Heydays: The Roaring 70s in Newport Beach, CA Revisited

By Ray Garra

Hold onto your seats as Heydays takes you on a wild journey back into the sensuous seventies of Newport Beach, California, with a colorful cast of scoundrels and sybaritic sirens that will entertain you as only true life stories can. It’s a multi-layered tale of fraud and freebooting; of lust and licentiousness; of power and paganism. Heydays picks up where Harold Robbins left off; makes Fifty Shades of Grey blush; examines the metamorphosis of nymphomania—all of it within the exclusive domain of the Orange Coast’s prominent social, yacht and singles’ clubs. Visit the Cabo San Lucas of the seventies, when only a private plane could get you there. Vicariously enjoy a series of rendezvous in the exotic movie locations of Puerto Vallarta (Night of the Iguana), Las Hadas Resort (Ten) and Moorea. Get an insider’s view of the tumultuous rise and fall of the World Football League; of the pursuit and crowning of Miss American Teenager; of the agonies of ownership of a travel agency. This barn-burning novel of mischief and malfeasance transports you back into an unmatched era whose secrets have yet to be fully revealed. Author Ray Garra weaves main character Randall Grayson (Shallow Water Sailor) through a myriad of kaleidoscopic adventures in his ascent to prominence within the nefarious direct mail and sports publication industries, while engaging with a slew of Damon Runyon-type characters that include Vegas showgirls, a genuine Playmate of the Year, and a slew of leading ladies, all of whom are valid centerfolds themselves. Heydays is Garra’s second novel memorializing his multi-faceted life experiences … with more to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Expressive Press
• Release date: Apr 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781523604036

Ray Garra

Ray Garra served three and a half years active duty with the US Coast Guard, followed by six and half years in the USCG Reserve. The true events of those years, half a century ago inspired in first book. Ray's civilian career has largely been spent in the printing and publications field. His shorts stories have appeared over the past few years in Mensa and other publications.

Book preview

chapter

CHAPTER ONE

Newport Beach, September 1970

Watching Selena, who sat across from me at our patio table, infuse her girls with the spirit of the occasion was pure entertainment. The girls on each side of her in this case were Mandy and Frankie. Mandy with her long dark hair, island coloring, and accepting manner was a regular in Selena’s entourage. Frankie, in contrast, presented a bubbling American pie personality and pixie-like demeanor. Neither were great beauties. You know what, though? Both could always be counted on to contribute verve to whatever the party needed.

I liked them both.

I had been with both.

But today I was with Diane, the curvaceous blonde siren seated beside me to my right. She would be the eye candy of the group for this event.

It was the beginning of the Labor Day weekend and the Balboa Bay Club was abuzz. From our spot on the Club’s outdoor patio we watched the small sandy beach section next to us start to fill up. The weather was perfect. Blue sky; warm sunshine; a slight breeze—just one of the reasons for being here. It was an hour before noon but the Club’s main bar, just inside from the patio, was already heating up. Most of the patio tables were being occupied and the cocktail waitresses were beginning to pick up the pace.

Our table was in a key position to watch it all, being at the end of the patio area overlooking the beach and next to the short ramp that led out to the guest dock that extended out in front of the beach. It was a tiny dock only able to accommodate a single craft. Today it was accommodating the largest sailboat in the harbor, the 125-foot metal schooner, the Sea Diamond. The ship demanded the attention of everyone within its sight. It was a glorious reminder of how much money could be spent on a sailing vessel that could take you across the ocean in sheer luxury. My proclivity for sailing had me, in particular, spellbound over its presence. All the more so because it just so happens that for this weekend … it was my ship!

ch1_balboa_bay_club.tif

Balboa Bay Club

(Circa 2015)

Yup, there was our weekend habitat, majestically awaiting our spirited group to board—and be whisked twenty-six miles across the sea—to Catalina.

Being able to invite certain members of her coterie for a weekend on the Sea Diamond was, of course, a feather in Selena’s cap. This was the kind of excursion that gave her the prestige and power to hold her flock in sway. It added an extra glow to her signature crest of sun-bleached red hair and an extra sparkle to those violet eyes.

Selena was an anomaly within the Orange County single social scene … because she was married! This did not keep her from being a major player in singles activities—and that she was. If you were throwing a party and needed a bevy of fun-loving, attractive lasses to attend … you called Selena. She had the contacts, all loyal to her bidding. She was a dynamo, a force field—the girls responded to her natural leadership. And she was successful in being able to live two lives. One life was as a dutiful married spouse (no children involved) when her husband was home. Yep. Selena was selective in picking husbands who traveled a lot (at this point I think she was on husband number three) and one as a lead swinger in the single social community.

