door and walked out and got into my sky-blue 1968 Chrysler New Yorker and drove off into the East LA night.
Later that night, Larry knocked on my door. I asked who it was and nobody answered. I got my pistol from under my bed and asked again who it was. This time I heard Larry’s voice saying, “Me, Larry.”
I put the pistol to my side and opened the door ever so slightly with the door chain still attached.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He just told me that I was in the wrong for hanging around his girl and that he knows I was trying to get her. He was in no mood to hear what I had to say. And just as quick as he knocked on my door, he walked away.
The next morning I got up and went down stairs and one of the church girls outside told me that Larry was moving out that day. I saw Larry hop into a strange car with his clothing and drive off. He looked back at me from the rear window as I came down the sidewalk in front of the church. He didn’t wave or anything, just turned back around, and that was it.
I felt sorry for Larry; he had known my big brother Willie Jr. back in Florida and had become a friend of mine when I met him in drama school. It just seemed shallow that he would let this thing with Rachel come between us, but what could I do? Back in Florida, I knew his mom, his sisters, his brother, and his stepfather, but he let a girl come between us. I guess stranger things happen, don’t they?
At that moment I decided to start writing a script that I always wanted to write. It would be a script that I would direct and star in, and over the next twenty days, I only knocked out some ten pages. I titled it Young Star, a story about a young kid who has dreams about going to Hollywood and becoming a big star.
The writer’s block didn’t go away, so I put the script down until I could get my flow going again. In the meantime, I hooked back up with my first girl in California: Betty. She would come over and hang out and sometimes stay the night, and during a conversation one night Betty asked me if I would like to go back to Florida with her.I told her that Florida was my second home and that I was starting to miss it, and yes, I was thinking just today that I would like to go back and see my friends and family. Betty said, “Well, let’s go!”
I was having a hard time finding a good job and getting acting work in Los Angeles, and she wasn’t getting along with her family, so going back to Florida seemed like the right idea at the right time. The next day, I made arrangements to sell my New Yorker at bottom price, the dealer making out like a bandit on the car. I then let the church pastor know of my intentions, and within five days Betty and I were on a plane heading for Fort Lauderdale. I had been away from home some three years; I had left for LA with a dream, a one-way plane ticket, and seventeen dollars in my pocket. I hadn’t yet achieved that dream, but I was still going strong.
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