Right Place, Wrong Time!

It was in 1973 that Dr. John had a hit with "Right Place Wrong Time". The lyrics pretty much summed up that year for me. It was my twenty-fifth year.

 "I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong time
I'd of said the right thing
But I must have used the wrong line
I been in the right trip
But I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a bad place
And I'm wondering what it's good for"

I was living in a one bedroom apartment just off Melrose and La Cienega in West Hollywood with my college buddy, Chuck. He was working for a bottling company and always brought home store brands of soda by the case. I was working as an apprentice film editor for my uncle- which is another story.

It was a Friday night. Not much going on. We headed over to my college sweetheart's house who was no longer my college sweetheart since she was now living with an attorney. Maybe he was only a junior attorney. Or an associate. I can't remember. But we had all ended up as friends! They had recently returned from a trip to India. We had to look at their vacation photos for an hour or two before we could ask if they wanted to join us. Chuck and I were going dumpster diving- which has nothing to do with dumpsters but everything to do with decorating your apartment on a tight budget. We had selected Beverly Hills as a good place to find discarded treasures. Larry and Betty declined to join us but they offered us a joint to smoke on the way. This from a future attorney of America? We didn't take it with us- the only smart thing we did, or didn't do, that night.

So we drove into Beverly Hills expecting the trash to be out at the curb for pickup. Nothing! We both realized, probably at the same time, that Beverly Hills is all about the facade. Glitz and glamor. Therefore, something as mundane, as plebian, as trash would never be out on the main thoroughfare for everyone to see. We had to find  a side street or alley whereby the servants, maids and butlers, service people entered and exited. It was easy. The alley was right where it should have been, just in back.

The alley was dark, no lights at all, so we had our headlights pitched on high, traveling at about 10 mph down one alley and into the next. Nothing. No trash!

There was, however, a glint of reflected light caught in our rear view mirror. Another car. Following us. We speed up, they match us. We turn out of the alley then onto Wilshire Blvd. Bright lights from the car behind flood the interior of our car. Then the flash of red lights. We pull to the curb.

Chuck and I agree not to say anything about dumpster diving. Embarrassed!

They split us up right away, questioning us separately. I give some lame excuse about why we're cruising the alley, though for the life of me anything I can think of now, 37 years later, sounds as idiotic as it probably did then. My cop has one hand on his holster, the other gripping my license and registration. He pokes his head into the back seat and asks why there's a change of clothes and a screw driver. I tell him they're Chuck's- who works in a factory. I guess he doesn't buy it because next thing I know, I'm being arrested. I look over at Chuck. His hands are already cuffed behind his back.

Passing cars slow down and gawk at the crime of the century. What are we being arrested for? Suspicion of Burglary! We're tucked into the blackandwhite and wait for the tow truck to impound our car. Chuck is starting to shake. I'm numb. We're hunched down in the back seat, sitting forward with our hands locked behind us. We don't dare look at each other.

We're driven to the Beverly Hills police station. Around back. Into the garage. We're ushered out of the car and into a small hallway where the cops remove their guns and place them into a safe in the wall. They unlock the steel door in front of us and we all step into the elevator. Upstairs, the handcuffs are removed and I try not to rub my wrists like I've seen in countless film noir movies. But it can't be helped. It's automatic.

It's a quiet weekend in the station. No one else but the two of us and a station full of cops. We're locked into a holding cell. We're taken out, one at a time. Fingers are printed. Mugs are shot! They take my wallet and look through the contents. I have Larry's business card in there. That makes me even more guilty, having a lawyer's card on me. They ask why. I tell them he's a friend. I get my own private cell for the night, with a one inch thick mattress on top of a metal cot anchored into the wall. A rough, moldy woolen blanket for warmth. I don't see where they take Chuck. About an hour, later I get my one phone call. It's now about 1 in the morning. I call my dad!

I never asked how he knew what to do but about 3 hours later, after trying unsuccessfully to catch some shuteye (that's how us criminal types talk), we were released on $500 bail each. We walked out of the front door of the jail into a waiting cab. It was now 4 in the morning.

A couple of hours later, we confronted my parents. They seemed to take it pretty good. Better than us! Chuck looked like he was coming down with the flu; eyes glassy, skin pasty white, lips tinged blue. My dad took us to pick up the car. Chuck kept muttering "I don't want to go to the big house"! That was his mantra throughout the following week. When we met with a lawyer to discuss our upcoming court appearance, Chuck was told "you won't even go to the small house"! Our mouthpiece was right. We never even went to trial. The case was thrown out of court. In fact, we were told there was no such thing as suspicion of burglary. Our case never made it onto the court calendar. The cops used us to close out their shift in relative comfort, rather than behind the wheel for another hour or two. Beverly Hills' finest. Having a laugh.

"I been in the right place                           

but it must have been the wrong time     
I'd have said the right thing 

but I must have used the wrong line
I'd have took the right road 

but I must have took a wrong turn
I'd have took the right move 

but I made it at the wrong time
I been on the trip road 

but I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a good place 

and I wonder what it's bad for."