(From jplinde.com Close But No Cigar Department)
 
I mentioned in passing a couple weeks back, a treatment I co-wrote for a harried producer at Warner Brothers. I don’t remember his name (hey, it was the nineties) but I do remember sitting in his office, open comic books scattered about a glass coffee. Funny what you do and don’t remember.

​Anyway, it seemed said producer claimed he had pitched a Wild, Wild West movie and another rival producer, famed asshole Jon Peters and ex hairdresser, was about to steal it. To prove ownership, no-named producer was desperate to come up with a story idea that would convince the studio that he was the go-to guy. Well, much like the A-Team…
 
“If you have a problem (little or no money), if no one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire J.P. Linde.”
 
I met with the producer on a Friday with a promise to have a full treatment or him on or around the following week. Another not so fuzzy memory was the intense headache I had while in the meeting. My head was throbbing and once I adjourned, I skedaddled over to the studio commissary for a tin of Excedrin and a milk chaser. 

My cigarette with Timothy Dalton.

​Standing outside, waiting for the effects of the over the counter pain killer to take effect, I bumped into Timothy Dalton waiting for a valet to return his car. Minimal pleasantries were exchanged while the two of us mutually enjoyed the smooth tobacco flavor of our individual Marlboro cigarettes. Dalton, it turned out, was there to discuss taking over the role of Rhett Butler in the Gone with the Wind sequel, Scarlett. In hindsight, I should have tried to talk him out of it. After several moments, Dalton’s Honda Civic arrived and the extremely underrated James Bond slid into his car and cruised off the lot. If I believed in omens, it might have been a very good one indeed. 
 

​Thanks to the producer, still nameless, I possessed the galleys of a Wild Wild West Coffee table book with a synopsis of every single episode of the show’s entire 104 episode run. I readily admit to having never looked at the resource material and instead promptly called my good friend Tom McComb, my own personal resource on all pop references and television shows of the sixties, who proved to be more than up to the challenge.
 
In a flurry of writing that lasted most of three days and nights, Tom and I came up with the following scenario. Jules Verne, (who happens to have a brilliant and comely scientist daughter) has been kidnapped by the notorious Professor Loveless who will will activate Verne’s atomic device somewhere in the South China Sea. We also added a villainous steamship that doubled as a dirigible, a rocket sled for West’s signature railroad car and even had Artie going undercover, impersonating one Samuel Clemens (the first winner of the historic Mark Twain award) in a Nevada mining town for good measure. And, in keeping with the need for flawed heroes, so popular in the nineties, we made West despondent, drinking heavily over the assassination of his first presidential charge, James Garfield. To say that Tom and I threw everything in but the literary kitchen sink would be an understatement. Writers and comic friends who were lucky enough to get a first look were simply awestruck. Mostly in a good way. I humbly have to admit, that treatment was truly something.
 

I really thought we had a shot. And then, this happened.
  (Stay tuned for the conclusion next week!)

​ 
News Flash: Who’s Who in New Pulp by Ron Fortier has been released and you can now read all about me, Son of Ravage and hundreds of other authors, publishers and new pulp artists inside. A copy is less than 10 bucks with all proceeds going to charity. There is a hell of a lot of talented people out there, creating great adventure and new pulp stories. Why not find out who and where they are.
 
Welcome back. Things were a bit heavy for a while, so I thought it was high time to renew and refresh with a blog favorite (to this writer anyway): Odds and Ends. First things first. How are you all doing? In the words of Marc Maron, “Are you holding up okay?” Good!
 
Not sure what day of captivity this is. Travel has been restricted to only a few places and I only have my television, Apple Watch, iPhone, iPad, and two MacBook Pros to stay up to date. So, I will just have to guess that it is Saturday and get down to business.
 
Thanks for all the kind words and notes concerning my friend and colleague, Tom McComb. They are all truly appreciated. He was truly one of a kind and I wish you all could’ve met him.
 

​No spoilers: 
 
Speaking of great stories, took a sneak-peek at Star Trek: Picard. The rather surprise ending more than made up for a slow start and the addition of new characters and old colleague cameos is well worth the price of a CBS All Access subscription.  Patrick Stewart is great and the addition of Michael Chabon, writer of Kavalier and Clay, as showrunner is a masterful choice. Word of warning, this is not your mother or father’s ST: TNG. These characters are modern and smoke, vape and say the word “fucker” at least once every few episodes. I am so old. Why I remember the day when the TNG cast spoke in only Gene Roddenberry euphemisms and wore a colorful unitard. Is unitard even a word we can still say?

