BOW #18: Rock Hudson
San Diego, California
March 1, 1974
8:19 a.m. Pacific Standard Time
“We have all the maps you want at the front desk. However if you tell me where you and...” glancing at his note pad, “Mrs. Lipensky are planning on going today, we’ll be only too happy to route you there and back.”
“Really? How nice! Okay, we were thinking of driving towards ‘Sea World’ then onto ‘Coronado Island’ then we’d like to see Tijuana. Maybe even have lunch in Mexico.”
“Sounds like a nice day, Sir… Are you first planning on attending our ‘complementary full course breakfast’?”
“Well, hold on a second, will you.” Holding his hand over the receiver. “Marcy, you want to go to the hotel’s ‘free breakfast’?”
“ ‘For free’? Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Okay...” speaking into the phone “...we'd love to do your breakfast.”
“You’ll enjoy it… When you’re finished with breakfast, go to the front desk and ask for ‘Jason’…”
“ ‘Jason’; that’s you?”
“Yes, Sir. After breakfast come to the front desk and I’ll have your maps, your routing for the entire day and the keys to your ‘Buick’ convertible… Oh, yes, one thing more.”
“What’s that, Jason?”
“What color would you like the car?”
“Jason wants to know what color we would like the car.”
Thinking a moment. “Blue.” Marsha said.
“Blue.” Mitchell said.
9:40 a.m. Pacific Standard Time
“You were right, Jason, ‘thank you’!” Marsha said. “Breakfast was wonderful!”
“I thought you’d enjoy our breakfast.” Motioning towards the ‘Shelter Inn’s’ sparkling clear, double-wide plate glass door-way. “Your car’s right outside.”
Coming from the lobby, stepping outside…
“Oh, my God!”
Its top down to a perfect, seventy-four degree Southern California morning, the powder blue, 1974 Buick ‘Wildcat’ convertible with white leather interior, sat parked immediately adjacent the plate glass doorway.
Unbelievably... “This is our car, Jason?”
Handing Mitchell a set of keys. “Yes, Sir...” holding the door open for Marsha “...until midnight.”
Seating himself onto the wonderfully soft, glove leather seat, thinking, Wonder if this is how Cinderella felt?
Seating herself onto the wonderfully soft, glove leather seat, “I’m beginning to feel like Cinderella.” Marsha said,
Handing Mitchell two maps and a type written route sheet, “Take a left there…” speaking slowly, pointing to a short, two lane road “...to Rosecrans where you’ll go right… then a right onto North Harbor Drive… to U.S. five North… to ‘Sea World Drive’…
By the confused look on his face, noting Mitchell had lost him at ‘North Harbor Drive’.
“If you pay attention to the street signs and follow your route slip…” Jason said patiently “...it’ll take you from ‘Sea World’ to ‘Coronado’ to ‘Tijuana’ and back to Shelter Island.”
Reading the double spaced route slip, easily following Jason’s verbal instructions. “Thanks’, Jason, you’ve really been helpful.”
Having done this, minimally, three times a day, five days a week for the past four years. Knowing the routine, but not speaking as though by rote. Giving the impression that he was truly concerned – and Jason actually was truly concerned with the safety and enjoyment of the ‘Shelter Inn’s’ guests, and his concern did go beyond the usually large tips he received.
“One thing more, Sir. When you get into Mexico do not… I repeat, ‘do not’ drink the water. If you get thirsty, buy a ‘Coke’. If you do eat lunch there, do not, I repeat, ‘do not go native’! Eat at one of the larger restaurants that’ll have the word, ‘American’, somewhere on their signs.”
“Can we drink the water there, then?”
“I’d say yes; they usually serve bottled water, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
Turning the key in the ignition. “Thanks’ again.” Feeling the smooth purr of the eight cylinder engine, smoothly pulling away from ‘The Shelter Inn’ driveway, the Buick took a left onto the short, two lane road and within seconds, a right onto ‘Rosecrans’...
