Thanks, folks. Having reached 70 “likes” — I now present Chapter Four of my serialized first novel. You can read all four chapters at once by going to “Landmarks” on the right side of the blog and clicking on “My Novel.” When we get to 90 “likes”, I’ll post Chapter Five.
Chapter Four
Mike found the nearest phone booth and called The Los Angeles Times. He tracked down the reporter who wrote the article on the Murphy’s Ranch bust. Luckily, Burt Abernathy was still on staff and thrilled to get Mike’s call. It was one of the oddest stories he’d ever covered, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone about it for nearly a decade.
“Why the sudden interest in Murphy’s Ranch?”
Mike was slow to answer. How could he tell this newspaper hack about seeing a message light up on the screen of a weird, glass and metal device straight out of science fiction?
“My dad was in the landscaping business in Malibu. He knew some guys that did gardening at this compound deep in Rustic Canyon. He said they were always tight-lipped about it.” Mike was lying, of course, but it was a plausible lie. “I was at the library today and I came across your article. I thought, maybe this could be the same Murphy’s Ranch my dad told me about.”
“Sounds like it,” said Burt. “That little Nazi cabal loved their gardening – both for raising food and for the aesthetics. They built raised gardens, planted fruit trees, and hired guys like your dad’s buddies to do the work. Winona and Norman Stephens were very wealthy. I’ve seen the blueprints for the huge mansion they were planning to build there.”
“The Stephens were convinced by a Nazi buddy named Herr Schmidt that when Hitler’s Germany conquered Europe, America would descend into anarchy. So, the Nazi true believers needed a hideout from which to plot the ultimate Nazi takeover of America. Sounds crazy, right? But so did a Japanese surprise attack on Hawaii.”
Mike thanked Burt for the info and got the site’s precise address on Sullivan Ridge Road in the Palisades. Hanging up, he glanced at his watch. He now had about seven and a half hours before 8:00 pm. It crossed his mind to ask his few remaining pals on the police force for some help. But help with what? Given how nuts this whole thing was, Mike knew he had to go it alone. At least for the time being. But first, he headed to Zack’s for lunch — and a date with his romantic destiny.
The ring he’d just bought was burning a hole in Mike’s pocket and his heart was racing as he walked into Zack’s. Gloria was right where he hoped she’d be, behind the bar, keeping things tidy. There was an open barstool right next to where she was working. Mike took it as a good omen.
“They’re finally gonna give it to Bogie!”
“They should give it to Fredric March. Bogie should’ve gotten it for Casablanca.”
Abe and Iggy were also where they belonged, their ongoing argument now focused on the Academy Award nominations.
Mike was glad Bogie might finally win Best Actor. He didn’t see many movies, but he never missed one with Humphrey Bogart. It wasn’t just a private eye thing. Bogie was great with women. He played the kind of bold, confident lover Mike wished he could be. Bogie would’ve asked Gloria out a long time ago. He’d walk right up to her, give her the ring, and pop the question without a lot of hemming and hawing.
Taking his stool, Mike felt for the small box in his pocket and found it. Finding his courage was another matter. Gloria smiled warmly as she leaned in to take his order.
“Some lunch today, Mike?”
“Yes. Anything special today?”
“Well, you’re kind of special.”
Mike’s heart leapt. Did his goddess just call him special? Was this the moment to pull out the ring? Should he wait a beat? Maybe eat first — then propose?
Gloria let him off the hook. “Take your time, honey,” she said, walking away. “By now, you know the menu better than I do.”
What followed was the longest ninety minutes of Mike’s life. He ordered a burger and ate it without tasting anything. Gloria had just flirted with him, so why couldn’t he follow up with some playful remark of his own? His mind was on the ring in his pocket, all the things he hadn’t told Gloria, and everything he wanted to say now. He ached for her. Was he moving too fast? Maybe. But is there ever a perfect time to declare your love? He was truly bad at romance. Where’s Bogie when you need him?
