A former roomdog of mine went to Cal Arts. One of his friends was Patrick Stewart's son. One of his other friends (and mine too) was a gentleman named Ken, who had an absolutely enormous loft in the warehouse district of downtown Los Angeles. Real bad neighbohood, but I could pull my car straight into the freight elevator and park it in the loft. He had a gigantic slot-car track and a pool table.
Ken had a job answering Patrick Stewart's mail, which mainly consisted of stuffing envelopes with autographed pictures.
At the time, I was violating Rule #4 of The Code Of The North, which is "you don't shit where you eat". That is to say, I had become involved with a young lady where I worked, whom I'll call Ivy. This was kept a deep secret from all colleagues. Except for maybe once; she lived in Venice a few blocks from my producer. He saw me leaving her apartment early one morning, and raised a quizzical eyebrow, but never said anything.
(Aside, and Pro Tip: do not strike up a relationship with someone ten years younger than you. It don't work.)
Ivy had one of those lifesize cardboard standup things of Patrick Stewart as Jean-Luc Picard. She used to decorate it with Post-It notes of moustaches, lipstick, necklaces, earrings, and things like that.
Roomdog and I got the brilliant idea of abducting him, getting him signed by Mr. Stewart, and returning him the next day. Ken and his roomdog Skippy came by one night and did the deed.
Unfortunately, the cast of ST:TNG went to London for something or another the next day, so the cutout stayed absent for a long time.
She asked me point-blank if I had taken him, to which I was able to truthfully answer "no", because I hadn't. Ken and Skip did. At the time of his kidnapping, he was adorned with a Post-It Hitler-esque moustache.
After about three weeks, Ivy got really fed up. She asked me if I knew anything about Captain Picard, to which I was forced to answer "yes", and she was furious. She claimed I lied to her the first time, so I pointed out that she'd asked if I'd taken him, which I hadn't, not if I knew anything about it, which I did. She wasn't buying any of it, and told me he'd better be back in one hour or I'd be nooky-starved for the rest of my life.
Forty-five minutes later, in the nick of time, enter Ken and Skip, carrying Captain Picard, signed and dedicated to her by Patrick Stewart with a gold pen. She burst into tears.
I snickered all the way back to her place.
Mr. Stewart called the next day to say hello to roomdog, and I talked to him briefly. Imagine the Jean-Luc Picard voice saying "That bloody moustache made me look like Hitler!"
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Legend of Crazy Dave
ATC Flight Simulator Co. was my second job out of college; I worked there more than seven years. From '84 through '90 or so, ATC was in the "old building", at 1650 19th St., in Santa Monica, kind of a semi-rundown light industrial area which has since gone upscale. Next door, to the north, was a two-story red brick industrial sort-of affair that was so nondescript, it was practically invisible. The only marking was a sign that read "DATAL" in metal letters.
From time to time a car would be parked out front, and occasionally we'd see the owner coming or going. He was as unremarkable as his building - just a somewhat tubby middle-aged guy. Eventually I found out his name was David Tallmadge ("datal", get it?), and he was rich. (Turns out he was an heir to the Schlitz beer-brewing fortune.) The building was just a place for him to putter around with his hobbies - whatever they were. Barry, my boss, had chatted with him a couple times, and described him as "extremely security-conscious." Once a couple of us helped him push a trailer-mounted diesel generator into place on the back deck; inside the building was a well-equipped machine shop. The generator was rigged to power the entire building in case of emergency; what kind of emergency he anticipated, I have no idea. We speculated that he was some kind of survivalist nut, but nobody knew for sure.
After a while - probably in early '86 - he hired an "assistant." She was a very pretty girl, around 15. No one knew what he actually did over there, so no one knew what he needed an assistant for -- but hey. Occasionally we'd see her outside, washing his car or sweeping up.
A little while later, he hired another. And another. This went on until there were around ten girls "working" for him - none older than 16, and all quite pretty. One of my friends had talked to a couple of them, during our morning coffee break. They told him that Dave was always trying to get them to sleep with him, and any girl that did got fat rewards. The girls we talked to were mildly disgusted by those of their friends that had, but apparently there was no pressure, Dave never tried to force himself on any of them. The regarded him as slightly perverted, and a little annoying, but harmless. We started referring to him as "Crazy Dave".
