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1953 [26 Mar 2006|04:00pm]
Sorry for my lack of updates, folks. Uh, I've been really busy here in New York City. This week alone I will be appearin' in a number of television shows. So, keep your eye out of me. (heh heh)

01. "The Kate Smith Hour" - episode: Hounds of Heaven
02. "You Are There" - episode: The Capture of Jesse James (I play Jesse James)
03. "Treasury Men in Action" - episode: The Case of the Sawed-Off Gun (Arbie Ferris)
04. "Tales of Tomorrow" - episode: The Evil Within (Ralph)

So, there you have it folks.

My days are filled with rehearsals, ridin' my motorcycle around, takin' in this city that is so wonderful. I really do enjoy it here. It's so diff'rent from back home, uh, in Fairmount, that I really welcome the change. I keep tryin' to get my Aunt and Uncle and Cousin to come out here, just to see what it is I get to see ev'ry day. They keep sayin' they will, but I know they're real busy with the farm and all.

I'll keep doing my best to keep you updated on this here journal.
Take care,
Al lmy best,

(1 Talker

1952 [08 Feb 2006|12:25pm]
Things have really picked up for me, I suppose. All of my TV work wasn;t for nothing after all. I landed a leading role in a play on Braodway. Something about a jaguar...I don't remember the name, I just know I have a job. I have some more television role coming up soon, too; just bit pieces. Things between Dizzy & I have ... fizzled out.

Sorry for not having been around, been busy. Went back to Indiana to visit my family and ask for more rent money ... I hate doing that, but I gotta have a roof over my head ... or do I? I could be homeless, riding around on my bike, everything I own in my bag. Well, it's a last resort I suppose.

(1 Talker

[31 Dec 2005|06:07pm]
See icon of me here

By: _pink_cheetah_
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- do not direct link (ie: save to your own photo hosting site)
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xposted in classic_rpg

(3 Talkers

1951 [19 Dec 2005|07:15am]
Going to sleep is something I don't seem to be able to do. Not complaining, but Dizzy sure does give me a talkin' to when I'm three days without sleep...


1951 [26 Nov 2005|08:07pm]
I've taken up the conga drums. I'm learning from Cyril Jackson in a little studip not far from Times Square. I love it! I've begun acting like Brando - the way I think he lives. We already have similarities, but now I'm really getting into Brando's way of life I believe. I'm a Method actor, I live how he lives. I mimick him, so to speak.

If I could only meet him - I mean, I know it would be ... *no words come to mind* ... well, it'd be the greatest thing to ever happen to me.

Wrote home last week, had to ask for some more money so I could pay rent. Something needs to happen soon.


(2 Talkers

1951 [13 Nov 2005|07:54pm]
In my earlier stay at the YMCA I met a girl. Her name is Dizzy ... well, that is to say, her nickname is Dizzy. Her actual name is Liz Sheridian. She's the daughter of some piano player guy ... Fred or Frank, I think it's Frank, something like that. She lived at New York's Rehearsal Club for women. She's a dancer, she's hilarious, and she has connections. Not that that is what I think about when with her, but I won't lie, and she knows this to be true, that it was something I was interested in. I'm very ready to be an actor, to be known as an actor. I get so frustrated with the lack of moving forward.

I told Dizzy the other day, "If I live long enough. I want it [acting success, that is] now. Jesus, I'm ready. I can feel it. Dammit, I come home to you every night empty-handed. I got no job! I got no money! I'm going through all this bullshit so I can prance around a stage. It's insane!"

Oh yeah, Dizzy and I are living together.

(2 Talkers

Sep 1951 [01 Nov 2005|09:47pm]
I'm finally in New York City. I think I'm in love.

Both James Whitmore and Rogers Brackett have written me many letters of introduction for this acting world I want to inhabit. However, I've met Alec Wilder, a composer and old friend of Brackett's. He lives at the Algonwuin Hotel, but he's helped me get my own place at the more moderately priced Iroquois Hotel. $12/month. They're close together on W. 44th Street in Manhattan. I like the place, but I spend more time with him at his hotel. We sit in the lobby and watch people pass by, and I in turn mimick them.

