Lucille Ball's favorite writer, aside from the wonderful writers of her show, was John Barbour. She said for the ten years that John was the film critic for Los Angeles Magazine, she couldn't wait for the beginning of the month just to read his reviews. And watch him on KNBC's six o'clock news!

And when Bob Wood was President of CBS TV he said, 'If Mark Twain had a microphone and camera, he'd be doing a lot of what John is doing!' 

When John was crafting the number one show in TV for three years, his commitment was always to STORY and PURPOSE!

That's the way it will be with this website.

To begin with, we'll introduce you to a bit of John's story...and what an amazing real story it is!

The Troublemaker Begins

John came from a dysfunctional family, he said ,long before it was popular! He claimed his mother wanted to put him up for adoption when he was a fetus!!

After he was born, April 24th., 1933, in a Salvation Army hospital in Toronto, Canada, he said he was sorry that his mother wasn't successful in that endeavor; everyone else was like his mother. They didn't want him, either! 'I mean,' he said,' who would want a kid that's welcomed into the world with a slap on the ass by a tambourine!! That could make somebody distrust and resent authority a lot, and I guess I've been that way ever since!'

'My mother was just like that song from a Broadway musical: 'I'm just a girl who can't say no!' She just couldn't say no to a beer or a boy!' So, as a cocktail waitress, he said before he was ten he had 23 uncles and one absentee father.

It wasn't till years later, after they stopped being sort of a family, that he discovered she had her own deep emotional and physical scars. 'She was beautiful, looked like Veronica Lake with that flowing blonde mane curling down over one eye. She had an extremely jealous boyfriend who didn't trust her, and rightly so, I guess. He used to spy on her, and one day he saw her paying to much attention to one customer. Later he waited for her in the alley, and as she approached the front door he jumped     out and tossed a bottle of acid in her  face. Her ear melted into her head and her cheek peeled off! Thus the hairdo!!'

School Daze

John attended Adam Beck public school, where surprisingly he was an honor student, and not surprisingly a trouble-making truant. He attended school under the name John MacLaren because he said his father, who was an aspiring Bernie Madoff, added the name 'MacLaren' after his real name 'Barbour' in an attempt to get a job as a writer on The Toronto Star passing himself off as the closest relative of a successful writer whose real name was 'MacLaren!' He got the job.

'In 1939, to get away from the turmoil at home, my dad joined the Canadian Army to get to the lesser turmoil of World War 2! I didn't see him till years later when I went over there to track him down.'

One of the bits of trouble that our Canadian Artful Dodger managed to mismanage involved his best and worst friend Mel Nixon.Yars later , Mel became a Canadian war hero in Viet Nam and a bank robber in Canada! They were 15 or 16, and like a lot of kids who don't have a lot of stuff, they set out to steal it. The first thing they stole was at a school dance; they stole a friend's top coat because it had big pockets Then they went down to Kingston Road, broke into a small confectionery store and filled those pockets with the stuff. They were sitting in front of the store counting their take when the cops showed up to help them with the total!

They were given a years probation for these two crimes! (Decades later, this almost kept him out of the country.)

To get John out of her hair, and to get another Uncle into the house, his mother sent him for the entire summer to a boarding farm in Sudbury,, Ontario. Toward the end of that exile, John was attempting to take a short-cut from the swimming pond through the forest, leading two younger boys and a cocker spaniel, when they mysteriously found themselves passing the same spots all the time. They were lost for two days and two nights, climbing trees and abandoned hunting cabins to avoid the bears. The Canadian Army, called out for the search, found them atop one such cabin on the third day..only 20 yards from the road!

When John's mother showed up a week later, John rushed to his mother with his  arms outstretched; before he could embrace her, she whacked him across the face in front of everyone and told him angrily that he'd always be a troublemaker! Thankfully for us, she was right!

Drop Out

At the end of the first year at Malvern Collegiate High School, to which he'd skipped because of his good grades, John was told by his mother that his father was not coming home even though the war had been over for three years, Why come home and start another one!  John was devastated. The one thing that he said kept him going was the thought of seeing his dad again; so, on all his final exam papers he wrote a huge zero, and at 15 walked out of school and out of the house! The only thing he took with him was a love of books!

For a while he worked as a mail boy in the Parliament Buildings downtown; that was too confining, so he took a job as a fireman shoveling coal on the Canadian National Railway. That was too hard. He wanted to do something easier..go to war and become an American!

His slightly older half-brother, Raymond  had made his getaway a few years earlier by joining the American Air Force and ending up at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi where, according to John,  he became a staff sergeant and a bigot!

John was only 16, but he figured his mother would give him permission to go to Korea and get killed, so he headed for the recruiting offices in Buffalo. The first day, he said, were the written tests, the second day the rigorous physical! (He said, 'Today they'd take you for just showing up!)  At the end of that first day, the recruiter pointed out to the other thirty or so applicants that the best scores he'd seen in years came from this teenage Canadian! That if this boy does well on the physical he'll be flying for Uncle Sam! John had high hopes.. until he bunked down..or rather bunked up!

The Air Force put the applicants in a semi-seedy hotel, in cots, on one of the higher less expensive floors, John's fellow hopefuls said that John deserved a cot with a window with a view. That's where they put him. Sometime after midnight, John said he had this great dream that he was flying; he woke up suddenly when he felt a bump, and here were three guys on either side of the bunk holding him up while two other guys were trying to open the window saying let's see if this son-of-a-bitch can fly!

He never did fly, but if the next day's physical included high grades for running, that night he proved he would have been at the top of the class again!

Off To Hollywood

Like a lot of us, most of John's fond memories were of the movies he'd seen. He haunted the movie theaters at night the way he haunted hockey rinks during the day.

And like a lot of us, he had to invent or re-invent himself! At 16! He said, 'You know, I got none of the external things that make you happy, like most importantly a close family or friends, but I was lucky to get the most important thing internally..and that was a good mind. And it became my best friend. It told me it was useless to try and change the unchangeable externals, but that I could change myself by altering how I reacted that which was outside me. So, I set out to change my circumstances!


'The first thing he did was dump the name 'MacLaren' which was artificial, and adopt his birth name 'Barbour' which was real. And the next thing he did, was hop on a train that would take him to California!

California Screaming

He wound up in a boarding house near LaBrea and Hollywood Blvd., that along with his small bed served breakfast. With no clothes except those he'd worn for 3 thousand miles, he figured the best way to get some was to go to work for a clothing store; he got a job selling clothes at May Company at Wilshire and LaBrea. Then he figured he needed something else to eat besides breakfast, so he got another job at Dupar's at Farmers' Market washing dishes!

He did this for nearly a year, and had little time or energy left for Showbiz. He said the closest he got to show business was being befriended by a real live radio announcer who lived in one of the downstairs units. This tall fellow in his early 40's would invite John into his room to listen to him record copy, and often encouraged John to do the same. John said this fellow had a magnificent deep bass-baritone voice that was not unlike Orson Welles.

Since John had been a huge fan of Canadian radio star, and future American TV star, Loren Greene, Ben Cartwright in 'Bonanza,' he looked forward to these sessions every few days. But one day John came home and the announcer was gone, along with his tape recorder! He had been arrested as a child molester!  

His next encounter with a great, and recognizable voice, with such leanings was also a shock!

In an attempt to get more time to join an acting class and theater group, he got a job working the midnight shift for Bireleys Orange. His task was to sit next to a conveyor belt, and sort the rotten oranges from the good oranges. The conveyor belt was 25 feet off the ground, and this was the one John requested to work. His purpose was to get some much needed sleep, and to give the impression to the bosses down below that he was sorting diligently, he would place his arm on the loaded conveyor belt, and with his arm bobbing swiftly up and down he would doze off

Early one Sunday morning, walking home from a bumpy night's rest,, just as he was about to turn into the boarding house, a brand new convertible, coming in the opposite direction, suddenly stopped, backed up across the street, parking right next to him at the curb, and a voice said, Hi,there!'

John turned. Here was this nice-looking middle-aged man with a deep tan with what John thought had a slightly yellowish tinge.

. John said, 'Hi.'

The stranger said, 'Where you coming from so early; a night out?'

'No, Work.'

'Where you off to?'

'Bed.'

'Would you like to join me for a spot of breakfast first?'  John thought the fellow was really pleasant but said, 'No, thanks. I'm tired.'

That's fine,' the stranger said. 'Have a nice day.' Then drove off on the right side of the street.

When he opened the door, he suddenly recognized that voice and face. It was Cary Grant!

Boarding House Blues

Boarding House Blues

Somehow he got a job as an extra on a couple of movies, one with Jimmy Cagney and Doris Day; the other with Glen Ford.

The Glen Ford film, shot in the McCarthy fifties revolved around some teacher in a Santa Monica high school who was supposed to be a Commie. The scene John was involved in was an outraged mob scene in which a large group of irate, real Americans were attempting to break down the school doors with a battering ram to get to this guarded teacher. John, at 17, was one of these terrified taxpayers weilding this short telephone pole!

After three hours of retakes and new setups, the extras were more concerned about the commissary than the Commie, and began to grumble about being hungry. So, our little taxpayer hollered out, 'When do we eat?'

John thought there'd be a chorus of voices supporting him. but there was silence. That's the first time John said he realized that in many respects, Hollywood is a community of creative and moral cowards! (See Chronicles.)

'Who said that?' an angry voice hollered.

