****** * * Back in our Venice Beach days, we learned the names and stories of quite a few locals. Mostly homeless locals, since they were of most interest to me. But there were may who fit within the scope of society - movie people, teachers, laborers, and they could be just as frequent and interesting. Starting to write about a bunch of them now, and this was a note on a guy we called captain. They called him captain. He wore a white sailor’s hat, and in his mind, he was still at the wheel, still in command. A real life captain. He had the hat and all, and he was always drunk and talking to his crew, all around him but holding no physical form. “Cortez! Get off my continent.” This was his favorite thing to say, and it was my favorite thing to hear him say. He walked up and down the boardwalk, palms-back, and swaggering a bit. He looked like a real seamen, and spoke like a true captain, and I believed what he told me about the boats, the mission numbers, and the illegal runs of people and booze. But his pink sun bleached eyes and exposed skin, as well as the bouts of laughing, told me that he was a captain only in his heart these days, only in his overactive, and often drunk, mind. I loved the Captain. He was one of my favorite characters in Venice. And he didn’t know my name, and he’d never come by the booth unless I called him over, antagonized him with some sailor speak or question about the ship. And he was always loud but pleasant. Fighting no real battles, but just dictating telegrams and poking at trouble. “Cortez. Get off my continent.” Old captain. I’d like to find him and ask him more, but I can’t imagine he’s still biting that imaginary cigar on the Venice Beach boardwalk. Can these characters really last past the third act?
Posted on: Mon, 08 Sep 2014 17:29:56 +0000
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