It was 1:15PM on Monday, May 14, 2007. My boss came to my desk and
asked if my partner and I could handle a quick turn around project for
the Paramount's Anniversary gala. It had to be concepted, written,
shot and (print ad) produced by noon Wednesday the 16th.
Craig, my brilliant art director partner and I immediately went to Whole
Foods to concept over some gelatto. We had an idea, the Yorick, I
knew him well bit from Hamlet. We would have Willie Nelson hold
up a small cow skull and do the pose and we would write "Here's
to being, since 1915" (It's a well known miss-practice to hold a skull
and say "To be or not to be…" even though those are two very
different parts of the play.
We phoned Willie's agent, Willie was in NYC at the time. I knew
Willie as I'd written a film for him the year prior. Who now then?
Mayor Will Wynn. He couldn't do it that day or the next. Well then
it HAS to be Leslie. Leslie was usually pretty easy to find. He'd leave
a house he was staying in out in Westlake at 7am, take the bus to
Taco Deli on Barton Skyway, read the paper, then walk downtown
around 10am to make his rounds.
But that lady sold her house and he was no longer staying there.
Ninfa's was gone, and so was his ever-present hotel bellhop cart from
'round back. It's hard to find a vagrant when you really need to.
It was now 5pm, Craig and I texted everyone in our phones to ask if
they had seen Leslie in the past hour. Within five minutes we had
three responses.
A friend of ours had seen him at noon near South First and Live Oak.
Another called to say he knew Leslie sold magnets through the guy
who owned Wet hair salon. We piled in the truck and pointed toward
Wet on South Congress.
The owner was getting someone hair did so we waited in the seating
area. After enjoying a book on mullets for 30-minutes, he waved us
over. Said he didn't know where Leslie would be but, "I've got his
cell number." Albert Leslie Cochran, homeless man with a cell phone
plan.
We thanked him for his time, bought a couple magnets and went
outside to call. After a couple of rings, "Leslie, talk to me, babe."
He agreed to meet us in an hour at Bouldin Creek Coffee shop on
South First. We waited, and waited. Waited some more and here
he/she came in all his regalia. Gold bluetooth earbud, fannie pack,
pink running shorts and high heels. And binoculars.
Two minutes in to our pitch, he'd agreed. On TWO conditions:
His gold Dolce and Gabana razr phone rings. He points and
individual index finger in the air to notify us that he'd be taking
this call. "Leslie, talk to me, babe." 20-minutes later, after a VERY
heady conversation about real estate prices, he was back.
- He wanted a taco and a beer, right then and there.
- We meet him at that exact spot at 9am the next day with a 12-pack of Tecate and a pack of American Spirit yellows and $50 cash.
He went on to tell us about his train trip to Iowa to look for the perfect
horse for a friend of his who'd hired him to do so. Then opened the
binoculars and offered us a pull of his tequila. We declined. He drank
from the binoculars long and hard.
It was set, we'd be there at 9am Tuesday, May 15th.
Craig and I had met at GSD&M and placed bets on whether Leslie would
be at Bouldin Creek Coffee shop at 9am. We arrived at 8:45 and sat
outside, it was May and it was beautiful outside. 8:59:59…
He/She appeared beyond the hedge row. In EXACTLY what he'd agreed
to wear. 20's flapper-style dress, tiara, heels, jewelry, everything. Even
dyed his hair and washed it the night before. Amazing.
He said, "let's go boys, we have work to do."
This is important: Craig has a one-bench truck. Leslie rode bitch.
I love him, but he's gross.
We crammed into the Ram, Craig and I being what pretty much any
culture on the planet aside from the Samoans would call "beefy" and
Leslie – swinging hands and rocking to and fro – in between us going on
and on about astrophysics and the works of Ray Bradbury and
Kerouac like a seasoned lit professor.
It was truly amazing. Craig hadn't said a word to this point, just
stunned the entire time. We arrived at the front door of the Paramount
Theatre at 9:15am on Tuesday, May 15, 2007 and were greeted by the
wonderful manager who informed us that she was sorry but the ballet
had taken the stage for rehearsal and we would have to use the State
theatre or the stairwells in the Grand Hall.
The stairwells are gorgeous so we chose those, setting up our lighting
equipment and camera. Our boy Dave Mead had hooked us up with
a props guy who got us a skull. With the effortless professional intuition
of a model, Leslie tilted his head toward the light and moved just a bit
upon the echo of each shutter sound.
It was amazing. We must have taken 70 photos in 20 minutes and he
carried himself with the grace of a true hero thespian, the likes of
Kingsley and Hopkins.
He left to go out front and greet his fans and have a smoke while
Craig and I packed up the gear. Craig REALLY didn't want me to leave
him outside alone with Leslie, but I had to run back inside and thank
the manager for letting us use the facilities.
WHILE I WAS GONE:
Leslie looked at Craig and said, "This is excellent parking for a Saturday."
Craig hemmed and hawed for a few seconds and – placing lights in
the bed of the truck – turned to him and said, "Uh, Leslie, it's Tuesday."
The professional and eloquent lit professor were 1,000 miles away and
all that was left was a shell of a man in a flapper gown and tiara. He
was nowhere to be found in the eyes. He took off his heals and waved
over his shoulder and began to walk away.
We demanded he get in the truck, and couldn't believe we were going
to drive him the three miles home.
Not a word was said in the truck as we took him to the lovely home
he was staying in on Alice Street…
We pulled into the long, narrow gravel driveway leading to the guest house
behind a lovely little house on Annie. I let Leslie out of the truck, gave him
$50 and had him sign a release form. The mood wasn't somber, but it was
different. Craig had been holding in laughter for 10 minutes, ever since
Leslie had asked if I was dating anybody.
Now, we slowly backed out of the drive as Leslie walked to the gate to
let himself in. He paused, then ran back toward the truck. I looked at
Craig and said, "shit, he's going to ask for more money." With that, I
rolled the window down as Leslie spun and turned his back toward me
and said, "unzip me." Craig made a sound like a bottle rocket went off
in his nose. I unzipped Leslie and he began to strip, all the way back to the
gate.
First, the gown. Then the bra, now he was in nothing but an iridescent
blue thong. HE did a little dance, then bent forward away from the
truck and slapped his ass. We both erupted with laughter in the truck
as Craig "sped" down the driveway at 4 mph. I said, "Stop, you're going
to get us both killed." More than likely thinking about God and lightening
than the 4 mph wreck. We reached concrete, looked at one another and
not another word was said all the way back to work.
