Which Lie Did I Tell?

by William Goldman

  The story involved this not even remotely handsome gondolier, who could make a gondola dance like no other gondolier in history, who loved music so much, but who, alas, was tone-deaf. He does everything to try and change his fate, but you can’t do that, so finally he risks his life to save the Gondoliers’ Church during the worst storm in the history of that great city.

  We are talking here a fable, but not the simplest-plotted one on the block, and where it came from I will never begin to understand. Or what would have happened if we hadn’t taken the water bus. Or if the gondoliers we had passed had been singing.

  Suddenly in this case, connectives clicked in and two books were the result.

  I am at the mercy of connectives. By which I mean, I guess, narrative bits that hook together, taking us deeper into whatever story we’re struggling with. When I said before I am totally instinctive, I was serious. I cannot logic my way into making these connectives happen. (I can do it with other writers’ work, just not my own.) Sometimes I will get x bits into a story, then a connective hits and I am twice as far along, twice x, say—

  —and then it ends.

  I have written a couple of novel beginnings—a hundred pages here, more there, and … nothing. And you change, time etches on us all, your pulses change and the story turns out to be … nothing. Soon you wonder, what the hell was that supposed to be? And who were you then … ?

  Okay. The first of the three crime stories. Printed exactly as I read it in the San Francisco Chronicle, April 26th, 1999. You’ll have to squint, but I think you’ll find it worth the effort.

  Story One: The Old Guy

  * * *

  Last of ‘Rub-a-Dub-Dub’ Fugitives Florida cops arrest robber who escaped from San Quentin 20 years ago in a kayak

  Bill Wallace, Chronicle Staff Writer

  * * *

  A 78-year-old career bank robber, who once tweaked San Quentin guards by escaping with two colleagues in a prison made kayak named “Rub-a-Dub-Dub, Marin Yacht Club,” is in trouble again.

  Forrest Silva Tucker, a reputed member of the real “Over The Hill Gang” in Boston is in custody on suspicion of robbing a Florida bank and later leading Broward County sheriff’s deputies on a car chase.

  In trying to avoid arrest Thursday. Tucker Allegedly led officers on a chase, blundered into an enclosed schoolyard and war captured after he lost control of his vehicle and crashed into a palm tree.

  Deputies said the chase ensued after Tucker, wanted for a bank robbery earlier that day in the town of Jupiter, was spotter visiting his girlfriend in Pompano Beach.

  “You don’t normally think of a 78-year-old man having a girlfriend, but apparently he had quite a way with the ladies,” said Kirk Englehardt, a spokesman for the Broward County Sheriff’s Department.

  Tucker, a Miami native, may have that reputation in Florida, but he is best remembered in the Bay Area for engineering one of the most innovative escapes in San Quentin history.

  With two other inmates. Tucker, a former boatyard employee who had a smattering of knowledge about marine design and construction, built a crude kayak and painted the blue prison caps

  He and his accomplices wore a bright orange.

  On Aug. 9. 1979, Tucker and fellow inmates William McGirk and John Waller launched their boat from a partially hidden beach on prison grounds.

  Their flimsy craft, made of pieces of plastic sheeting, wood, duct tape and Formica, lasted just long enough for them to paddle several hundred yards to freedom right under the noses of several tower guards.

  At one point, as they paddled frantically to keep the boat afloat, a tower guard called out to see if they needed help form the Coast Guard.

  No problem, called back one of the kayakers: “My Times is still ticking.”

  After the three turned up missing during the afternoon count, guards found the kayak beached beyond the prison walls. On one side was its name: “Rub-A-Dub-Dub, Marin Yacht Club.” That side, the one facing the prison, had been painted bright blue: the other side was left unfinished.

  Within a matter of months, McGirk and Waller were back at San Quentin. They were tried twice for escape, but both times amused jurors refused to convict them.

  Tucker, meanwhile, remained free.