'I did,' John replied quickly.

'What's your name?'

'John.'

'John, what?'

'John Barbour.'

'Well, John, my name is..(and he gave a name John can't recall,) I'm the Assistant Director, and I'll tell you when you're hungry!'

The crowd got even quieter.

'Now, the Assistant Director said,' let's get to the roof for the next scene!'  So, dutifully the hungry quiet mob ascended stairs and elevators to the roof, and the filming resumed.

An hour more into this, there were more grumbling's from the extras, as much from stomachs as mouths, and John leaned over the roof and hollered down to the Assistant Director, 'Hey, Mr Assistant Director, am I hungry yet?'

The crowd screamed, and the Director, King Vidor, hollered, Lunch!'

Shortly, John would find out speaking up for decent food in America was one thing, but speaking up for a decent health plan was something else. Even in the fifties; or maybe especially in the fifties!

 

A Canadian Health Plan? You're Sick!

When John entered the country through Niagara Falls he told immigration authorities he was only going to be staying about 48 hours. Well, John must have thought there were 365 days in 24 hours because by now he'd been in Hollywood for nearly two years!

He was the second longest tenant at the boarding house. Beating him by five years was an 84 year old actor who had been somebody in silent films. One of the newer guests was a 26 year old accountant who wasn't too good with money, and even worse with people.

One of the people he had difficulty with was John. All you had to do was look at him at breakfast and you knew where he was coming from; in his suit lapel he wore a 'Better Dead Than Red!' button. When John first saw it, he said, 'Why not do what most people do, put a flower there instead?'

When the accountant spoke glowingly of McCarthy, John would ask, 'Charlie or Senator?' The pin bearer applauded the recent Police action in Korea. John, who had tried to get there as an aspiring pilot called it a War! Here was a young man who saw socialists and communists under every bed, and even at the end of the day sometimes he'd come to John's door, John said, to look for them

One morning while dissing Democrats over scrambled eggs, John asked the numbers cruncher what he thought of Roosevelt and Social Security. Like he'd said it many times before  the button-bearer said,  'Roosevelt crippled the economy the way God crippled him! And social security is tolerable but it has to be changed!'  John said, 'Well, if social security is tolerable you have to thank Norman Thomas because when he was running for President as head of the socialist party in the first quarter of the century that was a mainstay in his platform!.

Our accountant looked as though he had just found out that four and four really equals six!!  'And,' John added, 'Norman Thomas had a great health plan, too.'

The young man's face was now totally his least favorite colour..red!! 'You mean that socialist program you people have in Canada. If it's so great back there, why don't you go back?'

'Because,' John said, 'I don't plan on getting sick! But if the witch-hunters down here make me sick, I may have to!.

The accountant left the table abruptly and wordlessly.  The last time John saw him, he was smiling...and for good reason. John was leaving the boarding house, not of his own accord.

After the disrupted breakfast John went up to shower and change. He couldn't have been 20 minutes, and when he started back down the stairs a man in a suit at the front door was identifying himself to the landlady as an FBI agent, asking if a John Barbour lived here!

John felt it was time to move; he rushed back into his room, climbed out onto the roof, and found himself staring down at three more suits. The men were very polite when they questioned him. Yes, John was a Canadian. No, he didn't have a green card. Yes, John had a job. No, he wasn't a communist. Yes, he had a social security card which he lied to get. (And which he still has.)

Satisfied that John was not a threat to National Security, much to the chagrin of the smiling accountant, John was turned over to Immigration Authorities. They were also very pleasant. After the booking and fingerprinting, they said they were going to place him in a cell for a week while they checked his background, and to give him time to contact his mother.

The background check revealed his earlier arrest for stealing a coat and breaking and entering and being a bonehead; but since these two crimes were not those of moral turpitude, he would be permitted to leave the country voluntarily rather than be deported. He would be given ten days to leave.

Bus fare from Los Angeles to Toronto at that time was around $38.00. He didn't have $38.00, or even enough for the phone call. So, he placed it collect. His mother took the call very reluctantly. He told her they would let him leave on his own if he had the $38.00 for bus fare; otherwise they would keep him locked up till they deported him. She told him he had gotten into this mess, as he always did, by himself, that he could get out of it by himself, and that she wasn't made of money. He had heard that phrase a lot through the years. No, he can't have it!  Till the day she died, they never spoke again.

John was incarcerated at the Terminal Island Detention Center in San Pedro. It was six months before he was taken away in chains, but only two months before his escape! 

An American Holiday

John said the terrible thing about confinement isn't that your body can't get out; it's that neither can your thoughts!  Too much thinking is almost as dangerous as no thinking! Ask Hamlet..or any golfer!

So, to try to keep from thinking too much, or to put something new into his head to think about, he read every book his fellow detainees and guards would give him.

The other things he read were the comings and goings of guests to the facility, and the lock down routine. The thought of staying there for months terrified him. He just had to get somehow. By the end of the seventh week, he knew how he'd do it.. Weekdays not only were the main gates open for the pedestrian family members and attorneys, but so was the work gate next to it that brought in supplies, and took away trash and laundry

John didn't have access to the garbage trucks, but in every hall on every floor there was a laundry chute! It would be a simply thing to climb into the bottom of one of the laundry bins that was emptied down the chute. The drop was a spiral and not straight down, so he wouldn't be going to fast when he hit the basement and the dirty pile. There were almost never any guards there, so it would be a simple thing to walk casually out and down the road.

He picked a Wednesday; he felt in the middle of the week everyone would be sort of casually going about his or her routine and therefore not too alert.

The Mexicans on his floor, and the few who handled the laundry were eager to help the 17 year old gringo. The lunch hour was always the busiest time for visitors, so John planned his escape for high noon! At 11am he put on his only white shirt and his only pair of clean slacks, and with the help of his chicano co-conspirators had himself wrapped in sheets and blankets and placed in the bin.

Listening to them talking casually in Spanish, he felt himself being wheeled for what seemed forever to the chute; then the wheeling stopped, and with whispered, 'adios amigos,' they lifted him up and let fly!

It was an easy slide onto a really soft landing. Being cautious and patient, he lay there awhile, listening; good,  there wasn't a sound. After a few minutes he untangled himself and crawled out. My God, he thought, how terrific; it's totally empty down here, not a soul.

He could almost see himself outside! Pleased with himself and the progress of his well thought out plan,  he strolled down the hall to the gate leading from the basement.  For some reason, though,  it was locked. Looking out he could also see the work gate and the visitor gate were also closed. They were never even shut at noon during the week. What's going on, he thought!

After an hour of confusion, he tried various doors in the basement to see if there was another way out. They were also securely shut. He couldn't possibly get back up the chute, so he just sat and waited. For six hours. That's when the security staff had gone looking for him following the one body short after dinner count.

When three guards confronted him, they asked him what he was doing down there and how he got there. John had no answer. They asked him if he was trying to escape, and John said, 'Yeah! Why are the doors and gates closed? Did somebody squeal on me?'

The guards howled with laughter..and for a long time! Then said, 'It's July 4th!'

Evidently a lot of what John read didn't include American History!

California Here I Go

Four months after his foray into filthy fabrics, it was time to send John back to Toronto. And so he wouldn't be tempted to try to travel on his own again, they put him in chains.

First, though, there was a two week layover at the Cook County Jail in Chicago. John said he has only two recollections from that stay. One was, there was somebody he never saw, who every night would sing, and no one stopped him. It was beautiful. And sad. The other vivid memory he has is of a black inmate who was handcuffed with his arms behind him. He was being interrogated by the Police as he hung, screaming, from a coat hook on a door.

Toronto wasn't looking that bad; but looks are deceiving.

He got a job as a box boy in a fishing supply store; he worked as a busboy at Woolworth's. The closest he got to showbiz now was going to his rented room after work and waiting for Jack Paar to come on. John loved him. Here was this sympatico wit who talked to people, had actual, engaging conversations with them. John had never in his short life been in a room with people who had conversations! (see Chronicles)

After months of saving, he thought he'd try to start a little business of his own. An older fellow with whom he worked at the restaurant suggested a catering truck. There was a lot of building going on in town. It would be a natural; and this fellow would pay half. Somehow John got a used truck, really used, with his savings as the down payment. When John asked his older friend for his half so they could outfit their new enterprise, the fellow told him he would give it to him out of the profits!

John worked nights to earn the meager money to support his new enterprise and his partner, and in the first few weeks, making rounds of all the construction sites and office buildings, they saw a small profit, but not enough yet, his partner said, to start paying John off.

Evidently a lot of people must have thought that having a catering truck would be a good business. It seemed every place they stopped now, there'd be a few new businessmen with even prettier vehicles.
And occasionally an argument or a fight.

One day John just stop going; not because he wanted to, but because his commissary cruiser didn't want to. Or rather couldn't. It only moved now with the assistance of a tow truck. Evidently, the mechanic informed him, someone thought the engine ran on sugar! Someone had put sugar in the gas tank. To fix it, he could have bought a fleet of the kind of van he had!

John was out of business, out of money, and out an older friend!

Winter was coming. And like that song in 'Midnight Cowboy,' he thought he had to go somewhere where the weather suited his clothes! The only place he knew that qualified was California. Having absolutely nothing except a deep, deep desire to be someplace else, he figured he had absolutely nothing to lose. so, he struck out again!! And in a few years, would strike out again!