Mike glanced at the clock above the bar. It was getting close to 3:00. This late in the year, the sun would be setting by 5:00. It was already an orange orb hovering just above the horizon, getting ready to sink below the Pacific Ocean. It would be hard enough to find Murphy’s Ranch in the light of day, let alone in the dark. Mike had to get moving if he was gonna be there on time. On time for what? Who knew?
When Gloria came to pick up the check, Mike did the most impulsive thing he’d ever done in his life outside of a battlefield. Taking hold of Gloria’s hand, he looked her square in the eye.
“Hang on a minute, gorgeous.”
He took out the ring box and placed it on the check. “This isn’t a tip. It’s just a little something I want you to have.”
Gloria’s eyes widened. Mike wasn’t sure she fully grasped the meaning of the moment, but rather than say anything more, he waited for what she’d do or say next.
“Oh, Mike. Is that what it looks like?”
Mike blushed like a schoolboy giving his first Valentine. “Open it and see.”
Gloria opened the box, saw the ring, and – to Mike’s joy – her eyes sparkled like the gems she beheld. “Mike! It’s beautiful. I…I don’t know what to say…”
Mike hung on her next words, but they didn’t come. Was it his turn to speak? Of course it was. There was a question he needed to ask. He spoke in what he thought was a hush – but he might have been broadcasting to the entire bar.
“Gloria, darling. You must know I love you…”
“What’s going on over there?” Iggy wanted to know. Abe told him to pipe down.
“Mike’s got some business with Gloria. It doesn’t concern you.”
“I wondered when he’d grow some balls,” said Iggy. “Looks like tonight’s the night!”
Abe slugged Iggy in the arm.
It was just background noise to Mike and Gloria. They looked at each other with months of unspoken thoughts and feelings — pent up and ready to flow. Mike still hadn’t asked the big question. The Marines had been a cakewalk compared to this. Then he said it.
“Gloria. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t seem surprised by the question. She held his gaze. “Oh, Mike. You’re a darling. And I’m flattered. I truly am. But shouldn’t we go on a few dates first? My mom’s been saying you like me, but you’ve never really made a move. And now this…”
Mike’s embarrassment was growing — and Gloria must have known it. She put her hand to his face, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I really like you a lot, Mike. A whole lot. But let’s do this like normal people, okay? You’re not going off to war. I’m not going anywhere, either. We have time.”
Then she leaned over the bar and kissed him. Not on the cheek, but square on the lips. Tenderly. With no hesitation. It was like an electric charge. Mike’s heart nearly sprang from his chest.
“Keep the ring, baby,” he managed to say.
“I’ll give it to my mom for safe keeping,” Gloria replied with a smile, blushing and more beautiful than ever. “Until I’m sure I’m as crazy about you as I think I am.”
With his heart in his throat, Mike managed to ask. “Want to go to a movie tomorrow night?”
“That’d be a good start,” Gloria said, beaming. “A totally normal date.”
“Is there anything you want to see?”
“Gene Kelly’s in An American in Paris at the Aero in Santa Monica. I hear it’s really good.”
“That’s a musical, right?”
“It’s Gene Kelly, silly. Of course, it’s a musical. Honestly, Mike, you’re so damned cute. You’re my mystery man. I’ve still got a lot to learn about you.”
Mike didn’t know how to respond to that. Gloria had just said a lot of stuff at once. It all sounded encouraging. Maybe. It was his turn to say something, but Gloria let him off the hook.
“I get off work at 6:00.”
“I’ll see you then, doll.”
Mike wanted to seal the deal with a kiss – but not with Abe and Iggy watching. He thought of channeling his best Bogart and saying, “Here’s looking at you, kid” — but that would’ve made a mockery of this sacred moment. Instead, he smiled at his intended like the cat that ate the canary, tipped his hat to Gloria, turned on his heel with what he hoped was the grace of Gene Kelly, and sailed out the door to Abe and Iggy’s applause.
In the parking lot, Mike struggled to focus on what he was going to do next. “Murphy’s Ranch. 8:00”. He got into his car and caught one more glimpse of Gloria, talking to her mom, showing her the ring.
