Thursday, October 27, 2016

Mr. Bachman, I Presume

Text by Jason McKenney. Photos from the Interwebs.

A year ago I gave myself a reading mission to bulldoze through the entire Stephen King anthology in chronological order (based on publishing dates). I couldn’t read them consecutively, of course. I spread the King books amongst other titles because spending too much time inside this man’s head can cause harmful side effects (bad dreams, hearing voices, intense feelings of cynicism, binge drinking bad domestic beer, etc). After the first year of this mission, I have completed twenty-three titles. Mixed within this list are four novels King wrote under the pseudonym of Richard Bachman.

As King describes in his essay “Why I Was Richard Bachman,” in those early days of his publishing career (late 70s, early 80s), most publishing houses preferred not to release more than one title per year from any single author. Anyone who is reasonably familiar with Stephen King knows the man is nothing if not prolific in his output. The sheer volume of material he has produced in his lifetime is gargantuan and limiting his imagination to just one book per year would be considered a crime against humanity by some (a gift to humanity by others).  After he found publishing success with Carrie and The Shining, King approached his publishers and asked to have some of his earlier, smaller novels published, but these would only be released under a pseudonym, Richard Bachman.

“Richard” is a tribute to crime author Donald E. Westlake's long-running pseudonym Richard Stark. “Bachman” was inspired by the rock band name Bachman–Turner Overdrive. King even provided biographical details for Bachman in the "about the author" blurbs. Known "facts" about Bachman were that he was born in New York, served a four year stint in the Coast Guard, which he then followed with ten years in the merchant marine. Bachman finally settled down in rural central New Hampshire, where he ran a medium-sized dairy farm, writing at night, probably gnoshing on cheese as he did.

The first four Bachman novels (Rage (1977), The Long Walk (1979), Roadwork (1981), and The Running Man (1982)) are relatively short, simple dime novels. They are not horror novels, per se, nor are they filled with the monsters and supernatural elements we find in ‘Salems Lot or The Stand. Instead they could all take place in the same drabby dystopian near-future. Even without the ghosts and goblins and psychic powers from his other work, the Bachman novels are as compelling and filled with as much dread and black humor as anything else King had written under his own name.

“I’m a virgin,” Carol said defiantly, startling me up out of my thoughts. She crossed her legs as if to prove it symbolically, then abruptly uncrossed them.
--Rage

While reading these books, one can begin to triangulate the inchoate adolescent political feelings of King as a worried teenager searching for some way to warn his readers of mankind’s pending greed-driven downfall, but while also entertaining them. Warning them of the evils of excess consumption and authoritarian political control; a world where people care more about their status at work or whether or not they live “south of the canal” than care about their families or their neighbors.

This is a world where the people are passive victims of things much larger than themselves. Things they have no control over unless they choose to break the accepted social codes: a police state run rampant, the all-powerful 24-hour news media, reality TV, relentless man-hunters and belligerent fathers reeking of alcohol and motor oil. Rebelling against these titans of evil often comes at the expense of one’s own life.

“A feeling of panic rose in his gullet. He was suddenly and terribly sure that he was looking at the last daylight in his life.”
--The Long Walk

All four novels feel like they could have taken place in the same reality, like peeking into four different rooms in the same seedy motel. Roadwork gives a bleak view of a coming energy crisis (which with the gas rationing of the late 70s would have felt very real to Mr. King). The stressed out teenagers of Rage are coming of age in this new world where the progress of civilization is finally beginning to tip back in the opposite direction, shifting back to a darkening age of limited horizons where lives are colored with creeping shadows filled with superstition and rumor.

The Long Walk shows us the next phase of what these kids will go through once the new government regime, paranoid and cold, has created their wicked form of population control. The Running Man is the final climax where the energy crisis of Roadwork has led to a totalitarian nightmare where the children of Rage are now middle-aged and malnourished, living in a dark world devoid of empathy, purpose, and moral clarity.

“They don’t have returnable bottles anymore, either, Georgie. The gospel these days is no deposit, no return. Use it up and throw it out.”
--Roadwork

Rage is the one Bachman book that has received the most press recently, but not for reasons King would have intended. Initially written when King was still in high school in 1965, the book wasn’t published until a decade later after his breakthrough with Carrie. The book is about a psychologically damaged high school student who brings a gun to school. He shoots dead a math teacher and holds his entire Algebra class hostage. In a 2013 essay entitled "Guns," King acknowledged he wrote the novel in a world very different from the present-day.