Strike Two Begins

Back in Los Angeles, but staying clear of the boarding house and the conservative accountant, John found a small room right in the heart of Hollywood at Franklin and Wilcox. The first job he got was as a clerk sorting IBM punch cards at a film lab.

Having dreamt for years of being a professional hockey player, in what was then a six team league, he missed the physical activity. To get some, he joined a semi-organized sandlot softball league, and was assigned to play as a fill-in for the team from Paramount Studios.One of the co-managers was famed songwriter Jay Livingston(who along with his partner Ray Evans wrote a some wonderful songs, including 'Buttons and Bows.')

Jay thought John was pretty good with the glove, fair with the bat, but outstanding with his mouth, so he often assigned him to be their team's designated Don Rickles! And one game it paid off!

Like all good Hollywood movies, it was the bottom of the ninth. Paramount was up one run. Their arch villain,20th Century Fox had two men on and two out. One of Fox's Production executives was coming to the plate. John hollered, 'Thank God, you're up! Like your studio, you'll never have a hit!!

Even the Fox players laughed, and even harder with each of the three strikes!

After the game Jay asked John if he'd like to work at Paramount. John said, 'You're kidding. Doing what?

'Do you mind starting in the mailroom. You could work with Billy here.' And pointed to Dorothy Lamour's son who agreed.

John was speechless, not because  he was stunned, but because he was thinking of the background check that he'd never survive.

'Mr Livingston, I'd love to, but I wouldn't want you to recommend me for something I may not get because of my..my school background..or lack of it!

'Don't worry. I'll take care of it.' He handed John a piece of paper. 'Call this fellow on Monday.'

At ten o'clock on the following Monday morning John was delivering mail at the Paramount lot on Marathon. His joy at the job was always tempered by the picture in his mind of a huge laundry basket!!

The stars he used to see in the theaters just a few years earlier, he was now seeing on the sets, in the streets, in the elevators, and in their dressing rooms. Spencer Tracy and Robert Wagner making 'The Mountain,' Bogart and Holden and Hepburn making 'Sabrina,' Astaire and Hepburn making a musical, Chuck Heston making a western and then 'The Ten Commandments,' Sinatra making 'The Joker is Wild!.'

Once, taking mail to the third floor, he was alone on the elevator with Sophia Loren. The ride up took forever. He tightened the grip on the mail..and the male..to suppress the urge to clutch at her. She was staggeringly attractive, and as it turned out, very pleasant. When the elevator stopped, she got out, turned to him, smiled, and said, 'I'm on stage five!'

The next day during the morning break, he headed for stage five. Indeed she was there shooting 'Houseboat' with Cary Grant. She smiled 'hello' and John stepped back to watch as they prepared to film.

He thought what a nice lady; but mostly he thought about Cary Grant. That's the guy in the convertible! And as he watched the filming, he found himself being unimpressed with Cary Grant's acting. I mean, he thought, here's this megastar, and he doesn't seem to be doing anything.

John had never seen 'dailies' of scenes shot the day before, but in his curiosity to see this stunning, nice lady again, he sneaked into the projection booth.

Looking at the screen, he found his eyes not drawn to the gorgeous woman, but to Cary Grant!  What had seemed like a lackluster performance on the set, just popped off the screen! The lens caught Sophia as she was, beautiful, but it magnified Cary Grant!  When John himself became a performer, he never forgot that, and he never saw that quality again in an actor until years later when he interviewed live, for an hour,  Governor Ronald Reagan!


To Be Or Not To Be

Working in the photo department at Paramount was a really nice fellow named Angelo. Angelo was awash with nervous tics and prematurely gray hair, undoubtedly caused by his father, a Greek bearer of constant bad news!  Desperate to get away from his father and his father's bakery business in Chicago, Angelo moved to Hollywood. Each week during the two years he'd been in LA unsuccessfully perusing something, anything important in showbiz, he would get a call from his father reminding him that he'd only be a success back in the bun business!

And when Angelo married a Jewish girl, the calls came twice a week.

Angelo saw a kindred soul in John, a guy lucky to have no father. For months after they met, Angelo's house, which he owned, on Gower Street, became for them the artistic and creative center of the Universe!  Acting classes were held there! Little theater productions were planned there! Workshops were conducted there! Dreams were dreamt there! And sometimes, unapproved copulations took place there!

Another Greek boy, that Angelo knew casually at Paramount, suddenly hit it big. His name was Andy Fennady. Andy wrote a script and partnered with another young guy name Irv Kirshner to make a low budget movie. The film did quite well, and Andy was given the assignment to develop a TV western for Nick Adams. It was called 'The Rebel.'

Angelo had mixed feelings about Andy's success; he was begrudgingly happy for him, but depressed that it wasn't him. For Angelo, the best thing about his friend's breakthrough, was that it was ammunition against his father.

During one phone call the father told him he'd never shit big, and that he'd better get off that tiny Hollywood pot!  Angelo said to John, 'You know, I own this house, and my wife and I have some money saved. If you were going to make a low budget movie, what would you do?'

'To save money on lights and sets, you'd have to have all the action take place outdoors during the period of one day!' John said.

'Could you do it?' Angelo asked.

'Do what?

'Write a script like that?'

'I've never tried it, but I guess so!'

I can't pay you much, but I'll pay you something. How much and how long?'

John said, 'Angelo, I don't want your money. Give me a couple of weeks, and let's see what I come up with.'

Two weeks later John delivered to his friend a script he called, 'The Sun Sets In Hell!. It was a Western, and all the action took place in one day. Four bank robbers bungle a job, kill a clerk, two are wounded, and while on the run through desert and mountains, they begin to unravel. And at the end, we find out that one of the thieves was not really such a bungler!

Of course Angelo loved it; he would have loved the Yellow Pages! And through a friend he got it to Lindsay Parsons at Allied Pictures who also loved it. Then it went to the star Barry Sullivan who loved it. And then to someone who loved it even more, soon to be famous cinematographer Haskell Wexler, ('Medium Cool,' 'Bound For Glory,' 'Who's Afraid Of Virginia Wolf?')

A meeting was called at Lindsay's office. Sitting around the table in this plushy paneled suite were Sullivan's agent, Haskell, Angleo, John, and Mr. Parsons.

At the end of the meeting Mr. Parsons said, 'Fellas, we're gonna make a movie!'  Everyone stood immediately to shake hands happily, but John and Angelo were stuck to their seats, afraid if they got up the spell would be broken.

God, it was just like in those MGM musicals Judy and Mickey say. 'Let's make a show!'

Wordlessly they got into Angelo's beat up old Chevy which had wisely been parked out of sight a block away, and started down the freeway to Gower Street. For minutes the silence was crushing, and words could never express what they felt, so they rolled down the windows and started yelling and screaming at passers-by  'We're making a movie! We're making a movie!'

However they would find out in a few days that making a movie in Hollywood is a lot like making love: the couplings are always very pleasurable, but they seldom result in a birth! They were informed through Haskell that Allied had decided they just didn't want to make another Western!

The following week Angelo flew back to Chicago.. alone. He left his wife and dreams on Gower Street.  From now on he'd be making his bread by making his father's.
                                                                                      

John's father started calling now; not by phone or mail, but in his head. Children who've been abandoned, no matter how old they get, often find themselves going forward in life looking backwards. John thought if I'm going to hunt him down, it might as well be now. The search was postponed though when he got a call from Haskell, telling John he had something for him.

What's A Blacklist?

'Could you come up to my place for a few minutes; I'd like to talk to you about something!'

'Sure,' John replied, and was off to Haskell's place. And what a nice place, right on the side of the Hollywood Hills with a large sloping yard.

Haskell's wife was a sweet, gentle woman with a very pretty make-up free face. His German shepherd and his young son, Mark, were rambunctious and not totally housebroken. But they took to John, which John would find out later was good for him.

Haskell had two books in his hand when they sat in the comfortable, unpretentious living room.

'Have you heard of Albert Maltz?' Haskell asked.

'Is that anything like chocolate malts?' John said.

Haskell laughed. 'No, the writer, the blacklisted writer?''

'No, I haven't really heard of him. And I don't know that much about this blacklist thing. Just that right now it seems to be all over the news.'

'Have you read 'The Execution Of Private Slovik?'

 'No.'

'By William Bradford Huie. A great book. About the only soldier, American soldier executed for desertion during the second world war?"

'I've heard of it; that's all!'

'Well,' Haskell continued with enthusiasm, 'Sinatra has just hired Albert Maltz to do the screenplay of his film at Columbia; which means that Maltz will be off that dumb, illegal Blacklist, and his books will soon have some appeal to the studios.' Haskell looked at John, letting it sink in. But nothing was sinking. This was all beyond him. He just said, 'Good for him.'

I bought the rights to Maltz' book about his incarceration for failing to co-operate with The House Un American Committee; 'A Long Day In A Short Life.' He handed it to John. 'Do you think you could write a screenplay?'

'I don't know.' John said honestly.

'Here.' Haskell handed him the two books. 'Read these. I think you can do it. How long do you think it'd take?

'To read them?' John asked.

Haskell laughed again. ' To write it.'

'I don't know,' John said again. 'Two days to read it, and maybe five or six weeks to write it.'

'Is six hundred dollars a week alright?'

John was stunned. This was the kind of money his kind of people made in half a year! The thought of that much money scared him! 'No. No. Haskell; that's too much!'

'John. that's peanuts; and when the thing goes you'll make a lot more!'