One day, the cops came. 19th Street between Olympic and Colorado was blocked off on both ends all afternoon; there must have been fifteen cop cars. I don't think Dave was anywhere around at the time, but wherever he was, they busted him. It turns out that Dave owned property (a lakefront house, and some land) in Wisconsin, and while back there had persuaded some teenaged girl to run away to California with him. Her family took a dim view of all this, and the Law crashed down. (I don't remember the details, but it was along those basic lines.) Dave eventually got about ten months in the jug. It might have been a year -- I don't remember exactly -- but no more than that.
While Dave was incarcerated, all his mail was delivered to ATC. It'd stack up in front, and once a week or so a guy would come pick it up. I talked to him a couple times; his name was Doug Payne, and he was a private investigator Dave had hired to look after his affairs. Doug was pretty cool - a very mellow guy. I saw into the back of his van once; there was a periscope rig and a bunch of gear back there. The name of some probably-ficticious winery (Schlumberger?) was painted on the outside.
Crazy Dave got a ton of mail and packages. One time, somebody sent him a machine gun - the box was torn, and it was obvious what was inside. It looked like a WWII-vintage model, tripod-mounted and chain-fed; a big, heavy thing. I later found out that he was (among other things) some kind of small-time arms dealer.
It didn't take long for the gang in the back of the shop to realize that the bulk of Dave's mail was porn (in plain brown wrappers!) and to start pilfering it. The guy subscribed to more porn than I ever knew existed; probably forty magazines a month, or more. All of it was sleaze, too; nothing a nice as Playboy or Penthouse, mainly back-alley rags no one had ever heard of. Hustler was about as classy as it got. Under one of the workbenches at ATC was a stack of porn mags two feet high; it was amazing. I don't know how they got away with it, unless Dave wasn't in a position to complain (being in prison, and all). Maybe the authorities wouldn't let him have porn anyway, so he never knew, or something.
Time passed, and he eventually got out. One of the terms of his probation was that he refrain from hiring teenaged girls, but it was business as usual over there before very long. One, then two, then several of them would be outside in the mornings, washing his car and doing odd jobs, so it didn't surprise anyone when Dave disappeared again. This time, the building went vacant, and the sign was taken down. He'd only been out a few months. I saw something in the local paper about him getting busted again for statutory rape, or molestation, or whatever it was, but there weren't any details. Never saw or heard of him again.
Until one day about fifteen years later, when I was bored, surfing around, and decided to see if the Web knew anything about him. It took me a while to dredge his name out of my memory banks, but it only took Google an instant. I'll just reproduce the best item here:
WAUKESHA, Wis. (AP) -- A Schlitz Brewing heir convicted of sexually assaulting two girls in California, has lost his appeal, paving the way for his victims to lay claim to more than $1.5 million in property he owns in Oconomowoc Lake.
At least two $1 million offers have been made to buy W. David Tallmadge' s lakefront property.
A second parcel owed by Tallmadge that includes commercial frontage on Wisconsin Avenue has had offers of about $500, 000, said Matt Linn, an attorney representing one of the victims.
Interested buyers are waiting for the green light from Waukesha County Circuit Judge Patrick Snyder, who has ruled that proceeds of the sales will go to the two sexual assault victims.
The victims, now ages 10 and 21, sued Tallmadge in California and won a $14.1 million judgment in April 1998, but they have not received any money yet.
Tallmadge' s attorney, Jonathan Smith, convinced Snyder to wait to liquidate Tallmadge' s real estate during Tallmadge' s appeal.
A California jury found Tallmadge, the great-grandson of former Schlitz Brewery President Henry Uihlein, guilty in June 17, 1997, of 15 felony sexual abuse charges.
Tallmadge, now 67, is serving a 265-year sentence in a California prison for sexually abusing two children at his former home there.
Tallmadge has lost his appeals. A California appellate court recently denied his request that his convictions be dismissed because of errors during his trial.
A hearing to address sales issues has been scheduled for Sept. 2.
Even if the parcels are sold for more than their $1.5 million fair market value, the sale will represent only a small fraction of the $14.1 million Tallmadge owes.
Attorneys have said they believe Tallmadge has about $14 million in other assets available in two trusts. But Linn said he did not know whether any money could be tapped from the trusts.
Before the victims can get any money, other creditors are ahead of them, including Waukesha County for real estate taxes Tallmadge owes and a trust that holds a mortgage on one of the parcels.
Two hundred sixty-five years. Wow.