I marveled at the way Selena completely cuckolded her spouse, perhaps taking advantage of a gap of intelligence between the two. I had met him and been with them on several occasions—mostly at Bay Club functions. Their twenty-five foot sailboat was in the slip next to mine—which is how the relationship initiated a few years ago.

It didn’t take long before Selena’s salacious side made its appearance and I found myself engaged in a clandestine overnight rendezvous with her in San Francisco. The relationship never got heavy—that was not her style. Selena was into uncommitted quickies … which was fine. That fit nicely into my new bachelor program.

During the year that it took to process my divorce I had rented a three-story residence in Laguna Beach, high on a hill overlooking the beach. On Friday evenings Selena would bring three or four of her female followers over for cocktails and 8mm porn flicks. My invited bachelor buddies would be in attendance to keep the pairings equal. It was a way for us all to check out the current roster of players in our hunting grounds. In fact, that was the way I met Diane.

Ahhh, Diane. What a lovely creature. We had started to date on a regular basis. Not that it was becoming serious—that was not the way the local program worked. One avoided being tethered. It was important to be at liberty; there were so many players that kept appearing and they needed to be—ah—checked out. But it was not inappropriate to have favorites; regular dates that you knew would be fulfilling. I would try to see Diane at least once a week.

Nature had presented Diane with a marvelous, attention-getting body and an assenting, agreeable manner. Her gray matter may have been awarded a bit sparingly—but that made her character work all the better. Not that you would jump too readily to assign a dumb blonde characterization to this mellow and agreeable gift from the Gods—just that conversational levels of a higher plane were not necessary here.

She enjoyed coming to the Bay Club—as did most—and at the present was happily taking in all the sights and sounds that surrounded us on this auspicious occasion. I boldly broke into her quiet reflective mood, reaching over to touch her hand and addressing this angel of a companion, Soooo, Kitten … are you ready to spend the weekend at sea?

"Ohhh, Randall … never been to Catalina, you know … let alone on such a dream boat … can’t wait to get on board …"

Yesss! Selena said, cutting in. We get to play Cleopatra on our party barge … right, girls?

Oh, YEAH … for sure … what a TREAT … Mandy and Frankie responded in chorus on cue.

Hope the waves don’t get too rough … did you say it takes four to five hours to get over there? Diane, in all her subdued sweetness looking like a teenager about to get the keys to the family car for the first time, continued the conversation.

Oh, I think it should be a smooth ride … weather reports indicate so …

My response to Diane was cut short by what I observed over her shoulder coming down the walkway that led to the guest dock.

And ladies, it looks like we’re about ready to start the show … our guests have just arrived.

With that the four ladies at my table followed my gaze to observe the four fellows strolling the path to the guest dock, all chatting away quite happily with the two young chaps in front ogling the bikinis that had started to come onto the beach and the other two holding an intense conversation while looking straight ahead at what was waiting for them tied to the dock at the end of the path.

Ladies, that slightly overstuffed and important-looking man in the rear on the beach side is our VIP and benefactor of the weekend … Mr. Bill Wheel—be nice to Mr. Wheel!

"Gee, Randall, that shouldn’t be so hard … he looks like a nice man," proclaimed Diane with genuine innocence.

Yes … and the other guys don’t look all that bad either, proclaimed Selena as she sharply focused her attention astutely on the group as a whole.

"Okay, you guys grab your gear and catch up to them. Selena, introduce everyone when you all get on board. I’ve got to wait here for Julie … who should be here very soon—she’s always on time. And Diane!  Find the stateroom belowdecks about midship where I left my gear this morning—and put your gear in with it!"

With that I watched our bevy of starlets bustle off the patio with their sea bags and follow the arriving guests out onto the dock. Bill Wheel looked like he was in good spirits—and why not? He was going to be able to play King Farouk on this trip … and show off—as he always liked to do—in front of his staff. It was a role for which he was well suited.

It was going to be a spectacular weekend—I could feel it. The planets were in positive alignment; it was to be an epic production; the cast of characters were perfect for their parts. And Julie would complete that all-star lineup.

Julie was the pro in the crowd. I had worked with her on several occasions before. It was just four months ago that I had flown her down to La Paz, Baja California, to entertain a company client down there on an alleged fishing trip … which became a little more involved than sticking your pole over the boat side. Since then, that client’s business had improved by sixty percent.

Julie was good when she was bad.

Ah, and here she is now … coming straight towards me, striding resolutely out into the patio from the inside bar area, fixing that deceptively innocent look directly upon me and with a knowing smile starting to form on her sweet, round face.

