DO PUBLISHERS STEAL?

            Do publishers rip off writers? Sometimes. But fortunately, rarely.

            Okay, Steven King, John Grisham, etc. I’m not. But I have written four successful books (Two for young readers, three mainstream nonfiction-travel, nature, history). I have been a contributing writer on two encyclopedias and two travel guides. I have had 173 newspaper and 142 magazine articles appear in major publications. I have written for both radio and television, even got nominated for an EMMY as a writer.

            So yeah, I’ve been around the block a few times. And yeah, there are some publishers and editors who, having little imagination of their own, are not above cherry-picking yours. Usually it’s just petty larceny. Herewith a few war stories.

            Some years ago Wife and I moved to a mid-sized city where she worked as an economist…doing whatever it is economists do. Before moving I had been writing for a television magazine show on a Southern California station. Nothing glamorous, when my name rolled by on the credits the audience was already out of their easy chairs on the way to the bathroom.

But it was fun. So, soon after our arrival I made an appointment with the station manager at a local network affiliate. Showed him tapes, letters of recommendation, etc. “Hum,” he said, furrowing his brow. “What kind of stories would you do here?”

The city was in the middle of a rural area. Lots of old barns. You can find all kinds of neat things in old barns. Once I found an old-time car reborn as a chicken coop. “Well, for example,” I said, “who knows what forgotten treasures one might find in old barns?” The station manager nodded his head and promised to call me in a few days.

He didn’t of course. But a week later on the local news I saw a reporter standing in front of an old barn. “Who knows what forgotten treasures, etc.” he intoned, looking earnestly at the camera. Like I said, petty larceny.

Sometimes publishers are guiltier of sins of omission rather than commission. Like neglecting to mention that their publication is about to go belly up. One magazine sent me on assignment to the Caribbean to do a business piece on new hotels. While I was there the magazine went D.O.A. (Fortunately I already had my airline ticket home which is why I’m not writing this sitting on a beach chewing on sugar cane.)

Years later I was writing short fiction for a London magazine. Four hundred pounds pay per story. Not great but the stories were easy to write. One day I received an issue with the last story I’d done. But no pay. It was their last issue; the magazine had croaked. So I can officially say I have been stiffed on both sides of the Atlantic.

One last war story and pay attention, this one’s important. In publishing it can be  a short jump between petty larceny and grand theft auto. Case in point: some time ago I wrote a combination history/travel book for the California tourist market. It did very well. Reviewers liked it, readers liked it and it went through several printings. The publisher was helpful, patient and scrupulously honest. When he retired and sold his business his writers (including me) missed him.

Unfortunately for those same writers the aspiring publisher who bought the firm went bankrupt. But not immediately. For a while he continued printing and selling our books. But only by threatening legal action was I able to get even part of the royalties due me. Eventually he sort of disappeared and I have no idea how many royalties I lost. I probably could have put our daughter through college with them.

So have I scared any aspiring writers who read this off? Well, in a sense, if I did, good. There are already too many writers in a diminishing market and I don’t need any more competition. I can name four major magazines I wrote for that have gone to the Great Paper Shredder in the Sky.

On the other hand, I began this blog by noting that writers being ripped off is rare. It simply doesn’t pay for a publisher to be dishonest. To survive he needs content and a bad reputation will ultimately cost him that content. I have dealt with literally dozens of editors and publishers over the years and only in the cited examples did I have problems.

So go for it. Just be careful. And don’t be too good. Like I said, I don’t need the competition.

Dad out.              

  

       

                

                       

MONEY FEARS and GET RICH QUICK SCHEMES

            Some months ago Wife retired. Her retirement did not last long. There are two disadvantages to retirement. One: unless you’re a corporate honcho you are not going to get rich on your pension. Two: being retired is boring. So she cast about for something to do.

            She began with a course on real estate at our local community college. It was intensive, demanding, dull. She loved it. Go figure. But then I wasn’t really surprised. Her university degree (with academic honors) is in economics. I have been married to the woman for forty plus years and I still have no idea what economists do.