Google (search for "David Tallmadge", in quotes) says that he raped his own 4-year-old daughter. Ho-lee shit. Hope you had fun, you fat fuck.
On a side note, I found out that during the time he was picking up Dave's mail, Doug Payne, the PI, won a million dollars in the California lottery. (I even saw him on a TV commercial for the lottery!) That explains a long vacation he took. Not as long as the vacation Crazy Dave is on, but more fun.
From time to time a car would be parked out front, and occasionally we'd see the owner coming or going. He was as unremarkable as his building - just a somewhat tubby middle-aged guy. Eventually I found out his name was David Tallmadge ("datal", get it?), and he was rich. (Turns out he was an heir to the Schlitz beer-brewing fortune.) The building was just a place for him to putter around with his hobbies - whatever they were. Barry, my boss, had chatted with him a couple times, and described him as "extremely security-conscious." Once a couple of us helped him push a trailer-mounted diesel generator into place on the back deck; inside the building was a well-equipped machine shop. The generator was rigged to power the entire building in case of emergency; what kind of emergency he anticipated, I have no idea. We speculated that he was some kind of survivalist nut, but nobody knew for sure.
After a while - probably in early '86 - he hired an "assistant." She was a very pretty girl, around 15. No one knew what he actually did over there, so no one knew what he needed an assistant for -- but hey. Occasionally we'd see her outside, washing his car or sweeping up.
A little while later, he hired another. And another. This went on until there were around ten girls "working" for him - none older than 16, and all quite pretty. One of my friends had talked to a couple of them, during our morning coffee break. They told him that Dave was always trying to get them to sleep with him, and any girl that did got fat rewards. The girls we talked to were mildly disgusted by those of their friends that had, but apparently there was no pressure, Dave never tried to force himself on any of them. The regarded him as slightly perverted, and a little annoying, but harmless. We started referring to him as "Crazy Dave".
One day, the cops came. 19th Street between Olympic and Colorado was blocked off on both ends all afternoon; there must have been fifteen cop cars. I don't think Dave was anywhere around at the time, but wherever he was, they busted him. It turns out that Dave owned property (a lakefront house, and some land) in Wisconsin, and while back there had persuaded some teenaged girl to run away to California with him. Her family took a dim view of all this, and the Law crashed down. (I don't remember the details, but it was along those basic lines.) Dave eventually got about ten months in the jug. It might have been a year -- I don't remember exactly -- but no more than that.
While Dave was incarcerated, all his mail was delivered to ATC. It'd stack up in front, and once a week or so a guy would come pick it up. I talked to him a couple times; his name was Doug Payne, and he was a private investigator Dave had hired to look after his affairs. Doug was pretty cool - a very mellow guy. I saw into the back of his van once; there was a periscope rig and a bunch of gear back there. The name of some probably-ficticious winery (Schlumberger?) was painted on the outside.
Crazy Dave got a ton of mail and packages. One time, somebody sent him a machine gun - the box was torn, and it was obvious what was inside. It looked like a WWII-vintage model, tripod-mounted and chain-fed; a big, heavy thing. I later found out that he was (among other things) some kind of small-time arms dealer.
It didn't take long for the gang in the back of the shop to realize that the bulk of Dave's mail was porn (in plain brown wrappers!) and to start pilfering it. The guy subscribed to more porn than I ever knew existed; probably forty magazines a month, or more. All of it was sleaze, too; nothing a nice as Playboy or Penthouse, mainly back-alley rags no one had ever heard of. Hustler was about as classy as it got. Under one of the workbenches at ATC was a stack of porn mags two feet high; it was amazing. I don't know how they got away with it, unless Dave wasn't in a position to complain (being in prison, and all). Maybe the authorities wouldn't let him have porn anyway, so he never knew, or something.
Time passed, and he eventually got out. One of the terms of his probation was that he refrain from hiring teenaged girls, but it was business as usual over there before very long. One, then two, then several of them would be outside in the mornings, washing his car and doing odd jobs, so it didn't surprise anyone when Dave disappeared again. This time, the building went vacant, and the sign was taken down. He'd only been out a few months. I saw something in the local paper about him getting busted again for statutory rape, or molestation, or whatever it was, but there weren't any details. Never saw or heard of him again.