“I suppose if it had been written today, and some high school English teacher had seen it, he would have rushed the manuscript to the guidance counselor and I would have found myself in therapy posthaste,” King wrote. “But 1965 was a different world, one where you didn’t have to take off your shoes before boarding a plane and there were no metal detectors at the entrances to high schools.”

What changed between 1965 and 2013 when King wrote the essay? Why are kids so different now? Is it the media? Oppressive government dictates? Drunk fathers? Something in our vegan almond milk lattes? Your guess is as good as King’s. He asked his publishers to remove Rage from publication after the novel was linked to four real-life school shootings.

Jeffrey Lyne Cox, a senior at San Gabriel High School in California, took a semi-automatic rifle to school on April 26, 1988, and held a humanities class of about 60 students hostage for over 30 minutes. Cox was later tackled and disarmed by another student. A friend of Cox told the press that Cox had been “inspired” by the Kuwait Airways Flight 422 hijacking and by the novel Rage, which according to the LA Times reports, Cox had read “over and over” again (it’s a good book and all, but over and over??).

Dustin L. Pierce, a senior at Jackson County High School in McKee, Kentucky, armed himself with a shotgun and two handguns and took a history classroom hostage in a nine-hour standoff with police on September 18, 1989. The standoff ended without injury. According to a New York Times report, Police found a copy of Rage among the possessions in Pierce's bedroom leading to speculation that he had been inspired to carry out the plot of the novel. But which came first: reading the novel or becoming emotionally unhinged to the point of taking hostages at school?

In February 1996, 14-year-old Barry Dale Loukaitis in Washington state was seemingly inspired by Rage when he shot and killed his algebra teacher and two classmates. He is currently serving two life sentences and an additional 205 years in prison with the possibility of parole in 2021. It was reported on the day of the shooting Loukaitis was dressed as a Wild West-style gunslinger and was wearing a black duster. Based on this information it’s possible The Dark Tower is the real culprit here. Looks like they got the wrong book!

In December 1997, Michael Carneal shot eight fellow students at a prayer meeting in West Paducah, Kentucky. He had a copy of the book within the Richard Bachman omnibus in his locker. This was the incident that moved King to allow the book to go out of print. Will this move lead a reduction in high school shootings? Or an increase in price-inflated Rage sales in the online economy? If only it were that easy.

“And the Hunters were fearfully, dreadfully good. They would be leaning hard on everyone he knew.”
--The Running Man

Another chilling moment to read for the first time in our post 9/11 world is the climax of The Running Man. At the end (spoiler alert), protagonist Ben Richards flies a jet airliner filled with fuel into a giant skyscraper in hopes of bringing down the all-powerful Free-Vee network that controls everyone’s putrid lives (granted, Richards willingly and voluntarily signed up for the extreme game show, but that’s beside the point). But Ben Richards was a freedom fighter, not a terrorist.

The link between King and Bachman was eventually exposed after a Washington bookstore clerk named Steve Brown noted similarities between the writing styles of the two authors. “When I read an advance copy of Thinner,” wrote Brown, “I was no more than two pages into it when I said, ‘This is either Stephen King or the world's best imitator.’”

Brown, putting on his detective hat, located the publisher's records at the Library of Congress. These records included a document naming King as the author of one of Bachman's novels. Brown wrote to King's publishers with a copy of the documents he had uncovered and two weeks later, King telephoned Brown personally and suggested he write an article about how he discovered the truth. At the time of the announcement in 1985, King was working on Misery, which he had planned to release as a Bachman book as well.

King has written a few more novels under the name of Bachman since 1985 even though we all know the cat is out of the bag. From his perspective I guess it gives him an outlet to deal with different topics and styles, going more for that dog-eared dime-novel one finds on drugstore spin racks, reeling off a good yarn in 300 pages or less. King wrote that he created Bachman as an experiment of sorts, to see if he could duplicate the immense success he had as “Stephen King” under another name. “Is it work that takes you to the top, or is it all just a lottery?” asks King. According to King the question remains unanswered. I would posit that there are ample helpings of both to reach his level of accomplishment.

Feeling Lazy: Walk Along Avenida Costanera, Chile


Text and photos by Jason McKenney

The quiet Avenida Costanera runs along a magnificent stretch of beach in Algarrobo, Chile. Roughly sixty miles south of Valparaiso, this soft, sandy beach looks out over a deep blue Pacific that hides some treacherous riptides below. Because of that you may not find many swimmers or surfers. The beach is generally vacant depending on the season and makes for a quiet getaway for a lazy afternoon.