She was dressed in fashionably conservative style with grayish slacks and matching gray bolero jacket covering a white, sleeveless cotton top—the body beneath it all carefully disguised! Julie did not look like a pro—did not act like one; that was just part of what made her so good. I had had the fortunate opportunity of experiencing her charms prior to employing her when I interviewed her a while back at the time we were starting our relationship. Now there was an evening never to be forgotten. As an enhancement to the proceedings she had introduced me to angel’s dust … which took me two days to recover from.

Julie, my dear … you look positively freshly picked from the Garden of Eden. My greeting broadened her smile as I stood to receive her at my table.

And Mr. Grayson … you’re looking dashing as always … so good of you to have me join your little weekend romp … boy, this place is swarming with people. Took a while to get the car valet parked … oh, here’s the ticket my dear. Is my timing all right?

Perfect—as always. Have a seat and I’ll give you a little briefing on our holiday soiree …

I offered Julie the seat Diane had been occupying, watched her survey the whole Bay Club scene from beach to marina to the patio action, and began my little prologue to the holiday agenda.

"Your guy is currently my biggest client. His name is Bill Wheel and he’s the publisher of a hot direct mail publication called Homemaking with a Flair that’s getting even hotter. The three fellows he’s brought with him are his number one man, his production manager Norm, and his two salesmen Darrell and Warren. Mr. Wheel is throwing this party for his boys—to show appreciation. This is his party … and he picks up the total tab. I’m just the guy that makes all the arrangements and see that it runs right. Don’t worry any about his boys. I’ve brought along some of our local talent to handle that. Just concentrate on Mr. Wheel. He’s married—happily—is a prominent member of his community and basically a good guy. I’ve never used a professional with him before—kept it to the local talent … but this is such a five star operation … I thought you and your craft would be appropriate."

Julie was absorbing all this with interest and nodding her head with her attention now totally focused on me.

He knows what your weekend rate is … and I’m sure he will be generous. I don’t think he’s into anything kinky … I suspect he’ll be easily pleased. Just treat him like some imperial potentate and I’m sure everything will work out just fine. Any questions, fair lady?

Nope. So, we’re going to be on a boat all the time?

Yup … and not just any old boat. There she is at the end of the dock, I said, as I directed Julie’s gaze to take in the awesome sight of the Sea Diamond—and watched her eyes widen in its presence.

You and Mr. Wheel will have the master suite all to yourselves. When we get to Catalina we’ll go ashore at times, do a little waterskiing from the ship, take in some sun. I assume you’ve brought swimwear and a change or two in that ditty bag of yours …?

Yes … indeed … looking forward to a little more exposure. Your Mr. Wheel sounds like a decent chap …

That he is … so let’s join the crowd.

I slung Julie’s ditty bag over my shoulder, signed our table’s bar tab, and the two of us sauntered off the patio, onto the path to the dock aware that we were the objects of utmost curiosity for a large portion of the growing crowd that was beginning to fill up the Club’s bay area.

Ascending a gangway ladder attached to the side of the ship we were met at the main deck level by Mickey Hargitay, Captain of the Sea Diamond.

Welcome aboard, Mr. Grayson and fair lady. Looks like you two complete the guest roster—so we’re ready to shove off whenever you wish.

Captain Hargitay was a young, good looking swashbuckler type whom I had met on several occasions earlier while negotiating the charter of the vessel. He and his crewman Lars, a tanned, young and salty Swede with stringy blonde hair were the only two personnel aboard to manage this seagoing behemoth. Hargitay apparently had inherited the Sea Diamond through a marriage with the Bartholemue family, who were among the most prominent early families living on the Newport peninsula and chartering out the Sea Diamond was now his main activity for profit and fun.

Okay, Captain … cast off whenever ready. Miss Julie and I will join the other guests for the departure.

From behind, a strong hand on my shoulder turned me around … to face a smiling Bill Wheel.

Well, sport … looks like you just might have topped all your past productions … with this one … and who is this charming lady you’re bringing aboard?

Bill Wheel’s lascivious grin validated my selection of Julie for a starring role.

"Why, Mr. Wheel … it’s so good to have you on board for a modest holiday festivity … and let me introduce you to the fair Julie, our incomparable sybaritic queen of choice for the cruise."

Ahh, Miss Julie … you honor this ship with your presence … Bill, with exaggerated fanfare, raised her left hand, kissed it lightly and continued … allow me to introduce you to our other guests."

Everyone had assembled on the foredeck and Bill, with Julie in tow, began making the rounds, radiating in his assumed part as the lead in the tableau that was beginning to unfold.

And Bill always performed well as the lead player. He had a flair for drama and stage presence. He looked good, standing a bit over six feet, and was well proportioned, carrying a little extra weight—but not enough to tamper with the image. His dark hair was always kept within an executive cut. He was always well dressed whatever the occasion and could move his chin defiantly when the situation warranted. His appearance was somewhat similar to the newscaster, Hannity—not that good looking—but distinguished.

