On July 8th, my old pal Chris Dennis, aka “The Hollywood Boulevard Superman,” was arrested and hauled off to the pokie for doing something that he’s been doing out in broad daylight for nigh on twenty years now.

Chris Dennis arrested in Hollywood on July 8th

And actually, he wasn’t really doing it.

Evidently he was passing out flyers while in his Superman costume and some people wanted to have a picture taken with him because hey, he’s rather famous, and then they tipped him, which he didn’t ask for, and then the cops hauled him away.

The official account is here.

This battle has been going on for years because some of the people who don a costume and wander the boulevard hoping to make a killing in the tips-for-photos trade can be real assholes – they harass tourists and get very aggressive at times.

But not Chris.

He was my next-door-neighbor during our Hollywood stint, and I can personally vouch that a nicer, more helpful man clad all in red-and-blue can’t be found. Except Superman himself I’d reckon, but he’s somewhat elusive.

Chris helped us move twice – the first time was out of the Hollywood apartment building where we’d gotten to know he and his wife, Bonnie, and the second time was when we left LA altogether. He worked harder than any of us including me, and it was my stuff we were moving.

The city put the kabosh on the costumed characters a few months back and told the cops to arrest any of them who are seen plying their trade. They arrested a Batman character first, who was openly defiant of the ban and went right on hustling, and then Chris and someone else got popped on the 8th.

Now, I have more than a personal perspective – I also have a professional one, having worked as a security supervisor at the Hollywood & Highland Center which is next to all this madness. We kept an eye on the costumed characters because they were told not to enter Hollywood & Highland property in costume. Some did, and became quite arrogant when confronted and asked to leave.

Not Chris. He’d walk around the long way to go to and from the apartment complex, and he’d urge the others to do the same. He’d urge them not to be pushy with tourists and remind them that asking for tips is illegal. The vernacular always was, “We happily accept tips, just to let you know.”

Unfortunately, the easygoing characters quickly became a minority as rough, aggressive ones started to move in and push people around. I saw it firsthand and I saw Chris balk at how they treated people. They were arrogant, pushy and rude, and at times they’d demand cash, which is bordering on strong-arm robbery.

Chris goes to court on July 29th so, if you’re Alan Shore, or an Alan Shore type in LA, which means you’re a smug bastard of a lawyer who is very good at what you do and enjoys taking on a pro-bono case to help the little guy, then consider rescuing Superman for a change.

Contact me and I’d be happy to put you in touch with Chris, and while we’re at it, I’d provide you with the following testimony, which may or may not be helpful. You’re the smug bastard of a lawyer, so you decide..

1. In my time knowing Chris, I never witnessed him hustle for cash or otherwise strong-arm a person into tipping.
2. I did witness Chris coach other costumed characters not to engage in aggressive tactics and to obey the law when on the boulevard in costume.
3. As a security supervisor at the nearby Hollywood and Highland complex, I observed that Chris obeyed the ban on costumed characters on the personal property of the complex, and I often witnessed him coaching other characters as to the delineation of public vs. private property on the Hollywood Boulevard sidewalk.

A few final thoughts..

I don’t like the aggressive characters either. Sometimes it would get so that there would be thirty of them in front of Grauman’s Chinese, and one would feel intimidated pushing through all of that. They would have dirty, disheveled costumes and would block your path.

It would be nice to have it as it was early on.. a few costumed characters who didn’t harass people, took pride in their appearance and made a few bucks in tips while giving visitors some cool photos to show back home.

Yes, the bad ones have spoiled it for the good ones. Posing for pictures on Hollywood Boulevard in costume – tips or not – is now illegal. It will probably stay that way, so this thing comes down to Chris, his character and the fact that a good man is biting it because of the assholes.

Let’s hope the judge sees it as I do, with common sense. Chris isn’t the one to use to “make an example” of anything. He’s already an example of how to do it right, but they didn’t listen.

Check out Morgan Spurlock's documentary on HULU, "Confessions of a Superhero" featuring Chris Dennis.

ADD Chris on FACEBOOK

Vintage RhodesTer

restoring old posts to their former glory

originally published one day in 2003 or something

The lovely and still-living Gwyneth Paltrow

I used to work as a dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland complex in Hollywood, which meant I was the guy (one of several, actually) who sat in the camera surveillance room all day and watched people on video monitors.

When someone would do something bad, like shoot someone else or steal a pen, I’d call the police or send a security officer to deal with it, depending on the severity of the crime.

While on a break one day, I walked by the boss’s office and he called me in. His name was Jim Chaffee, and he’s still one of the best bosses I’ve ever had. His shock of red hair set over a freckled face is a bit impish, in a Howdy Doody sort of way. I’m pretty sure Jim would shoot me if he knew I called him Howdy Doody on this blog, so I hope he doesn’t read this.