Up the street is the A Todo Costa restaurant that has patio seating along the beach. Volleyball nets are setup in the sand nearby. After some fresh seafood and sipping a couple pisco sours, a stroll along the beach sounded quite appealing.

I have walked along this beach twice, both times in the late summer season (Feb-March in the Southern Hemisphere) and I hardly saw a soul either time. It’s tucked behind a small neighborhood just off the roadway referred to as G-98-F. The Avenida Costanera is a narrow, bumpy road covered with dust and faded memories. When traffic is light (which is most of the time) it’s easy to park by the sidewalk and step out for a promenade.

A small junk food stand rests along the sidewalk. A young girl stands outside eating a candy bar. Her mom runs the stand. They sell candy and gum, ice cream and cheap toys. I haggard-looking dog rests in the shade of the stand panting a mile-a-minute.

Your choice of treats
The rolling crash of the giant waves echo across the warm sand. It’s a sound that relaxes my tense shoulders. There are a couple sunbathers lying on the beach. A young family walks by enjoying the gorgeous day, but there is plenty of space for all of us. We might as well be on our own desert island. There are no sounds of traffic, no chattering tourists, no annoying radios. Nothing but the waves and the trills of seagulls. Thankfully I have a beach towel because that sand sure does look inviting.







Lovely.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

California Gold: Polly's On the Pier

View from the park
Text and photos by Jason McKenney

There are few things more relaxing than taking a quiet walk through Redondo Beach on a lazy Sunday morning. I had little Frankie in her stroller and we were out the front door by 7:30am. The overnight marine layer was quickly fading away and patches of blue could be seen above between puffy white clouds.

From home we headed down Torrance Blvd towards the shoreline. We crossed the Pacific Coast Highway and continued on to Catalina Ave where we turned north. Motor traffic was still light. Weekend cyclist teams were passing us by like gliding flocks of birds. Many of these groups nowadays seem to be populated almost exclusively with retirees, chattering away like teenagers as they ride.

Halloween on board!
We were moving parallel to the beach which was just on the other side of a row of apartment buildings and condos. Walking at a healthy pace I noticed some other Redondo eateries that I enjoyed visiting. The Standing Room shares a small space with Catalina Liquor and delivers amazing burgers with a Korean twist. Catalina Coffee & Café was where the missus and I stopped for a large breakfast prior to getting married (at a courthouse in Compton of all places). Their waffles are out of this world.

None of these places were my focus today. On this particular Sunday morning, my eldest daughter and I were making our way to another one of Redondo’s best breakfast nooks: Polly’s On the Pier.

I turned the stroller west into Czuleger park and we walked out to a circular bench built up with concrete that somewhat emulates the bow of a ship, providing a great view of the Pacific and the horizon beyond. During the week, this little hideout will often be commandeered by high school kids smoking pot or riding skateboards. Today I had it all to myself.
International Boardwalk

Moving on, we followed the sidewalk down the hill of the park and towards the pier. We walked along the International Boardwalk where some very interesting boats are docked. This is also a great place to rent stand-up paddle boards, kayaks, and take glass-bottom boat tours.

Heading out through the parking lot past the R10 Social House (great seasonal bistro food) and Sambas (lots of meat, lots of samba), we walked along the breakwater towards the small wooden pier where Polly’s is located. Time to rest.
Across the breakwater

Polly’s is open from 6am til 2pm every day and is cash only. We sat outside by the water. Frankie pointed at the long-legged pelican walking along the hand rail and yelled, “Nini!”

“No, Frankie, that’s not our dog.”

The pelican was waiting patiently for any dropped bait the fishermen further down the pier might leave behind.

Polly's On the Pier
Drinking hot coffee with cool morning sea air in your lungs must be what heaven is like. Or it might be like the 3-egg omelette I ordered that was stuffed with cheese and fresh crab. Brutally delicious. Our waitress, a chipper young woman named Cassie, suggested the Minnie Mouse pancakes for Frankie. For $2 she got a large pancake, two silver dollar pancakes on top for eyes, and a generous helping of melons and pineapple on the side. Frankie devoured the pancakes as if she had just returned from the war. Nap time would soon be on her horizon.

Redondo Beach is not exciting. If you want that, go to Sunset or LA Live or Koreatown. Redondo is a place meant for leisurely walks and breakfasts by the sea. And on a slow Sunday morning what could be better than that?