​One of the favorite comedies streaming on Netflix happens to be a sitcom that never really got the respect it deserved. Community, created by Dan Harmon, is worth a second look. Based on Harmon’s years at a community college (and hey, haven’t we all been there), Community manages to preset rich, nuanced characters with stories that often times are too good for mere television. The Russo Brothers (Marvel Universe super directors) produced episodes are among the best and the ensemble cast of McHale, Pudi, Bree, Jacobs. Brown and even Chase are all top-notch. However, it is the work of Donald Glover that is the standout for me. The versatile actor seems to bring his all to every single scene and episode. The pairing of Glover and Pudi is masterful and worth sticking with four of the six seasons. And staying for all six will only succeed in reminding you of how really great the first four were. There’s even a rumor of a movie on the horizon. Hmmm. Not so sure.
 
As we near word 500, it is time for a final thought. Hang in there! Be kind to one another, wear a mask, social distance, and try not be an asshole. Hey, the pressure is getting to everyone but that’ no excuse for having a meltdown. Which bring us to our new feature, Karen’s of the week. I think we can all agree on a couple of things. The upcoming election will never, ever take place (the Chinese will interfere and close the Post Office), and this, this is just classic Karen.

​I met him on an eventful spring day in 1972. He was already balding prematurely, smoked habitually and drove a Morris Minor “Woody” that he had restored himself. Whenever I would see him, he was either wearing a fraternity sweatshirt labeled UKE (Un Kappa Stubbe), or another that proclaimed his fictional employer to be none other than “Mkumba” Autobody. He had plenty of friends and obviously wielded a bit more influence at the ripe old age of 18 than I did and because of that, I just had to know him.
 
His name was Tom McComb and he passed away last week. He died in his sleep, most likely the effect of 50 years of accumulated tobacco smoke with the additional assistance of vast quantities of Rum and other assorted spirits. On a positive note regarding his smoking habit, the RJ Reynolds Tobacco Company had awarded Tom a plethora of colorful merchandise for his faithful patronage, all he was required to do was clip the labels from his hundreds of cartons of cigarettes. He was best man at my wedding and was a best friend for life. He was a chemist, a writer, a comedian, a doorman, and an adventurer. With him, I have roared down a perilous SW Portland hill in a Morris Minor with no brakes, witnessed the midnight dance of druids followed up with the stunning solar eclipse of 1979. I have even performed at the Spokane World’s Fair in one of his plays, The Scout and the Switchblade, to a crowd of thousands. Along with Alan Turner, we co-created one of Portland’s first improv and Sketch comedy troupes, No Prisoners. When I was hired as a field reporter for the television show Around Town and was asked to produce a story on a local travel guide who specializes in tracking Bigfoot, I invited Tom to come along as a special advisor. Frankly, I could not dream of someone more qualified.
 

​He was a hell of writer that did not write nearly enough but made the writers he worked with so much better. While with No Prisoners, he wrote some of the most funny and original sketches I had ever seen. The Fir Family (a sitcom featuring a family of trees), The I Heart Oregon Brigade (notable characters including General Eugene Springfield) and A Fourth for Toffit (game night taken to the extreme). In the early 90s, I had co-written a television situation comedy pilot with another great friend, comic mastermind Jerry Lambert. It was basically Barney Miller with Forest Rangers and the pilot had issues and needed some fleshing out. Obviously, I sought out Tom McComb. In one pass he managed to flesh out the characters, add a new one, an east-coast mobster who was in witness protection and voila, we were up and running. 
 
Sometime in the same hazy decade, I had been asked by a producer at Warner Brothers to come up with a story treatment for The Wild, Wild West. The project was being wrestled away from said producer and he needed something to prove ownership fast. Again, I sought out Tom McComb. In one week, we came up with a story that involved Cossacks, Jules Verne, Mark Twain, a volcano, a flying schooner and one atomic device. Sadly, Jon Peters won the day, and no one ever saw our version. You’ll just have to trust me on this, ours was much, much better. 
 
During the first comedy boom in Portland, Tom, while working his way through Portland State University toward a chemistry degree, became the celebrated doorman of not just one comedy venue, but two. Tuesday, it was the Leakey Roof Tavern open mic, and his rehearsed banter with one of the revolving emcees. On Friday and Saturdays, it was on to Reuben’s Five. His relationship with the local comedians never really ended. He hosted weekly poker games at his rented house behind the porno theatre, treating us to his infamous marijuana infused home brew while dealing treacherous hands of seven-card no peaky baseball (threes, nines and Jacks were wild).  Often times he’d drag his ancient Risk board down to Harvey’s Comedy Club for a quick match between shows and sets. 
 
