My Life Among the Icons: A Fascinating Memoir of a Raconteur Whose Life Intersected with the Giants of Sports and the Glamour of Hollywood

By Johnny Ortiz

His connection at age fifteen with L.A.'s most notorious gangster, his sinister lifestyle while working for a renowned private investigator, Johnny Ortiz's exciting life involved close friendships with Hollywood superstars and sports champions.
In Palm Springs he mingled with the Rat Pack; in Las Vegas he attended celebrity-ridden parties; in Los Angeles the saloons he owned became a hangout for sports figures and famous actors.
Champions worked out at his legendary Main St. Gym and most of Hollywood's top boxing movie gym scenes were filmed there including the first three Rocky movies.
In his revealing reminiscences Ortiz fondly relates previously untold stories of celebrities including Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Jim Morrison, Henry Fonda, Antonio Banderas, Woody Harrelson, Robert Mitchum, Lynda Carter, Olivia De Havilland, Bette Davis, Jackie Gleason, Ben Johnson, Dorothy Lamour, Milton Berle, Mickey Rooney, Lenny Bruce, Cliff Gorman, Phil Crosby, and John Drew Barrymore, along with sports icons like Muhammad Ali, O.J. Simpson, Sugar Ray Robinson, Henry Armstrong, Rocky Marciano, and Joe Louis.
Johnny Ortiz has been a fighter, trainer, manager, boxing historian and a twelve year host of his own radio show. He is a longtime member of the Screen Actors Guild, has numerous TV and film credits, and is also an accomplished stage actor. In 1999, he completed his role opposite Antonio Banderas and Woody Harrelson in the film, Play It To The Bone. In 2001, director Michael Mann cast him in the Will Smith movie, Ali.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463419028

Johnny Ortiz

Johnny Ortiz was once the co-owner of the world famous Main St. Gym. The gym was used in most of the major boxing films including the first three Rocky movies. He was a twelve year host of his own radio show, “Ringside with Johnny Ortiz.” His show aired on ESPN radio as well as six other Los Angeles radio stations. As a member of the Screen Actors Guild since 1974, he has had numerous roles on film and TV and is an accomplished stage actor. In college he won the Actor of the Year award. He has had numerous experiences with mega stars of film, TV, and the sports world. Fifteen Academy Award winners are numbered among these personal encounters. In April of 1999, he completed his role opposite Antonio Banderas and Woody Harrelson in the movie, “Play It To The Bone.” In May 2001, he was cast by director Michael Mann to play a boxing reporter in the film, “Ali.” He has been the recipient of eight highly prestigious awards for “His Great Influence and Devotion to the Sport of Boxing.” He has been inducted twice into several Boxing Hall of Fame organizations. In 2010, he was given a “Celebration of His Life, A tribute to Johnny Ortiz.” The event was attended by two hundred and forty friends.

Book preview

Chapter 1

L.A.’S Al Capone

(MICKEY COHEN)

The Last of the Great Burlesque Queens

(CANDY BARR)

A One of a Kind Friend

(JACK SAHAKIAN)

In order to accurately convey the story of my personal encounters with Mickey Cohen, Candy Barr, and Jack Sahakian, it is highly imperative that I establish where it all began…

I was a lad of fifteen when my love affair with Strippers first commenced to bloom.

My young awakening began when I started to spend my Saturdays, as well as my summers, at the original Main St. Gym in Los Angeles, California.

My brother Phil, who was the eldest of twelve children, first took me to the world famous gym when I was nine years of age. I would sit, watch and wait, while he trained.

His trainer, the legendary, Arthur Duke Holloway, had trained the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson, Joe Louis, Archie Moore, Zora Foley, and years later, Muhammad Ali.

When I had reached the age of twelve, Duke would have me come to the gym, and after he had finished training his fighters, he would find time to work with me. Duke told my brother Phil that he enjoyed training me; he thought I showed some interesting promise.

Of course, having no money to pay him, I was extremely grateful for the time he would set aside for me. My brother offered to pay Duke, but he would always tell him that this one was on him.

I was now fifteen. This one particular Saturday, I was ahead of my gym time schedule and having an hour to kill, I decided to get off the Red Line streetcar I was riding and walk the remaining six or seven blocks to the gym.

I thought it would be fun to look in the pawnshops and the other store windows along the way. I was not familiar with this part of Main Street as I had always surveyed the scenery while I rode the streetcar rather than on foot.

I was a youth, curious and eager to see any new thing life might hold in store for me. As I walked along, I watched and studied the people of Skid Row: the derelicts, the downtrodden, the winos begging for money to buy their precious wine and others just simply down on their luck begging in order to buy something to eat.

They never bothered me: not then, not even many years later, when I would co-own the same Main St. Gym; I would always manage to give something to the ones I sincerely believed were hungry.

I found it all very depressing, but educational in its own pathetic way. I have always been a people watcher; a little quirk of mine would come in handy later in life when I ventured into the acting profession.

The people of Skid Row were the front-runners of what can be seen today in the seedy parts of some of the once well-kept sections of Los Angeles and other neighboring areas.

I made a vow to myself that day that I would never let it happen to me. I would never become one of God’s lost children.

