An Indian'A'ngeles Boyhood with Jesse Bob Harper

On this episode I speak, once again, with Daisy (Mama) about Phil (stepdad), Vic Dunlop (comedy legend),  and my decision to move to L.A. #podcasting #podcasts #storytelling #storyteller Visit Indian'a'ngeles Boyhood Facebook page.

I may never have had my big break, or maybe I did have it and failed to recognize it, while living in L.A., but I did have some great experiences, which I hope, lead to some great stories. This is a short little story about the comic and actor Richard Lewis. I wasn't his friend, or colleague, or peer, but I knew him just well enough to know that he was a class act. Visit Indian'a'ngeles Boyhood Facebook page.

Spent a few minutes rapping with the hip chick Daisy, "Mama," about her adventures in motherhood. It seems my dislike of school and love of nicotine runs in the family, don't blame me!Visit Indian'a'ngeles Boyhood Facebook page.

Somethings I didn't need to move to L.A. to learn... but I did anyway. Visit Indian'a'ngeles Boyhood Facebook page.

I called him Maybe. I guess you could consider him a service dog. He led me to a better life. Visit Indian'a'ngeles Boyhood Facebook page.

Jealousy, envy, resentment, hypocrisy... It must be Oscar season.  

Welcome to the First Episode of Season 2 of "IndianAngeles Boyhood." This week I am once again joined by friend, former co-worker, and talent agent, Mr. Michael Goldberg. Why Season 2? I don't know. Have no idea. Just felt right. Mike and I met while working in the mailroom of Saban Entertainment in the mid nineties. Saban Entertainment, if you don't know (and hopefully you don't) is responsible for that mid-nineties horror show, "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers." And for whatever small, tiny, insignificant part I may have played in that shows success, I am truly sorry.  In this episode we talk about Mike's apartment, which he's had for 25 years, his job as an agent, and some of the times we spent together. One of the phrases I most dislike is, "you know me." I dislike it because so often I have no idea about the person saying it, hell sometimes I don't even know their name. I think people throw this phrase around because so many of us desperately want to feel "known," to feel as if we are heard and seen.  That's why it is so nice when someone says it to you, and you actually are in agreement with him or her, "yes. I do know you." I do know Michael and have known Michael for about 25 years. It's nice to have those long friendships to get to know someone. Although those friendships are rare anywhere, they especially rare in Los Angeles. So I am grateful that I can still see Michael and relate, and tell stories, and "be known." 

There wasn't a whole lot to do as a teenager in the 80's in Indiana except drive around and get in trouble... So that's exactly what we did. I am grateful for the hours, days and months of boredom, because I believe it led to a childhood of creativity. Whether we were creating characters in our own one act plays, or making homemade explosives, we always found something to hold our interest. 

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things... Like smoking. One of the constants in my life, going back almost as far as I can remember, were cigarettes. I smoked, alot. I was very good at it too. In this episode I try something different and attempt just a little riff on a favorite subject. No guests. No script. 

"Melancholy can have causes that aren't due to underlying disease. Examples include seeing a sad movie, loss of a loved one or object, or a good thing coming to an end."Even though the life I have now is so much better than the life I had imagined, I never could have imagined a life as good as the one I now live, but still, the moment when you realize, for whatever reason, that the imagined life will not materialize, that moment can sometimes leave a hole. When I left Los Angeles, I left because I thought, I felt, I knew it was no longer a "good thing." I wasn't doing what I had left Indiana to do some twenty two years prior. I wasn't in a place in my life which I had long imagined I would be. Imagined right down to the wardrobe and locations. But it wasn't just my time in L.A. that was "coming to an end." It was time itself. My twenties and thirties... My youth. I don't know if I would call my twenties and thirties a "good thing," but we sure had some fun. The times in which I loved L.A., and there were many, I really loved it man. Really. Now when I return to her, the city, I am often filled with a sense of melancholy. Why? I don't know exactly. Maybe it's because all of those places we had spent so much time are gone. Maybe it's because it reminds me of life I once had. But really, I think, it is because it reminds me of a life I had imagined. Whether good or bad. The imagined life is the hardest memory to move on from. 

I can't remember the exact name of the temp agency. It was something similar, or maybe exactly like, "Five Star Temp Agency." I do remember it was a cheesy play on a words of a cliche of the film industry. Like "A-list Laundromat," or the bar, "Extras." L.A. was full of such unoriginal monikers.I know it was in Beverly Hills.  I know I registered with them. Was sent out on some jobs, one of which was at Saban Entertainment. The first thing I had in common with anyone I met at Saban was that we had all been sent by the same temp agency. One such person was Tim Connolly. Tim was a rare breed of L.A. denziens for the simple fact that he made his way to L.A. because he was influenced by some of the great pulp fiction about the City and for the weather. (L.A. has the best pulp fiction). In this short episode I introduce Tim, we rap a little, I'll have him back. Even though he was in a special warfare unit, worked construction, and has been a crane operator, he has a wit like Dorothy Parker. Fun conversation. 

