by Sam Moffie
“At least you don’t have to stay at home with the plumber,” June said to him. “By the way, it was your good buddy John Wayne who fixed you real good on the hose. Maybe you ought to get him to pay.”
These very thoughts were racing through Dick Powell’s head as he listened to his friend rave about the script and point to sections in it that he “just loved.”
“Well?” the Duke said.
“Well what?” replied Powell.
“Do you have someone already picked for the lead?”
“No.”
“I want it then,” Wayne said as he stood up and towered over his friend.
“You’ll have to be nicer to the Hollywood Ten if you want me to bend over to get you this job,” Powell said as he grabbed another report that had been provided to him by Howard Hughes’ crack research team. “Look at this list — Alvah Bessie was nominated for an Academy Award. Herbert Biberman is married to Gale Sondergaard. Lester Cole helped co-found the Screen Writer Guild. Edmund Dmytryk was your director in Back to Bataan. Ring Lardner Jr. won an Academy Award. John Howard Lawson wrote Action in the North Atlantic and Sahara. Albert Maltz did Destination Tokyo. Sam Orwitz wrote Three Faces West — heck John, you starred in that picture! Dalton Trumbo wrote Thirty Seconds over Tokyo. These guys are good for Hollywood and you know that. And most importantly Duke, you want to play Genghis Khan in my picture. We need to mend the fences all the way around and you could be a big help,” Powell pleaded to his friend.
“You have always steered me straight, Dick. And I might add you have been one of my teachers when it has come to looking at things like a real conservative. You make a short, sweet and good argument. I’ll try to do as you have asked… as long as I get the part,” John Wayne bargained.
“And you have to reimburse me for the plumber,” Powell added.
Duke howled like crazy as he started to leave Dick’s office.
“It’s a deal,” Wayne said.
Powell stared up at the biggest male star in the world and shook his hand.
“You gave the part I wrote for Marlon Brando to John Wayne!?” Oscar screamed into the phone after Powell informed him of the decision that was surprisingly loved by Howard Hughes. Powell reasoned that with Wayne, Hughes would get his wish of a female co-star with big moomoo’s, because John Wayne’s leading ladies always were women with big breasts.
“Who am I to say ‘no’ to John Wayne?” Powell protested. “And by the way, Howard is sending you a gift.”
“Is he going to take speech lessons?” Oscar asked, not thinking about what type of “gift” could be sent to him by Howard Hughes.
“He said he would work on this role harder than any other he ever tackled,” Powell said.
“Dick, I’m not doing any re-write,” Millard said.
“We don’t have time. I have to finish the casting. The crew is moving out to Utah. Be there when I am, in about two weeks,” Powell said.
“And Howard is happy with this?” Oscar Millard asked his boss.
“Howard has said more than once to me that you wrote a western that took place during the reign of Khan. And since it is a western, we have the biggest western star to play it,” Powell said appeasing Millard’s ego with praise from Howard Hughes.
“You don’t have to kiss my ass, Dick. I like and respect you. I just have this queasy feeling that putting John Wayne into a film written for Marlon Brando is a disaster. I mean would you have put Brando in for Wayne in Sands of Iwo Jima?”
“As I said before Oscar, who am I to say no to John Wayne?”
Chapter Three
UNCLE JOE’S LAST FILM FETIVAL
“One death is a tragedy; one million a statistic.”
— Joseph Stalin
“I have known much good done by those who affected to trade for the public good.”
— Adam Smith
“Saddle Up!”
— John Wayne as Sgt. Stryker in “Sands of Iwo Jima”
Ivan tensed his muscles to fight off the cold as he made his way to his job. It made him look like a robot when he walked, but he had learned at an early age it helped him stay warm.
Ivan hoped that Alex was right about the big shots getting so drunk they would leave lots of goodies behind. Ivan was hoping for a warm overcoat, because he didn’t want to catch a cold like Alex had. He hoped that the vodka-laced tea would kill any of the germs floating around in Moscow waiting to attack his body.
He made his way to where he would be working and stopped at the guard house in front of the iron gate. Other than the bitter cold, he felt good. Taking the nap had indeed been a great suggestion. He nodded thanks to his friend Alex for coming up with that idea.
He showed his identification card to the giant guard who had more weapons in his belt than Ivan knew existed. The guard said nothing and pointed to a small shack on the other side of the gate.
“That’s the projection room?” Ivan asked the guard.
The guard rolled his eyes and shook his head no.
Ivan walked slowly over to the shack wondering what fate awaited him. At least the cold isn’t bothering me, he thought to himself.
There was nothing sinister awaiting Ivan Visnapu but a good old-fashioned strip search, delousing by warm water and best of all… he was told he was to receive a new uniform, followed by a hot meal. Ivan was told that this was Standard Operating Procedure (or S.O.P.) for anyone entering such an important residence.
How come Alex didn’t warn me? he thought.