'Haskell, listen, I'm flattered that you think I could do this, but I've never done this before. I appreciate your offer, but I'd be more comfortable if you let me take a shot at it for nothing!'

'You've gotta get something,' Haskell insisted.

'I'm getting an opportunity; and right now that's payment enough for me!'

'OK.' they said. And shook hands. 'Terrific,' Haskell said.

John finished the screenplay in six weeks, and every day or so when Haskell had time to look at it during filming at MGM he'd call saying, 'This is terrific.' Haskell said 'terrific' a lot.

Then one day, Haskell called and said, 'We're going to have a reading at my house next week. I think we'll have Karl Malden and Richard Widmark. What do you think?'

Richard Widmark! God, That was one his favorite actors. And one of his favorite scenes of all time was when Widmark played a sadistic psychopath, Tommy Udo, in 'Kiss Of Death' and pushed that crippled old lady down the stairs and cackled with glee!!

Nearly every day for the next week, John walked around cackling.

But the film Gods must have had a Tommy Udo amongst them; and they had the last cackle! The reading never took place.

Haskell called with the news. 'Sinatra fired Maltz and dropped the film project.Too much pressure for even him.'

'Well, how does that affect us?' John asked naively.

'It's just not viable anymore.'

'Haskell, you like the script, right?

'It's terrific.'

'Well, you told me when you made the deal with Maltz, that his name would in know way be associated with the script; his name would be nowhere in the credits, right?'

'That's right.' Haskell answered.

'Then what's the problem? The script stands on it's own. His name isn't even there.'

'No. It won't work. We couldn't get the money.

'Haskell, you're rich.' (And he was.) 'You could do it. It takes place in a jail in one day. You could get a prison someplace. And some lights.'

'No,' Haskell repeated. 'It won't work.' Feeling John's disappointment he added, 'Don't worry, kid, we'll do something together sometime.'

'Thanks.' John said.

'In the meantime, though, I'm going to south America for a few weeks to do a documentary about the poor natives; would you like to stay in our house till I get back?'

Not wanting to lose this contact with what John found to be a very, very bright, talented, sincere fellow, John said, 'Sure.' And went from being an unpaid screenwriter to an unpaid  house-sitter, dog-watcher and book-reader!

Here comes The Son!

With mostly a nervous German Shepherd for company, John stayed in Haskell's house for nearly three weeks. And what kept him occupied mostly was exploring and reading Haskell's vast library.

It was hard to imagine one person could have so many books. Nearly every one was about History, American History, World History, Biographies, Politics, and especially Economics, with about 30 of these on Communism, from everything Karl Marx wrote to an analysis of 'Dialectical Materialism,' whatever that was. and not one book on Self-Help!

So, John helped himself, beginning with 'Das Kapital' and 'An Analysis of Dialectical Materialism,' which he knew nothing about; ending with biographies of Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Paine.

John said he knew how those ancient explorers must have felt discovering new lands. He was discovering a new landscape of learning. He devoured nearly a book a day! Alone and reading became a life altering experience.

When Haskell returned from someplace called Recife, John decided it was time to leave, not just Hollywood, but America, and go on a journey of discovery, the discovery of his own background which would begin and end with finding his father!

The only place he knew where to begin was London, so off he went!

Again he was in a bed-and-breakfast boarding house. For two weeks every day he hounded officials at the Canadian Army's Department of Veterans Affairs. His father, he found out had received the Order Of the British Empire, and had retired as Lieutenant Colonel, but they were not permitted to reveal his whereabouts.

John said, 'Look, even if he's not alive, I'd like to know where he's buried!' They apologized for not being able to help him. But he was not dead!

John handed them a piece of paper' This is the phone number and address where I'm staying. I've spent everything I have to get here from California, and I only have enough money to last a few more days. Can you get that to him?'

'We'll try, but beyond that there's nothing else we can do. It'd be up to him if he wants to call you.'

'Thank you very much.' And John left. 

Two days later the landlady called him downstairs to the hall phone. He had a call. He picked up the receiver and said, 'Hello.'

There was a long pause, and a pleasant voice said, 'Son!'

There was an even longer pause while John digested the sound, and especially the word, 'Son!' All he could say was, 'I'll be darned. Dad!'

They exchanged 'How are you's' and meaningless but at the same time important, get-acquainted pleasantries which ended with his father saying he'd pick him up in the morning.

Needless to say, that was a sleepless night. He was so anxious and revved up he never took off his clothes to sleep. And, of course, he never slept!

 The morning came with John standing by the window. Eventually a car showed up. A long black sedan. With a chauffeur. My God, John thought, what is this? The chauffeur got out and opened the rear door, and a very distinguished looking man in an impeccable business suit got out.

'Geez,' John said to himself, 'this can't be my father!' 

But it was!

John didn't dare run downstairs until the landlady called him, just in case it wasn't. So, he waited at the top. When the landlady answered the door, he could barely hear the man speak, and when she turned and looked up calling his name, informing him someone was here to see him, he found he couldn't run down the stairs. He could barely put one foot in front of the other.

The man and boy just stood and stared at one another, not sizing each other up. Just staring. Soon the man said, 'Son!'  John wanted to grab him, but all he could do was extend his hand. While shaking hands, his father said, 'You look wonderful. Have you got a couple of days?'

'I've got one for each year!' John stammered, trying to be warm, but thinking that had a trace of sarcasm in it.

'Grab a couple of things, and let's go for a ride. I'll bring you back in a few days!'

John thought, 'Why would he bring me back? I don't want to come back. I want to stay!'  But he retrieved a few toiletry items and a change of clothes, and took a seat next to his father in the car.

His father said to the driver, 'Malcolm, meet my son!'

'Pleased to meet you, young man!' Malcolm had a purring brogue.

'Hi.' John said.

'Malcolm, drive us home!' And on his father's instructions the sedan took off. What kept ringing around in John's head, though, as they drove, was the word 'home!' Was it going to be his home, too. His new home! Or just his father's?

Home was Edinburgh, Scotland!

During the long drive there was slightly awkward, insignificant biographical stories about what each had been doing the past dozen years. When asked at long last about his siblings and mother, John could only say he really didn't know what they were doing now. He hadn't seen them in years!  And John was careful not to mention that he'd been kicked out of the U.S. in chains. That's no way to impress anyone!

'For someone who's been on their own for a while, you've done well for yourself!' His father said.

'So have you,' John replied. His father smiled.

'When we get to town, I have something I'm on deadline on at the office, and after we do that, I'll show you home and you'll meet my wife.'

Looking at the luxurious car, the chauffeur, the expensive clothes and jewelry, and hearing about an office and a home, John wanted to think about how impressive all this was. Again, it was just like one of those Hollywood movies, a John Garfield film where this poor kid finds out he's really a wealthy heir! John wanted to think about the possibilities of his being apart of that finally, but the word 'wife' wiped that all away.

'What does he mean, 'wife?' he thought to himself. 'He never divorced my mother. At least I never heard about it!' After another moment he thought, 'Maybe he never even married my mother!' This last train of thought ran his mind off the tracks into to remembering how absolutely miserable it had been, left alone with that indifferent drunk!

The office was an advertising agency on Edinburgh's main business street. The MacLaren Advertising Agency. CEO Angus Barbour MacLaren. John was amazed at how impressive it was, but thought, 'Geez, he still has that add-on name!'

After introductions to the staff, his father instructed his assistant to bring in the story boards so they could finish the commercial spot they'd been working on.

The spot was almost a replica of the Pillsbury Doughboy hopping up and down; and as John watched, his father picked up a microphone and began singing the accompanying jingle! His father had a really nice lyric baritone which impressed him; John had always been an admirer of musical talents, especially singing, and it was nice to know someone in the family had that skill!

When the session was over, for the first time in his life, John felt an overwhelming sense of depression, even emptiness. He felt out of place. Purposeless. He'd often felt sad, even lonely. But for the most part, in the past, when he thought about where he was in his short life, mostly he got angry, an I'll-show-them anger!

Somehow he suddenly felt he really had no business being here. This could never be his life. He had no affection for this man in front of him. How could he! He would just be in the way of this man's life. And he didn't really want to meet his father's new wife! It would be nice to be comfortable, have some money, but it's better, far better to have a purpose. A purpose keeps you going. It keeps you putting one foot in front of the other. Getting up in the morning. Up to this exact moment John never thought about what his purpose was. He was just trying to get by. And not get caught! But whatever that purpose was going to be, it wasn't going to be found thousands of miles from where he really wanted to be!

His father saw that John hadn't responded or said anything about the commercial he'd just seen. He stared at the boy for a long while then asked, 'Did you like it?'

'Very nice,' John whispered.

''Are you surprised at the business I'm in?'

'I never really thought about it. I just wondered what you'd be like.'

'I sense you don't seem to like what I do.'

'It's not that. I'm just someplace else.'

They stood silently. For a full minute. Neither moving. Then the father said, 'Son, you've come a long way, and truly I'm really happy you did, and later you'll meet my wife and tomorrow we'll have breakfast together,  and if you want to move up here after you go back,  you can stay with us, and I'll help you get started at whatever it is you'd like to do!'

John was truly moved by his father's sincerity, and he knew he shouldn't say what he was about to say, but it kept churning around inside him. He couldn't get the thoughts out of his head, so reluctantly and quietly they came out of his mouth.