Suddenly before I knew it, I was standing directly in front of a place called The Follies Burlesque Theatre. I could only catch a glimpse of the Theatre as the Red Line rolled on. Now standing there, I could not believe my eyes: everywhere I looked there were large photos of nearly nude girls, all very pretty and captivatingly risqué.

Then I saw her! It was a huge photograph of the most beautiful woman my young eyes had ever seen. Judging from her king-size photo, she appeared to be very statuesque with long, beautiful blonde hair. The name at the bottom of the photo read, Lily St. Cyr. She was absolutely breathtaking.

I would one day learn that I was not alone in this way of thinking. Famed journalist Mike Wallace after having watched Lily St. Cyr perform in 1957 had this to say: I have never seen a more beautiful woman; she was absolutely glorious to look at.

I just stood there transfixed, my young eyes staring at her photo as though I were spellbound. Judging from the large photograph, I ascertained that Miss St. Cyr was undoubtedly the main attraction. My thought was confirmed when I stepped back and saw her name in huge letters on the marquee sign.

It also advertised that there was to be a matinee on this Saturday afternoon, commencing at twelve o’clock. The clock inside the ticket window read a quarter to eleven, indicating that the matinee show was not far off.

As I stood there riveted, I began thinking that my dear mother would kill me if she could see me standing here looking and taking all this in. After all, what did I know: I was a nice, Catholic boy just recently graduated from St. Aloysius. It was a nice parochial school where the good Sisters of Mercy took care of my early education. They certainly did not prepare me for anything like this.

Just as I was lost in the thoughts of my early upbringing, cars started to arrive in front of the theatre. A beautiful young girl emerged from each car. There were four in all, each one as lovely as the next. I immediately surmised that they were in all probability, arriving early to prepare for the upcoming matinee. Several of them gave me a polite little smile as they walked by me, most likely viewing me as a future voyeur.

Again, as I was lost in my newfound thoughts, a long black Cadillac pulled up. A man dressed in black raced around to the back passenger door. As he opened it, out stepped a vision. It was her! It was the woman in the huge picture; it was —Lily St. Cyr! Wow!

She was even more breathtaking in person. I will never forget that moment. She was stunning! Miss St. Cyr was wearing a black fur coat with long, beautiful blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. I believe that was the day I became an instant blonde freak.

My eyes must have resembled saucers; I was totally mesmerized by this blonde, female goddess. Never in my young life had I witnessed anything like her, she was mesmeric.

As she proceeded to walk by me, she could not help but notice this young boy so completely awestruck by her, standing there never taking his eyes off of her as she paraded by. On her way in she gave me a big smile, and paused to give me a little sisterly pat on the head. She touched me!

As I watched her regally enter the theatre to take her place in the spotlight as its queen, I could only wish that I had been old enough to see this heavenly vision work her erotic magic.

As quickly as she had appeared, she was gone in the same manner. Out of my sight, as well as out of my life. I turned back to the street leading to the gym, all the while, visions of Miss St. Cyr danced in my head.

As I walked my walk, I came to the ultimate realization that it would soon be the beginning of the end of my early teen years as I knew them, teen years that one day would ultimately give way to the amorous beginning of a man.

I could not wait to get home to tell my partner in crime, the future "Legend," Ward Jones of my discovery into the world of skin. Ward was totally intrigued by what I laid on him and he begged me to take him with me the following Saturday so he could see it all for himself. I agreed to, but first I had to call and check with Duke. I really wanted to share my newfound stripper world with my best buddy.

As luck would have it, Duke told me that because of some business that needed his utmost attention, he wanted me to come in at 2: pm on Saturday. Ward and I eagerly waited for the day with untold anticipation.

When Saturday finally arrived we set out on our way for what we hoped would be a fruitful adventure. We were out of luck; we had just missed the Red Line going into L.A, we had no choice but to await the following one.

Knowing we were running late, I secretly hoped that Ward would at least be able to catch a glimpse of some of the babes when they arrived at the theatre. When we finally reached our destination we were too late, the girls had already arrived and the matinee was about to begin.

Ward really got off looking at the photographs of all the beautiful nearly nude girls, exactly as I had done the week before.

I was disappointed to see that the gorgeous blonde fantasy, which had started it all for me, was no longer appearing at the theatre. The space that her huge wonderful image had adorned, now displayed a new image of the current headliner, who appeared to be a vivacious young girl, probably in her very early twenties.

The ‘new’ girl had flaming red hair and went by the gale-like name of, Tempest Storm. I would later learn that Lily St. Cyr and Miss Storm were considered the two biggest stars in the world of Burlesque.

Tempest Storm would years later infatuate a very young Elvis Presley. In 1957, Elvis was interested in the famous burlesque queen. One night, he allegedly sneaked out of his Vegas hotel room and scaled an eight-foot Dunes Hotel fence to meet her.

According to Elvis, Colonel Parker allegedly told him, "If you keep hanging around that stripper woman, those screaming teen-ager’s are going to quit screaming." He informed Elvis that if they stopped screaming he would be back in Memphis driving a truck. There still exists a famous picture of Tempest Storm, posing with a very young, Elvis Presley taken in 1957.