            Nonetheless sometime in our marriage (ok, within the first week) she took over our family finances. Thank God! In my wallet I have five dollars for a hamburger and a credit card in case I need something. When I turn on a light I know she’s paid the electric bill which sums up my interest/knowledge of our finances. Whatever…it works.

            Meanwhile Wife was bored with retirement. She started to write a blog on real estate and her adventures in it.  I am a writer and writers have a circus going on in their heads which keeps us from being bored. Economists don’t. Wife’s idea of a rock star is Ben Bernanke.

            One day an invitation arrived to a conference introducing a real estate investment program. Wife was intrigued. I was not. Hours later she returned determined to go into the real estate investment business. But first she would have to learn more about it. And (Surprise!) the people putting on the conference just happened to offer a course on real estate investing. A very expensive course.       

            I have mixed feelings about this, including being somewhat fearful. Enough that Wife has asked me to blog about how I feel. She tells me other spouses share my concerns. Like most such pitches the programs are intended for potential investors. “Special people.” As special people our invitations arrived at both home and work.

            A day or so later I took some trash out to the bin we share with others in our condo complex. There, amidst the egg shells and coffee grounds, I noticed two or three other conference invitations. Apparently to be included among the elite the main requirement is to have the same zip code.

            On the other hand, if anyone can make a go of this, it’s Wife. She’s smart, well educated and hard-working. She spends more hours on the computer than she did in her previous profession. Researching property and the on-line training webinars seem endless.

            And maybe my fearful concerns are entirely misplaced. I admit I am not a trusting person. I always look for the spot under the couch.

Years ago we rented a small furnished apartment near the university we attended. Our neighbors were our landlords, an elderly couple. We weren’t there long, a semester or so. On our last day the landlords inspected the apartment, a requirement before our cleaning deposit could be returned.

They clucked approvingly at how spotless we left everything. But then the grandmotherly wife looked at the couch. “Uh oh,” she said sweetly, “I’m afraid this won’t do.”

On cue her husband pulled the couch away from the wall. There on the carpet was a spot. We didn't make it. We didn't even know it was there. You couldn’t even see it under the couch! But Grandma knew just where to look.

We forfeited the deposit, it wasn’t much. But such a shabby little hustle I suspect they played on every student couple who rented from them.

I still look for the “spot under the couch” though I’ve not found any with the program Wife has invested in. Yes, it is expensive. Very. But nothing misleading. Meanwhile Wife has made her first real estate investments. We now own property in two other states.

Yes I am still concerned. During the California Gold Rush fortunes were made. But not usually by prospectors. No, mainly by guys selling over-priced shovels.

But so far no spots on the carpet. Consequently I am hopeful, even…cautiously optimistic.    

Dad out.

CONFESSIONS & CAMOUFLAGE

            I have a confession to make. For over a decade I flew false colors so to speak. And worse, it was my own daughter that I used for cover.

           

            It started small. Whenever Wife and I went into a supermarket I noticed the line of rides for very young children just outside. There were little horses that galloped up and down. Miniature trucks that rumbled over imaginary highways. Motorcycles and rocket ships. Each cost a quarter for a few brief minutes. I looked at them and wondered who would waste money on such things.

            Then Wife had Daughter and I found out. It’s amazing how much happiness one could buy for a quarter. The little rides are more expensive now; fifty cents last time I looked. Still pretty cheap for a child’s laughter.

            Then, about the time our tiny lady bug grew into a little girl, we discovered merry-go-rounds. We liked the big ones best with their powerful steeds with flaring nostrils that pranced in endless circles to music box drums and pipes. Daughter would sit in front of me, my arms around her as we went up and down, up and down. Pretty soon as she grew she graduated to her own horse.

            When the ride ended we’d hop off our horses and run to the booth and buy tickets for another go-around. Wife, usually sitting on a bench watching us, would roll her eyes and shake her head. But we were too fast for her! “What a nice dad,” people would say.

            Well, I have a confession to make. I enjoyed those years-ago merry-go-round rides as much if not more than Daughter. Certainly more than macho males are supposed to. So I used Daughter as cover. “She wants to go again,” I’d call to Wife who would frown. But only a little frown. Worked every time.

