The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

Friends and Family #65


Original Caption:

"Motion picture actress Lana Turner and escort Johnny Stompanato arriving at Los Angeles International Airport, with her daughter Cheryl Crane."

Later, things wouldn't work out so well with the three of them.

13 comments :

MichaelRyerson said...

And here we have Johnny, in full-goombah regalia, a noted peripheral tough guy, unknowingly arriving in Samarra. I kinda miss the highwaisted look in gentlemen's trousers, though.

Gerard Saylor said...

Oh, I wouldn't say that. It worked out pretty well for Lana and her daughter by getting rid of that hired killer.

Greg said...

True.

Kyle L said...

Wow. Understatement of the day. But it got me interested to find out what happened.

Nice play.

pal shazar said...

sad story. AWESOME shades!

Vanwall said...

Of the three, he wasn't the toughest, but he didn't know that yet.

Christopher said...

wheres that Connery fella!?

Jeff Duncanson said...

ESCORT Johnny Stompanato - I love that

Brooks said...

Connery just earned my reshpect.

dola said...

Lines from the poem "The Death of Johnny Stompanato" from Love Poems by Rene Ricard:

So you submit to that mild form of boxing called love.
Then, happy he's earned his keep
He picks your pocket, drives off in your blonde Lincoln
And you pass out.
There's only one definite thing about movies
When you have a tight shooting schedule:
They'll keep you up.
They'll make you cry they'll beat you
They'll leave you, but they won't leave you alone

And you'll get to the studio with a headache
Looking like who did it and ran.
You ask them to light the jewelry,
The props, anything but your face.
"We'll need more work today"
And tomorrow and the next day.
Then the reviews come out:
"No more just a beauty, this performance was dazzling
Mature, and with an unexpected depth of character."

I wasn't being paid for depth
Or character
Or maturity
I was supposed to be beautiful.

I want a drink. I don't know what happened.
I was young then I was old. I was paid for
Then I paid. Everything seems like it happened
Yesterday or so long ago it happened to someone else.
I've been called a bad' woman. I don't know.
I was in a bad business that does bad things to people
He was young to die. But so was I.
He died in a movie star's white bedroom.
That's better than the gutter.
And I matured, as they say.
I think it was him or me.
I may have been part of a tragedy
But I'm not sure if the tragedy
Was his death or my life
Or just the story around us
Or if I'm capable of...
What's the use. It was so long ago.

Peter L. Winkler said...

Dola:

That poem is incredible. Thanks.

Tempest said...

Goombah Chic

twister said...
This comment has been removed by the author.