The tempting Miss Storm was also allegedly romantically linked with John F. Kennedy, Vic Damone, and Sammy Davis Jr. during her career.

Having checked out all of the very sexy pictures, Ward and I decided to check out the other surroundings. As I was looking at something that had caught my eye, Ward suddenly began calling out my name. I ran to him to discover that he had found a door on the side of the theatre building that had been left ajar.

We very carefully entered into what appeared to be a huge dark room. As our eyes slowly became acclimated to the dark surroundings, we quickly jumped into the nearest two empty seats. We slid down into the seats, hoping no one had seen us. It was so dark; that I do not believe anyone had spotted us. Besides, I am sure their eyes were glued on the stage where a very pretty young brunette was strutting her wares.

The Legend and the Flash, nicknames, Ward and I would one day answer to, were in Seventh Heaven. In our wildest dreams, we had absolutely no clue that this exotic world even existed. It was a world that we found ourselves eagerly wanting to get acquainted with it.

When the foxy, young lady finished her dance, a comedian came out and proceeded to really make us laugh. We were laughing so hard; I had to remind Ward to keep it down, as not to attract attention to us.

We were really enjoying this newfound experience. The performers we had seen were great, and to think we still had Tempest left on the program. Until then, being in this new world of skin, we had no clue what to expect next.

From time to time, we were treated to several comics. To this day, I have to honestly say that Burlesque comics were the funniest guys I had ever seen for pure shtick.

Many years later, the biggest name I would ever see perform on a Burlesque stage would be Lenny Bruce. It was long before he became notoriously famous. Lenny was truly outrageous and way ahead of his time, but he could not be considered a slapstick comic.

Lenny would one day give new meaning to the word, "Stand-up Comic." For silly slapstick comedy, you could not beat those old burlesque stage comics. Unfortunately, they fell by the wayside when the great flesh attraction known as Burlesque played out.

When this one particular comedian was finished completely destroying us with his repertoire of raunchy jokes, Ward and I were holding on to our sides, while trying to muffle our laughter.

We had heard raunchy jokes at school and at the park where we hung out, but neither of us were used to hearing this kind of humor, especially at such a machine-gun like pace. This guy, whoever he was, had the entire place in stitches.

Many years later, I would see and hear comics on Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, and David Letterman, but not a one ever made me laugh as hard as this guy once did so very long ago.

Some guy then came out from behind the big curtain and began to sing a song that was appropriately titled, I’ve Got You Under My Skin. I looked over at Ward and jokingly asked, Why the singer? We didn’t pay to see no singer! He laughed.

We would later learn that this was the balladeer’s way of introducing the following act, which incidentally, was a knockout. She was introduced as, "Goldilocks," she was of course, blonde, young, and gorgeous.

This was indeed an education that could not have been paid for. One of the things that first caught my attention was the fact that behind each seat were built-in binoculars. They were locked in and required a quarter to release them. Once released, the binoculars had a thick chain attached to them in the event I imagined, someone tried to boogie with them. You had to be pretty much into lust to go for that gag. Rest assured, I knew I would never become that perverted.

When Goldilocks ran off the stage with the big, bad wolf in hot pursuit, our favorite singer reappeared. Actually, he had a very nice voice, I found myself enjoying his warbling a little tune in-between performances. In my young opinion, I thought he was very good at what he obviously was being paid to do. I momentarily entertained the thought that it was a kind of job I would like to one day have.

The next girl appeared to be of Italian descent. She had an outrageous, athletic body. She went by the name of Maria, and she too, was very young, pretty, and extremely sexy. She was very physical in the way she danced, and was clearly the crowd favorite up until now. I remember her well.

Now that my eyes had become acclimated to the dark and I was able to see better, I was overwhelmed as to how many patrons were in this place at such an early hour in the day. They were quite vocal at times.

According to the lineup we saw outside, we missed one girl on the show, saw three, so the next one up would be the one we slipped in hoping to see, Tempest Storm.

While we fidgeted in our seats awaiting the entrance of the Divine Miss Storm, all the while hoping we would not be discovered, not one, but two comedians proceeded once again to fracture Ward and I with their unique, coarse, comedic routine, rudely interrupting our anticipation. We again loved it.

After they finished with their tomfoolery, out pops our boy, the singer. After singing a little ditty, he loudly announced the main attraction, And now ladies and gentlemen, I give you the voluptuous, beautiful queen of the runway, Miss Tempest Storm."

The place erupted! Miss Storm did not disappoint. She emerged from another curtain in a beautiful floor length, red gown that accentuated her flaming red hair. She went into a complete production number befitting the star attraction, not that the other girls I am sure did not put a great deal into their acts, they simply were not as elaborate, nor did they appear to be as costly.

When Tempest got down to the nitty-gritty, just pasties and a G-string, one could really appreciate this all-woman created by God. Her main attribute, her well-endowed bust line, was in full view for the excited audience to behold. She was truly magnificent in every way. She appeared to have the bump and grind down to a science for someone so young.