Running through the commercial and industrial sections of the city of San Diego, it’s about a twenty minute drive to U.S. 5… Then north on ‘five’ for roughly seven miles to ‘Sea World Drive’…
‘Sea world’ being on a peninsula, ‘Sea World Drive’ meanders through a beautifully manicured flower enshrouded field that runs westerly and– in the direction the powder blue Buick convertible was going – there was a wide inlet of the blue Pacific to the left.
As Sea World would not open until 11:30 a.m., driving up and down a few of the empty aisles of this huge parking lot.
“Mitchie...” Marsha asked “...why are we here, driving around an empty parking lot?”
Enjoying being behind the wheel and driving this beautiful, powerful, automobile… Even if it was going no place but around an empty parking lot
Thinking a moment, asked sheepishly. “ ‘A parking lot tour’.?”
“Mitchell…” Marsha said with a slight giggle “...this parking lot looks like any other empty lot. So why are we here?”
“Well...” motioning to the inlet “...It is kind of beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but right now we’re just looking at an empty parking lot.”
“The kids want to come here, too. So at least we’ll know how to find it.”
“Yeah, that is true .” Adding “And so you’ll know what to do once we get here… Like park.”
“Yeah, I guess…” dumbly questioning “...wann’a leave here, huh?”
“Yes. At least in ‘Coronado’ we can walk on the beach.”
“Yeah, okay." Looking at Jason’s route slip.
Retracing most of the trip to the ‘Sea World’ parking lot, now though traveling south to where ‘U.S. 5’ became ‘The San Diego Freeway’….
Remembering how horrible the unbearably frigid conditions had been when they’d boarded the plane in Chicago two mornings ago compared to…
“My, God!” Her arms stretched upward extended from side to side. The tepid wind blowing her hair. “Mitchie, I ‘love’ it here!”
Zipping along ‘The San Diego Freeway’ in a ‘nifty’ powder blue convertible with, by this time, a seventy eight degree breeze ruffling both their hair.
“Me, too, baby! Me, too. I can’t wait!”
Exiting ‘U.S. 5’ at ‘California 75’ which leads directly to…
Across the bay from Downtown San Diego, the two-mile long, ‘Coronado Bay Bridge’ connects the city of San Diego to…
Following Jason’s route sheet: ‘California75’ becomes ‘4th Street’. Once across the bridge, take a left turn onto ‘Orange Avenue’ to ….
‘Hotel Del Coronado’
Built in 1888, this classic ocean-front hotel had been trumpeted as one of America’s most beautiful beach resorts.
With its red turrets piercing the deeply blue California skyline, the ‘Hotel del Coronado’ radiated a Victorian splendor that was without equal.
Pulling into an adjacent parking lot. “Come on, let’s go in!”
Both dressed in fairly nice, though not overly expensive summer clothing, holding hands they entered through the main entryway into a world of heretofore unseen old fashioned, old world shiny wood grained, red carpeted splendor.
“Mitchie, this is just about the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, me, too. I can’t even imagine what it cost to stay here.”
Walking slowly, looking into the windows of the many, financially out of reach, shops that were to be seen throughout the Del Coronado promenade.
Though there were a goodly number of ‘properly’ dressed people sitting on old fashioned over stuffed wing chairs and sofas and milling about the lobby, no one questioned the— comparably ‘commonly’ attired young couple that hand in hand leisurely strolled Hotel Del Coronado’s old world promenade
“I’ve heard that this is where Marilyn Monroe and lots of Hollywood people used to, and still do run away to when they want to get away from Hollywood.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that, too.” Mitchell said.
“Think we’ll see someone famous here today?”
“Don’t know.”
Walking from the front entrance to the rear, which opened into a huge horseshoe shaped cabana, umbrella and deck-chair adorned polished teak wood deck that overlooked a near white sand beach.
Spotting two side by side umbrella covered deck-chairs. “Come on, let’s sit for a while.”
“Mitchie, we’re not guests here, and we can’t just go sitting anywhere.”
“Honey, first off, how would anyone know that we’re not guests here? And if someone should happen by and tell us to leave, we’ll leave.”
