Have you ever played in a band? Tell us all about that experience of making music with friends. If you’ve never been in a band, imagine you’re forming a band with some good friends. What instrument do you play in the band and why? What sort of music will you play?
Many years ago I sat in with some friends and played drums. A guy came by and listened to us. He ask me how long I had been playing drums. I looked at the clock and said, “About five minutes.” He said, “Your’re not bad, I thought at least 15.” I handed him the sticks and let him go to town.
Love to play piano (jazz). I have no sense of music and soon be kicked aside as I was years ago.
But here is a story about a guy who took a Greyhound bus to Hollywood:
The Man From Bug – Part 1
Marty sat speechless and motionless.
“What I’m trying to say, son, is that right here and now is all you’ll ever need,” Henry began to plead, something he was uncomfortable doing.
“But if I don’t leave I’ll never know what I could have been,” Marty said.
“An actor!” Henry said. “An actor; until the last century they used the back door in decent hotels and homes. They are nothing. How can one claim they are doing any good by being and actor. They do nothing to contribute to the well being of others. There entire life is built on lies. The appear altruistic to cover up their debauched thinking and lives. If you go you’ll become everything you hate and it will happen one roll at a time. And one day you’ll look in the mirror and not recognize the person staring at you.”
“That’s pretty high-minded of a guy who has done nothing but shovel cow shit,” Marty said. “You ain’t been no where or done anything all your life. Look at you, you’re a nobody.”
Marty turned away without shaking Henry’s hand. He got on the bus and it drove away.
Marty glanced back at the small stop in the road where the bus came once a day and newspapers were dropped in a bundle daily. The town was nothing but a general store with three gas pumps, a small motel, diner, volunteer fire department, and a half dozen houses. The only thing that happened there was something told about what happened elsewhere.
Marty was nearly gleeful as the town faded into the dessert plain.
Six months later Marty auditioned for his first part. It called for a handsome young man who could ride a horse, perfect for Marty.
It was a reading. Marty quickly memorized his lines. The other two actors read from the script. After the brief reading, director Torrance Walton, called Marty for a private conversation at his chair.
“You memorized your lines after looking over the script a couple of times,” Torrance said.
“Yeah,” Marty said. “It’s a gift. That’s sort of why I wanted to be and actor. I still know my lined from my sixth grade class play.”
“Another thing,” Torrance said. “Thos people you read with are seasoned actors.”
“Yeah,” Marty said. “I’ve seen them before.”
“Son,” Torrance said. “If we were shooting the scene today you couldn’t have done it more perfect. I see a future for you.”
“Thank you sir,” Marty said. “I sure hope so.”
“Where are you from anyway?” Torrance said.
“Promise not to laugh. It’s someplace you’ve never heard of,” Mary said shyly. “Bug, Oregon.”
“Bug, Oregon,” Torrance said. “Bug, Oregon.” He rubbed his jaw and thought. “Incredible, I knew another actor from there. Henry Michaels. Made a movie or two. Reminds me of you. I was only an assistant then. He had talent. You have to know him, I mean how big is Bug anyway.”
“Henry’s my uncle,” Marty said.
“So he probably told you all about the acting business and you got the urge got give it a try,” As Torrance said those words he looked at Marty seductively abd gently stroked his forearm.
Marty chuckled nervously. “Not really he never told me about coming to Hollywood, but I think in his own way he was telling me about acting and what it required. I guess you could say I got the acting bug.”
Torrance’s hand slipped into Marty’s. “You doing anything for dinner around seven?”
Marty pulled his hand away. “Actually, I have a bus to catch. I guess you could say I‘m bugging out.”