Until one day about fifteen years later, when I was bored, surfing around, and decided to see if the Web knew anything about him. It took me a while to dredge his name out of my memory banks, but it only took Google an instant. I'll just reproduce the best item here:
WAUKESHA, Wis. (AP) -- A Schlitz Brewing heir convicted of sexually assaulting two girls in California, has lost his appeal, paving the way for his victims to lay claim to more than $1.5 million in property he owns in Oconomowoc Lake.
At least two $1 million offers have been made to buy W. David Tallmadge' s lakefront property.
A second parcel owed by Tallmadge that includes commercial frontage on Wisconsin Avenue has had offers of about $500, 000, said Matt Linn, an attorney representing one of the victims.
Interested buyers are waiting for the green light from Waukesha County Circuit Judge Patrick Snyder, who has ruled that proceeds of the sales will go to the two sexual assault victims.
The victims, now ages 10 and 21, sued Tallmadge in California and won a $14.1 million judgment in April 1998, but they have not received any money yet.
Tallmadge' s attorney, Jonathan Smith, convinced Snyder to wait to liquidate Tallmadge' s real estate during Tallmadge' s appeal.
A California jury found Tallmadge, the great-grandson of former Schlitz Brewery President Henry Uihlein, guilty in June 17, 1997, of 15 felony sexual abuse charges.
Tallmadge, now 67, is serving a 265-year sentence in a California prison for sexually abusing two children at his former home there.
Tallmadge has lost his appeals. A California appellate court recently denied his request that his convictions be dismissed because of errors during his trial.
A hearing to address sales issues has been scheduled for Sept. 2.
Even if the parcels are sold for more than their $1.5 million fair market value, the sale will represent only a small fraction of the $14.1 million Tallmadge owes.
Attorneys have said they believe Tallmadge has about $14 million in other assets available in two trusts. But Linn said he did not know whether any money could be tapped from the trusts.
Before the victims can get any money, other creditors are ahead of them, including Waukesha County for real estate taxes Tallmadge owes and a trust that holds a mortgage on one of the parcels.
Two hundred sixty-five years. Wow.
Google (search for "David Tallmadge", in quotes) says that he raped his own 4-year-old daughter. Ho-lee shit. Hope you had fun, you fat fuck.
On a side note, I found out that during the time he was picking up Dave's mail, Doug Payne, the PI, won a million dollars in the California lottery. (I even saw him on a TV commercial for the lottery!) That explains a long vacation he took. Not as long as the vacation Crazy Dave is on, but more fun.
Greetings, programs!
I have a bunch of crap I want to write down, and a lot I want to repost before it gets too late; one place a lot of it is hosted is not long for this world, another has been truncated and much has been already lost.
There are a bunch of weird, disjointed anecdotes from my weird, disjointed experiences to be recounted, and if I figure out how to make a separate "thread", as it were, I'll put down my MechWarrior 2 memoirs. Some of it was put on Portal of Evil News, but it was lost when everything before 1/2007 got deleted there. I never finished it anyway, so I'd like to do that here, rather than there, and finally put the whole bizarre story to bed.
So. I'm not going to publicize this thing, really, 'cause I don't care so much who reads it as that it gets written. I'm going through some hard, strange times which ain't over yet and may not ever be.
I'll probably start the spew tomorrow. I solemnly promise that it won't be any more interesting nor important than anything else put out there on the world weird interwebs. It's not going to be a diary, at least I hope not, but rather a collection of curiosities guaranteed not to appeal to anyone in particular, but that I hope will be occasionally interesting to some, sometimes. If it's coherence you're after, you are bound to be sorely disappointed.
There are a bunch of weird, disjointed anecdotes from my weird, disjointed experiences to be recounted, and if I figure out how to make a separate "thread", as it were, I'll put down my MechWarrior 2 memoirs. Some of it was put on Portal of Evil News, but it was lost when everything before 1/2007 got deleted there. I never finished it anyway, so I'd like to do that here, rather than there, and finally put the whole bizarre story to bed.
So. I'm not going to publicize this thing, really, 'cause I don't care so much who reads it as that it gets written. I'm going through some hard, strange times which ain't over yet and may not ever be.
I'll probably start the spew tomorrow. I solemnly promise that it won't be any more interesting nor important than anything else put out there on the world weird interwebs. It's not going to be a diary, at least I hope not, but rather a collection of curiosities guaranteed not to appeal to anyone in particular, but that I hope will be occasionally interesting to some, sometimes. If it's coherence you're after, you are bound to be sorely disappointed.
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