'Dad, I don't know what kind of relationship you had with my mother; I mean if she wasn't my mother she's not even the kind of person I'd want to know! I tried to like her, but it was impossible. She was almost never around, and when she was she was drunk or with some guy who beat the crap out of her!

John tried to stop, but couldn't

'You had children with her, so you must have felt something, sometime; and what few, vague memories I have of you when you were around was that you were always encouraging me to learn to count and read; and when we listened to the radio you always had me sit near you, and there was never more than one beer. You must have liked us! I mean me and my sister and brother.'

'You have a right to be angry,' the father said.

'I'm not angry at all. I am just totally lost!'

'In what way?'

'I'm just thinking how weird it all is. Everything that you've must have gone through in your life. Going from Scotland to Canada and back. The war. Leaving three of your own young children. And ending up here as a singing donut!!'

The father's face flushed, first in subdued, stiff-upper-lip rage, then with obvious hurt. 'I'll see that you get back to London alright. Malcolm will take you to the train station.'

On the train south John found himself wondering why he wasn't sad, or depressed any longer. What he felt, though, was a vague sense of exhilaration. He had this suddenly clean feeling that it was all over. The past. The rest was going to be all new!

Speak The Speech, I Pray

John had $38.00 to his name, ironically almost the same amount he needed earlier for bus fare to Toronto. But he wasn't in Canada. Or America. He was in England with no way to get out!

On the train, he read a squib about a repertory theater in Farnham, Surrey that was holding auditions for actors for the next year's season.

He had just enough money to get back to London, pick up his things from the boarding house and catch a train back. Which is what he did! And for nearly nine months performed in a new play every two weeks!

At first, he loved it. Being on stage all the time was a joy. Because he had what they called a 'trans Atlantic' accent and had been to Hollywood, everyone thought he was American. And so in the theater and even in his little room at still another boarding house, he became sort of the small town's  minor celebrity, especially to the younger girls.

The Director, who worked occasionally in live TV in London, even got John a couple of small parts.

It was really nice. For a while. Then the Director was offered a job at The Bristol Old Vic, and asked John if he'd like to join him. It was decision time.

And what John decided was, that while he loved acting and appreciated the civility of the English, being on the stage in plays was, in essence,  a make-believe escape from reality!  John didn't want to escape from reality, regardless of how harsh it might have been He wanted to experience it..and savour it! 

If acting wasn't it for him, then neither was England. What he wanted, he felt deeply, could only be found in America. California. To him, every place in the world was just a branch office. America was headquarters!

So, back again he went. To California. And another encounter with Haskell!


Another Nice Coupling, With No Birth

Once again, on his return to Hollywood, Studio City exactly, this time, the main thing on his mind was his stomach. Since he felt better about himself, he thought he deserved better food, so he got himself a job as a waiter at an Indonesian restaurant in Burbank. And he got himself a small single apartment on Bluff side Drive. Immediately downstairs lived the young director of a local children's show on KABC called 'Chicko the Clown.' His name was Wes Butler.

Downstairs to the right was the apartment used as an office by Bob Hope's writers. The two who befriended and encouraged John were Mort Lachman, the head writer, and Bill Larkin.

Next door was an accountant, another one of those guys!

With what little money he could scrape and scourge he opened a 35 seat theater, The Studio City Playhouse, on Ventura Blvd. above a Russian Restaurant. He needed to always be near food! The first ad he sold for his one sheet program of their first play, 'The Tender Trap,' was bought for five bucks by a young, slender great sandwich maker named Art who owned a hole in the wall with six stools. In not too many years. Art's deli expanded into one of the great delicatessens in America! The Studio City Playhouse did not expand!

The company put on six really good productions which received wonderful reviews, but customers who wanted something appetizing found themselves not climbing beyond the restaurant!

But John gained valuable insight into showbiz; he found out that some actresses will do anything to get into even little, little theater!

He also found an older friend and fan, who in a little while, would literally save his life. His name was Abe Pelter, a very, very tough Jewish private investigator, and father of three children. You knew Abe had to be tough; his wife was a head nurse at Cedars Sinai, and his brother-in-law was chief of surgery. Everyone in the family was into medicine, so for Abe to defy the tradition of curing and pursue the tradition of catching, he had to be tough.

He took an immediate liking to John and his pluckiness, and invited him frequently to family functions and dinners. And he bought a subscription for him to I.F. Stone's Weekly, that marvelously written and researched journalistically independent journal that took Politicians apart lie by lie. The food at the Pelter's table was wonderful, but John could never get his fill of this close family's camaraderie and conversation.

And then another call from Haskell the only one to whom John wrote while trying to track down his father in England.

'How you doing?'

'Fine,' John said. Haskell had a soothing, soft voice, and John liked him because he was so smart. 

'You know, I've been thinking about that story you told me once,' Haskell said.

'What's that?

'You know, the time your ma sent you to some boarding farm after one of her lovers tried to kill you, and you and those kids got lost.'

'Yah.'

'Well, I've got some offices over on Van Ness near Hollywood, and I'm going to be going out of town
for a month or so; you can use the offices and my secretary.  It seems you'd have no problem or doubts about writing that script. Want to?'

'God, yes, I'd love it! Where are you going?'

'Shooting some stuff on some poor natives!'

'How long'll you be gone?"

'Four or five weeks.'

'I'll have it for you by the time you get back.'

'Terrific!'

So, Haskell introduced John to his secretary, gave him an office and a modest stipend and set off once again to photograph the injustices of the world!

John called Abe, whose family all rejoiced in John's changing fortunes.

'Son,' Abe said before signing off, 'If we don't see you for a month and you get hungry, we'll bring you some sandwiches!'

'Thanks.' And John set to work. And when Haskell got back the script was ready. Haskell took it home and read it immediately. Two or three times while reading it he'd call John and say, 'That's terrific where the drunken 'uncle chases you around the house with your Christmas bow and arrow
shooting it at you to see if it works! Terrific!'

Then he calls again when he reads the scene in  which once at the boarding farm, the only one who befriends him at first is a midget child with no legs but feet! 'Terrific stuff!'

Then John doesn't hear from Haskell for a couple of hours. When he does though, Haskell doesn't sound terrific. John is so anxious to please him that he barely speaks.

Haskell says, 'I don't know!'

There's a long pause, and John says, 'You don't know what?'

'The ending,' Haskell replies.

'What's wrong with it?" John asks apprehensively.

'It's..its kind of Walt Disneyish!' Haskell says.

'What do you mean, 'Walt Disneyish?' John asks quickly.

'The boy hopping the train to America! It's too Disneyish!'

John's face was flushing. 'Since when did you ever see a Walt Disney movie with a drunken slut for a mother who craps on the floor for the kid to clean up, who has a psychopath for a lover who tries to kill the kid, and the kid at the end on his own hops a train to America? I've never seen one!'

'It's the ending. I'm sure we can fix it!'

'But,' John interrupted, 'That is how it ended!'

'Look, the interior is great..because it's got this dark tension to it. The end needs to be darker!' Haskell opined.

Without missing a beat or raising his voice, John said flatly, 'What if I make him a Negro?'

Haskell hung up. They never spoke again. And John knew in his heart, before he said what he said that Haskell would be offended and hurt, but he couldn't help himself. He had to say it. After it was over he didn't know if he was angrier at himself for not being more restrained, or just disappointed with Haskell!
 
But he was bummed, and in a few days there would be no question that his anger would be directed at himself for not realizing that there are indeed times when one should just shut up!

Better A Closed Mouth Than Open Mind!

Having learned a great deal about economics and history, and even more about current politics from the gabfests at the Pelters and I. F. stone's Weekly, John felt confident he could hold his own with anyone. But, he found out, if you're holding your own and don't know when to be quiet, you're left holding your own!

Strike two came during a conversation with his next door neighbor, the accountant. What started out as an seemingly innocent conversation about current affairs, or rather the young neighbor's concern about the current crisis in Cuba, soon turned into a verbal confrontation.

While John was getting ready to enter his room, the numbers cruncher, who was casually smoking a cigarette, and who talked frequently with John about politics and the shortcomings of the Democrats, suddenly asked him what he thought about Castro and this Cuban thing!

'What Cuban thing?' John asked.

'This coming to this country. to New York. Castro! What a disgrace. He's a commie, for God's sake!.

'Well, they seemed to like him in Harlem.. sitting in the window eating fried chicken!' John said.

'They would. What do they know?'

'And they liked him on the Jack Paar show!' John observed.

'They have no idea what a threat Cuba is to this country.'

'What kind of threat?' Is Castro going to get into another rowboat like he did with Cuba and come here singing 'Michael Row the Boat Ashore?'

'You know, it's nothing to joke about. He really has to be gotten rid of!'

'Look,' John said,(in wanting to have someone hear what you have to say when having a difference of opinion John found out you never start out the sentence saying, 'look,'  because the party will neither look or listen,) 'they can't do anything to us militarily, and certainly not economically!'

'They are a threat to our way of life,' the accountant continued, a little more anxiously.

'The only threat they are is by setting an example!'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

John was feeling more confident now; he'd read all about this! 'He eliminated gambling, taking over from the gangsters who are still in Vegas. He got rid of prostitution. He is eliminating illiteracy, which is growing in this country. Every child is guaranteed a free education, and all get free health care! If that succeeds it's not really a threat to us but to the American Medical Association and the Pharmaceutical companies!

'You're for him?' the accountant asked incredulously.