Tempest Storm was ‘woman’ in every sense of the word. We might have been young, but we had eyes. When she finished her marvelous act, the lights went on and everyone gave her a rousing, standing ovation; we even stood up and joined in the tribute. What were they going to do, throw us out? The rest of the girls joined Tempest on stage to yet another loud ovation; the comics and our friend the singer followed the girls. After taking their final bows—they were gone.

Feeling sad that our little adventure had ended, Ward and I reluctantly hit the bricks and walked to the gym going over everything we had just witnessed. We found it hard to believe our good fortune, and that it all actually happened.

It was just a little after two, I was hoping that Duke would not be too angry with me and wondered if in fact, he had arrived from the situation that had required his attention. I was in luck; he was still training his last fighter. Duke preferred for me to be there while he trained his boys so that I could watch and learn as he taught.

He asked me where I had been, and why was I late. Of course I was too embarrassed to tell him the truth, so I made something up. After I concluded my training, Ward and I headed for home, our heads still filled with the superb afternoon we had spent at the Follies Burlesque Theatre.

The following September, Ward and I enrolled at Mount Carmel High School in Los Angeles; it was a private Catholic school. I would box in the school’s annual boxing tournaments, and on the basketball scholarship I received when I graduated parochial school, I played basketball.

It was while playing on the varsity basketball team in my junior year that I, one day after practice, managed to land a job at the corner liquor store, The Cracker Barrel. It was located two blocks from school, and stood behind the bus stop where I would catch the bus to go home.

The owner Max Marsten had taken a liking to me and offered me the job; it paid seventy-five cents an hour, four days a week plus Saturdays. It did not sound like much, but seven dollars and fifty cents a week added up to thirty dollars a month, which made for a big-time allowance in those days. He sometimes slipped me a few extra bucks every now and then.

Max was a good guy, he was tall, good looking, sported a mustache, and definitely had a way with the ladies. My job was cleaning, dusting the bottles, keeping the magazine rack in order, and stocking the beer and other beverages. I learned a lot from Ole’ Max, watching him hum the babes that came in, and believe me, there were a few choice ladies that strolled in from time to time.

One day as I was dusting and straightening out the magazine rack, I noticed a girlie magazine with my imaginary sweetheart Lily St. Cyr on the cover. It also mentioned that there was a feature story on Lily inside this new issue.

I desperately wanted to look inside, but first I had to make sure Max was not watching, he did not mind my looking at some of the magazines from time to time, but he was very adamant about my not checking out the girlie mags. He looked after me; he thought I was still too young for such things. Yeah, right!

As I checked to see where Max was, this dynamite looking babe happened to walk in. I didn’t need radar to know Max would soon be dogging her tracks. Knowing Max would be immobilized for a while, I scanned the magazine for more on Lily.

When I came to the section where she was featured, I discovered a full color page of Lily sitting cross-legged, wrapped in some sort of white fur. She was not wearing a thing, yet revealed nothing. Lily used her left arm to hold a part of the fur across her chest, partially covering what I am sure had to be breasts of perfection.

I had to have this picture, without the slightest bit of hesitation; I carefully tore it out of the magazine, full well knowing that some poor guy would buy the magazine minus the picture of my fantasy. I still have, and treasure the pilfered picture of my youth.

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One Saturday afternoon while Joe, an older fellow who also worked for Max, tended the store, Max told me that he wanted me to accompany him while he delivered some booze to a nightclub called, The York Club.

It was not open for business at this particular time in the afternoon, allowing me to help Max carry in the unopened alcohol. I immediately realized, judging from the risqué photographs of beautiful girls on the wall, and the stage surrounded by floor lights, that I was in a Strip club. All right!

Max introduced me to a fellow by the name of Bill Fine; I was told that Bill and his brother owned the place. Completely caught up with the surroundings, I made my mind up on the spot that the York Club was going to be the first strip joint on my calendar when I became of age.

Time passed, Ward and I were now high school seniors. We decided one Friday night to fiddle up in suit and tie in an attempt to appear older, knowing that Friday was the York Club’s busiest night; we would wait until we thought it would be in full swing, and then try to slip into the club unobserved.

As we made our entrance, an attractive girl, who I assume was working the door, had her back to us, she appeared to be busy talking to a patron, whatever the case, it enabled us to make our entry undetected.

We kept on the move; it worked for a while until the owner Bill spotted us. I still remember him saying, Nice try boys, come back in a couple of years. At least he was nice about it. I in turn, politely replied, Good night Bill, until that time.

Soon after having served two years in the Army, I kept that promise; The York Club became my hangout. Over the following year, Bill and I became very good friends; I was responsible for bringing him a good amount of business.

I had accumulated a sizeable little nest egg as a result of my gambling on paydays while in the Army; it was money I was not afraid to spend. Bill was very appreciative. He used to get a big kick out of telling a few of his cronies how he used to throw me out when I was not of age.

I was treated very well, and enjoyed my newfound status at the club. It helped in meeting the different girls who rotated working there. I soon began dating a few of the young ladies from time to time; nothing serious, just a super great time while honing my craft.

A few years later, my heart was about to take a large amorous hit. One evening, as I was conversing with Bill at the bar with my back turned to the stage; the blues trio stuck up the very sensuous tune Harlem Nocturne. Knowing that you had to have it together as a dancer to tackle this melody, I curiously turned to see who was going to attempt it. The sight that greeted me was without a doubt, the most beautiful stripper I had ever seen, or would ever see, bar none, Lily St. Cyr, included.