He got that a lot.

Jim Chaffee, NOT Howdy Doody

Howdy Doody, NOT Jim Chaffee

But I had great respect for him, mainly because when he introduced himself to us while the security team was first being assembled, he confessed that he used to be the head of Disney security but had to step down due to a nervous breakdown of some sort.

I don’t mean Disneyland, or Disney World, or Disney Studios.  I mean he was the head of security for the entire Disney corporation.. and Mickey Mouse drove him insane.

So here he was, candidly telling us about it, explaining why he used to be the head of security for a huge corporation like Disney but was now the head of security for what is basically a glorified mall, and I liked him instantly.

He liked me too, I think, because he always gave me cool gigs. We did a lot of overtime, working at private parties and events that were held on the property, and I was often asked to show up in the evening so I could stand around in a suit and look like a secret service agent while celebs walked the red carpet and schmoozed at the parties. You always see those guys in the background when event photos are snapped for People Magazine, Entertainment Weekly, US, etc.. and I was in all of those at one time or another.

After calling me into his office on this particular day, Jim asked if I’d like a special assignment on Wednesday, which was two days away. I said maybe. He said it was driving Gwyneth Paltrow around in a security cart and doing whatever she asked.

I said hell yeah.

He didn’t give me any specifics because he didn’t have any, beyond the fact that some production company was taping a TV show and Gwyneth was a guest and I’d be her on-camera escort.

Jim had asked me to do this on Monday, so Tuesday took about a week to go by. On Wednesday morning I arrived on time at the appointed place and, sure enough, there was Gwyneth Paltrow, getting her picture taken.

I’d arrived in uniform and an observant assistant figured out that I was probably the security guy who’d been assigned to her so he approached me, asking, “Are you the security guy assigned to her?” He pointed at Gwyneth.

“Yes I am,” I said, and then I pointed at Gwyneth.

“Good,” he said, “Go down into the fifth level of the parking garage and get one of your security carts.. when we finish this segment, we’ll all be down there to meet you.”

He actually pointed at the elevator door, like I didn’t know where it was, just like he’d pointed at Gwyneth Paltrow as if I didn’t know who SHE was.. real high opinion of security people, this guy.

Alan Cumming, in need of a comb

I got one of our carts and fired it up, which sounds more impressive than it really is, since it was an electric golf cart. About ten minutes later the elevator doors whooshed open and the whole crew came in, including Gwyneth and a particular British actor who I didn’t know would be a part of this whole thing, Alan Cumming.

The Director of the TV show came over to me and asked, “Are you the guy who’ll be taking Gwyneth and Alan around the parking garage?”

Well, I didn’t know until that moment that it’d be Gwyneth and Alan, and I didn’t know we’d be staying in the parking garage, but yeah.. I was the guy.

The Director took all of three seconds to give me my directions.. “Just take them around like they can’t find their car. They’ll tell you where to go. Got it?”

Gwyneth jumped in beside me and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Gwyneth,” she said. I think it’s cool when well-known celebrities do that when they know perfectly well that you know who they are. It’s courteous, and trust me, not all of them are like that.  Martin Sheen is just about the nicest guy in the biz.. he does it, and then he pays your utility bills for you.

Martin Sheen, looking kind and gentle

Alan jumped on the back of the cart while the Director got onto another cart with a driver and cameraman and away we went, off to look for Gwyneth and Alan’s alleged lost vehicle.

The Director’s cart paced us while the camera stayed on us as we zoomed through the parking garage, up and down levels, left and right, cutting through rows of vehicles while the two of them shouted at me, “This way! Now here! Turn LEFT! Turn RIGHT!”

It was thoroughly zany.

At one point I must have gotten too excited or something, because I took a ramp a little too fast and put the cart up on the two right wheels, which almost pitched Gwyneth out onto her butt. Alan and I grabbed her and pulled her back in, all the while with the camera rolling. This is where I almost killed her. It wasn’t much really, but it makes for a good post headline, does it not?

Shortly thereafter I had to stop for a car backing out of a stall, so Gwyneth looked over at the lady driver and said, “We’ve lost our car.. we’re so retarded!” I could tell that the lady recognized her, but it was unclear as to whether or not she approved of the use of such a non-politically correct phrase being uttered by one of America’s sweethearts.

We eventually found the car and, of course, it was a black Range Rover, which I suspected they knew the location of all along. We said our goodbyes and, as they got into it and drove away, Gwyneth turned and blew me a kiss.

While on a break the next day and passing by Jim’s office, he called me in (he did that a lot) and asked what the Gwyneth Paltrow gig was all about. I told him everything except for the part about almost killing her, because he liked me and I wanted to keep it that way.