Mike was on the verge of being the luckiest guy in the world. He hadn’t felt this good since before the war. But now, he was headed to a meeting that might not even happen. A meeting to which he wasn’t invited. In a place he’d never been before. A secret Nazi hideout at that.
He felt for the strange metallic object in his pocket. Should he just forget about the whole thing? Just go home and plan for his first date with Gloria?
Conflicting thoughts banged around Mike’s head as he drove out of Zack’s parking lot onto PCH — and headed up into the Palisades toward the ruins of Murphy’s Ranch.
When we got to the Broadview ICE facility, the protest location had been changed. The last time we were there, protestors lined one side of the driveway where the masked ICE thugs drove their unmarked cars into the detention center. We were able to confront the ICE goons as they came and went.
another facility entrance. We could see the ICE vehicles enter and leave – but they didn’t have to drive past us. They didn’t have to look at us. They didn’t have to hear us. They didn’t have to feel our rage. But we expressed ourselves anyway.
Some of our fellow protestors expressed themselves in creative ways. There was the guy with the bald eagle head who wore only his red-white-and-blue underwear and a pair of boots on this cold, autumn day. Three handmaidens stood silent witness. There were lots of funny costumes. How threatening could a man in a pink conical cap riding a unicorn be?
The folks in the middle were the County sheriffs and the Broadview cops. They were there to maintain order – especially the Broadview mayor’s 6:00 pm protest curfew. We tried to remind them that our First Amendment rights to assemble and engage in free speech do not have an expiration date – or hour. We asked them why they don’t wear masks, but the ICE goons do. We asked them if they knew what was going on in the detention center. We asked them, as professional policemen, if they were comfortable protecting guys who were arresting people without a warrant and affording them no due process.
It was well past 6:00 pm when Victoria and I left the protest and went home. I’m not sure how long the stalemate lasted. There were still hundreds of protestors in no mood to leave quietly. Next time, we’ll stay to the bitter end.
Produced, written, and performed by students, 
Ass and North by Northwestern. Among the cast were Stew Figa, Jeff Lupetin, Betsy Fink, Suzie Plakson, Tom Virtue, Kyle Hefner, and Dana Olsen. It was the coolest, funniest live performance I’d seen since I hit campus.
enthusiastic. Mee-Ow was the hippest scene on campus – fast-eclipsing the popularity of 
out of hand. Then, Kyle would send us out of the room in groups for a few minutes to work out a rudimentary idea of how to structure a scene from one of these premises.
If a sketch doesn’t end well, then the next sketch starts from a deficit. It must win back the audience after an awkward moment — and that can kill a running order. That’s why, from those days forward, The Practical Theatre Company has never rested until we’ve done our best to satisfactorily “button” a sketch. (Alas, we don’t always succeed.)
opportunity for a moment of unexpected, improvised fun with the audience. Confident in the through-line of the sketch and the final button, we could have some improvisational fun when the moment called for it.
Rush and I shocked the crowd with a sketch called “Biafran Restaurant”. It was a moment in time. We were clad in our underwear, performing a sketch that juxtaposed a terrible African famine with a middle class American dining experience: balancing precariously on the comedic edge as we reminded the audience of an ongoing tragedy. These weren’t easy laughs. And it was glorious. We felt like we were pushing the envelope. And maybe we were. We were college sophomores – just starting to explore our comedic horizons.
I loved everything about the Mee-Ow Show process: the music, the comedy, the late nights scripting sketches at Rush or Dana’s apartments after rehearsals. And when we performed the shows and the packed crowds laughed every night, I was hooked. I was home.
Paul's Voyage of Discovery & Etc. 
32 Days Until the Funny Starts…
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Filed under Art, Beauty, Comedy, Improvisation, Politics, Random Commentary, Truth
Tagged as cabaret, comedy, Dana Olsen, Evanston, improvisational comedy, Larry Schanker, Paul Barrosse, Paul Marinaro, Steve Rashid, The Practical Theatre, Victoria Zielinski