"I think I learned how some writers fluff a novel up to 400 pages... Turns out
you can coax a thousand words out of a simple description. An overripe
tomato, a handbag. Anything.
- Forward (Scott Hulet) to 'Surf and Go! Fifty
Years Of Surf Writings'; Steve Pezman; 2022
Nat Sagaloff: "When you're confronted with a 500-plus page novel, how do you start
adapting it?"
John Milius: "Those two - 'The Hunt For Red October' and 'Clear And Present Danger'
were easy to do because [Tom] Clancy is a blowhard and he loves to tell
how much he knows about everything... all you have to do is follow the
the story and not go into detail on the cavitation of the propellers on
submarines or how the FBI tracks a killer in this place or how the young
boy shoots him with a .22.
- 'Big Bad John, The John Milius Interviews'
Nat Segaloff; 2021
"Just the facts, Ma'am"
- Sgt. Joe Friday, LAPD
We've recently been re-reading the Ian Fleming James Bond novels. Actually, re-reading nine and first reading of the remainder. We've long admired Fleming's style, particularly his concise attention to elegant, rich detail and frequent use of clever alternating narrative structure. He could wring out a simple description from one-half to full page length. We thought that we would try a rank amateur attempt at a few Fleming-esque elements applied to a short tale of reminisce. Maybe we could term it 'Fleming Creative Non-Fiction'.
An early Fleming/Bond reader since nine years old. Using Fleming technique, we used to rankle one particular English teacher in high school when set to task with an overnight 800-1000 word essay that she'd occasionally conjure. A stickler for quota. Usually pick a topic. One particular for instance: at a beginning of class, a girl got up out of her desk and tripped, falling to the floor. Thought "Hey, there's our story for today's assignment." Added a bit of fictional conflict regarding an intentional trip from a jealous rival. Between the girl getting up out of her desk and the incident, we easily had 800+ words of intermediate prose shaped with much description of classroom decor, e.g., 'She sat at her usual point position. Head of class. First row, middle seat. A wraparound desk with green molded plastic chair. An adjustable maple hardwood back rest. A single piece flat maple hardwood desktop. Four chrome-steel legs each with a ball and socket leveling foot. A matching chrome-steel bottom rack for storing school books, a sweater and other personal paraphernalia. A small stamped-metal nameplate on the rear of the backseat indicated the manufacturer as the Heywood Wakefield Furniture Company, Gardner MA." Or, "The new pencil rolled across the floor three rows. A wood-cased No.2 lead, Eagle brand. Signature yellow. Seven and one-half inch length. The one-quarter inch rubber eraser fastened by a metal ferrule." Once tasked with assistance for preparing an order for school supplies, with direct quote from the supply catalog, we added "... pre-sharpened, strong and sturdy. Practical for all writing use." We'd frequently toss in advertiser tag-lines, i.e., "Stronger than dirt."
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(Internet Image)
A spin of the flaggers paddle to SLOW and the carnival train of vehicles proceeds single file opposite the work zone at crawl pace. Bumper to bumper. Mostly autos and SUV's. A few light to medium duty pickups. Is the ebbing hour of the early morning traffic rush. About half past 9am. Work zone lane closure is a restricted 9am thru 2pm. The pattern is set. Crew and equipment in place. A turn of the key. A depress of the start button. And after a few staccato coughs and belches of black smoke the heavy Cummins diesel settles to a rough idle.
Blackburn Road connects the Pittsburgh suburb of Sewickley with the affluent suburb of Sewickley Heights. The latter sort of the Pittsburgh equivalent of Beverly Hills. A maybe two mile stretch of two lane blacktop winding thru a scenic woodland hollow. A rustic low stone guard wall, mined of early twentieth century Challis Quarry sandstone, edges the low side, or top-edge of slope, of the (for the most part) sidehill excavated roadway. A brilliant work of dressed ashlar. Master masonry at the best.
The task, for at least the week, is to investigate a bit of minor slope subsidence distressing a short stretch of the roadway. A truck-mounted soil/rock sampling drill rig and two man crew for the heavy work. A geologic engineer to log the soil and rock sampling and geologic strata. A two man flagging crew for maintaining active traffic flow. The work requires a single short-span lane closure of the two-lane roadway throughout the work zone. Along with our surveyor, we were out for the day to co-ordinate implementation of the work and to map the limits and features of the subsidence.
The work is always slow going. Repeated penetration to depth then subsequent extraction of a hydraulic hammer-driven soil sampler for recovering soil sample specimens. Alternately the strength of the sample zone is estimated as determined upon the resistance to sampler penetration in number of hammer blows-per-foot of penetration. Subsequent core sampling for bedrock identification if encountered within the proposed depths of study.