The crowd had been serviced with drinks by a surprisingly quick and efficient Lars, who was now circulating with a tray of tasty little canapés. Gulping one of them down and giving Lars an order for a rum and Coke, I maneuvered directly to Diane and gathered her into my embrace as Captain Hargitay, with help from the Bay Club’s dockmaster, cast off from the club dock at the stroke of noon—the Friday of Labor Day weekend, 1970.

I noticed Lars was now inside the bridge at the wheel and I admired just how fast that chap moved about the ship. Just then the foredeck speakers came alive with Santana Latin jazz and the Sea Diamond moved slowly out the Newport Bay’s channel, heading for the harbor entrance. The weekend was underway.

Hargitay had taken over the wheel from Lars, which allowed him to fetch my cup of rum and Coke and, with Diane in my protective custody, we moved all the way forward, up into the prow, settling down comfortably into a couple of stowed sail bags, giving us a 360-degree view of the harbor, the ship and its occupants.

Bill and Norm had settled themselves onto a cushioned settee built into the front of the bridge, which gave them a grand forward view of the path of the Sea Diamond. Julie was right there nestled in next to Bill. And next to Norm, not surprisingly was … Selena. Our mistress of lust had picked out the number two man in the party on which to weave her spell. Mandy and Frankie had paired up with Warren and Darrell and were sitting on cushions just in front of the settee.

The Sea Diamond imperiously made its way along Newport Bay through the turning basin, then giving the folks on Balboa Island an unexpected thrill to watch, past the fun zone and into the turn leading out into the harbor entrance—all while Santana and his Latin music wafted across the ship’s deck and into the hearing of passersby. It was a sight—and sound—to behold.

As I drained down the last of the rum in my cup, with Diane curled in close, I focused on the man of the hour, seated smack in the middle of his weekend ocean line, looking rather magisterial … and pleased with himself. He was in his glory. Bacchus had returned to earth.

My thought process started to roll back the clock and I pursued the calendar back … back… to when I first met Bill Wheel.

chapter

CHAPTER TWO

Los Angeles/San Francisco, 1969

After completing my military service I moved back to Los Angeles from Miami and began my first civilian job with a paper company, which covered a period of eight years, during that time progressing from order desk employee to general manager—also during that time getting married and having two progeny. It had been a normal period in a young man’s life of settling down to business—you might say.

Working in the paper industry had caused me considerable exposure to the printing industry, leading to a job as Vice-President, General Sales Manager for Western Lithograph Company, the second largest commercial printer on the West Coast.

The transition from paper to printing was not that difficult, what with their activities so closely related and personal relationships common throughout. The nature of the printing industry was different. Whereas the paper industry was primarily a staid and price-regulated business, the printing industry was nothing of the sort. Pricing was cutthroat and sales were gained through the good old standards of broads, booze and bangles. Also, the territory covered was more extensive. Paper sales were consummated within a close geographical area to your paper warehouse, e.g., Los Angeles County. A Los Angeles printer’s quest for sales could cover the entire West Coast. Western Lithograph had a sales office in San Francisco and pursued sales from San Diego to Seattle. And then, well, there was the kaleidoscopic assembly of characters acting out their roles within the industry. Ohhh, indeed, the paper industry had its share of colorful players—but not to the extent of the printing field of play.

My job at Western had me traveling more than before … and meeting and dealing with key persons authorizing printing contracts. One of my connections in the Bay area was Koret of California, a publicly owned corporation primarily engaged in the sale of clothing—women’s apparel in particular. Koret had started to experiment with direct mail in marketing products apart from the clothing industry and we were producing monthly test flyers for them. My contact was a young print production manager working within Koret by the name of Ron Harden.

Early in the spring of 1969 I received a call from Ron announcing that Koret had acquired some marketing whiz connected to the food industry who was going to come in, revamp the entire test program … and replace Ron. The new dynamo was a chap by the name of Bill Wheel … and Mr. Wheel was anxious to meet with me. Ron got us together on the phone … and I was invited by Mr. Wheel to have lunch with him on my next trip to San Francisco. That lunch came about in short time, for I was curious to see how Mr. Wheel’s plans might affect our current program with Koret.

We met in his new Koret office and walked to a tiny Italian bistro (which had been unknown to me) nearby for a surprisingly relaxed and enjoyable midday repast.

Mr. Wheel represented a very different type of print buyer, in that he was sophisticated and intellectually well grounded in a wide range interesting subject matter all apart from the direct mail business. Not that he did not understand direct mail—which he did—and his plans for steering Koret into major direct mail runs on a regular basis were quite ambitious.

