Letter to John DiLeo

Hi John,

It’s been a while since I’ve written, and a few things have happened. I’ve been rather busy. But early this morning, I was possessed with the idea of watching The Elizabeth Taylor version of Sweet Bird. I’ve had this on DVD for YEARS, but suddenly, I was struck by the fact that even though I was in the meeting with Zev Buffman at ICM, where EVERYONE else was trying to convince TW to let her re-make it as a movie (He refused, not for talent reasons, but because he thought she was simply a few years past the then-believable age-point for the role. I disagreed, but kept that to myself -- this is reported in my book.), I had never even watched the DVD (let alone the TV showing).

Shocking!

I immediately fixed that error, although I must admit to you that the experience was most draining. I drank two full liters of water -- just to keep my eyes from dehydrating. And of course, I thought of you and your book about the (or some of the) repeat-players in Tennessee Williams movies. I trust Liz is included. Tell me this is so.

Other than some key players (Rip Torn! Mark-the-Under-appreciated Harmon!), a couple of faces I couldn’t connect to names (Miss Lucy! The Waiter! The In-print Reviewer!), and a cleverly hidden Michael Wilding (her son, I presume), hiding in the credits, it seemed all names I had never come across before -- except, of course, my old friend (now deceased), Gavin Lambert.

Last I saw Gavin (at the New Orleans TW Fest about four years ago), we had a brief talk before he went on the podium, and he told a story which is NOT in my book, so I’ll share it now:

When I (alone) picked him up at the airport in Key West a few days before Christmas, 1981, I was very nervous. I knew he would do important service for Tom, and I knew that he could write a damn good screenplay -- so good, in fact, that my father, despite all the evils he accepted from my mother, had TWICE told me that the movie The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone was his favorite movie ever.

Really.

Of course this confirms both his native intelligence and sensitivity -- and that certain of my accusations about his early sex-life are literally true. He’s also said that The Night of the Iguana is one of the best films ever made. Dad was a sailor (US Navy), for Christ sake. What kind of fellas do you think are attracted to being stuck for months on end with nothing but MEN???

Anyway, Gavin (without using my name) told how Tennessee’s assistant had picked him up and immediately declared he was bipolar, but -- not to worry -- on Lithium. Gavin said he thought how unfortunate. Tennessee would have much preferred that he (I) not be.

Well, I wasn’t. I was just intimidated and felt I had to let Gavin know I wasn’t a crazy nut case. I had lied to him that day. And then, I never did figure out how to put this little vignette into my book.

Anyway, I found that this movie version of Sweet Bird, made shortly after TW died and on less than a block-buster budget, absolutely REEKS of love for Tennessee Williams -- and service to this thing we call God. I blame this ENTIRELY on Elizabeth Taylor, who, like me, is an absolute monster -- Praise Jesus!!!

So, while I have earlier declared Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis to be the True Queen of America, Liz Taylor has proven herself to be the True Queen of the Jews -- and I know Jackie doesn’t mind my saying this: There is no higher title for a woman (not that there is a higher one for men either).

So, a few days ago, after the irreversible mental work had been completed (bringing “the World” to a close -- so that it/we can LIVE forever, perfected. This will take time to play out in the material world of time and space. Some details yet to be worked out.), I finally got around to re-submitting my ms to a very qualified -- family-connected, even -- agent-like person, and sent a letter to the Mayor (Presidente) of Puerto Vallarta proposing a 100th birthday party for Tennessee here. Of course we would love to have Elizabeth Taylor attend if it’s at all possible -- BUT -- it’s too soon to hear back from the city people, as I gave them a few other things to consider as well.

I don’t like to get too far ahead, but then impatience is my hallmark. I’ve had this fantasy, which I bet I could make real:

Liz Taylor might want to travel by airship -- and that is most practical -- but what if she was floated into the cove at Mismaloya on a recycled and extravagantly decorated Findlay Oil oil barge? The shore would be lined with tiki torches and an army of Aztec Warriors in high dress could pick her up in a sedan chair, and bear her “just like Cleopatra” up the hill to the movie set ruins, which are in incredibly good condition.

There, I (being the impure Aryan son of the former top Nazi-in-America, recently awarded “Honorary Jew” by one of the Reiners-of-Hollywood -- and 6’ 11” tall, to boot!) would fall to her feet and pledge my eternal service. Let’s just hope she remembers this would be a piece of drama, but if she wants more, the price (she should be warned), would be quite high.