            Don’t ride merry-go-rounds much anymore. Not since Daughter became a young woman making her own way in the world. But there are other things I still enjoy. Just takes a bit of camouflage. When I was a boy I enjoyed toy soldiers. Still do, only now they’re called “military miniatures” to be painted and displayed in a china hutch.

            Comic books. I still have several only they’re no longer comic books. They’re “valuable collectibles” now. But I never cared much for Superman, Batman and the rest of their ilk. No, my favorite superhero was Scrooge McDuck.

When I was a boy Scrooge and Donald and the rest of the duck gang were drawn by a genius named Carl Barks. (“Unca Carl” to us fans.) When Unca Carl retired he and his wife settled in Temecula, California where as it happened, we lived. I never bothered him of course. But every so often I would stand in our backyard and gaze across the valley toward his home and murmur, “I am not worthy, I am not worthy.”

When I was a boy I also enjoyed toy trains. But no more, now I am a model railroad hobbyist. And I have a splendid layout. My trains cross high bridges over turbulent rivers and pass Lilliputian forests and stop at towns where my attention to detail is astounding.

Admittedly my layout exists only in my imagination but maybe someday. Meanwhile occasionally I grow silent and look into the distance. Wife will ask, “What are you thinking about?” But I’m not thinking. I’m putting in a new railroad station on my layout. One with little people and tiny baggage waiting for the next train.

Dad out.

         

                  

GONE TO THE DOGS

            First, a course correction. On my last DAD blog I announced that on Daughter’s advice, I would blog on a regular schedule (namely Mondays & Thursdays). “You have to be consistent!” she put it. But after I turned off my computer she informed me that Tuesdays and Fridays are much better days!

            I don’t know if that’s true. But I do know that like Custer at the Little Big Horn, in our home I am outnumbered. Wife is a female, Daughter is a female, the family cat is a lady cat, even Daughter’s pet snake is a girl snake. Best I just agree. Tuesdays and Fridays it is.

            Now, as I was wondering about celebrity dogs in my last blog. Back in ye olden days two dogs, Rin Tin Tin and Yukon King (SERGEANT PRESTON OF THE YUKON) had their own radio shows. How the heck does a dog star in a radio show? Answer: stand-ins. Both Rinty and King used human stand-ins, guys who stood in front of microphones and barked, growled, woofed and yipped.

            Whether they did their own barking on their TV shows is another matter. On the other hand Cleo, a basset hound who looked like Tallulah Bankhead (look her up on Wikipedia, kids) was bilingual, speaking both dog and human. True, no one in the cast of her 1950s TV show PEOPLE’S CHOICE could hear her; only the viewing audience. But throughout every program she kept up a stream of observations, wise cracks, etc.

OK, OK, her dialog was actually “voiced” by human Mary Jane Croft. But at least TV dogs like Cleo (and eventually Rinty and King) had to show up for work! And sometimes that work was hard. Take Roy Rodgers’ dog Bullet. Do you know how fast he had to run just to keep up with Roy’s horse Trigger?

In 2010 Bullet’s mounted remains sold at auction for $35,000. But at the same sale the also stuffed Trigger fetched $266,000. Even on his way to the Great Doghouse in the Sky poor Bullet couldn't catch a break.

Some dogs enjoyed all the perks that come with being a celebrity. Stretch Bloodhound in his role as “Duke” on TV’s BEVERLY HILLBILLIES wasn’t required to do much more than look sleepy. Yet he was able to retire at age thirteen with I’m sure a fairly decent pension. And silent movie star Strongheart never traveled without his staff of retainers (manager, valet, press agent and “personal representative”). Strongheart incidentally is one of only three dogs to rate their own star (the others being Lassie and Rin Tin Tin) on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Meanwhile let us shed a tear for those dogs who obtained maybe a pinch of fame but for whom true superstardom was not their destiny. Give up a woof for Rex the Wonder Dog and a yip for Lightning the Dog. And of course Ace the Wonder Dog who played Rusty in 1945s THE ADVENTURES OF RUSTY and Phantom’s sidekick Devil (sidedog?) in 1946s THE PHANTOM. Good doggies all.