He asked if I’d found out what they were taping. I hadn’t, so he gave me the number of the production company, which I called, and a nice man on the phone explained that it was for a talk show that Alan Cumming would be hosting on the Oxygen channel and that Gwyneth was his first guest in the pilot episode.

Sadly, it never aired.

Gwyneth Paltrow, still alive today because of me

The Internet is making it increasingly difficult to hide from anyone and be invisible.

Especially if you have a blog that’s been around for a while, and Google seems to like it so they give you a 4/10 ranking, which isn’t great but it’s not exactly a bucket of warm spit.

I threw up in my mouth a little just then.

Case in point – Walter sent me an email a few days ago. He found me online by doing a search for things about Hollywood, so he must have read one of my previous accounts of working as a security dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland Center, a retail/entertainment complex on Hollywood Blvd.

Walter was one of the security guards there and I was a mid-level supervisor, meaning that any regular security guard on the team was under me, but I had about 18 bosses over me. It sure was fun.

I was a dispatcher so I’d sit in the dispatch center and watch all the craziness of Hollywood happen on a series of cameras that fed into our monitors and if something interesting went down, I’d call the security guards on the radio and tell them to go take care of it.

We had this outdoor camera that could see the corner of Hollywood and Highland. It was mounted over the Gap Store, overlooking the sidewalk, and we could pan it back and forth while zooming it in and out with a little keyboard joystick thingy, which sure was bitchin’.

The Hollywood & Highland Gap Store. The security cam is just to the left
of the stoplight up at the top of the palm tree, on a white mounting bracket.

One day I noticed this odd person standing on the corner. He/she was black, but I couldn’t figure out if this was the ugliest damn woman I’d ever seen or a crazy fat black man in drag. He/she was wearing a blond wig, short skirt and jack boots that covered the lower part of a pair of horrendously hairy legs.

But what really stood out about this person was the sword he/she was brandishing at pedestrians and cars. There was a lot of yelling on his/her part as he/she swung the sword around and, as you’d expect, people walking by gave him/her a wide berth and some scurried away with frightened looks on their faces.

The first thing I did was place a 911 call. I described a “possibly mentally unbalanced person brandishing a sword on the corner of Hollywood and Highland.” I gave some other details – description, my name and position, etc. – then I put out a call on the radio to our security team..

“All officers, information only.. we have a 5150 (crazy) subject of unknown gender on the corner of Hollywood and Highland brandishing a sword in front of the Gap Store. It’s public sidewalk area and PD has been notified, all officers are advised to stay clear for safety, this is for your information only.”

We kept the camera on the person, mainly because if he/she were to hurt someone we’d have it on tape, since the cams record everything they’re seeing. A lot of people don’t like the idea of being videotaped when they’re out in public, but there you have it.

About a minute later the nut-job was still brandishing the sword and the police hadn’t arrived yet. Into the scene strolls officer Walter. I’d advised all of our team to stay away because they were not armed or trained to deal with someone like this but I guess he hadn’t heard that part, so I called him on the radio and told him to back off.

He didn’t answer.

He walked up to the nut-job and started talking to him/her. There were about five of us gathered in dispatch now, including the Watch Commander, and I just knew we were about to see Walter’s head get lopped off and go rolling down the sidewalk before coming to rest in a storm drain.

Fortunately for him, all that happened was a brief conversation. Then Walter stepped away and called me on the radio..

“Dispatch, I question that subject and he say is just a costume sword that is fake, so that is code 4 (all clear).”

Walter, being Filipino, was not a close friend of the English language. More like a casual acquaintance.

I keyed the microphone.

“Walter, get up here.. NOW.”

When Walter arrived in dispatch, the nut-job was still in the same place but he’d placed the sword in a sheath on his waistband (Walter said it was a “he” now, so at least we got that much cleared up.)

The cops were just arriving. I didn’t say anything to Walter – I just told him to watch.

Two cops approached the guy, but didn’t get closer than about 20 feet. The one in front had one hand on his holstered gun while pointing at nut-job and barking some orders, which were probably “get your hands on your head, now!” because that’s what nut-job did. Then the other cop walked up behind him and removed the sword from the sheath. Once nut-job had been separated from his sword, the one behind him took it over to the police car and put it in the trunk. The other had a conversation with nut-job and then whipped out a ticket book and wrote a citation.

I told Walter to go back on duty. After they were done with nut-job, the two cops came into the dispatch center and told me the sword was indeed quite real. They’d confiscated it but they didn’t arrest nut-job because they hadn’t seen the brandishing part, and they felt that since nobody was hurt and the sword had been taken away, there was no need to go to all that trouble.

Then they went downstairs to Starbucks and had some coffee.

Later, I told Walter about the sword being real and how he could have ended up with his head in a storm drain. We both agreed, as did the Watch Commander who was present and being all frowny-faced, that he’d need to be more careful in the future and listen to what dispatch tells him.

