Howard Stories
Among my various and sundry oddball interests, I am fascinated by the life and legend of Howard Hughes. His biography is, in my humble estimation, a quintessentially American tragedy, the story of a guy who possessed all the superficial trappings that everyone thinks will make them happy -- wealth, fame, power, sex appeal -- but who ended up as a miserable and pathetic wreck of a human being. The very trait that made him so successful in his various pursuits -- his obsessiveness -- was also his ultimate downfall.
I think most people today, certainly most younger people, know Howard only as the guy that Leo played in that one movie (which I quite liked, by the way). There was a time, however, when his name was one of the best-known in the world, first for his astounding personal wealth, then for his achievements, then, sadly, for his deepening mental problems and truly bizarre final years as a reclusive germophobe. It was this image of Howard Hughes with which I first became acquainted, thanks to my mother's interest in the Melvin Dummar trial when I was a child. And I think it is this image of Howard that is lodged most firmly in our popular culture; even folks who don't recognize Howard's name laugh when Mr. Burns becomes a parody of Howard on The Simpsons, because they have heard whispered tales of some insane billionaire who really did let his personal hygiene go to hell while his underlings ran the empire.
Although this isn't the period of Howard's life that most interests me, even I have to admit that there is something compelling about the stories of his years spent hidingfrom the world in Las Vegas hotel rooms. Partly, it's the lure of voyeurism, the shameful tendency we all have to want to gawk at the carnival freaks. But I think it's also partly because many of these stories are, well, charming -- Howard's often child-like behavior and low-brow tastes humanize the icon of wealth and evoke our sympathies, rather than merely our pity or disgust.
Mark Evanier, who is something of a sage when it comes to the old, pre-Disneyfied Vegas, related a number of these stories on his blog a couple weeks ago. They're all worth a look if you're in need of something to occupy your attention on this Friday afternoon.
I've heard the first one, which tells of the ends to which Howard's staff goes in order to keep the boss supplied with his favorite ice-cream flavor, before. It's recounted in a several sources, but it feels apocryphal to me, considering that it all seems to flow toward an inevitable punchline. Still, it is a funny punchline, and Evanier is good at telling it.
Evanier also details what an immensely wealthy man had to do in order to see his favorite movie on television in the days before VHS, and then he wraps up with kind of a catch-all entry that covers Howard's connection to the James Bond film Diamonds are Forever, and a little more about what it was like to live in Howard's Vegas.
Yep, a fascinating guy, that Howard...
Comments
Theory: Michael Jackson is this generation's Howard Hughes.
Discuss.
Posted by: Brian Greenberg | May 5, 2006 5:37 PM
Thought you'd get a kick our of this website because it shows an aerial photo of Hughes' XF-11 crash site in today's Beverly Hills. I'll have to take you there next time you come out.
http://www.check-six.com/Crash_Sites/XF-11_crash_site.htm
Posted by: Cranky Robert | May 6, 2006 12:03 AM
Brian, the Jackson-as-Hughes theory is interesting, and I think more-or-less valid. There are a lot of similarities in their stories, as well as in the life of Elvis Presley. I suspect that if all of them had been ordinary joes working in a garage or something, they may have been a little weird, but essentially okay guys. Because of their wealth and power, however, their respective psychological issues were allowed to become magnified to the most bizarre extremes.
The biggest difference between Jackson and Hughes that I can see is that Hughes liked girls...
Robert, it's a deal... although I think my next trip out there is shaping up to somewhat ghoulish. First the place where the Black Dahlia was found and now Howard's crash site - yeesh! ;)
Posted by: jason | May 8, 2006 9:37 AM
Somehow I've connected to the morbid aspects of L.A. history. We'll have to get you out here before the Black Dahlia movie comes out. The body site is likely to become quite a tourist destination.
P.S. We should discuss the Ellroy book sometime . . . it's going to draw a lot of attention to the case, even though the novel is only remotely based on reality. Here's a case where fact is indeed stranger and far more interesting than fiction.
Posted by: Cranky Robert | May 8, 2006 12:16 PM
I imagine all cities have a morbid side, if you dig deeply enough. Even quiet little Salt Lake has had its fair share of notorious murders, kidnappings, and general weirdness. But what makes LA's underbelly so compelling, I think, is that it coexists with the glitzy, fantasy image of swimming pools, movie stars, and carefree people living in the sunshine. The Dahlia case, for instance, is fascinatingly strange regardless of the showbiz connections, but the fact that she was a wannabe actress adds a little extra spice to the mix.
I think if a novelist had invented this case, everyone would've told him he'd gone too far...
Posted by: jason | May 8, 2006 1:20 PM