Dad out.

LASSIE EXPOSED

This time I’m gonna write about dogs because you can’t go wrong with dogs. People like dogs. And people like movies so I’ll write about movie dogs. Enough blogs seething with righteous indignation. Write about fun things, Dad!

            OK. Oh, and something else. Daughter (who knows all things) tells me I should post on a consistent schedule so my readers (and both of you know who you are) know when to look for me. So from now on I’m aiming to post on Mondays and Thursdays. 

Now, on to…Lassie! And being Hollywood I’ll start with a whiff of scandal.

LASSIE WAS A DRAG QUEEN!

Well, sorta. Every movie and TV Lassie has actually been a male and not the lady dog he portrays. (And yes I know, lady dogs are called bitches. But I can’t, I just can’t. I mean we’re talking Lassie here.) There are two schools of thought as to why this is. The first is that male collies don’t shed as much as lady collies. The second is that being the, ah, heroine “she” should have a larger presence while saving Timmy from the well. Which brings up something else:

TIMMY NEVER FELL INTO A WELL!

When Jon Provost (TV’s Timmy from 1957 to 1964) wrote his autobiography he titled it (tongue firmly in cheek) TIMMY’S IN THE WELL! But in fact Timmy never fell into a well. Into deep pits, raging rivers, pitch-black mines, icy lakes and grasping quicksand, yes. Face it, he was a clumsy kid. Thankfully there was a Lassie or two or three to haul him out.

Yes, it’s true. A LOT OF DOGS PLAYED LASSIE!

Among them: dogs named Baby, Spook, Boy, Howard, Mason, Lassie Jr., Hey-Hey, Dakota, Mire and Pal. Pal seems to have carried a lot of the load, starring in seven Lassie films beginning with 1943’s LASSIE COME HOME. Pal also went on the road to meet and greet fans at dog shows, county fairs, rodeos and the like.

Of course they had to use several dogs. If the original Lassie (Pal, 1943 movie star) was still making personal appearances (and yes, “Lassie” does to this day, often for a line of pet food) he’d have to be in dog years seven hundred years old!

Next Monday we’ll investigate other dark secrets of Hollywood canine celebs. Who was Cleo with the soulful eyes and sexy voice? Why was Duke replaced on the BEVERLY HILLBILLIES? There were two dogs who starred in popular radio shows. How the heck does a dog star in a radio show?

Until then, Dad out.                     

                       

CHARGE OF THE OLD SOLDIERS

            Most neighborhoods had a kid like, oh, let’s call him Bobby. 

He was the kid who, while maybe not wealthy per se, was still a little better off than you. At Halloween he trick-or-treated in a store-bought costume while you wore a threadbare sheet with scissors-cut eyeholes. At the movies he bought the big tub of popcorn which in a spirit of noblesse oblige he might (or might not) share with you.

But the most infuriating thing about Bobby was the power one kid had over the rest of the kids. When they played basketball he called the shots. Because he owned the basketball and if he didn’t get his way he’d just take it home and nobody got to play.

In case you ever wondered what happened to Bobby (and his bratty sister Brenda) they grew up to be hard-core republican congressmen and women. Now a clutch of them have the people of the United States over a barrel. They want their way and if they don’t get it, well they’re just going to take their basketball and go home.

In their wake the national government has been crippled, parts of it sputtering to a halt. People can’t get into national parks and monuments. That’s sad. Head Start kids can’t get into class and workers can’t be paid the money they earned. That’s tragic.

Recently a few men refused to put up with it. World War II veterans they came to the capital of the nation they had defended. Looking at their craggy faces I was reminded of a book/movie titled WE WERE SOLDIERS ONCE AND YOUNG. Upon their arrival they were told they could not visit their own monument.

They didn’t return to the bus. Instead they lined up in wheelchairs and on crutches and canes and charged, pushing aside the barricades. If any national park rangers resisted I suspect they didn’t resist very hard. Even a few congressmen, sensing a photo-op, came out with appropriately sympathetic expressions.