We hit it off very well and I experienced genuine warmth from him as we fashioned our relationship. During the ensuing months Bill Wheel visited our plant not only when we were printing his revamped flyers but also to visit and inspect other graphic-related facilities such as mailing and graphic art services. Bill was particularly interested in the direct mail pieces we were doing for other clients, such as Starcrest of California, which had grown to a twenty million monthly run, featuring an unbelievable diversity of items from pantyhose to flower pots. He was intent upon growing his own direct mail publication to the maximum extent of a direct mail operation. I had him to dinner at our home in Newport Beach and to meet my wife, Sandy, and the children. When I was in the Bay area he had me to his home in fashionable Hillsborough, where I met his wife, the lovely and gracious Annabelle, and his three daughters and youngest, Bill Junior. The family was staunch Catholic and Bill was a major patron of his church and played the trumpet at occasional church fundraisers. When the two of us dined out, both in Los Angeles and San Francisco, we would challenge one another to select a relatively unknown but superb restaurant we would both agree was a valid find, and during dining engaged in a wide range of topics involving classical music, art and history—none of which related to our business activities. We were becoming great friends and enjoyed one another’s company.

Within this time frame Wheel had constructed a new staff that centered upon Norm Zinskey, a veteran production manager, and two hyper sales personalities, a Darrell and a Warren, who plied the multitude of advertising agencies handling in-home products, primarily on the East Coast, for space in Wheel’s newly developing direct mail journal. Norm would receive copy from the sales gang, place it graphically within the journal, produce camera ready film for the printing presses … and eventually be in attendance at the press runs. The direction of the mail piece seemed to focus on food products used in the family kitchen, such as Uncle Ben’s Rice packages—sold at a discount.

Bill had been developing a relationship with James Beard, a very well-recognized food authority, and planned on featuring his commentaries and special home recipes, presumably to bring sophistication into the average family kitchen. The new title for the journal was Homemaking with a Flair. It would still contain products from Koret, applicable for use in the home—but primarily became directed towards food and kitchen products. The goal was to bring in enough advertisers to afford, what was considered at the time, the maximum print run for United States homeowners: twenty million copies monthly. Very few direct mail catalogs had achieved such a quantity on a consistent basis. Wheel was shooting for the optimum.

The issues of Homemaking with a Flair were in a 5x7 size, printed four color throughout and started as a four-page, folded flyer, graduating to an eight-page saddle stitched book beginning in 50,000 runs and, by the end of summer, going to a 500,000 run. Apparently the boys in New York were good at bringing in products to be advertised, the mailing list selections were on target, and responses to the mailings were promising at the least.

The increased production caused Norm Zinskey to move from his eastern habitat to join Wheel in the Koret offices, and soon thereafter come to the plant for the press okays on the runs.

Bill announced that his fall runs would go to a million copies each month for three months—and that made him a coveted client. My superiors at Western Litho suggested that it would be appropriate on my part to keep him happy. That was no task. He was a dream client … and great fun to be with.

Bill was intent on improving his mailing service and used the fall season to find a more compatible and efficient source. It was critical for the mailing service to speedily run the mailers through their postage-stamping machines, accurately sort out and bag the mailers by destination and ship to the designated postal distribution centers throughout the U.S. He settled on an outfit in the San Fernando Valley run by two Swedish brothers, the Sandersons, who had the right machinery and the desire to increase their business.

During all this activity I had—from out of the blue—been delivered divorce papers from Sandy, my wife. They were delivered on Halloween day—the ultimate trick or treat!

Because it was so unexpected, I was thrown into a tizzy for several weeks … and then slipped into a deep funk for several more weeks. Bill Wheel was very understanding of all this and offered comfort when needed.

I had to find new lodgings quickly and within a week began renting in Laguna Beach. Thus began my bachelor days and life within a new environment.

Whereas my domestic life had been torpedoed, my business world prospered. The Koret account was only one of dozens for which I had responsibility. There was Starcrest, Bullock’s Department Store, Carnation, Disney, Alden Lighting and continuous assistance to other members of the sales force, which always numbered ten or more. But Bill Wheel continued to be my favorite client.

Oh, yes, and most promising.

The depth of his friendship for me was experienced shortly after the turn of the new year and the beginning of the decade of the seventies. As California law normally dictates, my wife Sandy had retained possession of our children. However, over the last few years of our marriage, it was increasingly being revealed that she had a problem. A drinking problem that accelerated soon after I had moved out. The drinking problem culminated in late January with a complete collapse, her commitment (by her parents) to a Pasadena rehab unit  … and a return of the children to me … something I was totally not prepared for.