  The next time he surfaced was a few years later in a Boston credit scam. The judge hearing the case freed him on his own recognizance after chagrined Marin County prosecutors said they did not want to try him for the San Quentin escape Lost in the official correspondence between the two states was that Tucker still had years to serve on his original San Quentin sentence. Tucker walked out of the Boston court and never went back.

  Tucker’s connections to the Bay Area go back to the early 1950s when he and a crime partner, Richard Bernard Bellew, were arrested for a half-dozen East Bay banks robberies.

  At the time of his arrest for the Bay Area robberies, Tucker already had a rap sheet going back to a 1936 bicycle theft. There were also two other convictions, including a Florida bust in which be had escaped from the jail ward of a South Dade County hospital by picking the lock on his leg irons.

  After being convicted for the East Bay holdups, Tucker was sent to Alcatraz to serve his term. During a medical visit to Los Angeles General Hospital in 1956, he escaped and managed to get as far as Bakersfield before he was captured by the California Highway Patrol.

  He was later transferred to San Quentin. Where he engineered his greatest escape.

  Over the next few years, Tucker was identified by law enforcement agencies as a member of a group of elderly criminals in Massachusetts called the “Over the Hill Gang,” which robbed supermarkets in Boston and its suburbs. He was suspected in 17 armed robberies over the years, most recently in a series of bank robberies in the part of southeastern Florida known as the Gold Coast.

  Tucker’s 20 years as a California fugitive came to an ignominious end against a palm tree last week. Deputies who searched the vehicle after the crash said they found burglary tools, weapons, police scanners and large amount of cash.

  He is scheduled for a court appearance later this week.

  ©1999 San Francisco Chronicle Page A1

  Some pretty interesting stuff there, yes?

  I think so, anyway, which leads me to this, which seems like the most important of all questions:

  Is it a movie?

  The operative word in that sentence is “seems.” “Is it a movie?” is not even remotely a valid question. Here is what you must remember:

  Anything can be a movie.

  I’m not being cute. If you believe in a story, if you believe you can make the story play and make it interesting, then yes, it can be a movie. The question that should be asked, must be asked, before you start out to make a movie is:

  Is it a movie I would like to write?

  Lots of positives and negatives here. Tucker, the “old guy” of this chapter’s title, has a lot of appeal, at least he does for me. Before I get to specifics, I’m going to show you what I do when I’m interested in a piece of material. I reread it, and mark stuff that I find particularly interesting or usable. Just a line or a check in the margins. Remember, we may be starting on writing a movie here.

  What I want you to do now is this: go back and reread the article and make your own marks. Anything that you think might be appealing for a flick.

  Turn the page now and you’ll see what I liked.

  * * *

  Last of ‘Rub-a-Dub-Dub’ Fugitives Florida cops arrest robber who escaped from San Quentin 20 years ago in a kayak

  Bill Wallace, Chronicle Staff Writer

  * * *

  A 78-year-old career bank robber, who once tweaked San Quentin guards by escaping with two colleagues in a prison- made kayak named “Rub-a-Dub-Dub, Marin Yacht Club,” is in trouble again

  Forrest Silva Tucker, a reputed member of the real “Over The Hill Gang” in Boston, is in custody on suspicion of robbing a Florida bank and later leading Broward county sheriff’s deputies on a car ch
ase.

  In trying to avoid arrest Thursday, Tucker allegedly led officers on a chase, blundered into an enclosed schoolyard and was captured after he lost control of his vehicle and crashed into a palm tree.

  Deputies said the chase ensued after Tucker, wanted for a bank robbery earlier that day in the town of Jupiter, was spotted visiting his girlfriend in Pompano Beach.

  “You don’t normally think of a 78-year-old man having a girlfriend, but apparently he had quite a way with the ladies,” said Kirk Englehardt, a spokesman for the Broward County Sheriff’s Department.

  Tucker, a Miami native, may have that reputation in Florida but he is best remembered in the Bay Area for engineering one of the most innovative escapes in San Quentin history.

