Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

The Time Machine

It was a Sunday morning, the last in November and just after Thanksgiving. The Time Machine, the 1960 George Pal version, came on one of the classic-movie stations, and I could not get out of bed to shower, begin the day, even make coffee (I drank three-day-old eggnog from the carton), and I became a child again. I was even equipped with flu or cold symptoms that I associated with getting out of school, attention from Mom (if she was on the right chemical mix), and masochistic affirmation of my sensitive, tubercular, and poetic nature. I loved that story, both the thin novel by Wells and that movie — certainly not its recent remake; but I was driven mad for half the day, tormented (still tubercular and poetic, you see) because I could not remember the actor’s name, the one playing George, the protagonist. He was a very cool Australian who also starred in the ’60s television series Hong Kong.

Can’t remember much about that show except that the actor played the coolest guy in the world and always had a drink in his hand. In my adolescence, I would always sneak Coca-Colas I was not allowed, put them over ice in a highball glass, and pretend it was “Scotchandbourbon,” some drink I imagined the guy in Hong Kong favored. This no doubt explains much about my blossoming alcoholism later.

Sponsored
Sponsored

It is sometime later, and I still cannot remember the actor’s name, though it has been engraved in my memory for decades. I’m sure you know what it is if you’re over 40. My memory’s failure is evidence of brain damage under the bridge (a metaphor that mixes like scotchandbourbon) and evidence of encroaching senility.

“Rod Taylor,” my friend Bill (Jose Sinatra) Richardson told me telephonically that morning, before I ever finished the question. In fact, less than a third of the way through it. “The guy who starred in the 1960 version of The Time…? Boom. “Rod Taylor.” He went on to tell me that Taylor and another actor, William Smith, put on screen the most convincing and brutal fistfight of any duo in cinematic history in Darker Than Amber, based on a Travis McGee novel, by John D. MacDonald. “The two guys actually beat the crap out of each other,” he concluded, sounding very happy about it, in fact.

Jeez. “Yeah, well, thanks, man. ’Preciate it.”

“Hey, remember, our birthdays are coming up in two weeks.”

“How could I forget?”

That weekend a letter appeared in these pages from a very nice man, very complimentary, who assumed I was his age: 70. I found this funny until I realized he was only 13 years off — not that long when you get up into this thinning atmosphere. I am not 83 either. I was more moved and gratified by that letter than anything in recent memory. I hope no one finds anything the least bit artful or clever about this. To the man known only as “Name withheld by request,” I thank you. It came at a damned good time, too. If you write to me through the Reader, sir, and let me know how to contact you, it would mean much to me — and my father.

It’s folly to try to determine how I ended up in my present position, but the childhood experience of reading and seeing the motion picture The Time Machine had something to do with it. H.G. Wells had something to do with it and with why I became a writer, but then so did Raymond Chandler and J.D. Salinger and a dozen others. I should have known I would fail to get at it here, in a single column, but if the prospect of failure is to dissuade one, don’t bother getting up in the morning.

Actually, that was my plan B that Sunday after Thanksgiving — and likely this morning as well. I should have known I would never become any of those writers — or later, say, Eric Clapton; but — and this is implicit in the better time-travel stories or Theodore Dreiser’s novels, to make a “huh?” kind of leap — but I loved Dreiser, too, for his fatalism. And I find real irony there when I look at the other fiction writers who moved me. If I knew the inevitable mediocrity waiting for me down the road, I doubt I would have ever quit my job at the zinc foundry in Illinois when I was 16.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

SDSU pres gets highest pay raise in state over last 15 years

Union-Tribune still stiffing downtown San Diego landlord?

It was a Sunday morning, the last in November and just after Thanksgiving. The Time Machine, the 1960 George Pal version, came on one of the classic-movie stations, and I could not get out of bed to shower, begin the day, even make coffee (I drank three-day-old eggnog from the carton), and I became a child again. I was even equipped with flu or cold symptoms that I associated with getting out of school, attention from Mom (if she was on the right chemical mix), and masochistic affirmation of my sensitive, tubercular, and poetic nature. I loved that story, both the thin novel by Wells and that movie — certainly not its recent remake; but I was driven mad for half the day, tormented (still tubercular and poetic, you see) because I could not remember the actor’s name, the one playing George, the protagonist. He was a very cool Australian who also starred in the ’60s television series Hong Kong.

Can’t remember much about that show except that the actor played the coolest guy in the world and always had a drink in his hand. In my adolescence, I would always sneak Coca-Colas I was not allowed, put them over ice in a highball glass, and pretend it was “Scotchandbourbon,” some drink I imagined the guy in Hong Kong favored. This no doubt explains much about my blossoming alcoholism later.

Sponsored
Sponsored

It is sometime later, and I still cannot remember the actor’s name, though it has been engraved in my memory for decades. I’m sure you know what it is if you’re over 40. My memory’s failure is evidence of brain damage under the bridge (a metaphor that mixes like scotchandbourbon) and evidence of encroaching senility.

“Rod Taylor,” my friend Bill (Jose Sinatra) Richardson told me telephonically that morning, before I ever finished the question. In fact, less than a third of the way through it. “The guy who starred in the 1960 version of The Time…? Boom. “Rod Taylor.” He went on to tell me that Taylor and another actor, William Smith, put on screen the most convincing and brutal fistfight of any duo in cinematic history in Darker Than Amber, based on a Travis McGee novel, by John D. MacDonald. “The two guys actually beat the crap out of each other,” he concluded, sounding very happy about it, in fact.

Jeez. “Yeah, well, thanks, man. ’Preciate it.”

“Hey, remember, our birthdays are coming up in two weeks.”

“How could I forget?”

That weekend a letter appeared in these pages from a very nice man, very complimentary, who assumed I was his age: 70. I found this funny until I realized he was only 13 years off — not that long when you get up into this thinning atmosphere. I am not 83 either. I was more moved and gratified by that letter than anything in recent memory. I hope no one finds anything the least bit artful or clever about this. To the man known only as “Name withheld by request,” I thank you. It came at a damned good time, too. If you write to me through the Reader, sir, and let me know how to contact you, it would mean much to me — and my father.

It’s folly to try to determine how I ended up in my present position, but the childhood experience of reading and seeing the motion picture The Time Machine had something to do with it. H.G. Wells had something to do with it and with why I became a writer, but then so did Raymond Chandler and J.D. Salinger and a dozen others. I should have known I would fail to get at it here, in a single column, but if the prospect of failure is to dissuade one, don’t bother getting up in the morning.

Actually, that was my plan B that Sunday after Thanksgiving — and likely this morning as well. I should have known I would never become any of those writers — or later, say, Eric Clapton; but — and this is implicit in the better time-travel stories or Theodore Dreiser’s novels, to make a “huh?” kind of leap — but I loved Dreiser, too, for his fatalism. And I find real irony there when I look at the other fiction writers who moved me. If I knew the inevitable mediocrity waiting for me down the road, I doubt I would have ever quit my job at the zinc foundry in Illinois when I was 16.

Comments
Sponsored
Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Flowering pear trees in Kensington not that nice

Empty dirt plots in front of Ken Cinema
Next Article

Seals hook up with Beaver

Salty’s Escape is a Mexican-Style cerveza brewed with corn and puffed Jasmine rice
Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.