Published in the San Diego Union-Tribune, August 12, 2024
by Neil Senturia
It is the true dog days of summer, and I am going to indulge in a bit of a travelogue with a side order of reminiscence.
Recently, Ms. Bry and I spent 48 hours in Los Angeles, and it is a wonder what you can feel and learn in such a short time. And it did not come from any of the famous museums or attractions.
First, we went to visit a friend of 50 years. He is partially paralyzed and spends all of his time in a motorized wheelchair.
We brought food to the house he shares with his partner/girlfriend/no one really has a name for how relationships evolve. Three Reuben sandwiches, one turkey swiss and a monster slice of chocolate cake.
Stories were told, of course. There was a moment when “Bob” talked about the first time he went outside in his wheelchair in a van for a drive to the restaurant where they first fell in love.
He started to cry as he talked about seeing the outside world new again for the first time in four months. Pause my friends. For most of us, going outside is simply obvious every morning. Now imagine seeing the world of light after four months of living inside.
You think the world of “disabled/challenged” is a small one. My friend says that when he reluctantly entered that room, he was astounded at how full it was. Practice gratitude.
Then my bride and I went to a famous restaurant, Musso and Frank. Fifty years ago, when I labored in the slough of despond writing screenplays and sitcoms in Hollywood, this was the place. My agent took me to lunch there. My booth is the second one in on the right in front of the bar. It is nice to remember fondly your failures. Nostalgia is a heady drug indeed.
I went to visit an apartment house at 1929 Whitley Ave., where as a newly minted fellow at the American Film Institute I lived for a year. It is still standing, and it is still a dump.
I lived in a one room, two burner stove, Murphy bed, toilet, shower, no sink in the bathroom, window looking onto a wall.
The year was 1971, and the rent for this abode was $89 per month. On my recent visit, I saw a sign that a room was available for rent, and I inquired. The nice lady said it was available “right now,” and the rent was $1,650 per month.
The same one room I lived in. No bigger. Unfurnished now, Murphy bed was gone. She said I needed to bring my own furniture. I offer this only as a snap shot in time, a data point in the complex discussion of housing in America.
How many of you have gone back to visit your roots, the family home or the first whatever? I would be interested to hear your stories, noting that Thomas Wolfe said, “You Can’t Go Home Again,” but maybe he is wrong.
It is your past that lets you imagine the stories of your future. But if you want to mine that thought a bit more, try Marcel Proust, “Remembrance of Things Past.” All seven volumes.
Finally, a summer surprise. A friend sent me some principles of leadership. I cannot improve on them, so I will simply share a few.
“If you want to make everyone happy, don’t be a leader. Sell ice cream.” — Steve Jobs
“Knowledge is learning something every day. Wisdom is letting go of something ever day.” — Zen proverb
“The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” — Thoreau
Rule No. 819: Take a road trip.