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I was starting to get the picture：
Camelot was a private club and an inside jokeand I didn't know the password or the punchline。
I went to the J。B。 graduation dance on 6/14/62。 I wore my father's 1940…vintage gray flannel suit and drank some T…Bird with a neighbor kid en route。
I sweltered in gray flannel。 I squeaked across the dance floor in brown canvas shoes。 I asked Cynthia Gardner to dance。 She accepted in the manner of nice girls worldwide。 I sweated all over her and breathed Thunderbird wine in her face。
The class of Summer '62 passed into history。 The 4oo…odd members dispersed to three local high schools。 My season of craaazy discourse ended。
I didn't know what I walked away from。 I left J。B。 with no fanfare and no friendships intact。 I didn't know what I'd learned about myself or other people。 I didn't know that the inexorably destructive course of my life had been diverted and subsumed by a magical time and place。 I didn't know that the seeds of a gift were nourished then and there or that the raucous spirit I carried away would influence my ultimate survival。
My life went waaay bad。 I gave up fifteen years to booze； dope； petty crime； and insanity。 I rarely thought about John Burroughs Junior High School。 I stumbled past it and never acknowledged it with affection。 I never thought about my stooges or Jay Jaffe and the Great Berko。 I carried snapshots of the girls in my head and loved them in place of real women。
I almost died in '75 and cleaned up in '77。 The act was reflexive and instinctive and tweaked by ambiguous forces that I didn't prehend in the moment。 It was a blessed non sequitur。 I didn't dissect the act or question its ponentry。 I didn't want to look back。 I wanted to write books and look forward。
I did it。 I moved east to expedite my forward momentum。 I shut my unacknowledged Camelot in a time…locked vault and forgot the bination。
A series of external events clicked into place and inspired me to reinvestigate my mother's 1958 murder。 I spent fifteen months in L。A。 and wrote a book about the investigation。 It forced me to walk backward in time and linger in Camelot。
My time lock blew。 All the old players flew out of the vault。
There's Howard Swancy。 There's Berko and Jaffe。 There's the girls I stalked and all the Naked and the Dead in a jumble of faces and voices。
My memoir was published in November '96。 I spent ten days in L。A。 on the publicity tour。 Kosher Canyon and Hancock Park took on a wild new sheen。 I drove byJ。B。 every chance I got。 I sent up prayers for the faces and voices every time。
I designated J。B。 as a formal phenomenon。 I developed narrative lines on the players and began to view them as kids and middleaged men and women。 They wore interchangeable masks。 They moved between then and now in unpredictable ways。 I fashioned their masks from memory and flattered them with their presentday faces。 I did not know what they looked like now。 I granted them beauty as a way to say； Thanks for the ride。
A year passed。 My memoir was published in paperback。 A tollfree number and e…mail address were listed at the back of the text。 They were there to solicit leads on my mother's murder。
An old J。B。 classmate read the book and contacted me。 His name was Steve Horvitz。 I didn't recall him。 He remembered me vividly。 He ran down a list of my antics and detailed his own life then to now。
His parents were L。A。 kids。 His old man came out of Boyle Heights； and his old lady went to Le Conte and Hollywood High。 They broke up in '55the same year my folks split the sheets。 Steve lived at Olympic and Cochran。 He hung out with Ron Stillman； Ron Papell； and JayJaffeall lawyers now。 Jaffe moonlighted as a TV pundit。 He worked the Oj。 Simpson trial for KCBS。
Steve went to San Francisco State。 He stalked Jill Warner in Friscomore successfully than I stalked her in L。A。 He graduated and sold insurance。 He went into his old man's wholesale candy and tobacco biz。 He made a mint off high…interest CDs in the gogo years and bought a car wash and a marketing business。 He did custom framing for model homes and design work for restaurants and coffee shops。 He went into the sports lithograph field and lost a mint in the Bush recession。 He was working on Mint #2 now。 Credit card processing was hot； hot； hot。 He had two sonsone from Wife #1 and one from Wife #2。 Wife #2 had a son from Husband #1。 Wives； kids； mintslife could be worse。
Steve and I became friends。 We shared a similar take on Camelot and rehashed the time and place in two…hour phone talks。 We debated John Hunt as sadist or man…on…moral…mission。 We dissected 〃Kampus King〃 Tony Shultz and Tony Blanldeynow a big cheese with Newt Gingrich。 Steve stayed in L。A。 He didn't lockJ。B。 in a time…vault。 He retained a few friendships and had a handhold on the slenderJ。B。 grapevine。 He provided rumors and facts and a necrology。
Howard Swancyallegedly a cop。 Jamie Osbornedead in Vietnam。 Mark Schwartzdeadpossibly a dope…related homicide。 Eric Hendricksonmurdered in Frisco。 Laurie Maullin dead of cancer。 Steve Schwartzheroin O。D。 Steve Siegel and Ken Greenedead。
Lots of attorneysthe law attracted bright kids who didn't know what else to do with their lives。 Josh Trabulusdoctor。 Lizz GillTV writer。 The Great BerkoBerko'd out somewhere unknown。 Cynthia Gardnerlast seen as a Mormon housewife。 Leslie Jacobsonallegedly a shrink。
Steve lent me his 〃Burr〃 yearbooks。 The photos served as synaptic triggers。 My backlog of faces and events expanded fiftyfold。
Howard Swancy almost trades blows with Big Guy Huber。 LeslieJacobson twirls to the 〃Peppermint Twist。〃 JayJaffe wins a penny stomp that leaves a half…dozen kids bloody。 Herb Steiner rags the folk song craze at the Burr Frolics。 I disrupt a classroom postmortem on the Bay of Pigs invasion。 I contend that JFK should A…bomb Havana。 Kids bomb me with wadded…up paper。 I dig the attention and launch a counterattack。 The teacher laughs。 The same teacher laughed when Caryl Chessman got fried。
Steve and I deconstructed Camelot。 We conceded the predictable nature of fifty…year…olds looking back。 We traced the known arc ofJ。B。 lives and the mass reconstellation at Berkeley in the late '6o's。 We tagged it as predictably emblematic and explored it as a cliché and an issue of enduring ideals。 We questioned J。B。 as a substantive endeavor or a freeze…frame from some ditzy teen flick。 I categorized it as an auspicious L。A。 lounge act。
We opened strong。 The curtain went down before we had to take it any further。
Steve said； 〃Let's get some motherfuckers together。〃
I said； 〃I'll fly out。〃
The Pacific Dining Car defines my L。A。 continuum。
It's a swank steak house west of the downtown freeway loop。 It's been there since 1921。 It's open twenty…four hours； every day of the year。 It's dark； cavelike； and lushly contained in the middle of a poverty zone。 I was born in the hospital half a block south。 I met my wife at the Dining Car and married her there。
Steve found most of the people。 A private eye found the rest。 The RSVP list tallied in at 99％。 One dinner turned into three。
Steve and I attended them all。 The Dining Car fe