Well… the strip search and delousing was S.O.P. He hoped he was getting a uniform like the one he had seen a long time ago as a boy in Stalingrad. The soldiers who performed the search and shower laughed at how skinny Ivan was. They also threatened to cut his thick black hair if they found any trace of lice. Ivan didn’t care… he was warm and the soap actually had fragrance! He was told that he only got a hot meal and a private’s uniform because he was going to be running the projector for the premier’s favorite pastime. Ivan was told he had to look the part. They also took his wrist watch. Ivan didn’t bother to ask for it back. After all, it wasn’t his and he was pretty sure it didn’t keep the correct time, despite what Alex told him. Ivan didn’t trust anything bought on the black market.
“I don’t get a fancier uniform?’ he asked no one in particular, as he listened to the guards tell him how lucky he was to be eating such a luscious meal.
“You know comrade, there really is another reason we are stuffing your face before you go into the residence and set up the projector,” another soldier said to him.
“Who are you?” Ivan asked the man.
“The captain of the guards!” the captain shouted to Ivan.
Ivan was very disappointed that the captain of the guards didn’t have a uniform like that of the Commissar so many years ago. Ivan shrugged his shoulders… remembering that Alex told him to listen a lot more and talk very little.
“Because the big shots don’t want you eating any of their incredible cuisine,” the captain bellowed as the rest of the guard contingent laughed.
Toughski shitski Ivan thought as he chuckled along with them. After all, they were extremely large men who carried very scary-looking weapons.
When the captain told Ivan that he was done (although Ivan knew he could eat a lot more), Ivan was escorted to the projector room so that he could get everything ready for the viewing.
Ivan loved the projector room! For here, he was the captain… no, he was the head of the Politburo — in charge of everything.
He walked around the small room very slowly. His eyes took in everything. He saw the mahogany table on which the movie projector rested. The projector was just like all the ones he had been trained on, but a newer model. On the floor he saw a back-up projector and nodded at Alex’s quick thinking on having another one ready to go in case of an emergency. After all, our machines tend to break down… a lot, he thought to himself.
“I guess it is why he is my new boss,” he said out lo
ud as his eyes spotted the small wooden desk and metal collapsible chair that was under it. It had one drawer and naturally he went to see what was in it. He opened the drawer very slowly and was quickly disappointed. There was a small pad of paper and a few well-sharpened pencils. The pad had something written on it and he had to strain his eyes to read it. The note was from Alex, and it was a reminder to watch with his eyes, listen with his ears and to keep his mouth shut no matter what. The postscript at the end of those words of wisdom told him to eat the note, because if he looked hard enough around not only the projector room but the entire floor where the film festival was taking place, he would notice that there were no trash receptacles. So Ivan did as the note said. He ate it. It tasted just awful, especially after the more-than-decent meal he had just enjoyed. He swallowed and was immediately sorry he did so. The paper was causing him to gag and there was nothing to drink in the little room. He kept forcing himself to swallow, hoping that nature would push the dammed paper down into his stomach. No luck. He must have been making strange sounds that could be heard, because soon the captain was in the room.
“What’s wrong, comrade?” the captain asked in a surprisingly concerned tone.
Ivan pointed to his throat.
“Must be that we fed you too much,” the captain said as he whisked Ivan into a gigantic bathroom just down the hall from the projector room. “Anyway, it’s better than having the type of cold that Alex has. Have you heard the way he has been coughing, sneezing and wheezing?” the captain asked Ivan.
In the bathroom, the captain leaned Ivan over the toilet while one soldier, who was in the captain’s command, got a glass of water from the sink.
But Ivan couldn’t puke, because the paper would be seen and it would probably spell big trouble for him and Alex. So he did what anyone else in the situation would have done. After all, he was supposed to be such a deep thinker, he thought as he passed out.
When he came to, he wondered if he had been out for hours, which couldn’t have happened, because then he would have been executed for not being able to run the movie projector. Then he thought that he must have upchucked the paper and they were going to torture him, because the fluids from his own body would have mangled the letters to resemble some sort of secret code and after being tortured he would be executed. He closed his eyes and wished he hadn’t been so good at running a projector… he hoped that they thought he was still passed out.
“Captain, I think he is still out cold,” the soldier who had been getting water for Ivan told his superior officer.
“No. he’s just weak. I should have known better about stuffing his little body with rich food. Throw him over your shoulder and carry him back to the guard house for another clean-up. We have plenty of time.”
The big guard threw Ivan over his shoulder like Ivan was a little stuffed toy. Ivan’s stomach was right on the big man’s muscular shoulder. When the big man started walking down the stairs, Ivan’s stomach was pushed up and down on those muscles and the note from Alex popped out; somehow, Ivan caught it. He held it in his hand until he was all alone back in the guard house and flushed it down the toilet. He was cleaned up again and found himself back in the projection room.
“Some little journey you have taken,” the captain said as he checked in to make sure that Ivan was feeling okay. “Do you know what déjà vu means?”
Toughski shitski? Ivan thought. He then thanked him and began his eyeball inventory again, leaving the little desk and chair and focusing on the canisters of films that he was in charge of.