Oh, and did I mention, he could get away with murder. I once witnessed him stop an entire ride at Disneyland by attempting to switch boats just so he could ride along with a couple of attractive women. He was socially awkward but always funny as hell. A few of us were at a costume party, all in civilian clothes when a comely woman approached Tom and asked about his costume. “Who are you supposed to be?” Without missing a beat Tom deadpanned, “I’m the Green River killer.” 
 
When I needed anything in the world, he was always there. All of my fictional works have a character named Doc, a nickname we gave Tommy during one of our weekly poker games. In my creative mind’s eye, he was everything from a disgruntled biker in my screenplay The Touristers to the prematurely balding colleague in my book Son of Ravage. He was just that memorable. He inspired others as well, ever seen the DVD cover of Return of the Killer Tomatoes? Tom was the model for the killer tomato.

​My wife and I last saw Tom while he in the process of moving to Kansas from Southern CA. He was overweight, had emphysema but on his stay with us limited his drinking to a few beers. It was great to see him. He announced he was writing a memoir about his experience writing and performing the play, The Scout and the Switchblade and asked if I would take a look. I had taken first looks at a lot of Tom McComb projects over the years, including a drunken, whoring Hemmingway-like travelogue chasing a solar eclipse across Northern Mexico (which was fantastic by the way), to a high-tech version of Gulliver’s Travels. Sadly, his accomplishments were great but generally totaled only a handful of pages. To the best of my knowledge, all his works remained unfinished. He had a problem finishing what he began. What can I say? He was just that good.

After his move to Kansas correspondence between the two of us sort of dried up. I would send an email and Tom would reply back with a brief sentence or two. When I finished a final draft of my manuscript, Son of Ravage, I sent it to Tom for critique. His response was typical Tom. “I’m not in enough pages,” he declared defiantly. “The character of Brain gets far more dialogue.”

​Rest in Peace, Tommy. I love you. We will never see your like again.  
 

​“On the face of it, few historical incidents seem more unlikely to spawn a Broadway musical than that solemn moment in the history of mankind, the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Yet 1776... most handsomely demonstrated that people who merely go 'on the face of it' are occasionally outrageously wrong.... [1776] is a most striking, most gripping musical. I recommend it without reservation. It makes even an Englishman's heart beat faster... the characters are most unusually full... for Mr. Stone's book is literate, urbane and, on occasion, very amusing.... William Daniels has given many persuasive performances in the past, but nothing, I think, can have been so effective as his John Adams here. This is a beautiful mixture of pride, ambition, an almost priggish sense of justice and yet – the saving grace of the character – an ironic self-awareness. “

Clive Barnes


In honor of the television premiere of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Hamilton” on Disney Plus, I thought it was high-time we revisit the first Broadway Musical to highlight the madcap misadventures of our founding fathers, 1776.With music and lyrics by Sherman Edwards and a book by Peter Stone, the show is based on the events leading up to the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Loads of laughs, right? Not so fast.

A musical based on such an historic event is not such a big deal in the Trump era. But, back in the day, there was more to personal freedom than whether it is unconstitutional to wear a face covering or storm your state capital with your AK-47. We believed that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. As a society, we have chosen to believe in other things such as Q-Anon and evil pizza parlors.

But, I digress.

​Starring Mr. Feeny himself, William Daniels (John Adams), and with a supporting cast that includes, blacklisted actor Howard Da Silva (as Benjamin Franklin), The White Shadow himself Ken Howard (Thomas Jefferson) and featuring the very comely Blythe Danner (as Gwyneth Paltrow’s mother), it opened in 1969 to rave reviews and eventually won Tony Awards for Best Musical, Best Director, Actor and Actress and Best Celebrity offspring from a television actor. In 1998, Brent Spiner (Data from Star Trek) was instrumental in reviving the project for Broadway and even managed to convince veteran actor Pat Hingle into playing Franklin himself. Again, allocates and awards followed, winning Tony’s coveted Best Revival.
 
“Perhaps not. But don’t forget that most men without property would rather protect the possibility of becoming rich than face the reality of being poor. And that is why, they will follow us.”
 
In 1972, one-time studio chief and all-time asshole, Jack Warner decided to bring the historic musical to the silver screen with mixed results. Previewing the picture for another kindred asshole, President Richard M Nixon, the two conspired to cut one of the musical numbers that undercut the fabric of the entire play. A subsequent DVD and Blu-Ray release have returned the edited number and cuts to the motion picture and now you can see it as original Broadway and Film Director Peter Hunt had intended.   

​I enjoy this musical. So much so that I’ve performed in it twice. Once, at the award-winning drama school where I got my celebrated start in show business, James Madison High School. I performed in it once again in a Bicentennial production in 1976 with the Peanut Gallery Players. I’ve always considered 1776 to be an almost perfect blend of storytelling; historical drama, musical comedy, and, of course, badly done Benjamin Franklin wigs.