The King is Not Coming

Bad movies & butt-ugly politics.

As the late Bobby said, "Welcome to California."

 

04/08/2017

 

 

Mr. King –

 

You people have writers that create films I call “Mafia garbage,” so you should know it is frustrating to mutter this often: “I did not write four books and ten screenplays to sit on hard drives.” From a publisher backing out of a book contract in that banner year of 2001 to the Sheriff of Ventura County California stealing my screenplay in 2012, as the Grateful Dead sang, “What a long strange trip it has been.”

 

The latest literary rock I am throwing in the pond to see if it makes any waves is about people you should know of, like Bill Veeck, Eddie Gaedel, William Wrigley, etc. In my own home town I am told ridiculous things by university archivists like my late dad was on the Board of Alderman. No, but apparently he has a U.S. Navy and a U.S. Army file I can only see with some political muscle that is conspicuously absent. I know both stories, but as with my DNA, it’s all about the documentation.

 

For example, where is the photo of 12 year-old Catholic Youth League hurler Bill Hughes? My catcher was the starting pitcher in high school after they asked me a half-dozen times to try out for the team. Why would that be, WGA West writers? After a “big kid” had swung and missed one of my “junk pitches” by a lot, Pat Hogan came out to the mound and said:

 

“Don’t throw that pitch again.”

 

I said, “Why not?”

 

He said, “I can’t catch it.”

 

And I said, “But he missed it.”

 

There was another strikeout for big Bill Hughes who should have made a good living as a long relief pitcher in MLB. Need I mention I chatted with the Commissioner of Baseball briefly, and you can all start guessing which one. Here’s the pitch!

 

My late dad was in the stands for Eddie’s famous walk. This was confirmed by a friend of his who is likely deceased by now this is all taking so long.

 

Later, he was the Third Base Coach for another of Veeck’s promotions. I heard the whole story from dad’s mouth, and I am sure it was all true. Where are the yellowed newspaper clippings and trophy? Seized by evil relatives.

 

And, if you think anyone at the Post-Dispatch is going to help, call my pal Bill McClellan at (314) 340-8143. Bill’s idea of encouragement was to say, “Just keep doing what you’re doing” in 2014 and not write a column when I’d been a background source for two of them. How can two local radio stations talk cheap talk, when some leftist Hollywood Jew would make a deal, yet nobody will drive me one mile in their car or a rental car when I have the means to pay?

 

This “delusional” movie per my “friends” could potentially involve a few million for a replica of Sportsman’s Park that is later donated to a youth group. I think this happens in Cuba or Guatemala because I am sick of being tortured and tormented over my last name. Don’t you know that Scandinavian tourists are riding around Cuba right now in a rented car when I cannot get out of this motel room no matter who I contact?

 

My idea of a joke—and this is no longer humorous—in California was to say this to a female I trusted:

 

“Where ‘ya from?”

“Cuba.”

The town in Missouri?”

“No, the island.”

 

I WANT OUT OF THE USA. Maybe a movie deal would help. Although, if you put a few zeroes after my bank account balance tomorrow, this does not make a pot of coffee or send anyone on an errand. It’s quite a story. Have you guys heard of airplanes? As has happened dozens of times, but not lately, I’d meet you at the gate.

 

 

Happy editing,

 

 

William C. Hughes