  With two other inmates. Tucker, a former boatyard employee who had a smattering of knowledge about marine design and construction, built a crude kayak and painted the blue prison caps he and his accomplices wore a bright orange.

  On Aug. 9. 1979, Tucker and fellow inmates William McGirk and John Waller launched their boat from a partially hidden beach on prison grounds.

  Their flimsy craft, made of pieces of plastic sheeting, wood, duct tape and Formica, lasted just long enough for them to paddle several hundred yards to freedom right under the noses of several tower guards.

  At one point, as they paddled frantically to keep the boat afloat, a tower guard called out to see if they needed help form the Coast Guard.

  No problem, called back one of the kayakers: “My Times is still ticking.”

  After the three turned up missing during the afternoon count, guards found the kayak beached beyond the prison walls. On one side was its name: “Rub-A-Dub-Dub, Marin Yacht Club.” That side, the one facing the prison, had been painted bright blue; the other side was left unfinished.

  Within a matter of months, McGirk and Waller were back at San Quentin. They were tried twice for escape, but both times amused jurors refused to convict them.

  Tucker, meanwhile, remained free.

  The next time he surfaced was a few years later in a Boston credit scam. The judge hearing the case freed him on his own recognizance after chagrined Marin County prosecutors said they did not want to try him for the San Quentin escape. Lost in the official correspondence between the two states was that Tucker still had years to serve on his original San Quentin sentence. Tucker walked out of the Boston court and never went back.

  Tucker’s connections to the Bay Area go back to the early 1950s when he and a crime partner, Richard Bernard Bellew, were arrested for a half-dozen East Bay banks robberies.

  At the time of his arrest for the Bay Area robberies, Tucker already had a rap sheet going back to a 1936 bicycle theft. There were also two other convictions, including a Florida bust in which he had escaped from the jail ward of a South Dade County hospital by picking the lock on his leg irons.

  After being convicted for the East Bay holdups. Tucker was sent to Alcatraz to serve his term. During a medical visit to Los Angeles General Hospital in 1956, he escaped and managed to get as far as Bakersfield before he was captured by the California Highway Patrol.

  He was later transferred to San Quentin, where he engineered his greatest escape.

  Over the next few years, Tucker was identified by law enforcement agencies as a member of a group of elderly criminals in Massachusetts called the “Over the Hill Gang,” which robbed supermarkets in Boston and its suburbs. He was suspected in 17 armed robberies over the years, most recently in a series of bank robberies in the part of southeastern Florida known as the Gold Coast.

  Tucker’s 20 years as a California fugitive came to an ignominious end against a palm tree last week. Deputies who searched the vehicle after the crash said they found burglary tools, weapons, police scanners and a large amount of cash.

  He is scheduled for a court appearance later this week.

  ©1999 San Francisco Chronicle Page A1

  You’ll notice, there’s a lot of usable stuff I did not mark this time around. I concentrated on four.

  The first mark deals with Tucker’s capture. I think you’ve got to use it, though I’m not sure where it comes in the picture. Here’s how it might work as an opening.

  FADE IN

  A POLICE VEHICLE, motor straining as it rockets down a two-lane road, motor screaming. As it roars along--

  CUT TO

  ANOTHER POLICE CAR, and there are TWO COPS in the front seat and THE DRIVER’s gunning the car like crazy and THE SECOND COP is getting a rifle ready to fire, and the siren on this car is even louder and now, holy shit--

  CUT TO

  A THIRD POLICE CAR, passing the first two like they were standing still and the noise is getting painful now as we

  PULL BACK TO REVEAL

  HALF A DOZEN POLICE CARS, all of them racing along this road, all of them with rifles ready, sirens screaming and whoever they’re after stands zero chance of survival, not with this bunch after him, but he must be something, whoever he is, he must be a modern-day Capone, and now, as THE POLICE CARS begin to bunch together for the kill--

  CUT TO

  This crummy heap they’re chasing, and it’s old and it was never meant to go as fast as it’s going, and the strain on the car is terrible, it’s a miracle it’s not falling apart, but you just know if it keeps on at this pace, it will, and now

  CUT TO

  FORREST TUCKER at the wheel, and maybe no one else alive could do more with the pile of junk he’s piloting, and this is our guy, folks, so get used to having him around, not an ounce of fat on him, not an ounce of fear inside, and what makes him unusual is this: TUCKER is eighty years old.