Mundane repetition. In between doing actual work you're either prattlin' with the crew or occasionally eatin' an orange or handful of grapes from your lunch. Frequent brief respite checkin' out the slow moving traffic flow for passing good lookin' gals. Checkin' your wristwatch for the time of day becomes oft recurrent as the day lingers.
Late morning and in the midst of an inching city bound parade of traffic we spot a stand out, top shelf Mercedes-Benz two-door roadster. SL class convertible. Top down. Silver on silver metallic paint glistening in the late morning sunlight like Lancelot's panoply. As it passes to within a few feet beyond we get a glimpse of the driver. Silver frame Dolce & Gabbana shades ridin' high on the forehead. Below, the signature jovial, "I got the world by the ass" beam. Had watched the guy throughout four winning Super Bowls. Back when it was real, hard nosed professional football. Damned if it ain't Pittsburg Steeler great Lynn Swann. No mistaking. Sleeves of his light blue Amiri button-up rolled just below the elbow. A short flare of reflective bright sunlight off the silver, aerospace grade Rolex Oystersteel. As he's passed another flare of bright sunlight off the mirror polished rear bumper gives the appearance that he just accelerated the 600+ horsepower twin turbo V12 into hyperdrive. A true knight in an SL 65 AMG charger. Excalibur.
Well, that bit of brevity broke up the monotony of the day. And we're gonna' ask for a raise when immediately back at the office.
Moments later we overhear quite a bit of clamor emitting from the two-way radio receiver of the nearby, up-zone posted traffic flagger. Sounded like there may have been a problem. A quick glance down toward the opposite station. Situation appears normal. They're both pretty young guys. Took a walk over to check. As we near the reception becomes clearer. The voice sounds frantic... "I DON'T BELIEVE IT!... I DON'T BELIEVE IT!... I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND!"... I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND!"
"What's the problem?"
"He's down there losing it... He thinks that Lynn Swann rode by."
"He did... saw 'em myself... silver Mercedes convertible... was pretty cool."
About two hours later we're again up near the upper flagger station when, again, all hell erupts thru his radio receiver... "OH MY GOD!... OH MY GOD!... HE'S HERE!... I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND!...
I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND!"...
We both take a look toward the lower end of the pattern. There's Swann's Mercedes. First car stopped. Head of the line. About ten feet away. Directly in front of our excitable boy. Holding his STOP/SLOW paddle in one hand he's snappin' photos like crazy with his cell phone in the other. Swann's hammin' it up. Playin' along and doin' a bit of driver's seat posturing. Funny as hell. Eventually the traffic pattern shifts and he gotta' let 'em thru. Right before he pulls out Swann blows the guy a kiss. He couldn't have played it any better...
"OH MY GOD!... OH MY GOD!... LYNN SWANN BLEW ME A KISS!... I DON'T BELIEVE IT!... I GOT A PICTURE!... I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND... I GOTTA' CALL MY GIRLFRIEND!"
As Swann passed he was laughing and grinning from ear to ear. A knowing look our way. He tossed a short wave of the hand and continued on his return to Camelot.
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Pennsylvania Route 5 (PA 5/Lake Road) runs the distance of the Erie, PA shoreline along Lake Erie. Pretty much the entire "coast" of northern PA. We had subcontracted a local norther PA traffic control outfit for a small, short term project along a short reach of the roadway. Don't recall the specifics of the work. Normally those flagging outfits employ mostly young guys/gals. Usually not a full time position. Work when it's available. Frequently not the most dependable of folks. Ya' see 'em come and go. This particular project the better half of the two man crew was a persistently diligent and tireless older fellow. And by older we're talkin' maybe mid to late 80's in age. An old man. Contrary to general perception, standing on hard, blacktop asphalt for six hours straight in the hot sun can be somewhat a chore, to say the least. Doesn't get easier with age. Out of his succession of partners thru the week, all at least sixty years younger in age, maybe one returned for a second day of work. The old man held his post like a Grenadier Guard throughout. Twice he did the work of both men, once until noon, while the home office scrambled to dispatch replacement for their AWOL personnel. In response to the fidelity he held for his work, we'd hear the younger guys comment "F*k that guy, he's crazy... I ain't gettin' paid enough to do that sh*t!" The old man never complained nor made a derogatory remark... "Aaaa... they're just young" was his only comment.
We got to talkin' to 'em. Don't recall his name. Said that he'd been retired for several years and took an occasional part-time flagging duty just for something to do... "Get bored settin' around." WWII was a captain in the US Army Air Corps (same outfit as ol' pop). Received a Purple Heart (wouldn't elaborate, and we didn't press). Retired mechanical engineer. Most notable was that he'd been a chief design engineer for Erie based, and world's largest toy manufacturer, Marx. He reeled off a list of toys, many iconic, that he'd held chief designer status and patent on. He was proud of his work. Don't blame 'em. Top of his list was that he was the guy that designed the (still) popular 60's toy, 'Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots'.
Good work old man.