So he emailed me the other day. It’s been like, seven years, and out-of-the-blue I get an email from officer Walter, who is no longer a security officer but is now back in the Philippines..

Hi, mr rhodes remember walter of hollywood security? well hope you still remember me. the reason why im writing you is, i red you write up during our fun days in hollywoodland  mall kodak theater, I really feel good when i red it  first i was wondering who wrote it until i realize that it was you the dispatch boss. well im back here in philippines and hoping to be out here for canada by 2010. Just you to know that im so glad  that i saw your writing in you rhodester good luck and God Bless.

Isn’t that nice? I wrote him back..

Hi Walter,

Of course I remember you! I’ll never forget the great “disarming of the Hollywood Blvd drag queen by the hero security officer Walter” incident of 2002. I’ll bet small children in the Philippines love hearing that story told again and again in your native tongue.

My wife and I are in Palm Springs, which is in the desert, yet there are hundreds of lush golf courses everywhere. I don’t play golf but I hear it’s fun. There are Filipino people here too, most of whom are caddies, valets, bartenders and waiters. They make killer tips and buy nice homes with 30-year mortgages. I’m not making that up. They do quite well up here.

I write now. Like this – http://rhodester.net – I know! Sad, huh? I was thinking of getting a job as a security guy again but I’m not THAT desperate.. just a little.

If you’re ever around these parts, give me some warning notice and I’ll choose that time to take my European vacation. Just kidding. We’ll go golfing, I hear it’s fun.

Cheers, and best of luck to you too!

The truth is, I miss Walter and I’m glad he got in touch. We have a few drag queens here in Palm Springs, but none of which I’ve seen carrying swords. If one pops up though, I know who not to call.

Of course, it was much more fun to watch pretty girls
on Hollywood Blvd, like blogger Nikki Desuasido
from “Hello Nikki,” shown here in front of
the Hollywood & Highland Center

So yeah, I live a weird life. Because I was passing through Hollywood last Wednesday and I thought I’d just get off the 101 and see if my old friend Chris, aka the “Hollywood Boulevard Superman,” was out doing his thing, which is posing for pictures with tourists in exchange for tips, but I ran across the wrong Superman and it seems he has a chunk of kryptonite wedged up his ass.

I was on my way to the little town of Buellton on the California coast to pick up Dorian, aka coffeesister, who’s been hanging out with family since her grandmother passed away last month. They decided to meet up with me at Pea Soup Anderson’s, which is this historic restaurant about two hours north of LA on the 101.

So I take the 10 freeway out of Palm Springs and jump on the 101 once I’m in LA. It was about 11:00 am, and I’m thinking maybe Chris is out on the Boulevard doing his Superman shtick, which is featured in the documentary “Confessions Of A Superhero.”

I got off at the Hollywood Boulevard exit and there’s maybe a mile to go before I get down into the thick of it, in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and across the street from the El Capitan, where the Jimmy Kimmel show is produced. I know I’m in LA already though, because I’m waiting for the light to change and the guy in the car over to my right is shouting at the guy in the car over to my left, saying something about learning to drive and maybe he should stay in his own lane, and yada yada yada.

I’ve been away too long and I’m not used to that sort of thing. Here in Palm Springs the guy in the car on the right compliments the car of the guy on the left and then asks him out to coffee. Generally, the guy in the car on the left will accept and they have a mad, passionate fling, and then in the morning they go golfing.

As I approached the Hollywood & Highland complex where I was a security dispatcher for a few years, I start to see some of the walk-around characters milling with the crowd on the sidewalk. Spongebob, The Incredible Hulk, The Joker.. but I’m looking for that familiar flash of red and blue that can only be Superman. Hey, there he is! I catch a glimpse of him talking to someone so I pull up at the curb alongside only to discover that it’s some other dude.

“Hi, excuse me.. I’m looking for Chris, do you know if he’s out today?”

“Naw man, I don’t give a damn about Chris.. go away.”

(Well okay, Mr. Cranky-Pants.. I didn’t ask your opinion of him. Just want to know if he’s around.)

“I’m an old friend of his and haven’t seen him in about four years.. I’m just passing through and was looking for him.”

“Any friend of Chris is no friend of mine.. get away from me, we’re done here.”

Turns out this guy’s name is Michael and he has his own MySpace profile. Hey Michael, here’s a little lesson for you regarding life in LA.. you never know who you’re talking to. I may just be a nobody writer from Palm Springs, but the next guy looking for Chris might be a producer, director or casting agent. I don’t give a damn about your politics on the boulevard, all I know is that Chris has always been a mellow and decent guy to me, and despite his quirkiness I can tell you that if he were anything short of being cool he wouldn’t be a friend of mine. So maybe next time just be “super” and answer the question instead of putting “Jesus is my Superhero” on the front page of your MySpace profile (figures*) and then treating total strangers like so much dog crap that you just scraped off your little red boot.