  Not a bad beginning. At least it’s not one of those ho-hum octogenarian car chases we’re all so used to.

  It could also be the ending. What if Tucker’s finally, after a lifetime of crime and punishment, got enough to leave the world he’s inhabited all those decades, what if he’s on his way to pick up his lady fair and off they will go to live their final years somewhere glorious—

  —and a cop spots him. And the chase. And the attempt to get away, ending so forlornly for an eighty-year-old in a schoolyard.

  Not so terrible that way, either.

  I think if I thought about it I could come up with a way to tuck it into the middle, but I don’t want to do that. You can already see why I marked those lines in the paper, I can use this stuff.

  Okay. My second mark is the obvious one, the San Quentin jail break. Tucker was sixty at the time and what a grand gesture for a guy that age stuck in the slammer again.

  A kayak?

  Fabulous.

  That, boys and girls, is the crucial set piece in the film. Fifteen minutes, maybe more, exciting and funny and full of hope and the possibility of disaster never more than a second away.

  My third mark involved his being freed by the judge in Boston when not only would the Marin County people not press charges out of humiliation, but Tucker also scoots to freedom because of the goof-up in correspondence between the two states involved.

  Cannot help but be fun and exciting, that stuff.

  My fourth and final mark involved the 1936 bicycle theft he was busted for. My calculations make Tucker about fifteen at the time and I don’t know why I want that, maybe as a credit sequence.

  The reason I’m not sure why I want that is a symptom of my problem with the movie at this moment: I’m not sure what it is.

  Is it a Butch Cassidy–type story, fun and games but darkening as time goes on (and on)? Is it a gangster flick, where my guy, Tucker, gets more desperate and drained as nothing works out for him? It is a comedy about a goofball?

  I think the material could encompass any of those attacks.

  And I hope it’s clear to you by now: this could be a terrific flick, assuming we write a terrific screenplay. The material, I am saying, will hold. I care for this guy.

  The question remaining for me to answer is this: Do I want to write it? Or:

  Can I make it play?

/>   I have confidence in certain kinds of material that I feel are in my wheelhouse. If you’ll look at what I’ve written, you’ll get a good idea of what I have confidence in. But I know where panic would bring me down. I cannot write a comedy. I can write stuff with comic elements, but a flat-out comedy, no. I cannot write a special-effects film. I could doctor one, but to be present at the creation, no. I do not like them that much and I do not understand them. I could not write a Sylvester Stallone bloodbath action film. I find them moronic and would have no confidence in myself. I could not write most science-fiction films, especially the kind where there is all that lunatic “Captain, the frammis on the right engine is flummaging”–type dialogue.

  But we are talking about The Old Guy now, and yes, I think I could pull this baby off.

  So, now that the answer to that first, most important question is out of the way, let’s look at others.

  What’s the reality?

  Meaning this—thinking in my mind is different from seeing with my eyes—and before you go “Duh,” an explanation. Maybe Carl Hiassen’s best novel was Strip Tease. For me, the best character in that book is an absolutely glorious creation with the name Urbana Sprawl. She is a stripper who rides a motorcycle to work and she is funny and wise and whenever she pops up on a page, are you ever happy.

  Well, when the movie was made, the part was played by a lovely young woman named Pandora Peaks. And she had the huge boobs mentioned in the book. If you go on the Internet, you can look her up, see her picture, and buy her used bras for $150, not counting shipping and handling. (It should be clear to you by now that this book will spare no effort in its unceasing pursuit of accuracy.)

  Anyway, in the movie, Pandora acted well enough and her face was pretty enough and her breasts were, like the book said, gigantic—