As close as we were, Bill Wheel became aware of the situation at the outset. To my utter amazement, he volunteered to take my two children into his own home while I scrambled to find and institute home care for the kids in my new bachelor pad.

There is one scene that has remained indelibly in my memory ever since that time. And that was Bill walking from the departure gate at Orange County airport across the tarmac to the waiting Air California 736, handholding my precious little children (ages six and four) on each side of him on their way to San Francisco and the Wheel manor. It was an incredible moment of bone-penetrating emotion felt for my children and immeasurable appreciation for a man who was coming to the aid of someone he had known for only such a short time. That scene has always predominated in any recall of my association with Mr. Wheel.

It took two weeks to find and install domestic in-home care for the children, then have them returned into my custody. They had experienced a perfectly delightful time with the Wheel family and were sad in having to leave them.

And life continued on …

Shortly thereafter the Homemaking with a Flair press run increased to two million monthly.

In March, Sandy was released from her rehab facility and moved in with her parents in their commodious Pasadena residence. Shortly afterwards I received a request to have the children join her there. It seemed to be the pragmatic thing to do, avoiding a harmful custody battle.

Once again I found myself living as a solitary bachelor in Laguna Beach.

This allowed me to accept Bill Wheel’s invitation to join him and his staff in celebrating the continuing climb up the ladder for Homemaking with a Flair with a weekend soiree in Snowmass, Colorado. Bill had secured rooms at the luxurious Snowmass Inn and the entire cost of weekend, food, ski runs, bar tabs, et al., was on Bill.

Unfortunately, the late March weather that particular year was unseasonably warm, so skiing could be a little sloppy (at least in the lower runs). I had planned on skiing and to check out Bill Wheel’s athleticism on the slopes, but, upon arrival in Snowmass, learned that the good Mr. Wheel had never put on skis and was not interested in learning.

Obviously the weekend had been planned to primarily benefit Wheel’s two sales guys (who had brought along girlfriends) and his production star, Norm (who, along with Bill and myself, had come solo). Watching the amount of money being spent on keeping the crowd happy I could not help but wonder just what kind of arrangement Bill Wheel had with his employer, Koret. Yes, the "Homemaking with a Flair" publication was certainly demonstrating remarkable growth—but it was still a fledgling operation. There was no doubt that Mr. Wheel was banking on continuing success, for at the close of the weekend he asked me if I could help him arrange a similar extravaganza in Newport Beach for the forthcoming Labor Day holiday.

The next incident that aroused my interest in just what kind of compensation program Wheel was working under was his announcement to me, shortly after the Easter holidays, that he had just ordered—direct from the factory in Italy—a Maserati! Holy smoke! A Maserati was just about as expensive a toy as any well off capitalist could acquire. Not being one to probe, I could only assume that Wheel was lucky in personal investments or that possibly someone well off in the family had expired and left him a good sum of money.

The Maserati arrived in early May and Wheel announced that he would give it a stagy test drive to Las Vegas.

Did I want to come along with him?

Not really. I was not into that level of risky activity … and was not about to chance the gentleman’s level of competence in driving in a state with no speed limit (at the time).

Once he arrived in Vegas safely, Bill checked himself into the opulent Caesar’s Palace and put in a call for me to join him there. It would be a quick trip—a fun escape … take in a few shows … everything on his tab. He seemed in real need of having a buddy with him … I guess I had achieved that identity.

What the heck. Well, it was part of the job, I concluded.

I took the early evening flight out and arrived in Vegas at 6 p.m., reaching Caesar’s at the height of the cocktail hour. The place was abuzz. At the time Caesar’s was one of the newer mega-casinos on the strip and considered the place to go with the top headliners from show business booking on its main stage. That night Harry Belafonte was performing.

Checking in to the room Wheel had reserved for me, and not reaching him in his room, I had him paged. He was in the casino … playing blackjack—couldn’t break away—join him!

He was not hard to find. Bill was in the higher stakes section, sitting alone with stacks of chips in front of him, for all the world looking like a middle-eastern potentate, sans the white robe. As I walked up next to him I noticed the chips were 100 dollar chips and there were three stacks of them with maybe twenty chips in each stack that he was fingering. Our greeting was brief as I just stood next to him . Bill he was riveted on the cards being dealt. It looked like his bet on that hand was about half a stack … good Lord … that was a thousand dollars on the line!

I noticed the section’s pit boss was hovering about, the scantily clad cocktail waitress who came over immediately to take my order had to be one of Caesar’s front liners, and that Bill’s table was the only one in our area … with just one player. Criminy! Bill was the high roller of the evening!