Alright, we know that rude people are everywhere.. I’m over it. But lesson learned, folks..  you now know that when you’re on Hollywood Boulevard and looking to get your picture taken with Superman, you need to find this one..

And if any others come up to you (ahem), you’ll want to tell him you’re a friend of mine, so you only do business with Chris. Oh, and if you’re any sort of agent, producer, etc.. then you know who to stay away from. I’d bet he’s difficult to work with.

I eventually found Chris further up the boulevard and we went back to his place for a while to catch up on the past four years. Then I was off to Buellton where I had some of the best pea soup in the world with Dorian and her family before bringing her home. Poor girl was gone for three weeks. It got lonely around here, but it was kind of nice to do absolutely anything I wanted at anytime I wanted to do it, so I slept a whole bunch and drank a lot of beer.  *urp*

*I certainly have nothing against Jesus and Christians in general, I’ve just found over the years that jerks tend to use Jesus as a cover for their jerkiness – they feel better about themselves because they’re forgiven by the Lord Almighty, and then they go right on being guilt-free, clueless bullies.

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]]> http://rhodester.net/the-pea-soup-was-super-man/feed 5 http://rhodester.net/confessions-of-a-superhero http://rhodester.net/confessions-of-a-superhero#comments Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:07:51 +0000 RhodesTer http://rhodester.net/?p=2629

Okay, so I guess I took a week off from blogging without really meaning too. Don’t feel slighted if you weren’t told.. I wasn’t told either.

It’s just that the old ball-n-chain is still out of town, so I’ve been playing. Which basically consists of eating more than I should while drinking more beer that I usually do and watching stuff on HULU.COM.

Yeah, I’m getting old.

BUT.. I ran across something that kind of sort of blew me away, so I sat and watched this with such rapt attention that my beer went flat and my pizza got cold.

I was mesmerized.

From the internet movie database..
“Confessions of a Superhero” chronicles the lives of four mortal men and women who work as characters on the sidewalks of Hollywood Boulevard. This feature length documentary explores the fascination, obsession, and allure of fame through the eyes of these very unique people struggling to make it in Tinseltown.

The reason I watched with rapt attention is because the guy lying on the green sofa in a Superman outfit is our old next-door-neighbor, Chris Dennis.

Coffeesister, aka Dorian, and I lived and worked in Hollywood from 2000-2004. I did background acting in film & TV while also working as a security dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland complex, which happens to be next to the famed Grauman’s Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard.

We’d seen the Hollywood Boulevard Superman on occasion while living over on LaBrea somewhere, and like everyone else we thought, “Geez that guy looks like Christopher Reeve.” But it wasn’t until we moved into this building on Orchid right behind the Kodak Theatre that we got to know him.

I’ll never forget stepping out the door of our new apartment to go get another load from the truck, when he came strolling up resplendent in red cape, blue leotard and boots. “Well, HI Superman!” said I, with a look on my face that must have betrayed my surprise. “Howdy! The name’s Chris.” He extended his super hand, which I was reluctant to shake knowing full well that he could easily grind my bones into dust. But he seemed kind of friendly so I took a chance.

He was going into the apartment next door.

“You live here?”

“Yep, come on in.. meet my girlfriend Bonnie.”

Okay, this was interesting.. so I went on in and  met Bonnie, and then I just had to run back into our place and grab Dorian to come over and meet Superman/Chris.

Their place was wall-to-wall Superman paraphernalia, and I mean it was EVERYWHERE. Sofa, ceiling, end-tables, lamps, you name it – everything in the place had  something about Superman on it.

We lived next to them for several years, and I’d often run across Chris as he was on his way out to the boulevard or coming back in. We’d sometimes drop in to pay a visit, surrounded by Superman lore and talking about.. guess what.. Superman.

The documentary points out that Chris is a bit obsessed, and I’d say that’s accurate. But they were a little unfair in their portrayal of him. I can’t speak for the other characters because I didn’t know them, with the exception of having met Batman/Max a few times – but Chris and Bonnie were definitely two of the most decent people I’d ever met. Call him nuts if you will, but I think we’re all kind of nuts and quirky about certain things – I know I am. I can certainly vouch for the fact that he’s a decent guy and hard worker. He helped us move out of the place in 2004 and the guy worked twice as hard and fast as I did.

“Confessions of a Superhero” was made a couple of years ago by Morgan Spurlock, the same guy who did “Super Size Me.” I’m sure it won’t hold your attention as aptly as it did mine, but hopefully you’ll find it interesting. I’ve just never experienced a film that’s hit so close to home because Chris was not only my next-door-neighbor, but my friend – we’d occasionally do things together and I’ve hung out in that Superman apartment many times. The film takes a tour of the apartment at one point and it’s all accurate, the exception being that it was obviously tidied up for the film crew.