I was again struck with the same thunderbolt that hit me when I first laid eyes on Miss St. Cyr as a young boy. This young, gorgeous creature was not to be believed.

Like Lily, she too, was a statuesque blond whose unmistakable gorgeous figure was outlined in a long, floor length silver gown that bonded to her body…I ‘had’ to meet her! After snapping out of my trance, I turned to Bill and inquired, Who is that? Bill replied, That my young friend is…Michelle Lorre.

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I emphatically informed Bill that I had to meet her, also inquiring as to what the length of her engagement at the club would be. He said that he would arrange the meeting after she had finished her set and had time to refresh herself.

As for the length of her engagement, he informed me that he had booked Michelle for the remainder of the month, and that after she had completed her engagement, he would definitely be bringing her back whenever her schedule would permit. Bill said that she was in great demand from all the other clubs, in and out of town. I could easily and visually, understand why.

I found myself a table, sat down with my drink, and proceeded to enjoy the vision parading before me. After she had masterfully completed her sensual set, I commenced to await the pulchritudinous work of art known as…Michelle.

The one thing I felt I had going in my favor was the fact that the majority of the guys who frequented strip joints were usually quite a bit older than myself. I was much closer to Michelle’s age. But then again, there remained the possibility that she might have preferred her men on the older side. They were usually the one’s packing a heavy wallet.

About twenty minutes into my wait, I was brought out of my inattentiveness by the sound of a purr-like voice belonging to Miss Lorre.

As she leaned toward me, she whispered that she understood that I wanted to meet her. I quickly corrected her with, I did not want to meet you—I had to meet you. She smiled, and took the seat I had politely pulled out for her.

After we formally introduced ourselves, I asked her if she would care for something to drink. She replied that she would like a glass of champagne. Her being a ‘champagne lady’ came as no surprise. I ordered two glasses and a bottle of the best. She did not seem impressed. As we conversed, I had the distinct feeling that male adulation had become a never-ending ritual with her.

At times she almost seemed to be going through the motions with me, probably thinking I was just some young kid still wet behind the ears. This was going to take some work. I felt a little breakthrough when I hit her with some of my primo stuff, like when I asked her, jokingly of course, When would you like to meet mom? It amused her…it was a start.

I could not help myself from unconsciously staring at the beautiful face sitting before me. I think by my doing so, it might have made her feel a tad bit uncomfortable.

After finishing her glass of champagne, and hearing the pleasant things I had to say about her, she informed me that she had to say hello to some friends, and that if I liked, she would join me presently for another drink after her next set.

Although I felt I had made a slight impression on her in the short time we had spent together, I also felt that I had just been ‘dusted,’ knowing the girl’s itinerary after they had finished their set, I was fully aware that she could have stayed longer if she had so desired.

Then again, there was always the chance that I may not have impressed her, that maybe she was used to the company of the ‘older’ fellows. I may have been young, but I was taught how to play this game very early on. I had a very good teacher. It’s the chump that hangs around waiting for a lady to throw him a bone. I had definitely been taught better.

As I pondered my next move, my mind raced back to the time, when fresh out of boot camp, I had been sent overseas for a tour of duty in Korea. It was while I was in Korea that I was to meet my mentor in regards to the tree of life. He came in the form of a thirty-year old, very good looking black man by the commanding name of…Milton T. Mitchell.

MT, as his close friends called him, was a well-built, former draft-dodger who had made his living gambling. It seems that one day, two FBI agents found him in a pool hall in Philadelphia, they gave him the profound choice of either serving two years in the US Army or registering himself in the popular Gray Bar Hotel, better known as Leavenworth. After they escorted MT out of the pool hall, he wisely elected to go with the former choice.

MT took a liking to me; he took me under his wing and began to teach me everything from how to win at dice on a blanket, to the winning of a young girl’s heart. I hung on to his every word, especially when it came to the subject of the opposite sex.

He would tell me that whenever a girl did this, I should immediately counter with that. A chump is a chump, is a chump. A person is not born a lame; it is the fool that stays one. Always remember that all women should be respected at all times; always keep your mother in mind.

These were just several of the many pearls of worldly street wisdom he was forever spouting. I believe it was his way of preparing me for the life that lay ahead of me after the Army. The man was extremely wise, and to be sure, quite a bit ahead of his time for one so young in years.

To illustrate a point, after a time spent in Korea, I will never forget when one of the occupants of our eight-man squad tent had received a Dear John letter. This particular young GI who went by the name of William, was taking it extremely hard. It is bad enough that you are stuck on some God forsaken place a million miles from home, but not be there to at least be able to fight for your girl’s love, had to have been horribly frustrating.

Seeing how distraught this young man had become, MT came to his aid. Do you want your girl back? Milton inquired. Of course I do, this would not have happened if I would have been there, I suppose she just got lonely. Yeah, yeah, MT shot back, now here is what we are going to do. With that said, Milton proceeded to enlist each guy in the squad tent. He asked for extra pictures of their sweethearts and other girls, assuring each one that their photos would be returned.