'Look,' (there John said it again!) Canada has free health care, why aren't you guys invading them?'

 'He's a dictator! Is that what you want next door?'

'He may be a dictator, ' John said, 'but the problem is he isn't our dictator. Guatemala had a democratically elected guy named Arbenz who confiscated land from United Fruit and redistributed it in a land reform program to the peasants. We sent in the Marines, killed Arbenz and gave United Fruit their banana trees back! And set up our own dictator!

John felt proud. He was on a knowledgeable roll. He continued happy that he knew stuff others didn't!
'A few years ago, Iran democratically elected a teacher named Mossadec who took over British Petroleum. The British told Eisenhower the commies were coming, so he sent in the CIA, murdered Mossadec, gave England back its oil, and set up the Shah who became our Dictator!'

'Where do you hear this crap?' the accountant insisted.

'Not in all the news that's fit to print, that's for sure!'

'I can't believe you're for this commie Castro!'

'I didn't say I was for him. I'm just for the facts. and the fact is we may have made him turn to Russia!'

'You're nuts!!'

'Look,' (oops, there it goes again,) John said, thinking he held four aces of information that would win this hand, 'for six months after the revolution, the press here loved Castro; to them he was like Brando in 'Viva Zapata. He needed to build a new economy. To do that you need manufacturing; you need oil.
The US offered him oil at $2.85 or so a barrel; the Russians offered it to him at $1.60 a barrel. If you're a businessman what do you do? You take the Russian oil. But when he did, when the tankers Showed up in Havana, the American refineries rejected it. So, if he wants his revolution to move forward, what does he do? What would you do? He confiscated the refineries! And you know what..he repaid the oil companies the full value that they said the refineries were worth in their tax returns!! 'That,' John said smartly, 'is when our press started calling him a commie!'

'I don't believe you!' the accountant said, not in a way which indicated the information he'd just heard was inaccurate, but in a way that indicated he thought John had lost it!

'Look,' (this was to be his last 'look,') John said,'you should know better than anyone; it's all about money! You're an accountant. follow the money!' Suddenly John had this sickening feeling this conversation wasn't going anywhere, but he had to; so, he excused himself, said 'see you later,' and closed the door.

 Less than two hours later, he opened the door upon hearing a firm, short knocking. Two nice looking guys in suits and ties were facing him.

'John Barbour?' they asked pleasantly.

'FBI?' John asked in return.

"Yes!' They showed John their ID. 'Could we talk to you for a minute?'

'Come in. Sit down.'

They entered but declined to sit. 'Do have permission to be in the country?'

'Well, sort of,' John stammered. 'I didn't sneak in. I told them I was coming.'

'Where?'

'Niagara Falls.'

'Did you tell them you'd been deported?'

'They never asked.'

'What did you tell them?'

'That I'd be here for a couple of days!'

'How long ago was that?'

'Two years ago.'

They smiled at John's forthrightness. Seeing they might be understanding, John began to recount the whole conversation he'd had with his neighbor about Castro and the Commies and the CIA, but they interrupted him.

'John, one said, 'we have no interest in that. and we have no reason to be taking you in..' Now John interrupted them.

'You did the last time!'

They ignored him and continued. 'Not only have you overstayed your visit, but you shouldn't have returned without getting permission. We will be turning your information over to the INS, and like the first time they'll probably give you about ten days to leave voluntarily. We suggest you do it, otherwise there'll be a warrant issued. Good luck!' and they left.

He couldn't believe it; so when he said 'thank you,' it was the sincerest 'thank you' he'd ever uttered.

He knew he had to pack and leave right away; what he didn't know was whether or not to say goodbye to his few friends and tell them why he was going away. He had to tell them, he felt, and not just disappear, even though he also felt he would never see them again.

The first person he called was Abe. His instincts were right, because it was the best phone call he ever made!

Boomerang Barbour

When Abe heard John's story over  the phone he said straightaway, 'Get over here tonight for dinner!'

As usual the whole family was around the table. At first there was some family talk, a few descriptions of what each's day had been like, pleasant comments on the food.. which John had no appetite for, and then Abe said, 'Ok, son, start from the beginning!'

John said, 'You mean this afternoon?'

'No,' Abe instructed, 'from the first time you got caught. Everything.'

So, John began recounting his misadventures at the boarding house, the arguments that led to his arrest, the attempted escape, being taken out in chains, his arrests at l6, his encounter with his father, his confrontation today, everything, as Abe had requested.

He thought in recounting his ordeals, he would be evoking sighs of sympathy from these nice people;  instead, they giggled. Then Abe hollered out, 'You putz!! And they howled.

And John said with resignation, 'I guess if I was a lot smarter, I'd just be considered stupid!

They laughed again.

'Do you have any money to leave?' Abe asked.

'In my will?'

'Smart ass, you know what I mean.' when Abe spoke, no one else did.

'I have enough to get back to Toronto.'

'Enough to hold you over when you get there?'

'Yes.'

'Well, take this anyway.' And Abe handed him 7 brand new unfolded 100 dollar bills!

'Mr. Pelter, I can't take that, I..

'You'll take it,' Abe interrupted.

''But I may never see you guys again to repay it!.'

'The last I heard,' Abe said with a straight face, 'Canada has a nice new post office!

Strangely, John thought, it was comforting to hear them laugh.

Abe continued. 'No hurry. When you get it. Do you have an attorney?'

'Why would I need an attorney?'

'An immigration attorney. Don't you want to see us again?

'Certainly.'

'Well, then, take this!' Abe handed him a card. 'His name is Sydney Kaplan. Downtown. A former INS lawyer. If anyone can help you, it's Sydney'. You have an appointment with him tomorrow at noon!'

John was moved to silence. How could anyone, especially, someone who months earlier he didn't even know, care so much.

'I don't know what to say,' John whispered.

Abe raised his wine glass, 'La shone tova teka te vu!' They all cheered now, and in unison said, 'May you be written in the book of Life!'

They all got up at once and took turns hugging him; what a nice feeling, he thought, to be hugged!

'Don't worry,' Abe's wife said. 'You'll be back. Like a boomerang!'

Abe was always direct, but at times brusque; his friend Sydney Kaplan was also direct, but very soft-spoken. His office was on the 8th floor of one of those old, interesting office buildings in downtown Los Angeles. He also had John recount his whole experience with the law and the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Kaplan never took his eyes off John during the telling, and not once a hint of a smile, which worried John.

When he was finished, John asked, 'Mr. Kaplan, what do you think?'

After a pause, and trying to be straightforward as well as not too upsetting, Kaplan said, 'Quite honestly, young man, it doesn't look good.'

John was heartbroken. 'You mean, they'll never let me back?'

'In order to get permission to get back, you first have to get permission to even ask permission!'

'What does that mean?'

'People who've been deported can't just apply for permission to re-enter the country; they first have to go through a screening process. And if they are approved, they can then ask for permission to re-enter.'

'What if they don't survive the screening process?'

'Then they can't even apply.'

'Could I get through the screening process? John asked anxiously.

'I doubt it,' Kaplan said softly.

'Why not?' John said, a little frightened.

'It's not so much that you've been deported. Lots of people have who get to come back. Your problem is that you had two felony convictions at 16. They make allowances for minors, but that allowance is for only one felony conviction... barring moral turpitude!,' Kaplan explained. 'Unfortunately, you've had two!'

'What can I do? What if I marry a U.S. citizen?' His mind was racing.

'That's also iffy, and maybe unlikely. You have someone in mind?' Kaplan smiled.

'No.' There was a long silence. 'What should I do? What do you suggest?'

'Well, to begin with-

John's hopes surged.

Kaplan continued. 'You should get a few character references from your friends, like Abe, and co-workers, and I'll put them together with the preliminary application to apply for permission. And we'll see where it goes!'

'Thank you. thank you very much,' John said..with the same sincerity he had expressed to the two FBI agents.

'John, ' Kaplan warned kindly, 'I'm good at what I do, and I'll do my best, but sometimes it doesn't always work out. You understand?'

'Yes, sir!'

Standing and extending his hand, Kaplan said, 'Good luck. Let's get started!'

'Thank you again.' John started for the door.

'John,' Kaplan called.

John turned. 'Yes.'

'Be sure and leave the country!'

'Oh, I will!'

And he did. Immediately

The reference letters, including those from the entire Pelter clan, doctors and all, and two of Bob Hopes writers, and more than Kaplan had requested, were sent to his office.

Back in Toronto it was back to work at a restaurant on Young Street. Near food! He alternated between working the swing and late shift so that he could spend his days at the law libraries. He haunted them.

Most of these books could not be checked out. They were reference books mainly and had to stay in the building, and in many cases, in the same room!

For hours and for weeks and then months he read and re-read everything he could find in print on U.S. Immigration law. And he kept coming back to a section that specified exemptions. A Congressman could introduce a bill for someone! Not likely. A person with not a perfect background who could make a significant contribution to society could gain admittance! No, he wasn't a Nazi scientist! He fell into none of the exemptions!

Not far from the University's library was a YMCA, with a small four pew chapel. One day after pouring over still more books, he found himself, almost unaware, wandering into it, and sitting in the back.

Even though he thought about it, he had no interest in praying. He'd tried that. Many times. For months on end when he heard from his mother that his father wasn't coming home after the war, he asked to go to church with a young friend whose parents were very devout. Along with them, every Sunday, and every night, he prayed for his father's return!  But he never showed, so the prayers stopped!

