Wild Side Walk: Pt 6.

(Unexpurgated) 1982: Report from the astronaut

photo: Hollywood Snake, Santa Monica
©1982 www.stuartpage.com

The women seem more switched on, more aware. I see several groups of women of mixed race, involved in lively conversation, as I walk around Hollywood and Downtown LA at lunchtime. The men seem more hung-up or troubled looking and unhealthy, trying to project that Playboy image right into middle-age, many drink beer while walking around, (so do I), clean and fill their car, dressed like cowboys or athletes, or squeezed into gray pin-stripes.

Nothing much has prices, e.g. cars, cameras, sound equipment… store assistants see you coming and seem to categorise you as soon as you open your mouth: Look you up and down, then decide on a price, if they're pretty sure you want to BUY. BUY=NOW! "Tomorrow’s another day, come back and see me then". Shopping is best done through the newspaper and magazine ads and articles, and the reason specialty mags publish technical reports is because the shops don't often let you look. Just In case you're not sure, you may get followed down the footpath by an eager salesman who knocks $10 off at each step you take away from his store. One thing's for sure, they'd rather sell near cost than have you walkout without.

I keep seeing rainbow's on everything, the litter makes a great impression on me, and I get into looking for particularly interesting arrangements of trash and graffiti, and worn paintwork and puddles. Blacks and Hispanics, if it wasn't for them there'd be no cab/coach drivers, cops and cleaners, posties and other servants, I keep thinking. They're so friendly and willing to laugh and some even ask me how to work the dollar-note change device in the Post Office. Shit, LA locals who don't read English, and think that's my specialty!?

"Where you from, England?" “I'm from New Zealand, flew out from Auckland”. "Dat anywhere near Falklands? You been ‘o Tasmania? Wen'n the store and saw lamb fro’ New Zealand. “Yeeeeah. I eaten yo’ lamb. Seen dem kiwifruit. LA's OK but we don't need so many cars here - too much smog."

One night around 2am I'm searching for coffee down Hollywood Blvd. and I see this guy all dressed in camouflage army gear sipping out of a polycup. Meet the Hollywood Snake, 31 year old Virginian black American, who chose Hollywood to hang-out in after living in New York, Cleveland, 'Frisco around the Hashbury days, and spent the last seven years in Hollywood being a Robin Hood: (I felt rich all of a sudden). "If you hang out with the rich dudes long enough, some of it's gotta rub off on you, if I ever get smashed by a car around here... chances are it'll be a fuckin' Rolls Royce man, that's real class."' I sorta got the idea, although I wondered whether this Robin Hood gave to the poor? “Sure man, I’m the poorest guy around here."

Over the next week or so I saw a lot of Snake, mostly at night 'cos he slept in the park between about 6 am and early afternoon, "You stay out the park, after dark man, case some fucker bash you”. We would get really high, and walk down the blvds, and I'd be introduced to some 'hip' locals. Snake told them I was cool, 'cos the heat has many faces on Sunset Boulevard. Usually there's crowds of tall, slim, barely-dressed hookers on Sunset, and if there's not, you can bet your sweet ass that the few you do see, will book you soon as you talk money. I heard stories about winos asleep in doorways that turn out to be 'stoolies'. Protruding out of a pocket will be a bank note, and across the road and around the corner with radio contact will be more disguised "D's" waiting for the word to move in and arrest the first passer-by who decides he needs the money. Easy sport around L.A. -and I suppose it keeps the book quota up for the records.

(To be continued).

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