The Man Who Sold Stories For A Dollar

Not long ago, I was stopped at a red light at the intersection of Hillhurst, Hollywood and Sunset in Los Feliz, when I spotted a disheveled gentlemen holding out a handful of what appeared to be children’s drawings and diagrams. Around his neck was a sign, “Stories $1.” The light turned green just as I was about to motion to him.

As I turned onto Sunset, I craned my neck around in time to see him stuff his cache of original(?) stories into an overstuffed shopping cart of what was probably most, if not all of his belongings. I was on my way to UHaul to pick up packing supplies for yet another move – My sixth, in five years (the three year transition from New York City to Los Angeles is seemingly endless). I thought that the shopping cart idea might actually be a viable option.

Storyman, as I’ll call him, had this 1970 Hal Ashby thing, going on. And for a moment, I wondered if it was actually him, even though he had been dead for more than twenty years — You never know. More likely, he was an unemployed writer who never quite got back on his feet, since last year’s writer’s strike (I was projecting).

Hal Ashby in "Harold and Maude."

Preston Sturges’ film, Sullivans Travels (1941) had come to mind. Joel McCrea, in the title role, played a Hollywood director determined to make a socially-conscious epic, as his next film: “O Brother Where Art Thou.” And what better method than to hit the road, masquerading as a down-on-his-luck, everyman.

Whoever he might be, I was determined to grab my packing tape and cellophane wrap, and find this would-be John Sullivan again. I had three bucks in my pocket, and I wanted three of his best stories. I headed back to the intersection where Storyman had been writing for supper. It was actually LA’s version of five corners: where Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, Sunset Drive, Hillhurst and Virgil all meet. It was also the location of D.W. Griffith’s enormous Babylon set for “Intolerance.” But Storyman was gone. I looked across the street towards the grand old Vista Theater, one of the last single-screen theaters in Los Angeles. The Egyptian style movie house had opened in the early 20’s and since its state-of-the-art renovation in 2000, it has remained one of the best places to catch a first run movie. Perhaps Storyman had cashed in a handful of stories for a matinee.

Joel McCrea in "Sullivan's Travels."

I circled the block — twice. Storyman, and his shopping cart, had completely vanished. Visions of Los Feliz hipsters mugging Storyman for ideas, ran through my head. What if Harvey Weinstein had been driving by in his red Smart Car and spotted Storyman? Harvey may have recognized an old colleague from the early days of Miramax — You know, back when the Weinstein brothers peddled direct-to-tape fare for their supper. Maybe Harvey picked Storyman up and optioned his entire stash for .50 against $1. Quite possibly he had grabbed the merchandise, before running over Storyman in a desperate attempt to make the light and flee the scene. He would have been able to dash up to Franklin and across the Shakespeare Bridge, to relative obscurity. No… Harvey Weinstein wouldn’t be driving a Smart Car — At least not a red one.

I think about Storyman. I think about when he was just a Storyboy, drawing pictures on paper. I think about what drives Storyman to write. I wonder where his inspiration comes from.

Grand opening of The Vista in 1923. It was known then as, "The Bard."

But most of all, I think about Harvey Weistein. I think about Harvey laying in bed, in a cold sweat. He can’t sleep. Every night, the ghost of Hal Ashby, playing Storyman, visits him. Storyman Hal stands at the foot of Harvey’s bed and waits. He waits for Harvey to fall asleep. Harvey fights to stay awake. He battles the heaviness of his eyelids. The fear overcomes him as he stares silently back at Storyman Hal. All of eternity is on Storyman Hal’s side, though. He will wait to take back what is rightfully his; and when he does, there will be a midnight screening of his greatest stories at The Vista.

Terrance Grace is a contributing writer for The Film Crusade.