
THE USUAL NOTE FROM LB: From the summer of 2002 to the spring of 2010, Gwen the Beautiful and I were the proud and often exhausted owners of a beautiful Ozarks property we called Cloud Creek Ranch.
In many ways, the ranch was paradise. But it was a paradise with a price that started going up before we even knew it existed. Here’s another Monday musing about our adventure and the lessons we learned.
Oh, and if y’all detect any irony, please believe me when I say it comes straight from the universe and not your kindly Uncle Larry B.
Understanding the Past
by Larry Brody
No matter how hard I try to live in the present, meeting the challenges of the here-and-now, every once in awhile the past rears its haunting head.
Today, while doing a Google search for information about soap operas to pass on to a student, I encountered a familiar name that I hadn’t seen or heard anywhere but in my own head for more than twenty-five years.
The name of My Friend The Daytime Serial Producer.
It’s the little things that drive you crazy, and show business has more than its share of both craziness and little things. One of the little things that used to drive me crazy was the way I came oh-so close to having what I thought would be a Dream Job, courtesy of My Friend The DSP, only to lose it after I’d thought we’d clinched the deal.
What happened ‘way back there in 1979 was that I got a phone call from My Friend asking if she and the Head of Daytime Programming at a major TV network could come over to my place and talk about me taking over as head writer of their flagship soap.
I wasn’t a soap opera writer (which was one of the reasons they wanted me; they thought someone with my primetime background would do new and interesting things for the genre), but I’d always been intrigued by the realism soaps demonstrated.
Well, okay, may be not real realism, but the appearance of realism as in, “Look, Ma! No bullets are flying! Instead of life or death we’re worrying about money and love!” I liked the idea of being able to explore genuine human emotions instead of hyping up crime after crime.
And, frankly, I liked the huge paycheck that went with that exploration because at the time the brainiacs behind soap opera scripts were the highest paid writers in TV.
My Friend the DSP and the Head of Daytime Programming came to the house on a Saturday, and we sat in the sunny living room, discussing the kinds of changes they wanted in the show and how I might make them.
Oh, and my then wife, Mrs. B the First, was there too. Sitting on the floor and eagerly offering her opinions and advice.
Which, I’m afraid, wasn’t a good thing. Our marriage was very troubled at the time (and ended soon after), and even inward-gazing, self-obsessed television executives could feel the tension.
That would’ve been bad enough, but couple it with the deep-seated (and, I believe, irrational) showbiz perspective of, “You’re not in the business, you’re just a spouse, so why the @^%$ should we talk to you?” and you’re in the middle of a seriously serious situation.
Still, I was convinced that I’d demonstrated my charm, intelligence, and talent more than amply, and that a big money offer would be on my doorstep any second…minute…day…week…?
No offer came.
A year later, after the inevitable divorce and all its suffering, a friend of the HDP told me that the reason the job hadn’t worked out was that My Friend the DSP had disliked my ex-wife so much that she couldn’t bring herself to do business with me.
Ever.
After all, seeing me might make My Friend think of her. And wouldn’t that have been a terrible thing?
Over the years I’ve often thought about that experience, wondering what would’ve happened if Mrs. B the First and I had been happy on that day (and in general too, but that’s a whole other obsession…and, yes, still filled with suffering). And, whenever some further conflict arose with Mrs. B the First, I’d find myself reaching for the story of how she’d “killed” that deal to use as a kind of weapon against her.
I never did use it though. Because I knew how much it would hurt my ex. And I had no reason to want to hurt anyone that way.
Especially someone I once loved.
Which brings us to today, and the Google search where I saw My Friend the DSP’s name…and also the name of the head writer who changed daytime serial storytelling forever when she took over the show.
The two women’s last names were the same.
The new writer was the Producer’s sister.
Was I ever really in the running?
Could what I brought to the table truly top kin?
Not on any planet I know.
At last, my ex is off the hook.
The past is dead. Long live the present!
For now, anyway.