The canisters where stacked perfectly in a corner opposite the desk. There were a lot of canisters and Ivan was thankful that someone (Alex?), who was obviously his superior, was smart enough to label the top canister ‘first film of the night.’ Ivan sifted through the pile and stopped when he came to a label that said ‘second film of the night.’ Again, (Alex?) was thinking way ahead; at previous jobs (but not one as important as this one), no one labeled the canisters and each new roll of film was an adventure. Once, he was almost beaten to a bloody pulp when he was supposed to be showing stag films to members of the armed services and the first roll of film turned out to be a WWII documentary on how the old women at home stayed busy during the siege of Leningrad. Since then, Ivan always went through the canisters and made sure the films and their corresponding reels were in order. Now, it seemed like Alex or another superior had done this for him, and he thought that maybe the same sort of thing had happened to the person who had helped him. After the first two films of the night were verified with his own eyes to be in order, Ivan checked the rest and found that he would be showing nine films in total and all of them were in perfect order. He then did what he loved to do when he was all alone in a small room surrounded by the metal film canisters.
He took the top one and continually opened and shut it carefully. He did this because he enjoyed the sound it made. He never bored of this part of his routine. But being that it was an important night tonight, he only did it a few more times before he went back to scoping out the rest of the room.
There wasn’t much more, furniture-wise. He thought it funny that there was nothing on the walls. For some reason, he had expected movie posters or at the least… propaganda posters. There was nothing.
“I guess they want me unbelievably focused when I run the projector,” he said to himself as he sighed. He noticed two things when he sighed. One, it was the deepest sigh he had ever remembered taking. And two, his nostrils opened up and his sense of smell was invaded by aromas that he had never experienced before. He had to investigate. But before that he set up the projector for the first film. Because he was very good at what he did, this only took a few minutes and then he was off to find out what his nose had noticed.
The fragrance was pulling him. No one bothered him, as they were all busy doing their jobs. The aroma took him into one of the largest rooms he had ever seen. Someone who was polishing silverware informed him that this was the preparation area. Ivan noticed that except for the guards, all the help were dressed in the same outfit as he was… even the women. He wondered if the women minded. After all, he had always wanted a fancy uniform like the one that he had seen that Commissar wear many years ago. He made a mental note to get up the nerve and ask one of the women just that. The smells had him floating into the kitchen, and the aroma just engulfed him. He stood just inside the doorway and took three deep breaths.
“Hey you, little oaf, get out of the way of the table setters or I won’t let you have a sip,” someone with a very large wooden spoon said to him. Ivan suddenly realized that he was blocking others, stepped to the side and hoped that the man with the wooden spoon wasn’t lying about ‘a sip’ or at least wouldn’t hit him with the spoon he was waving around.
So, Ivan stood where he was and opened his mouth.
“Are you a mute?” the man with the giant wooden spoon yelled out.
Ivan shook his head no.
“Well, who are you?” the wooden spoon holder asked.
“I’m the projectionist,” Ivan announced.
“So why is your mouth open?” the man with the wooden spoon responded.
“You said ‘a sip,’” Ivan said.
The man rubbed his chin with his free hand.
“So I did. Come on over and get it,” the man said with a big smile.
Ivan glided over and the man carefully held up a much smaller wooden spoon that had been in one of the big pots that was resting on the giant stove.
The man with the wooden spoon opened his mouth wide just like Ivan had done minutes before and Ivan followed suit. The man carefully put the contents of the spoon into his own mouth. Ivan frowned.
“I always do that. Let me clean this off and get you your taste. After all, we don’t want to get sick like Alex,” the man with one giant and one little spoon said. He stuck the small wooden spoon in the pot and brought it up to Ivan’s mouth. Ivan quickly closed in on the contents.
Despite the fact that t
he captain had fed him earlier, Ivan wanted to eat the food he had smelled. The aroma was making him very hungry and when he sampled the dish he decided that it was the most delicious food he’d ever eaten. Later, the man with the wooden spoons told Ivan it was just a simple lamb stew. This man then took Ivan for a short tour of the kitchen and explained that the kitchen he was in was the ‘French kitchen’ and that the food he was preparing tonight was… of course the lamb stew, which Ivan had a taste of, French onion soup, a green bean/baby carrot appetizer, cotelettes, roast beef and fresh-baked bread. There was an entire area in the kitchen dedicated to both red and white wines and another area that was full of various desserts. All the blended scents were what Ivan had smelled when he took those deep breaths, and the only word that Ivan could use to describe it was — delicious!
“When you said ‘the French kitchen,’ is that because you only prepare French foods in here?” Ivan asked.
“Smart boy,” said the man with two wooden spoons. After I give you a few more samples I’ll take you to the ‘German kitchen’, which is adjacent to ours. The big boys only eat French and German cuisine on movie night.”
Ivan had never seen such colors. He wondered if the ‘German kitchen’ was anywhere as spectacular as the ‘French kitchen.’ Would the smells be as magnificent? And more importantly, would he be allowed to sample? He also wondered what it would take to become a big shot. Only hours before, he had been licking his chops over honey and bread. And now, hearing about the foods that the big shots would get to eat made him envious beyond belief. He was brought back to reality by his tour guide — the man with two wooden spoons.
“I bet you have never seen anything like this eh, comrade?” the man with the two wooden spoons asked Ivan. “I would like to let you sample some of the wine, but I’ll have to try and save some for you after the film festival party is over,” he added.