penned a book about a local police officer who moved to the community as an undercover agent. I also enjoyed a fourteen-year experience as a host for my local television show.

Writing became a hobby as I pursued my speaking career traveling across the country with my magnificent four-pound Maltese dog named Bacci Bogie.

Please read about our wonderful adventures as we traveled 500,000 air miles together.

First Activity

Write down a Life Lesson you have learned from your dog. Make sure you include your dog’s breed, your name and fur baby’s name.

Second Activity

Read the three sample blogs and write down a Life Lesson you think Bacci learned.

Third Activity

On the website, find the answers to the following questions.

A. Which hotel did Mommy and Bacci go for a massage?

B. Where was Bacci’s first home with Mommy?

C. How many miles did Bacci fly in the skies of United Airlines?

D. What did Bacci do to get back at the police officers that made fun of him?