by Larry Brody
NOTE FROM LB: Every once in awhile something good – really, measurably good – comes out of something you’ve done and makes you realize, “Hey, life ain’t so bad after all. This excerpt from my long out of print nonfiction, nonclassic book, Turning Points in Television, is about one of those times actually, remarkably, miraculously, happening to me.
The year is 1980, and I’m standing in the lobby of the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco on a cloud-enshrouded Saturday night, having a little not-so-friendly discussion with the manager because I’ve come to the City on a whim only to find that there are no rooms at the Inn. Any Inn, including this one, where I’ve stayed a million times before.
I feel foolish as hell, so I hide it with anger and a voice loud enough to be heard across the Bay. Having grown from a Chicago kind of kid to a Hollywood kinda guy, I’m screaming my credits at the manager in the firm belief that they’ll cause him to cough up a place I can stay.