“Smell this air, Mitchie. Oh, ‘God’ , how beautiful this is!”
Sitting…
Sitting within this story-book setting with the balmy ocean breeze fanning their bodies words were not spoken as there were no words that could describe the wondrous sense of peace, the wondrous sense of beauty that enveloped the husband and wife.
“Baby...” Mitchell said, cocking his head to the right “don’t gawk but take a look at who’s at that table.”
Turning in her seat, attempting to nonchalantly look over her shoulder at the two men attired in white shorts and T-shirts, appearing as though they're waiting their turn at one of hotel’s tennis courts.
“Can’t tell who he is but, ‘wow’!”
“Look again!”
Turning...“Mitchie…” turning back “...that’s ‘Rock Hudson’!”
“Yeah, that is. Recognize who he’s with?”
Quickly glancing over her shoulder again…
“Looks familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“Think ‘Andy Griffith’.”
“ ‘Andy Griffith’ ?” Another quick glance. “Oh, yeah! That’s the gas station guy, uh... ‘Gomer Pyle’.”
“ Yeah. ‘Jim Nabors’.”
“How do you remember all this shit?”
Shrugging his shoulders. “D’know.”
“Who do you think they’re here with… Think maybe ‘Doris Day’, and…?”
“ ‘Doris Day’? No, Marcie. Hate to break it to you, but most probably they’re here together.”
“What do you mean, ‘together’?”
“Marcie…” spoken in a jocular tone “...now don’t get ‘all’ upset, but Rock Hudson is ‘queer’, and him and Jim Nabors are, uh, what might be called ‘boy friends’, or something.”
“Mitchie…” spoken in a serious tone “...I ‘can’t’ believe it!”
“I didn’t either, but that’s what I heard.”
“Heard from ‘where’?”
“When I was at Mel’s last week…”
“When you went for a hair cut?”
“Yeah. There were these two guys ahead of me and I heard them talking and I didn’t believe it then either. Then a couple of days ago when I was looking for a ‘paperback’ to take along with us, the newspaper rack was right alongside and there was a heading on ‘The National Enquirer’ that said Rock Hudson and Jim Nabors were ‘boyfriends’ and still I didn’t believe it, but…” cocking his head to the right “...there they are.”
A formally dressed waiter approaching…
Expecting to be asked to leave, bodies tensing as preparing to stand…
“Good morning…” the formally dressed waiter said, asking “...would the lady and gentleman care to see our morning menu?”
Bodies relaxing. “No thank you...”Marsha said.
“We’ve already eaten, thank you.” Mitchell said.
“Have a wonderful day!” The formally dressed waiter said as, turning, he approached Rock Hudson’s table.
As the cabana area was becoming crowed with ‘proper’ guests, knowing they would have to relinquish their illicitly acquired accommodations…
“Think it’s time we leave?”
“Yes.”
Muttering, “I still don’t believe it.”
Hands still held, Mitchell helped Marsha to her feet.
Walking outside — through the wide, deck-chair covered, white painted veranda…
Stopping, looking back. “Remember the movie, ‘Some Like it hot’?”
Looking where Mitchell looked. “Sure, how could I forget, ‘Some like it Hot’? We saw it in Peoria; one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen.”
“Remember when the band along with Marilyn Monroe, got to the hotel they were supposed to perform at?”
“Yeah, where ‘Joe E. Brown’ tried to ‘make out’ with ‘Tony Curtis’? Sure!”
“Well that was all shot here.”
“Really?”
“Other than ‘Al Capon’s’ ‘Valentine Day Massacre’ in that garage in Chicago, and the train ride, the entire movie was shot right here.”
“You read that in ‘National Enquirer’ also?”
“Nah. I read it in one of the ‘Sights To See’ folders in the lobby.”
“You think, maybe— even for ‘one’ night we could afford to stay here someday?”
“And maybe even see ‘Doris Day’.” Lifting her hand to his lips, kissing it “...I sure would hope so.”
Next BOW”19:Remembrance