I stood there dumbfounded, totally entranced with the whole scene … it was out of the Twilight Zone. Sometime he would win his bet … then lose … I couldn’t keep track. I must have been standing there like a totem pole for … half an hour or more? The whole scene (plus my drink) had narcotized me. It was a movie. I was a stand-in—without lines.

While the dealer was shuffling cards Bill told me he had a front row seat reserved for us at the dinner show to see Harry B. … which we should probably get to before long. God, what a relief. I wanted to get him out of that scene as soon as possible. I was engaged in high anxiety to keep him from losing BIG! And the hands were being dealt so quickly—with only Bill at the table, there was no pause. As I watched him from the side I started to imagine … a transformation coming over my good friend here. Was there some kind of dark side peeking through … or perhaps just flamboyance being raised several notches? Bill was becoming a Gatsby. As the dealer started a new hand, Bill looked over at me, his eyes shining brightly, Randall … go on in to the show—get our table … I’ll follow you in … just need a few more hands here … go on … I won’t be long …

Okay old sport (thinking of Gatsby"—I had to use that word) … but promise you’re going to make it—don’t want to sit there by myself …" Bill’s not in answer to me was a detached one … he was back in to the cards!

I knew when Harry came on, following all the preliminary acts, that Bill Wheel wasn’t going to make it. Heck, the show was good … and I had a great dinner … and just enough booze—all comped. And I guess I really wasn’t surprised to see him in the same place when I returned to the casino. Same place—same picture. He looked as though he had gone into some kind of trance. If he had been drinking all that time that could have been part of the effect. And then, God knows what kind of losses he might have incurred; if, indeed, he had not been winning … I mean, the reality of Vegas is not all that glorious. I bid adieu to Bill—time to hit the sack … and I wasn’t going to chance experiencing agony in watching the play.

I had an eleven a.m. plane to catch the next morning … called Bill’s room but he had put a hold on any incoming calls. Lord only knows when he finally quit the table … or what the gambling results were … and I never asked.

My new bachelor life was starting to settle in and the pad in Laguna Beach was a big part of it. Located at the apex of Sunset Terrace it was composed of four levels with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. Selena enjoyed bringing her crowd over on a regular basis for evening cocktails and the routine started to develop into an unofficial insider’s singles club. For that matter, the proliferation of formally constituted singles clubs in the Newport Beach area had begun and the singles scene was beginning to dominate the local social schedules.

Bill Wheel’s visits to Southern California were becoming more frequent with business at our printing plant and at his new mailing operation, and—adding extra leisure time to his agenda. He enjoyed staying at the Balboa Bay Club and relaxing in its spa and taking in its eclectic night life. I took him out sailing on my Coronado 25, which was a new adventure for him. We spent time at my yacht club, Bahia Corinthian, and it wasn’t too long, while engaged in all this extracurricular socializing, before he met Claire.

Claire was a grounded, recent divorcee who was on the conservative side, showed good breeding in her manners, dress and articulation—had the Myrna Loy look. Claire was a friend of a member of the Bahia Corinthian Yacht Club who I had only recently been introduced to. She happened to be passing through the yacht club bar one evening when Bill and I were ending a day. It was an immediate attraction for Bill, who—up until now—had never given any indication of a reason to stray. I watched this initial exchange of chemical reaction between the two of them with, first, surprise—and then … apprehension. I was not comfortable in becoming a part of a potential home-breaking scenario. I was totally respectful of Bill’s family life and his lovely wife, Annabelle … and did not want to be party to anything changing that.

But the connection was made … and the summer months were now upon us … and revelry abounded … and Bill was making Newport Beach his home away from home.

I soon began to realize that I was watching a transformation taking place with my Mr. Wheel. His meeting Claire appeared to be an ignition of desire to expand his social opportunities. He expressed interest in attending singles club mixers, which we did. I had him to my Laguna Beach pad when Selena and her cast visited. He would have Claire join us on occasion, but let me know that his interests were more far reaching.

Just what was this Faustian tableau I was watching emerge? Was it the increasing success of his publication that had created some form of enchantment affecting his life? There were no problems on the home front to cause any of this—Bill continued to talk about how tranquil things were in Hillsborough and the blessings of his family life.

I settled for the single answer … he had successfully forged a dual identity … a Captain’s Paradise (ala Alec Guinness, if you will) with which he was perfectly comfortable.