MT was so sure of his plan that he informed the guys that he would reward each one with a ten-dollar bill for any picture that was not returned. After gathering all of the photos that had no writing, he instructed the forlorn GI to enclose the photographs including hers, along with a letter telling his girlfriend that he was all right with her decision to break up, alluding to the fact that she had found someone else she liked better.

The one thing he insisted she do was to pick out her photo from all the rest he had sent her, due to the fact that he had forgotten which one she was, and upon doing so, would she please return the others.

The man was a romantic genius, his plan worked exactly as he had planned. When his girl received the letter, she responded immediately, apologizing profusely, begging William’s forgiveness, saying it was all a big mistake, and would he please take her back. Of course William did just that, and yes, all the pictures were returned in tact, along with her photo.

Judging from all of the letters Milton personally received from the girls back home, the street love professor from Philly known as MT it would seem, really knew his stuff when it came to the female species.

After spending three months in Korea, our division was ordered back to Hawaii. It would be here in Honolulu where I witnessed first hand, the amour technique MT had been teaching me.

Whenever we went to town, I would sit back and watch as he put his love theories into action. After spending nearly two years under the watchful eye of MT, I truly felt that I had graduated Milton’s love course with honors.

After our separation from the Army, Milton T. Mitchell returned to his beloved Philadelphia, while I kicked it back to LA, never to see or hear from my old friend MT again.

Milton T. Mitchell was a front-runner. He was a young, handsome, black man, far ahead of his time with his self-taught incredible knowledge and his innovative way of thinking. I have often wondered of the many things he would have achieved if he were a young man in today’s world. There are no heights he might have reached that would have come as a surprise to me.

With my education securely tucked away, packing a heavy wallet, and feeling extremely mature for someone my age, I was now ready for the quest that lay ahead: the winning of the Fair Michelle.

As though MT were whispering in my ear, I instinctively knew what I had to do. When Michele went on stage for her next set, I would purposely wait until she was halfway through her number, when I saw her looking in the direction where I was seated, as discomforting as it would be to do, I would arise from my chair and take my leave.

This I hoped would give her cause to wonder what kind of game I might be playing. I come on like gangbusters and then split in the middle of her set? She had said that she would rejoin me for a drink, how dare I take my leave! I had played my hand.

I would assume that an unbelievable beauty such as Michele had to possess an enormous ego; just looking at her, one would have to surmise that a large ego automatically came with the beautiful territory. After all, she ‘was’ in the Exhibition business; a business that allows men to feast their eyes on her. There is not an exhibitionist in the world that does not have an ego, especially someone as ravishing as this alluring creature.

Michele Lorre was indeed every inch, the complete package. Also worth noting is the fact that there is not a professional entertainer in the world that would take delight seeing anyone leave during his or her performance.

In this particular case, with the audience being predominately male, Michelle would not relish the sight of any man leaving during her sensuous routine. This is exactly what I was banking on, getting into her head, my plan was to hit her where she lived.

It was now time to implement the next phase of my plan. It was imperative that I gain Michele’s interest. Gaining her interest was predicated on her even taking a slight interest in me. It might have been a longshot, but for a beauty such as Michele Lorre, a longshot I was prepared to take.

For my next club appearance, I would be sure to purposely come in late, sit at the bar and ignore her. I would then ask another pretty stripper I knew and had dated by the name of Alveena to join me for a drink and later, stick around and accompany her home.

I would be banking on Michele taking note. I disliked having to resort to game playing, but I vividly remember MT telling me that playing games was a necessary evil that was, and always will be, played by the young.

My plan worked like clockwork. Michele, having been ignored by me, ignored me right back. If we were to play a game, then a game it would be. Not to mention that I thoroughly enjoyed Alveena’s company in the wee small hours of the morning.

Hoping against hope that it was not wishful thinking, I went into phase two. Being aware of the length of Michelle’s engagement, I would intentionally stay away for a week.

Doing the math, Alveena by this time would have concluded her engagement at The York Club. At a precise late hour, I would then enter the club and take a seat at the bar. I would purposely sit with my back to the stage.

I was in luck; Nick the bartender told me Michelle was due up next. When Michelle stepped on stage and began to dance, every eye in the club was automatically glued to her every erotic move. She danced seductively and superbly, as was her custom. She was a consummate professional.

Michelle looked beautiful and radiant in a skintight powder blue gown. I was able to watch her dance by looking into the mirror as I faced the bar, so all was not lost as far as watching her perform was concerned.

Again, it might have been wishing thinking on my part, but I believe I saw her glance my way a few times, if she did, she could not be sure I was watching and that is precisely want I had hoped.

During my worldly education, I was reminded that extraordinary beautiful women who have been exalted by men the majority of their lives, are not used to being ignored, even by the least of them.

I was now ready to implement my next move. If my game plan worked, this earth angel at some point would greet me as she made her customary rounds saying hello to the big spenders. After her performance had concluded, Michelle went to her dressing room…‘the wait was on.’

I watched as she came out of the dressing room area, she stopped and said hello to a few customers, she then appeared headed in my direction.