Anecdote – I drove a Miata at the time, and I pulled up to the front of Grauman’s one day while Chris was standing out front. “Want to go for a ride?” He got in, and the top was down so he draped the Superman cape back over the rear to let it blow in the wind. We cruised down Hollywood Boulevard and hit the Sunset Strip, then jumped on the freeway and headed over to Universal, then the 101 back up into Hollywood. I swear I’d never had my picture taken so many times in my life as that hour I drove around with Superman in the passenger seat. We’d pull up to a red light and the person next to us would ask, “Hey Superman, how come you have to get around in a car?” Chris would smile and point upward.. “It’s a no-fly zone over LA.”

NOTE – There’s an older LAPD officer seen in several scenes, who talks about police involvement with these characters and the legality of what they do. This is Mike Shea, who was a liaison to our security team at Hollywood & Highland. He’d come up into our dispatch center on occasion and we’d have some nice chats about the local neighborhood, including the superhero characters on the boulevard.

I’m embedding the video in this post. If I’ve sold you on watching it, you can either see it here or go to its page at Hulu.com. People using a reader or getting this in email won’t get the embedded video, so just go here.

Outside of the US - well, if you’re REALLY interested there’s always Amazon – I’d appreciate it if you used my affiliate link below.

Not seeing the video? click here

On April 25th of 2002, I was working as a security dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland complex. I know I worked the morning of that exact date, because yesterday coffeesister was going through a box of old papers and unearthed a document I’d saved but forgotten about.

We kept our dispatch log on a computer. I’d sit there in the surveillance room and talk to security officers on the radio while watching a large monitor in front of me that was fed by 82 cameras around the property. I had a switching console, so that I could call up any camera feed I wanted too, and a “camera officer” sat nearby at a similar monitor and switching console. His sole responsibility was to watch the video from all around the property – he didn’t have the radio or dispatch log duties to distract him. If he saw something suspicious, he’d just tell me what camera it was on and I’d bring it up on my monitor, then send security via radio if needed.

As I kept the dispatch log, I’d make entries like this..

0700- Ofc Bollozos reports code 4 north restrooms level 3.

0715 – McCarthy Construction commenced work on grand stairway – informed dispatch that portions of stairway to be inaccessible to public through remainder of the work day.

April 25th of 2002 was a slow day. It must have been, because I decided to keep myself entertained by typing the security log up a little differently. I called it..

“If a dime-store novelist worked part-time as a security dispatcher.”

The shift started at 0600. At 0615, I’d gotten out of briefing and settled into the dispatch chair. Thus our story begins..

0615 – Twenty one uniformed security officers and their pint-sized sargeant sat in hushed silence as Karl DeleGuerra strode into the room. The blue of their uniforms matched the blue mood that swept over them as Karl spoke swiftly yet eloquently of terrorist threats and the need for officers to be alert. Tossing out a final warning as nonchalantly as one tosses a quarter to a grateful panhandler, Karl left the room, his words lingering in the air like so much air freshener that’d been in the can too long.

0630 – Officer Graham reluctantly surrendered the dispatch console to Corporal Rhodes. A bit of idle chit-chat provided a thin veil for the deeply passionate feelings Graham harbored when it came to the throne of electronic endeavor and his longing to return to that throne once night should fall again. Officer Matt Desotell took his station at the surveillance monitor, a sense of urgency buzzing around him like a cloud of angry mosquitoes, needling him to do better – do BETTER – and not let Karl down. Not again. Not ever.

Karl’s words of exhortation during the morning briefing had made a deep impact on Desotell, who strove to be just like Karl someday and was even now reminicient of Karl in his youth, a daring young man full of promise and not lacking when it comes to matters of the heart and soul.

0632 – Who would think that an entire golf cart could turn up missing? Yet here was Officer Erazo, standing forlornly in the cavernous depths of the parking structure, calling on his radio in a hollow voice as he described to Rhodes how empty the space looks where once stood a a shiny, beautiful golf cart. Rhodes was no fool, and he could sense the layer of fear wedged into Erazo’s thick, Hispanic dialect – fear that the cart would never be found, and that he would be relegated to some far-flung boundary for the remainder of his watch to idly pass the time by counting passers-by and tossing inane greetings at them as one tosses baseballs at lead bottles with the hope of winning a stuffed panda at the county fair.