He was an incredible client; better yet, a good friend—it was not for me to pass judgment. And so the summer of 1970 expired into the conclusion of a Labor Day bacchanal.

chapter

CHAPTER THREE

CATALINA—Labor Day Weekend, 1970

R andall! Hey, Randall … bay-bee … It was Diane, speaking softly into my ear … bringing me out of a brief doze that I had fallen into after my lengthy retrospection on becoming a part of the Bill Wheel kaleidoscope. The warm, bright sun and that first rum of the day, and lying comfortably nestled into Diane’s ample chest, had all done its magic and I had allowed myself to drift. Randall … there’s someone … needs to talk to you …

Standing before me was Lars … with a slightly noticeable Scandinavian grin … and I now felt the smooth glide of this magnificent vessel we were all on as it cut easily through a passive and gentle sea. Rising up and briefly looking aft I noted that we had long since left the harbor entrance to Newport Beach … and were well out into a friendly midday Pacific turquoise sea … and under a brilliantly clear Southern California sky.

Mr. Grayson, sir. The Captain would like the pleasure of your company in the wheelhouse, sir. We’d like to put on a little sail … and have you on the wheel while we do so … if you don’t mind … sir. Lars’ faux formality I took as being playful. I concluded at that point that he was going to be perfect in playing the jester on this merry cruise.

Okay, bos’n buddy, I responded, regrettably detaching myself from Diane’s comforts and rising to a balanced standing position on deck.

Diane … come along. You can help me steer, he said, reaching down to pull up my accommodating pin-up alongside of me.

In my prior meeting with Captain Hargitay to secure the Sea Diamond for the weekend cruise, I had given him a brief summary of my own experiences at sea and in yachting in particular. Apparently this had satisfied him enough to allow me to handle the ship’s wheel while putting up sail. Doing that on a ship this size certainly needed both Hargitay and Lars. Whoever was on the wheel just needed to keep the ship’s bow heading into the wind while the sails were being hoisted—not a big deal

But the helmsman did have to be aware of the wind direction.

The Sea Diamond had two main masts, the forward one ninety feet high. Some initial difficulty caused Captain Mickey Hargitay to climb up the main mast, which became quite a show for the guests. I was impressed with Mickey’s agility and physical ability. With the mainsail up and catching a building breeze from the South we were able to head directly for Avalon. Putting up a small jib forward added to our speed … and in less than fifteen minutes we were driving at eight knots under sail only—no engine engaged—for our destination.

What a thrill to be on the wheel of such a magnificent vessel … and Hargitay allowed me to stay put once he saw everything was going the way it should. The wave action was minimal and the Sea Diamond sliced through the Pacific majestically as the queen she was. While on the wheel my thoughts went back to my military experiences on the Bering Sea in a 185-foot buoy tender that barely made seven knots under a derelict image. What a dramatic contrast of scenes. I had always been acclimated to the sea, regardless of the circumstances, but this … THIS was the way to do it, me buckos! The cruise was certainly a good start for me.

The other passengers appeared to equally be enjoying the embarkation. There was no sign of mal de mer with anyone. Of course, I had originally made certain of the sea worthiness of my gang—including Julie. Bill’s group appeared equal to the task also. I had worried a bit about Bill myself but he had assured me that he would be fine—and as an extra caution brought some of those preventive patches with him.

Everyone had changed into bathing suits and shorts and had splayed themselves about the foredeck working on tans. Diane had left me to make her change and, after Hargitay saw I wasn’t going to do anything strange with his ship, he and Lars went about setting up a snack type buffet in the dining salon so that we could all forage at will. Everyone had identified their choice of liquor, all of which had been made available as needed in the bar area. There was nothing to want for. We were on our own personal Lurline style natatorial escapade.

Finishing his chores, Mickey came over to spell me at the wheel—which I reluctantly gave away. Well, seaman Grayson … how we doing … things going okay? Folks seem to be enjoying everything so far?

"Lord … how could it be any better? You’ve got the weather … the ocean is cooperating. Mickey … do you ever get tired of doing this sort of thing?"

That brought a broad smile across our captain’s face … and before he could answer we were both stopped in our tracks by the appearance of Diane, framed in the entryway to the bridge … in a polka dot bikini … that took only a few seconds to count the dots. It was Ursula Andress answering the call for the next James Bond movie.

Mickey looked at me as if to say, "Yeah, I’ve got this ship … but you’ve got  …"

It didn’t take me long to make my change and join Diane on the foredeck and enjoy the remainder of the afternoon, along with the rest of our party with us all settling into a form of halcyon bliss.

During that time a backgammon tournament got into full swing on the foredeck, bringing the group into close activity together and resulting in a building camaraderie between us all. Bill and Julie were not in attendance at the play, having quietly disappeared belowdecks, presumably to experience the attractions of the master suite—which among other things, had been amply stocked with Bill’s favorite champagne, Dom Perignon.

Bill had been made aware of Julie’s professional status during the earlier planning of the trip—and, to my initial surprise, had given his approval. To that point, professionals had never been a part of our social planning—or even discussed for that matter. Having Julie aboard was just