I think this would be a great kick-off to a World-Class Party. I also think it should be a week or so before TW’s birthday. The New Orleans Festival is then (or thereabouts), and I don’t want to steal their limelight. I believe you are going to be speaking there this year -- just hope your book is close enough to publication that Thomas Keith and Michael Remer cannot kill it now and leave Paul Willis to cut your ass with glee, like he did me and mine.

BTW: Is Hansen Publishing on the up-n-up? Thomas seemed to have control of the owner, and Kenneth Holditch’s book is no doubt still delayed. Thomas suggested them as an alternative publisher before I even knew Alyson never intended to publish my book. Now, that, there, is a true red herring -- with varicose veins! (sic)

I need to wrap for now. Once I’ve actually met with local officials, I’m hoping to enlist the help of Rick McKay, whom I met in ATL when he toured with his movie Broadway: The Golden Age. Just now, I’ve noticed HIS contact info has disappeared from my computer (but it’s easy to find). Even the guy (Yes, you, Anthony: the marijuana dealer who hides on the grounds of the private school I dreamed of buying in Stone Mountain), who helped me by putting all my DVDs and BDs into sleeves to save space when I moved, neglected to pack the movies that are of the most interest to my work.

I swear: It would take the entire profits of Walmart to pay for all the surveillance I can now PROVE they had on me -- and over many, many years. This is why everything costs so much more in America. The Republicans had to charge you while they were fucking you. And then triple the cancer-producing chemicals in cigarettes -- should you light one in a desperate attempt to relax. The “Indians” called it “Peace Pipe” -- with good reason.

And I still don’t have internet here. Landlord showed up with box -- and it connects -- but my computer is still blocked (can’t blame him for that). I DO have a “recycled” fridge (no problem with that either -- except the compressor has not once stopped running, so hardly energy efficient). Mauricio seems to be a very cool guy, but Mexico is in the throws of its third Revolution, in which the descendants of native peoples are re-asserting control. Mauricio appears to be primarily of European descent, which means of “Christian” ancestors, who naturally project onto others the hatred 2,000 years of lies and aggression have imprinted so deeply on themselves. How foolish these believers in The Ultimate Heresy are. (Not that the BULK of Christian believers aren’t perfectly fine. OK: Maybe not the BULK.)

“I Pity the Poor Immigrant.”

Thank you Judy, Joni, Bobby, and Leonard -- but most especially the Pet Shop Boys, who are the one band that has ALWAYS been out ahead of me and seemingly lighting my way. Cubism. Mexico.

Gracias, Senors Tennent y Lowe!!! I NEVER could have done it without you. Ditto for Randall Kenan’s and Meryl Streep’s work. Ditto.

John: I hope as things develop you can play an important role in planning this party.

And I have some good news to share: Yesterday, I broke down and began selling my Mirage Omnipolar speakers. Today, I have FIVE items in my refrigerator. Unfortunately, I could not afford the whole wheat bread (like in the US, embalmed is cheaper), but I CAN make a hard-boiled-egg sandwich. I now even have REAL mayonessa (pint-sized)!!!

And HOLY SHIT: I just checked and I’ve actually got live internet in my apartment, finally. Can this last???

UPDATE: NO!!! CNN downloaded, but as soon as I tried to send an email, I was recognized and my connection immediately cut by the Internet Police -- whoever and where ever they are. And I have just decided I will stay in my apartment and STARVE before I sell another item in my possession. Many people reading this email with interest actually own homes, cars, stocks and bonds. If you claim you actually give a shit about the truth about TW and don't give a shit about my welfare, then HE says you should go to hell and never recover. I have to think on this a bit to decide how to implement a selection process that is fair and equitable.

I can't believe I have to wrest cash out of your filthy little hands like you were nothing but dead cadavers.

Maybe you are. Have you looked in the mirror lately??? Is this why Tennessee so hated scholars??? And silly me, I had thought he was mistaken. . . .

Only Liz Taylor has proven Tennessee wrong. That's why I adore her.

John, I'm proud that I've ended my book quoting your comment on the appearance of TW's stone in Cathedral John the Divine. I'm proud to quote John Shanley's "Gorgeous Beast" comment just before that as well. This does not apply to you two, Allean, Kenneth, or Gregory (or Jim or Steve).

All best,
Scott