This all reminded me of a story from back in my college days.
My sophomore year, this was about January of '78, I had started to figure out that TV news might not be the best career for me. I'd had some really good recognition for my writing, and I started thinking about screenwriting. I was out to dinner with some friends. One of them was Jack D. Jack was one of the local station salesmen, and had previously worked as a disc jockey. Jack was a New Yawka.
"I gotta proposition for ya." said Jack. "You write really well. I've called some friends back in New York. I sent them some of your stuff. They want to meet ya."
This was it! This was my big break!
"They produce movies," he went on. "They've got an operation on 42nd Street. You'll write the scripts. You'll have an office all to yourself overlooking Times Square."
"What's not to like about that?" I replied.
"The problem is," said Jack. "Their industry doesn't have enough people who can write good scripts with plot and characters and all. Most porn ends up being a knock on the door. The milkman comes in, and everybody starts taking off their clothes. You've got--'
"This is . . . this is porn?"
"Well, yeah." said Jack. "Sorry, I musta slipped up. . . not mentioning up front. Yeah, you could do great things for that industry. You could get your feet on the ground and then start back taking classes at NYU."
I knew my folks would be aghast. I also dead-set on getting a degree. I really didn't have qualms about writing porn at the time. In fact, the first thing I'd gotten published in College was a SF short story about a lonely divorcee and a robot telephone repairman.
I think the biggest thing that sent me off was that I'd had a brief encounter with Larry Flynt the previous winter. We'd not been even introduced and he was already trying to use me. I'd had a really bad taste in my mouth over that, and I was still peeved. Working for a sleezebag was not my idea of success.
About a decade later, I was dating an opera singer that moved back to New York to jumpstart her career. Her apartment was at 42nd and 8th Avenue, overlooking Time Square. The door to her building was right next to a Live Sex Show, and when we went in and out, folks thought we were the stars showing up. I finally got a taste of the big city-- didn't like it much. I was glad I'd stayed in Cincinnati.