Growing up on a lake is a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I can think of no better environment to spend counting down the days of your childhood. The rub is, you spend a lifetime trying to recapture the feeling of possibilities that the lake offered. Looking back, it can sometimes seem that the childhood we lived, on the lake, was very "Twain'esque," that is if Tom Sawyer was a song written by Tom Waits and brought to the screen by David Lynch. Still, I have to say, the memories, both good and bad, always make me smile, cause the memories bring me back to the lake. 

Even though I never gave much thought to what I would find in L.A. (most of my knowledge of L.A. was based on years of bad t.v., like C.H.I.P.'s and Three's Company) there were a few things that I think everyone expects when arriving in Los Angeles. The sun, the mountains (although these sort of threw me for a loop), the smog, the density of people, the collective desperation of thousands of people striving for an imagined dream of how their lives will unfold. There was also the unexpected. Those aspects of the City that you never knew to prepare yourself. As Don Rumsfeld would say; "What we knew we didn't know." 

In this, the 11th episode of IndianAngeles Boyhood, I continue with the introductions of some the people I was lucky to know in the early years of my Los Angeles life. In this episode I get to talk to another great friend and awesome dude; Peter Bruno. Peter is another fellow Saban Mailroom survivor. Like old war buddies, everyone who I worked with in the mailroom at Saban has some stories to tell. This is also, even though very late, a special Oscar episode, as Peter and I talk about our trip to the Oscars, oh so long ago. 

After a one month hiatus in IndianAngeles Boyhood comes back with a vengeance. Over the next few weeks and episodes I will be introducing many of the friends I had the great pleasure of spending my 20s and 30s with in the great city of Los Angeles.First up is none other than Michael Goldberg. One of the greatest aspects of Los Angeles, as everyone knows, is that it is a Mecca for those who are pursuing their dreams, whatever they may be, in the entertainment industry. What isn't always so evident, is that it is not only people who want to act or a write or produce, but it is also people who are pursuing other avenues within the industry, and Michael is such a guy. Like any great Hollywood story Michael and I met in a mail room. And as I, Jesse Bob Harper, was in Los Angeles to pursue a career in acting Michael had come to Los Angeles to be a talent agent. In coming episodes I hope to talk to Michael about some of the great adventures we had in Los Angeles but first wanted to introduce the audience, such as it is, to Michael. 

In this episode of IndianAngeles Boyhood, I once again talk with "Daisy," my Ma. It's a short conversation about some of the extracurricular activities we took part in when we were young, growning up in Indiana. 

In this episode I sit down with one of my oldest buddies, Will Brown. We spent a lot of time together growing up (cause no one else would hang out with us) in Indiana. We both had the same goal of one day getting out and seeing what else the world had to offer. Whenever I talk about an "Indiana Boyhood," Will is in most of the visions I see in my mind's eye. 

This may sound like some existential question about humanity and man's purpose... Trust me, it is not. Since my earliest memories, this is a question that I have carried around. In certain ways, it, this question, has given a melancholy sheen to some of my  memories.  But it wasn't a crisis of purpose, it truly was the simplest of questions. "Why am I here?" In this state? In this city? Within this family? That was the question I asked as a kid. A question I could literally feel. A question I had that I didn't even know how to give voice to. In many ways, it's the search of the answer, that has led to these conversations. 

Another conversation with Patrick Reddy about our experiences doing extra in Los Angeles. What it entailed, how we met and why we did it. Editing this episode made me think about some of the missed opportunities, those known and those unknown, that I must have had living in Los Angeles. Thinking of missed opportunities naturally led to thoughts of Carrot Top. 

After twenty two years in L.A. I may not have ever lived the life I had imagined I would, but I lived a life that I wouldn't trade for anything. And man, do I have some stories. I share some of my favorites with the friends I met and muddled through the labyrinth of the industry with.

One thing I have always noticed about Hoosiers is that they are proud of their work ethic. One of the highest compliments you can pay to someone from Indiana is that they are a "worker." But what exactly does that mean? And why is it that we so often feel that we need to work in order to justify our existence?

Although I am not so enamored of my own personal, emotional baggage, I do love the baggage of others. Someone's baggage tells you so much about that person, especially when they don't realize just how many pieces of emotional baggage they've been lugging around for most of their lives. Our baggage comes in all shapes and sizes and from sources known and unknown. Some of my baggage is "husky."

Tab and Jack is a terrible combination, but it worked for dad. Nothing but alcoholism could drive a man to drink a regular regimen of Tab diet soda and Jack Daniels.

There is no law that says you must love and care for someone only cause they are family. Related. Blood. That is a myth propagated by bad films and television. Usually crime dramas. The same is true of the place of which you are from. The place from whence you came. The place you were born and raised. Being from a place doesn't always make it "home," but sometimes it leaves a mark. I was born and raised in Indiana, but I grew up in Los Angeles. As a kid I couldn't wait to leave and didn't know where I belonged until I got there. The moment I arrived, Los Angeles felt like home. The mountains, the sea, the anonymity, hell I even dug the traffic for the first few years. After twenty two years I returned to my place of origin. Came home. It was then I realized the mark that having been raised a Hoosier had made, but I no longer resented that mark. I even learned to embrace it. Being a part of the great Midwest is something, something to hang your hat on. Indiana now feels like home, like L.A. felt like home. This is a podcast of stories. Some mine. Some others. Stories of the way in which these two places left their mark, on me, and on others.