I immediately turned facing the bar; I did not want her to catch me clocking her every move. Michelle was completely unaware of the game I was playing.

I was once again treated to the sound of her exhilarating, melodious voice when she greeted me with a ‘hello stranger,’ and asked where I had been keeping myself. "Hello Michelle, you are looking lovelier than ever, how are you? Would you care for a glass of champagne? Thanking me, she replied that, yes she would. We adjourned to a nearby table where we commenced to further our friendship.

She seemed to be more attentive this time around. Or was it again, merely wishful thinking on my part? I had to be careful my enthusiasm did not get ahead of me. Michelle was by no means an easy read, which made the scenario all the more interesting. We had an interesting conversation. Michelle sat with me the entire time, in-between her performances.

I frequented the club nightly for the entire following week. We were now getting along famously; I felt there was an attraction, but I still sensed it was mostly on my part. Michelle and I were becoming good friends and she was well aware that she started my motor.

I was becoming quite enamored of her…I was only human. We spoke of many things, some a little intimate. I took caution not to be too overly inquisitive on the subject of intimacy: Michelle would have to be the one to instigate it.

During this course of time, I could not help but harbor a strong premonition that she was keeping something from me. Michelle inquired about my love life and I graciously told her whatever she desired to know, but when the shoe was on the other foot, she was very evasive, not having much to say…I wisely elected not to pursue it.

Whenever I mentioned the possibility of our going out, Michelle was deliberately ambiguous, politely putting me off. This gave me a strong indication that there was in all probability, someone else in her life; one had only to do the math, as beautiful as Michelle was, how could there ‘not’ be?

I have never been accused of being unintelligent, someone put together as magnificently as Michele would surely have to have someone she cared about paying the freight. My suspicions were confirmed when we went to breakfast one night after the club closed.

During our conversation, Michelle did in fact; mention that she indeed had a relationship with someone, and that it had been going on for quite some time. She was quick to inform me that she had never at any time, discussed her private life with the clientele of the various clubs’ she worked, mainly because it was simply none of their business.

Michelle went on to say that it was different with me, I was a nice guy who she did not find offensive in any way, and that perhaps in some other time, and in some other place, things might have been different.

She was not playing me; she seemed to be genuinely fond of me. The more she talked, the stronger the commitment to this other fellow grew. The way she expressed herself, the guy in question was very good to her, adored her, and obviously gave into her every whim. I am sure he treated her royally, just as royalty deserves.

Michelle was the kind of girl that deserved all the good things life had to offer. I really do not think she would take a chance on losing someone, or something, so secure in her life for what could conceivably amount to nothing more than a wonderful fling. And on the other hand, the strong probability existed that she could conceivably have been in love with the man in question.

Whatever the case might have been, I think that maybe for a brief moment in time, Michelle may have entertained the thought of wondering what it would be like for her and me. The longer I talked to her, the more I felt that it was not in her nature to settle for less; with Michelle, it would have to be all or nothing at all.

I pondered over what she had revealed to me. My immediate thought was to totally dismiss her suitor and to simply go for it, after all, had I not learned to live by MT’s credo, Never a horse couldn’t be rode, never a cowboy couldn’t be throw’ed.

What suddenly seemed to trouble me was that I felt I might again be getting ahead of myself. Even if I decided to take a serious run at Michelle by trying to win her over, I was not sure I was ready to make a serious commitment to anyone. I was much too young, and had not even begun to scratch the surface of any of my many dreams.

Not to say that Michelle would not have been worth it; on the contrary, with a little incentive on her part, it would have been very easy to visualize walking hand in hand through life’s green pastures with one of God’s greatest achievements.

I finally arrived at the conclusion that there were too many things still to see and do, before that day would arrive. There would be many other relationships that I would interrupt; this was just not going to be one of them.

Besides, Michelle gave absolutely no indication that she was unhappy with her present situation. Michelle shared a life with a man who she obviously, very much cared for. I decided to leave well enough alone; she was an unforgettable, one of a kind. I could only dream that I would one day meet her equal.

Thinking of what might have been gave me cause to reflect on something else I had been taught, and that is when it comes to lovemaking, make it so wonderful, tender and special, that any rival would find it extremely hard to compete. What all women really desire is for love to be the ultimate prize.

I have very fond memories of the York Club and the many wonderful nights I spent there in my youth, especially all of the glorious nights that I spent absorbing the quiet beauty of the lovely Michelle, as she gracefully danced her way into all of the male hearts that were privileged enough to have seen her.

Although I never again pursued her romantically, I nevertheless always looked forward to whenever Michele would begin a new engagement at the York Club. Michele and I had become good friends, nothing more, much to my disappointment. Needless to say, Michele Lorre will always remain the centerfold of those imaginary memories.

Today, even after all these many years, whenever I glance at the photograph she once gave me that still adorns the bedroom wall over my bed, thoughts of Michelle bring it all back. It is during these thoughts that I am reminded how close I came to standing at…Heaven’s Door.

As I finally rode off into the sunset, I bid the Fair Michelle a fond adieu, knowing that I would always remember her as—The one that got away.

My next exotic adventure would lead me to the door of the Valley’s house of skin, The Zomba Room. I went there at the beginning of the week to see a friend of mine who went by the shapely name of, Curvaceous Celeste.