When Daughter (who is of voting age) asked me what could be done about all this I had to tell her I don’t know. I only wish we had congressmen/women like Jefferson Smith. In congress Smith’s pet cause was a camp for poor youngsters “in the Western outdoors.” Asked for his philosophy he answered, “…looking out for the other fella.”

Unfortunately Jefferson Smith was a fictional character played by Jimmy Stewart in the 1939 movie MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON. If he were to exist today I imagine House Speaker John Boehner, R-Ohio, would find him quaint and probably a little laughable.

I’ve only met one congressman in the flesh. He was a rock-ribbed, hard edge republican on a quick district visit to show the flag. After a staff-written speech he stood briefly in the parking lot while people asked him questions. Some he answered; some he didn’t.

I had a question. While I asked he looked at me for maybe three seconds, then through me for three seconds as if I wasn’t even there. Before I could finish my question he turned away without a word and, surrounded by aides in expensive suits, got into an expensive car. Today he is retired with a nice pension. His son (of the same name) runs the family business now, so to speak.

I’m sure I slipped from his memory within moments. But thirty years later I remember his arrogance. That’s what voters do. We remember. Something some congress people might want to remember themselves.

Dad out.

VIDEO GAME MAYHEM

               In the first 24 hours of GRAND THEFT AUTO V’s release nearly twelve million of the games were sold. Like it or not ultra-violent video games are here to stay and the bloodier the better. While neither Wife nor Daughter (the gamers in the family) have yet to buy GTF they enjoy some violent games. But generally their games are set in post-apocalyptic worlds where they blast spidery/monster thingies into multi-colored goo. 

In any case a hue and cry has been raised concerning ultra-violent games’ possible influence on younger players. (Actually Daughter is the family expert on gaming, violent or otherwise. See http://www.gamesr4fite.com.) But meanwhile I find myself wondering if ultra violent games do influence impressionable players?

Pop quiz! What two things do Richard Speck, Charles Whitman and Charlie Starkweather have in common? Answer one: all three were young American males who felt no compunction about snuffing out the lives of fellow human beings. And two: none of them had ever played a video game, violent or otherwise, in their lives. In their time transistor radios were about as high tech as the average American got.

On the other hand Dr. Fredric Wertham, if he were here, would argue that video games do indeed influence America’s youth and not in a good way. There were no video games in his day either. But there were comic books. And crime and ghost story comics, insisted the good doctor, were a direct cause of young people committing violent crimes across the nation. Even Superman was suspect.

So in 1954 he wrote a book titled SEDUCTION OF THE INNOCENT. In period magazines and newspapers there are photographs of earnest adults burning stacks of comic books. Barely twenty years had passed since the Nazis had burned books they didn’t like either.

Yes, movies and television shows are becoming more gory, excessively and unnecessarily so. But that’s not new either. Take movie director Herschell Gordon Lewis (Please!). No, he is not studied at the University of Southern California’s film school. He made a few soft-porn movies (GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BARES). They didn’t do all that well. Then he discovered gore.

Not just splattered blood gore. Slice and dice, rip and tear, dismember and disembowel gore. Movies so gory theater managers refused to show them because patrons vomited on the seats and floor. So throughout the 1960s and early 1970s Lewis showed them in drive-ins, movies like BLOOD FEAST, COLOR ME BLOOD RED and his magnum opus, GORE-GORE GIRLS made a fortune (all lost in bad investments). 
    

Have we become more violent as a society? Maybe not, maybe we just have better technology. In 1881 the infamous gunfight at Tombstone’s OK Corral claimed only three lives, nothing compared to today’s mass murderers. But then Wyatt Earp and his brothers only had primitive six-guns. Now if Doc Holiday, instead of a borrowed shotgun, had a modern AK47, well… (Incidentally Earp contemporary John Wesley Hardin murdered 44 men before he himself was gunned down. So serial killers aren’t new either.)

Maybe violent games are a bad influence. Do violent kids become violent adults? I don’t know but I offer this: Lincoln Park in West Seattle, Washington is haunted by the ghosts of numerous outlaws, enemy soldiers and even a few space aliens. I know because years ago I personally shot them with my cowboy cap pistol. And I don’t even step on bugs if I can avoid it.

Dad out.