When I'm left alone, I become very introverted. The city can be rather intimidating to this small town kid. I'm 20-years-old, living in New York City ... and I've discovered someone.

When I'm left to my own devices I go to three or four films a day in Times Square. Then I saw A Place In the Sun ... and I have an idol. Montgomery Clift. Liz Taylor's nice too look at, sure ... but, that Clift is close to God for me. His acting is genious, I identify with him, he's troubled and tortured, especially when he's happy.

You have to admit - Liz and Montgomery make a swell movie couple.

I sat through an entire day just watching that film. The only other actor who surpasses Clift, in my opinion, is Brando. I gotta tell ya, I really idolize him. In the acting world, to me, he is God.

(3 Talkers

June 1950 [22 Oct 2005|02:26am]
I've decided to stay on here in CA, if only for a little while. UCLA is saying their acting dept. is going to get better. We (the students) were drawing up petitions about the classes ... or lack thereof. I think I can build up some kind of acting resume in the mean time. I don't feel I've given this place a chance ... or maybe I haven't given my father a chance.

(2 Talkers

May 1950 [16 Oct 2005|07:11pm]
I received a letter from my drama teacher from Fairmount, IN which confirms my already growing curiosity.

Dear Jimmy.
I'm very proud of your decision to attempt a connection with your father.
However, I understand entirely your need to express yourself and your
emotions through the power of theater acting. I agree, whole heartedly,
with the UCLA drama professor. New York City is where you will find work,
steady work. It's where your start could/would begin.
I wish you luck and I pray for you daily. The orchid you drew for me is
still hanging where I can see it everyday, in the best lighting in the
house,just as you asked me to do. All day, everyday the sunlight shines
directly on it. It's beautiful, Jimmy, thank you.
Please come visit me when you're home again.
All my hopes and love,
Adeline Nall

Well, I'm off to New York City, wish me luck.

The Orchid
Every year, after the last play is performed, the senior class presents Mrs Nall a gift. Last year, part of it was an orchid. It was a beautiful orchid, very bright and alive, and the detail on it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. I looked at the orchid from every angle thinking to myself how it would be to watch it wilt and die, turning to horrid shades of brown and yellow. Then I thought to myself how that was no gift for Adeline Nall - a woman who nurtured our talents and helped us find out what we were capable of, then and in the future.
After they presnted her with the orchid, I waited until everyone had left.
"Mrs Nall, can I have that orchid?" I asked.
"What for, Jimmy?" she asked.
"I just want it,"
She handed it over - never asking for an explanation, never saying anything about it being her gift and not mine.
I ran down the hallway to the art room and sat there until I had drawn and painted a likeness of the orchid for her so she could have that beautiful flower long after it died.
"Here you go," I said, handing her the real orchid.
"Thank you, Jimmy." she said, not intending on asking what I wanted with it. I headed for the doorway as if I were leaving, only to turn around and say, "Oh, uh, Mrs Nall, I made you something."
I handed her the painting and said, "It's still wet so don't touch it. Now you can have the orchid forever."

(5 Talkers

January 1950 [12 Oct 2005|08:47pm]
I'm attending UCLA now. They have a great drama program. I spoke to the professor and believe it or not, I got into the theater. I don't know how many of the students like me, but I made a new friend.

We had to do some improv - I was a customer picking up a watch I had cleaned. That was our sceneraio.

He pulled the other guy aside and told him he had to keep me there until the cops showed up because he knew the watch was stolen and there was a big reward he could collect.

Then he pulled me aside and I was wanting to get out of there because the watch was worth a lot of money and if I got it to its destination on time the guy would pay me well for it.

Well, things went well for about five seconds, then I just leaped over the desk and punched the kid. Right in the jaw. He hit me in my eye and the professor had to break us apart.