He thought about that sitting in the pew. He couldn't face them not being answered again, so he put it out of his cluttered mind. Besides, he thought, if there is a God, he must tired of hearing people whining for favors all the time. The only favor John wanted was a clear head so that he could focus on one thought and course of action that he might pursue.

And the one thought that kept popping up was that he had committed two felonies!  On one night. As a teenager! Then his head started getting clearer and even lighter, and he thought again, 'On one night!' Maybe, he hoped. Just maybe! He got up and started out,walking with a purpose now, stopping for a moment to look at the modest alter!

Not A Midnight Train To Georgia

The other boy who had been involved with him in this youthful, botched attempt at a criminal career was Mel Nixon. At the time, Mel lived just three doors up from John on Lawlor Avenue. He was a really nice looking kid with jet black hair that made him look like a young Tyrone Power. His younger sister, Margaret was really attractive, too. And as adventuresome as her older brother. After hours when her parents and brother were out of the house, she often used to invite John in to play an advanced game of spin the bottle!

Mel and John's relationship was a juvenile version of Neil Simon. They bickered constantly, sometimes coming to blows, with Mel usually victorious, and yet they were inseparable!

Of course John lost track of him when he left the country. If he wanted to find him, to talk about that night, he would have to start the search by going to his old house. Instead of going, though, he thought he'd save time by checking the phone book to see if the Nixons still lived there.

It couldn't have been that simple.But it was!  There was the name. And the same address on Lawlor Avenue.

He picked up the phone and called. A warm, woman's voice answered, 'Hello!'

'Hello..uh.. hello,' John said softly and stopped.

'Yes?' the voice asked.

'Is Mel there?'

'Who's this?'

'John.' Pause.

'John who?'

'John Barbour.'

'John Barbour. I don't know any John Barbour. And why are you looking for Mel?'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' John said, 'I mean John MacLaren. I used to-

Before he could finish,she screamed, John.. Johnny MacLaren. I'll be damned! What a surprise! This is Margaret!'

'How are you?'

'Pregnant!'

'Your first one?'John asked.

'Not yet!' she laughed.

'How long have you been married?'

'Not yet, again! she said like a comic. 'What about you? What are you doing these days?' What brings you here? I thought you went to California or something!'

'I did. For a while 'I'm not doing much of anything. I'm mainly looking for Mel.'

'What for?'

'Remember, he and I got into a little trouble one time-

She interrupted again. 'That was ages ago!'

'I know, and I'm trying to put some information together about that night we got in trouble for the American Immigration Service; and I might need Mel's help!'

'He's not going to be of much help to anyone!' Margaret said flatly.

John's stomach tightened. 'Why? What happened to him?

'He's in prison.'

'Prison? what for?'

'Bank robbery.'

'You're kidding.'

'Would you believe that. He comes home from Viet Nam decorated as a war hero, medals and all on his chest. And a couple of years later gets caught robbing banks with a shotgun. Now he has numbers on his chest! Unbelievable!

'Oh my God., John mumbled in total disbelief. 'Where is he?'

'In the penitentiary in Sudbury!.'

There was a long awkward silence.

'If I went up there, do you think he'd see me?' John asked.

'I don't know why not. I don't know who else would want to see him. We don't. I write him once in a while. That's it!

'Do you think he would see me?' John repeated.

'Sure. If you want I'll call him tomorrow and ask him. I haven't talked to him in a long time. It'll be a good excuse. Call me late and I'll let you know!.

'Thanks, Margaret.'

'Johnny MacLaren, I'll be damned! Where'd you get this Barbour, is that what it was?'

'Yeah.'

'Where'd you get this Barbour thing?'

'It was my real name!.'

'I'll be damned again. Call me tomorrow.'

'OK'd.'

Good night!.'

Late the next afternoon Margaret told John that she'd spoken with her brother, that he'd be glad to see him, and that he knew it had something to do with the time they got arrested. John thanked her and wished her luck with her life and her baby.

'Are you going back to California after you see Mel? Margaret asked.

'I don't know. I hope so.'

'Before you go, would you come by and say 'hello,' or rather, 'goodbye.' It'd be nice to see you.'

'I'll try.'

'Great. Good luck to you, too.' And she hung up.

The only feasible way to get to Sudbury in the morning was by train. A midnight train. John took it, and stared out the window at the blackness for the hours it took to get there. Daydreaming at night!

Even when it's warm, Sudbury is cold. And gray. The perfect place for a prison! 

The guards he met seemed to be expecting him, and led him into a special room for visitors to the more dangerous inmates. He was placed in a metal cubicle facing a wired window with a phone on the right.

Shortly, a guard on the other side of the glass led Mel in and pointed to his seat and John. Mel had a wry, almost playful smile, showing perfect teeth. His hair was still jet black, if uncombed, and he still looked like a movie star!

'How are you?' Mel asked.

'I'm fine.'

'Margaret tells me you changed your name?' 

'Yeah.'

'Why'd you do that?'

'Well, it's my real name, and..and I guess I didn't want to be associated with my father!'

'Margaret says you wanna talk to me about that time we got busted sitting like idiots on the curb.'

John smiled, 'Yeah.'

'Why?'

John felt a chill. What John was going through was absolutely nothing compared to what his boyhood friend was going through. And he thought that that was what Mel must be thinking! So, John told him. From the beginning. His entire history of his arrest by the FBI, and his subsequent deportation, and then re-entry, and getting kicked out again.

He told Mel about the two felony law that prohibits him from even asking permission to ask permission.

'So, why do you need to talk to me about it? It's already in the record.'

'I know.' John paused. 'But what I want to do is try to show them that even though there were two separate felonies that took place a half a mile apart, that it was all part of one premeditated act. That we stole the coat from the dance to have someplace to stash the stuff we stole later down on Kingston Road.'

'And?' Mel asked.

''And, I thought if you just signed a little statement to that effect, agreeing that is was all part of one act, which it turned out to be, I might have a small chance.'

'Do you think they're going to believe an armed bank robber who's doing 15 to 20?'

'Oh, my God.' John stammered. He was so into himself, he had never even asked Mel how long he'd be in for! 'I'm sorry I never asked. I just can't believe you're in here.' John said honestly.

Mel stared at John for a long time. 'I've got a better idea!'

'What's that?'

'I'll just write down that I did it. That I dragged you along. What are they going to do to me?'

John was stunned. This is not the reaction he'd expected.

'You couldn't do that, Mel!'

'Why not?'

'It's not true!.

'Who cares! I'm already here!

'Mel, 'John said softly, 'you know, that's really, really nice of you, but like you said it's already a part of the record. I was as responsible as you. The record shows it.!'  Neither spoke for a few long seconds. And John continued,' And besides, who'd believe a bank robber?'

Mel laughed. 'OK, you write it up the way you want and I'll sign it!.

'Mel, thank you.'

'And I'll get the warden to verify it's my signature!'

'I don't know how to thank you.'

'I'm glad to be doing it for you. And I hope it helps. I really do. For your sake!'

That afternoon, in longhand John wrote out his description of what had happened that night years earlier. Mel signed it.And the warden verified it. When he was leaving, Mel said, 'Either way, let me know what happens, ok? And good luck!'

Back in Toronto, John called long distance to Sydney Kaplan to tell him what he had done. Kaplan was mildly impressed, but still very cautious about the outcome. He told John to send him a copy; he would include it with his application to ask permission, then told John that in two or three weeks he'd probably be getting a notice informing him that he would have an appointment at the American Consulate to hear whether or not he would be allowed to interview with INS for permission to re-enter the United States! And closed by repeating for him not to have any high hopes.

The American Embassy was on Spadina Avenue. On the west side, in the middle of the block. and it looked like an Embassy should look, Like a big, brick block rectangular fortress right out of a Universal horror film. The only thing that made it look inviting was the Stars and Strips fluttering overhead.

The meeting was to be with the Consul-General, a title, John thought, that would make someone nervous who had nothing to hide!

For this meeting, John wore his only suit, faded blue and not entirely pressed. And his only tie, tied into what they called at the time, a windsor knot! And not tied too securely..so he wouldn't choke!
If he had put on a powder deodorant, his perspiration would have turned it into white mud! His mouth was parched. He was afraid to even moisten it with saliva for fear he'd puke! He paced the waiting area nearest the restroom, which he walked in and out of a half a dozen times. All he did each time was rip off paper towels and wipe his hands  which he didn't even have to wash they were so wet.

When his name was called, he was led into the most massive, impressive office he'd ever seen. It was even lusher than Lindsay Parson's! The secretary didn't even introduce him to the Consul-General. She just left as the Council-General said, 'Come in, Mr Barbour!' It was a woman! Middle-aged. Smart and very erect. John didn't know if this was a good sign or a bad sign! All he could do for the three weeks he waited for this meeting was count omens and signs, and tell himself he wasn't superstitious!

The Consul-General didn't even extend her hand as she just sat at the desk. Not a good sign! Or stand. Again, not a good sign!

'You can sit down.'

'Is it all right if I stand,' John asked meekly. 'I'm a little nervous.'

'There's nothing to be nervous about. Sit down!.

Another, not a good sign!

John seemed to wait forever as the woman, in a very business-like, almost disinterested fashion went through the paperwork that was obviously John's file. Two or three times she'd look at one piece of paper, then put it down and pick it up again. she did this a lot, John thought. And one of the pieces of paper she did this with was the one with Mel's signature.

