Here's another excerpt from the book I'm writing on growing up in the 60s. It's the spring 1969 and I'm a student at UCLA.
FRIDAY MORNING UPDATE: For all those of you who asked me to go into more detail on my Moe encounter, I'm writing that now and will post it tonight.
Taking Italian “Pass/Fail” allowed me to barely pass and satisfy the language requirement. But I still speak it worse than the waiters at the Olive Garden. I was not enjoying Psychology (who wants to take “Statistics” class – give me a number within a 2% margin of error?) So I thought I’d transfer into the Television/Film department. They told me I needed to submit a film or television show that I had made. I said, “Uh, isn’t that what I’m supposed to have AFTER I graduate and after you’ve taught me how to do that?
Transfer request denied.
Still, I just took a lot of television and film courses anyway. I did not take any screenwriting courses however. Stu Ohman, one of the disc jockeys at KLA had his heart set on becoming a sitcom writer. He took a course and got an A+ for a THAT GIRL script he wrote. I read it and thought it was a piece of shit. If that’s what they were teaching I wanted no part of it. Stu wound up an accountant.
There was an extra-curricular TV talk show that aired closed-circuit in the dorms. I volunteered to be a gofer. I’d like to say I gravitated towards television because I wanted to expand my horizons but the truth is the assistant director was the heiress of a major national furniture chain and I had a big crush. I so wanted to sleep with her and get a discount on a new dinette set. Alas, "the store was closed" on both accounts.
One of my assignments was to pick up the guests if they didn’t want to drive. Zsa Zsa Gabor and the the guy who wrote THE PETER PRINCIPLE (I think his name might have been Peter) were two of the celebs I chauffeured. But then one day – the thrill of my life – I got to pick up Moe Howard. Holy shit! An actual Stooge was in MY yellow Mustang!! Sitting in the same seat Rachel did when she first… well, never mind. But this was better. Moe Howard. Eye-gouging, head-knocking, ear-twisting, face-slapping Moe Howard. He couldn’t have been nicer. Or more Jewish.
In addition to Italian, I also passed my other classes. Not only don’t I remember what I learned. I don’t even remember what those classes were. Anyway, I was counting the days until summer.