I get so comsumed by these roles ... I don't know why. I don't know why I got so violent toward him. It just felt like what a guy in that position would have done. While he was telling me my side of the plot, I envisioned my character had to do this because he had to feed his family and wasn't getting any other breaks beside this one. He was desperate. That's how I'd react if I were that desperate.

My dad doesn't like me acting ... then again, I think it's just me he doesn't like.

Since I'm not a business student anymore, he kicked me out. That's okay. I have a friend, and we got a little apartment together. His mother visits a lot. I don't know if she likes me all that well. I heard her telling him when it's just she and I in the house she's a little frightened by me because I don't speak to her. I just smoke my cigarettes, create my art, and sometimes stare at her.

Little does she know - I adore her. She feeds us, she does our laundry - I mean, we're broke. Dirt poor practically. But I do adore her. When she's not around I constantly ask my roommate when she's coming back and I ask him about his childhood because I want to know what it's like to have a mother after the age of nine. She's a marvelous woman. One day, when I leave, she'll know how much I love her. I'll find a way to let her know.


September 1949 [04 Oct 2005|08:01pm]
I've found a motorcycle/car shop I really like. The men there know a lot, probably the same (if not, just slightly more) than the men from Fairmount about bikes and cars. I drove around in a Porsche yesterday. It handled really well ... and I think I've fallen in love with the car. (HAHA) They let me come back and help them out - but I guess in California that's not typical. When I asked if I could "use their shop to work on my Czech" I received fairly odd looks ... until I explained that I'm a small town farm boy from the Midwest and that where I grew up it was common for the men to work on their own cars at the shop. They figured they'd indulge me until I really got to work, and even helped them out with the Porsche. I still feel like they aren't going to get used to it ... probably feel like I'm stepping on their toes or something.

I wrote a letter to my Aunt, Uncle and the cousins. School's going well, the first week is done. I don't necessarily like it, but I want my father to be proud of me, and I figure I can do this for him. My father said he'd help my out as long as I'm in school for business. It's just not for me, though.

Something about my father ... I feel like he hates me. Ever since my mom got sick he's been hating me.


June 1949 [30 Sep 2005|06:24pm]
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Above is a paper I did for school last year in 11th grade. It was an assignment we had to turn into the principal himself. I suppose I did well on it, the principle liked it. And here I am, a year later and sitting in a foreign room located in my father's home in California. He's a good man, and I was raised by a good man (that being my Uncle Marcus Winslow). I hope between the two influences I will turn out okay, I'm hoping to be even half as great as they are.

To appease my father I am attending Santa Monica City College to study business. He said, "I'm very proud of your obvious talents in art and athletics, but business has a more secure future." I suppose it's an ancient situation between every generation. The parent wants the child to be secure, while the child [who is in fact a young adult] wants to find their own security and love it. I don't wish to go through the motions, it's not who I am.

For now it's summer and I am going to work and audition and continue to create art.

I called my aunt and uncle this morning, letting them know I arrived safely. They were worried about me, I was worried about my Czech motorcycle in the U-Haul all the way here. Twice I stopped to open the U-Haul and check -- as if I were thinking it were gone or in pieces. I've had the bike for three years, I've worked on it with my own two hands, and rode all over Fairmount, Gas City and Indianapolis. It's not the greatest heap of metal, but I love this material possession because it's mine. I bought it with money I worked for on my uncle's farm and little odd jobs in Fairmount. Strange to think I love something inanimate so much.

My father insisted I drive a car, though. He says the motorbikes intimidate him, make him worry. He worries a lot since my mother passed away nine years ago.

Even beforeI arrived in California my little cousin Markie (who is all of 6 years old) has written me a letter. It was waiting for me when I arrived. I had wondered why he was so insistant upon learning how to write before I left. Poor kid, he cried as we said goodbye. He's a little brother to me, and Joan is more of a sister than a cousin as well. But Markie and I - well, I've looked out for him since the day he was born and the letter just made me miss him all the more.

It's a nice day outside and I want to find out about this new city I call home. I'm going for a ride.


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