This was definitely not a good sign!

John was a wreck wondering what kinds of questions she'd ask. How many would she ask. How long would the interview be! Mentally he rehearsed everything the woman could possibly ask or want to know. And how he would answer her.

Finally, finished with the papers which she placed in a neat stack in front of her, then patted like a pet, she asked one simple question, a question which John had been totally unprepared for. One he'd never been asked, or even thought about!

'John, the Consul-general said, (hearing his first name was the first good sign!) 'why do you want to go to the United States?'

He was stunned. He never thought about it. Ever. He just wanted to go. He didn't know what to say. He'd been caught off guard by what he realized was a very obvious question. Why hadn't he thought about it!

Not knowing what to say or where to begin, it seemed forever,  he thought, before he opened his mouth. And when he opened it, he just let his deepest instincts and feelings create the words!

'Like a lot of people at first I guess it was the movies. Since I had nothing to go home for as a kid,
 when I wasn't playing hooky to be playing hockey, I lived in the Manor theater on Kingston Road. I didn't want to be in movies. I just wanted to be where they came from. California. But when I got a little older, isn't wasn't the movies at all. Or even California.

'It was the books. About your country. America! Books about the history of your country. It amazed me that the intellectual founder of your country was the son of an English shoemaker. Thomas Paine. And when he wrote 'Common Sense,'
he put his money where his beliefs were and contributed every cent from the 50,000 sales to
George Washington and his rag tag army!'

'Yours is the only country in history to build a society on a pre-planned blueprint of laws and rights. The Constitution. And it's main drafter, making certain to include the rights of the common man to be protected from an oppressive Government and people with power like himself was an extremely wealthy landowner. Thomas Jefferson.'

'When a dinner of  Nobel Prize winners was held at the White House, John Kennedy said, 'There hasn't been this much brainpower in this room since Thomas Jefferson dined alone!'

'What other country has  a statue in a harbour saying 'Give us your poor!.' 

Your ancestors probably saw it when they came here from Europe. And if their homeland had been better to them, they might have stayed where they were.'


'America is the only country on earth made up of people from every country on Earth. It's a nation of immigrants. It's the country of second chances!'

'I feel about where I am the way your ancestors probably felt about where they were. I would like a second chance. There is nothing for me here. No family. And, frankly, no desires. But, on the other side of that border I have a dream!'

John was out of words, and he was so nervous he couldn't even remember what he said, or what to say next. so, he said, 'I guess that's about it!'

The Consul General sat for a moment, then stood. In a very matter of fact tone, like the one when she asked him why he wanted to go to the United States, she said, 'Mr Barbour, it doesn't mean that our Immigration Service will allow you. Quite the contrary. They might refuse you. I have no say or influence in the department in any way.' Then she paused..

And continued. 'But I wouldn't want to be the one to stop your dream! Granting you permission to ask the INS for permission, is just that. My permission. The rest is up to them. But, good luck!'

John had risen when she had, hanging on to and evaluating every word. When he realized that she had given her ok to at least appear before the INS, he literally could not speak. His vocal chords would not engage, not even in a 'thank you!' But if tears were 'thank you's,' his eyes spoke volumes!!

His face was still wet when he got back to the room to call Kaplan!

'That's good news,' Kaplan said. 'Now, I want you to apply for your passport because you'll need that when we talk to Immigration. That'll be in three or four weeks.'

When he got off the phone, he ran to his room, and jumped on the bed like it was a trampoline, yodeling like a damn cowboy!


The Green Card

Unbelievably the meeting with INS at Niagara Falls was almost a non event. Papers were looked at and shuffled. Almost no words were spoken. When the officer asked John for his passport, John handed it to him quickly. The officer looked at it casually, then stamped it, and said, 'If you'll wait a moment we'll get your green card!'

'You mean I can come in?'

'Certainly.'

'You mean, legally? To stay?'

'That's right!'

John wanted to yodel again and use this concrete floor as a trampoline also. But he stood still!  And shut up. It was a new experience. Shutting up! But he did smile. No, actually he beamed!

The officer handed him his green card and said, 'Welcome to the U.S.!'

John walked out of the office onto American soil. The first thing he did before calling Abe or Sydney Kaplan was look for a postcard rack. He never did go by to say 'goodbye' or 'hello' to Margaret. So, he sent her a card saying that he was sorry but that he was glad he did get to talk to her. Again wishing her and her baby well.

He also sent a card to Mel. Doing this made him feel really down. Here he was, maybe broke, but at least free, and where he wanted to be. In America. Legally. He told Mel if it hadn't been for the help of a bank robber, he might not be getting a chance at his dreams!

He also sent a card to the Consul-General. Somehow he felt this reserved lady had a little more to do with his being here than just stamping a piece of paper. He told her that he would try to justify her kind gesture on his behalf!

Then he called Sydney Kaplan, thanking him and telling him he'd be in to see him when he got to L. A.

Kaplan said, 'John, I must tell you honestly, I never thought I'd see you again. You know why I think you got this chance?'

'Why?' John asked.

'Because you can talk!,' Kaplan said.' And if you're going to make a living down here, I'd suggest you pursue that line of endeavor!'

Then he called Abe. Contrary to what Kaplan had just said, he could barely speak.

He said,' Mr. Pelter, I'll never, ever be able to thank you, and the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get a job and pay you back immediately.'

'I'm really happy for you, son. And glad I could help. As a matter of fact I'm pretty pleased with myself for guessing right about you! And forget about the money!'

'No. I can't. I have to repay you!'

'In that case, you may have to send it to me. I'm moving to Israel!'

John couldn't believe it. 'You're not! When?'

'Right away. So, I'm glad you called. so I could say 'goodbye' and wish you luck!'

John never saw Abe again. Except in his mind. Constantly.

This time, John wasn't going to board any train to get to California. He was going to fly!

And for five hours and at 30,000 feet all John did was stare at that green card. It was more than a green card, he thought. It's a birth certificate. Or more exactly, a rebirth certificate!!  (To Be continued in Chronicles)

The reason we told you this much about John's background, probably a little more than you wanted to read or he wanted to reveal, is so you'd get some real insight into one of television's last, if not well-known, originals.

We also stop this portion of his bio here, because John's career and life, he said, didn't begin until he got that green card!

How this Site Came to Be


After John's documentary about John Kennedy's assassination, 'The Garrison Tapes' won the '93 San Sebastian film festival Award, John decided to retire.

It had taken him over twenty years to tell Jim's story, and even though it was and still is ignored by nearly all media in America, John felt that at least it was finally out there. It was the most important story he could ever tell; and so why try to tell any others.

So, he retired. To play golf. In Las Vegas.

He joined the Legacy Men's club where his best playing buddy, and not so great playing partner, was
a younger steel salesman from Philadelphia. David Schulman. As anyone who plays golf knows, it's only a great game to play; but as anyone who's been around a golfer knows, there's nothing more boring to talk about! As John said, 'The day after the Scots invented golf, they invented whiskey; so they could stand listening about it!'

So John and David talked about worldlier things, other than golf. Or women!  David didn't know much about John's background, but he was impressed with the stuff he talked about. John was the only guy David met who watched C-Span on weekends for

Book TV! and he was stunned to learn John didn't have a computer.

For two years David hounded him to get one. John said he hadn't yet mastered an electric typewriter.

So, when David bought a new one for his company, he gifted the old one, which really was new to John.

The other thing he gifted him with was someone to install and repair it. David Lispi. And what a gift! Especially David.

David is much younger than John, but as a kid in L. A. he remembered a lot of his work. David himself was and is a gifted musician, guitar-player, former actor, song-writer, sandwich-maker, 11 years in medical research, and most of all a computer genius!

About the second or third time over at John's showing him something about the computer, David noticed that John not only had a massive library of books, but tapes and film! One of the pieces David asked to look at was 'The Wine Challenge.' So, John gave him a copy.

When asked to look at some of the other material, he was bowled over.

'Man, that's amazing stuff! do you know what you have here?' David asked.

John said, 'Not really. I'm not like Gloria Swanson in 'Sunset Blvd.' sitting around all day and looking at myself.'

'You have all this wonderful stuff and all these amazing stories just gathering dust. there are a lot of people who would love to see some of it. Including me. I'm going to build you a website.'

'David,' John said,'That's nice, but as a member of AARP now, I don't think I could afford you!'

'I'll do it for nothing, man. It's a waste just sitting on shelves. I'll do it for nothing. It deserves to be up there. You started this reality stuff. You deserve it. People need to know. I said I'd do it for nothing,' David insisted.

'David, if you want to be Colonel Parker to my reality Elvis, but on one condition!'

'What's that?' David asked.

That there's no written contract. Every time I've had a written contract with someone I liked, from Danny Arnold who co-created 'Barney Miller,' to George Schlatter,' who owned and ruined 'Real People,' I've been screwed!'

John continued. 'When Dean Martin's first variety show at NBC was dying, they called in Greg Garrison to try to fix it. Greg knew that Dean's image was this playboy thing, so he created the Goldigger Girls and had Dean come out with a drink of apple juice. And Dean's show became a hit, and Dean himself became the largest single shareholder in NBC. And all Dean had with Greg was a handshake! And you know what Greg got! Half! Even after Dean died, that handshake was honored.
so, if we're doing this, it's on a handshake!'

'You got it, man!' David said. and they shook hands.

And this little website was born!