Frankie loves her pancakes


The RB later in the day, after the sun had returned








Up Close and Personal: The Filipino Wet Market


Text and photos by Jason McKenney

Now I know why they call it the “wet market.” I followed Vina through row after row of freshly butchered pigs and goats. The large head of a cow sat on a bar stool like a child’s forgotten toy. Piles of fish were spread out over beds of ice that were quickly melting in the early morning heat, dripping onto the pavement into little rivulets that weaved their way to cluttered drains.

The market (or palengke in the local Tagalog tongue) was split into two distinct parts, wet and dry. Wet was where the meat and fish were. It was located underneath a large roof that rested on poles like a giant picnic pavilion or circus big top. Like an open-air warehouse. Dry was outside where the vegetables, flowers, and toys were sold. Those merchants had individual booths more like a farmer’s market or roving carnival.

It being my first full day in the Philippines I wanted to see something authentic. Something new. Something that would remind me I was a long ways away from Los Angeles. I got up early that morning and hopped into one of the motorized tricycles popular around the small town of Baler (basically a moped with a side cart). I rode with Vina who took me along to go shopping with her.

Each morning, after the porches are swept and the previous day’s trash is burning, women make their way to the market to pick up their needs for the day. Arrive early to get the freshest offerings. Arrive late and you’ll find nothing but scraps.

My head spun from the activity around us. Shoppers haggled for prize product and lower prices. Children too young for school ran through the aisles looking for new toys and chasing away stray dogs. Fresh meat, tripe, and assorted organs sat out long the table tops to be picked over and packaged. Large fish in a variety of tropical colors were stacked in piles, eyes wide open staring at me (Pick me! Pick me!).

Vina, a middle-aged businesswoman who ran a large household, was letting me stay with her family during my visit. Over the next few weeks while I was in the Philippines either she or one of the kids would be sent out to the market each morning to pick up goods for cooking that day. The market was a central hub for the small fishing village, providing not just food and clothing but gossip, friendly interactions, and other social connections.

At one point Vina held up freshly killed chicken for me to inspect.

“You will love this,” she said smiling brightly. “Tastes better than KFC.”





Outside at the Dry Market
























Under the Big Top of the Wet Market


Tuesday, October 25, 2016

California Gold: The Wiltern Theatre


Text and photos by Jason McKenney

October in LA means plenty of options for Halloween-themed parties and concerts to get dressed up for, and few rock bands bring out the devil inside our youth better than the Swedish outfit referred to as Ghost. The group is known for their eccentric on-stage presence consisting of colorful lights, devil-worshiping campiness, face-concealing costumes, and a lead singer who wears a prosthetic mask with skull face paint. The lead vocalist calls himself Papa Emeritus, and the musicians are referred to only as Nameless Ghouls and remind me of extras from the secret party scene in Eyes Wide Shut.

I attended the show at the Wiltern Theatre with a long-time friend of mine named Max and enjoyed every minute of it. The lobby was filled with concert-goers decked out in their best Goth outfits. Dudes wore black on black. Ladies wore short leather skirts with knee-high boots. Their hair was long and their tops were low. The concert itself ran nearly two hours with the group playing most of the songs from their three studio albums. This was the second show on as many nights for Ghost and both shows were sellouts.

The Wiltern Theatre (located at the corner of Western Ave and Wilshire Blvd in the Koreatown neighborhood of LA) sits at the base of the 12-story Pellissier Building. The building, beckoning the halcyon days of old Los Angeles, is an Art Deco masterpiece covered with blue-green terra-cotta tile and is situated diagonal to the street corner.

Built in 1931, the Wiltern Theatre was originally designed to be a vaudeville theater and was called the Warner Brothers Western Theater. It was renamed to Wiltern just a few years later. Today, the venue hosts a variety of stage acts from metal bands to talented violinists like Damien Escobar to Japanese idol groups like Momoiro Clover Z.

Once the show was over and I had taken out my ear plugs, Max and I walked up a block on Western to grab a late supper at a relatively new gastropub called Beer Belly. Being Koreatown it did not feel out of place to find Beer Belly tucked between the Horse's Mouth oyster bar and I Love Boba.

PCC Cheeseburger
Beer Belly specializes in craft beer and serving meat fried in delicious duck fat. I ordered the signature Pork Cheek Chili Cheeseburger ($15.50) which consists of pork cheek chili and a waffle-battered onion ring on top a generous patty (add a fried egg for $1.50). Our appetizer were pork belly chips (also fried in duck fat) and flavored with sweet onion sugar. Healthy? No way. Delicious? Beyond belief.