Corporal Rhodes acted swiftly, dispatching his full compliment of roving security officers in search of the wayward cart. Time dripped by like molasses for poor Erazo, who was elated when he heard the happy voice of Officer Walter Bollozos pierce the darkness and call out that the cart had been found in the valet area of the parking structure. To Erazo, Bollozos had become a hero in one fleeting moment. Never mind that Bollozos was a hero already, beloved by all who call upon his services to witness how quickly he brings each task to fruition with a relish. To Erazo, Bollozos was now his personal hero. And no one else’s.

0647 – Escalators are mere machines. Soulless contraptions that don’t care one little bit whether you go up or down. Escalator #25 is no exception, and it sits in a funk. A non-moving, gloomy little escalator funk.  Fortunately, Corporal Guerrero is the funk remover, and is on his way.

0652 – While on his way to cheer up Escalator #25, Corporal Cuerrero noticed that Elevator #8 appeared to be in a funk also. But upon closer inspection it was revealed that some miscreant had maliciously engaged the fire-switch on poor old Elevator #8, thus causing it to sit just where it is, pondering whether or not it would ever slide its smooth walls up and down that silky shaft once again. This would be a job for Jim from Fujitech, a man known not only for his ragged sense of humor and wonderful wit, but also for his fanciful little firekey.

0654 – Corporal Guerrero flashed fondly back on that day in fifth grade when he had handed the report in to Mrs. White and she smiled like a Cheshire cat, praising him for the hard work he’d obviously poured into such a fascinating piece. Who knew that the Louisiana purchase could ever be made to seem so alive, so vibrant? It was just a boring old piece of American historicity in most minds, but not after Danny Guerrero had tackled it with his pen.

Mrs. White was not one known to graciously dole out grades that matter, but she slapped a triumphant A PLUS on Danny’s paper that day, sealing in him a desire to perform above and beyond the call of the daily grind. As he inserted his key into the little slot at the base of Escalator #25 and it roared to life, he grinned like a very special breed of Cheshire cat, certain within himself that he’d earned yet another in a life-long string of A’s with the accomplishment of this task.

At this point the watch commander walked into dispatch and looked over my shoulder.

“Rhodes, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m composing the dispatch log as if I were a dime-store novelist working here part-time.”

“You won’t be working here at all if you don’t knock it off.”

I printed a copy of what I had so far, then went back and rewrote the entries in the usual format.

Work. They just don’t let you have any fun.

It seems as though it was only a few years ago – seven, actually – that I stood on that stage myself and accepted the award for my performance as “best security guard to break into the Kodak Theater at three in the morning and stand on the stage holding a flashlight while goofing off” award.

In 2001 the Kodak was being built, smack dab in the middle of the Hollywood & Highland complex, which was also being built. We lived behind it on Orchard, right where the soon-to-be Renaissance Hotel was located. It faces Highland, but the loading dock lets out onto Orchard, which is a tiny little street in the heart of Hollywood that doesn’t really go anywhere.

I could walk out the front door of our apartment complex and walk into the loading dock of the Renaissance, but I didn’t because, you know, who wants to go walking around in loading docks?

The Renaissance Hotel as seen from the air, with the rear of the Kodak
Theater and our old apartment building, which was the 2nd building
down from the Kodak on the right of the pic.

I worked at Universal Studios at the time as a ride operator on the ET Attraction, which was a facsimile of the bicycle ride ET took at the end of the movie, with the dog in the basket past the moon and all of that. It was a horrible job because I was already getting old then, and I worked for 19 year old shift leads, who can be a bit attitudinal when they have a guy like me who has to mop up vomit when they tell him too. Fortunately there wasn’t a lot of vomit on the ET Attraction because it didn’t go over 5 miles per hour. But there were other things, like dropped snow cones and stuff.

In late 2001 there were these bad guys who flew airplanes into buildings out there in New York City and it scared the crap out of all of us, so security companies started hiring like crazy. I went to work for an outfit that had gotten the contract to provide security to the Hollywood & Highland complex, which was still a pile of construction materials at the time, so we were sent out to augment the security at Warner Brothers Studios for a few weeks.

We mainly searched cars lined up at the gates to come in, and my job was to ride a bicycle around to all of the gates and relieve our security people for breaks and lunch, so I’d search cars at gate nine for a while, and then head over to gate three, and then over to gate two, all day long. We searched everyone, from the head of Warner Brothers Studios to the lady who flipped burgers at the commisary. Nobody was exempt because, darn it, bad guys had flown airplanes into buildings and we weren’t going to take it lying down.. so we were dilligent about making sure Jennifer Aniston wasn’t taking pipe bombs into the set of “Friends.”

Sexy terrorist, Jennifer Aniston

When the Hollywood & Highland Complex approached an opening date, they sent us over there to start getting acclimated. It was still a construction site, so we had to wear hard hats and boots as we walked around with flashlights, mace and handcuffs.