She was one of the first strippers I ever dated. I met and dated Celeste my very first week at the York Club. I had heard that she was only going to be appearing at the Zomba for a week and then she was off to begin a three-week gig in San Francisco.

I had not seen the curvy one for quite some time; I thought it might be nice to pick up where we had left off. She was by no means, Michele Lorre, but then, who was, or ever would be? Nevertheless, she had been great fun; we had some wild times exploring one another.

It would be at the Zomba that I would meet the sexy, cute, energetic little girl with the dangerous name of…Johnnie Dillinger.

As was my usual custom, I picked out a table, ordered a cocktail, and proceeded to wait and surprise Celeste with my presence. I shamelessly wanted her to spot me. While waiting for Celeste to perform, the curvaceous one was preceded by the main star of the evening, the aforementioned, Johnnie Dillinger.

I sat there in total disbelief as this wild capsule of energy went through her amazing routine. Johnnie was as talented as she was beautiful. I watched her in utter amazement as she energetically pranced about the stage, I could not help but fantasize just how lively this little dynamo would be in the boudoir.

Celeste followed Johnnie on stage; her routine was quite good. Celeste was more into dancing than she was stripping. I remember her telling me that she had been dancing since she was eight years of age. Her dancing expertise was very evident in her performance.

Celeste spotted me from the stage; she appeared pleased to see me. She joined me after her set; I was delighted to see her again. The problem was that I could not get Johnnie Dillinger off my mind. Without letting Celeste think I was up to my old tricks, I had to figure out a way to meet Johnnie.

Later in the evening, the opportunity presented itself. As I was exiting the men’s room, I observed Celeste and Johnnie engaged in conversation. I saw my opportunity and quickly seized it by politely interrupting their little talk. After a formal introduction, I proceeded to tell Johnnie how very much I had enjoyed her performance, not wanting to seem over-anxious; I excused myself and returned to my table.

Banking on knowing how girls are, I was sure Celeste would provide Johnnie with a little background on her friend, meaning me; at least I was hoping she would. After the curtain rang down signaling the last performance of the night, the MC announced ‘last call.’ that the bar would soon be closing; that it was nearing get-out time. When the club closed for the night, I was allowed to stick around and wait for Celeste.

As was customary, the strippers, if they had a date, were allowed to sit at the bar after hours for a couple of nightcaps to unwind. Johnnie seemed to be alone, Celeste asked her to join us.

While she and Celeste discussed some shoptalk, I managed to make a little eye contact with Johnnie, hoping she might read into it that I might be interested in her. She was not turning away, so I was kind of hoping that she too, might have been a ‘little’ curious. A little later, Celeste and I bid Johnnie good night.

I would wait for the remainder of the week to conclude before returning to the Zomba. With plan in hand, I set out to pursue the enchantress with the killer name of Dillinger. The rest of the week came and went, as did the Good Celeste to San Francisco.

I returned to the Valley club not knowing how Johnnie, if at all, would receive or even remember me. I was pleasantly surprised when she gave me a warm greeting. I became a regular during her engagement, and as I normally did with strippers, we became exceptionally good friends.

Johnnie seemed to like the complimentary attention I constantly paid her. MT always said that the woman has not been born that did not enjoy hearing pleasant things said to her, and especially ‘about’ her. Johnnie was no different. I do not think I ever met anyone who enjoyed hearing honeyed words more than she. Johnnie was a very young, extremely warm, lovely girl.

There are two incidents that stand out in my mind during the time I spent around Miss Dillinger. The first one took place about two weeks after I started to frequent the Zomba. It was a night I would not soon forget, a night that a few years later, would put me in a very compromising position.

On this particular night while I was having a drink at the bar with Johnnie in between her sets, a wild Texas tornado by the edible name of Candy Barr made an extremely elaborate entrance accompanied by a few friends. She was a real a piece of work. Her very presence was overwhelmingly commanding. She was a young, blue-eyed blonde, who had "Showstopper" written all over her.

Candy Barr was extremely cute rather than beautiful, the little turned up nose that fit so well on her lovely, round Texan face. Do not misunderstand me; she was every inch a total babe. It would later be my understanding that she was there to check out the club for a possible future engagement. Every eye in the place was riveted on her, speaking volumes of the electricity that her mere presence generated.

Miss Barr was very accommodating, going around meeting everyone, and later huddling with the other performers. After meeting Johnnie Dillinger, the club’s current headliner, Candy invited Johnnie to join her and her friends at their table. Johnnie spotted me during their conversation. She motioned me to come over.

After Johnnie introduced me to Candy Barr and her companions, Candy, as I had hoped, graciously asked me to join her party. She was such a babe, and believe me, she was well aware of it. She was confidence personified—why not? She must have lived by the old adage; You had better flaunt what God has given you before Father Time takes it away.

Candy moved her voluptuous body with the agility of a cat. Her figure was extraordinary, encased in a skin tight, black sheath dress that left little to the imagination. I kicked it back, being quite content to just sit, look, and listen to this lovely young girl rattle on, all the while entertaining the thought on just how I would go about tackling this Texas Spitfire.

While