One night, Bob and I wandered over to the area of the Kodak Theater to have a look. We found an open door, so in we went. The interior was pristine, and looked like it was ready for the first show. They wouldn’t be hosting the Oscars for a few months yet, but we stood on the stage and speculated as to what it might be like to stand there with the place full of every major player in the entertainment business plus the eyes of a billion people watching you as you stammer through an acceptance speech.

It was a bit exhilarating.

Oddly enough, nobody was around. Lights had been left on and a door unlocked but not a soul was in the place except for Bob and I, making it one of those times I’ll never forget, like when coffeesister and I hung out at the top of the Eiffel Tower for about 25 minutes and watched the sunset over Paris with nobody else around. I think every now and then God gives me little gifts like this, and I’m supposed to hold onto them and call them up during bad times.

I went to a few shows at the Kodak after it opened, but nothing beat standing on that stage that night long ago. I was a security supervisor at the complex, so I got to be on the red carpet during all kinds of award shows, and there weren’t any 19 year olds who bossed me around. They called me “sir” instead – at least at first, until I told them to knock it off because I’m not like that.

So, coffeesister and I are going to be watching the Oscars Sunday night and I don’t care who wins what, so if you thought this was going to be a typical Oscar post including “RhodesTer’s picks”, then I’m sorry to disappoint – I just don’t see many movies these days. I watch it for the fun of it and to reminisce about my glory days in Hollywood, searching Jennifer Aniston’s Jag for pipe bombs.

True story - shortly after Hollywood & Highland opened, we had a security detail down at the entrance to the parking garage doing the car search thing, just like we’d done out at Warner Brothers, but this time I was in the dispatch center. They weren’t searching every vehicle coming in because it would have caused traffic to back up onto Highland Avenue, so they were instructed to search every sixth car. A young security officer called up and asked, “Hey dispatch, I have a sixth car stopped but do I have to search this lady? It’s Gwyneth Paltrow.” I looked on the security camera and sure enough, it was her. “Of course you have to search her”, I said,  “haven’t you seen Shakespeare In Love?”

The Stanley Cup

At times, I’ve been accused of name dropping on this blog.

To that I say, I don’t!  I just lay them down gently. Then it’s up to you to step through the minefield of celebrity and fame and if you trip over one or two in the process, well, who’s fault is that?  Can I help it that I used to schmooze with the rich and famous?

I’m wondering though, if it counts as name dropping if you talk about a famous pile of metal rather than a person.

You see, yesterday I was asking James at MEN WITH PENS how to give a first-person narrative with strong anchor phrases and keywords, but somehow got onto the subject of Hollywood.  That happens with me a lot, and that’s when I get accused of name-dropping.

James hasn’t accused me of it though, yet, but he should because I couldn’t help showing him up.  I always do that and it’s a bad, BAD habit.  If you saw Steven Spielberg in a mall, I hung out with him on the set of an Oscar nominated film.  If you saw Muhammed Ali fight way back when, I spent half the day with him on a security detail.  If you spotted Gwyneth Paltrow in Sardi’s during your trip to LA, I once tried to kill her.

It never ends.

What happened yesterday is that I’d just mentioned something about some celebrity – I can’t remember WHO, because there are just SO MANY – and James wrote back the following..

I do have an autograph of Denis Hamel on my fridge .. he’s a famous hockey player. Like, you’re supposed to know who he is. Comes from my town. Famous. I’m telling you. Denis. Yes?

Well, like I could leave THAT alone!  I could do better, so I replied..

A few years back I was booked as an extra on an HBO show called “Arli$$“, about a sports agent (or reporter, or something.. I’d never watched it.)

We shot some scenes on a sound stage and then broke for lunch – another sound stage that wasn’t being used for the show had been set up as a cafeteria, and I grabbed a tray of food and took a seat at an empty table.  I didn’t know anyone there, and didn’t really want to fraternize with the crew.

As I was eating, some guy came in with this big-ass trophy, and everyone cheered.  He asked, “Where do I put it?”  One of the crew guys pointed to my table and told him to set it there, so he did.  Then everyone just HAD to come over and flock around it for a nice close-up view and, since it had been set down about three feet away from me, I was suddenly surrounded by crew people, pushing and shoving for a closer view of it.

So, I had lunch with the most prestigious award in hockey and one of the most important awards in the world of sports, THE STANLEY CUP.  The REAL one, not a prop, because they do that sort of thing with it.

I later found out that it makes “appearances” all over the place, just like a celebrity.  It was on loan to be used in that particular episode of the show – I forgot to mention the armed guard who stayed within view of it the whole time.

So, yeah.. speaking of HOCKEY.  Sorry, I’ve never heard of Denis Hamel.

So now you see how annoying I can be.  But I’m still wondering if it counts when it’s a big-ass metal cup instead of a person.

I should phone up Spielberg and ask him.