A large box awaited Jeannie on her porch.

“Hmm, what’s this?  QVC?  Ebay?  Amazon?”  Jeannie mentally reviewed all her favorite online order sites, and realized that she hadn’t ordered anything in a while.  She picked up the box and carried it inside, noting the lack of a UPS tracking sticker.  A few stamps adorned the top right corner.

“How did I order something weighing 25 pounds and I don’t remember doing it?” she wondered.

She set it down on the kitchen table and slit open the taped seams.    She opened the flaps, revealing an envelope on top of pink packing peanuts.  She picked up the envelope, then moved away some of the peanuts.

One hundred dollar bills in ten stacks, five by two, each wrapped with a white strip of paper, lay under the peanuts.

“Whoa, what the hell???”  Jeannie jumped back. “Oh my God!”

She double-checked the mailing address.  Yep, it was addressed to her, Jeannie Diana Wilson.  She sat down, shaking, still holding the envelope.  It was also addressed to her.  She opened it and removed a piece of paper.

“Dear Ms Wilson,

I trust you are in good health, and that all is well.  Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for myself.  By the time you read this letter, I should be dead, or at the very least, be in a coma.  I regret that we never got the chance to meet in person; I have heard of your work at the Southern California Art Institute and am quite impressed.

 I present to you this gift of a million dollars in cash with no regrets, and no strings attached.  Please use it as you see fit.”

“What the hell…. a million dollars????”  Jeannie dropped the letter and started pacing around the den and kitchen.

“There’s a million…. It said a million…WHY ME?”  She started talking out loud to herself.  To say that she was a little freaked out was an understatement.

“How does this man know who I am…and why is he giving me so much???”

Jeannie looked up and into the kitchen.  The kitchen window’s curtains were partially open.  Suddenly nervous that her neighbor had seen something, she walked over to the window to close the curtains, and to check the lock on the back door.  Locked.

“What am I going to do with all of this money???”

She walked back over, looked at the money, then went back into hallway and made sure the front door was locked.  She tested the lock from the inside, then suddenly grabbed her keys, and went outside.  She looked around to see if anyone was looking,  locked the door from the outside, then threw herself at it, trying to open it.

“Okay, lock’s good, but some big guy could come crashing through it…I have to get this money out of the house”.

Jeannie went back into the house, relocked the front door, and tested all the windows.  As she did, she kept looking back at the table which held the money.  Then she walked back over to it, and picked up the letter to finish reading it.

“I do have one request.  If at all possible, would you please attend my funeral, and meet my surviving family?   Simons and Walters will be handling the services; please call them at 626-555-3435 in two or three days.  The services should be scheduled by then.

If you feel uncomfortable at accepting this gift, please return it to my family at the funeral.  I will understand completely.

Best of luck, and thank you,

Walter Masterson”

Jeannie examined the box.  She noticed that the stamps were not cancelled, and the return address was smudged and illegible.   Then she sat down again.  “What if this is some weird trick?  What IS THIS?  WHO is this person…and why can he afford to give a million dollars to a stranger?  Is there really a million?”

She pulled out one of the 10 stacks of money in the box to examine it.

There were 10 bundles of 100-dollar bills in the stack.  The paper wrapper said that there were 100 bills in each bundle.

“Wow…if there really are 100 bills in each bundle…I have a million dollars…in my house!”  She decided to count one of the bundles.  Sure enough, it contained 100 bills.  The serial numbers weren’t exactly sequential, but they were all different and smelled and looked new. 

“I don’t even know this man…who is he? Oh wait…I know….”  She went over to her laptop sitting on the couch in the den, opened up a new web browser and typed “Walter Masterson bio” into the search window.  She clicked the web search button and read for a  bit.

There was quite a bit of information about the sender of the money.  Walter Masterson had had quite a history.   First a computer engineer who worked on the first cell phone technology, then a lawyer in this 30s, then studying accounting and investing wisely in the 80s and 90s had left him a millionaire several times over.  He was the owner of a foundation for scholarships, gave to the arts. 

“He must have a lot of money if he gave a million dollars to a stranger” she thought.  She kept reading.

He’d had his share of tragedy, however.  Seventeen years ago, he’d broken his leg, and was home with his three youngest grandchildren.  His wife, three children and spouses, and older grandchildren all died in a plane crash on their way to Paris.  He then raised his grandchildren alone, never remarrying.

“Wow…that’s so sad….now his grandkids are alone”.  Tears filled her eyes.  Her father had died when she was 25; her mother, 4 years ago.  She couldn’t bring herself to attend a funeral after that.

“Well,” she thought, “I knew at some point I’d have to attend someone’s funeral….maybe this one will be easier, since I don’t know him”.

She eyed the box again.  “But first, I have to figure out what to do with the money.”  Banks were already closed, so that wasn’t a option at present.  She went over to the box and put the stack of $100,000 back into the box.  She picked it up, put it into her bedroom closet, and was coming back to the living room to read more about Walter Masterson when the doorbell rang.

If I were going to put together a list of things I love about Los Angeles, number two would be the Pasadena Freeway, first known to me as the 11, and now as I-110 (everyone knows that my #1 = Rose Bowl)

History:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasadena_Freeway

But this is really more about MY history of the freeway.  I confirmed it with my father that it was the first freeway I was ever on, shortly after I was born.  Back then, he told me, we mostly drove the streets.  We lived in LA next door to my grandparents, about 2 miles away from USC.  The only nearby freeways back then near downtown were the 5, 11, and 101.  I’ve since seen the following freeways blossom around me:  Ventura, Foothill, Simi Valley, and Century. 

We moved farther north before I was three, and still made almost weekly trips to Los Angeles to visit my grandparents for about the next 10 years.  The Pasadena Freeway was the gateway, and really the only easy way to LA and parts south until the mid 80s.  I do know there’s a streets-only route, but I’ve never taken it.  I remember as a child that I wondered "could I find my way home if I fell out of the car?"  So I made it a point to memorize the route.  I must have been about 6 or 7.  Didn't occur to me how mangled I'd be if I fell out....

So I remembered all the familiar sights along the way, from the Orange Grove entrance on down....every once in a while seeing a train cross the freeway on the high bridge before the Avenue 60 exit, the old Victorian houses to the east of the freeway just before the 5 freeway (and THAT was the gateway to Disneyland!), the high bridge spanning the hills right by the exit to Dodger Stadium.  As a child, I somehow convinced myself that there was someone up there spitting down at cars.  So I would always closed my eyes when we drove under this bridge.  I continued to do this until I was about 23 and actually driving myself.  By the way, they call this “imagination”.  I’ve never told anyone about this before, so be gentle.  Maybe it was all the fumes from the leaded gas back then.  I’ll blame that.  Then there’s that lovely little downhill right turn approaching downtown LA, right at the Hill Street exit.  Like on a roller coaster, if there was no traffic, my sister and I would lift up our arms.  Yes, I still do this,  although never on actual roller coasters.  Go figure.

I remember the day I found out the 4 Level (Pasadena/Harbor/Hollywood/Santa Ana interchange) was called the 4 Level...and yes, there are 4 levels.  Continuing south, downtown LA is on your left, and I would always look for the white Coldwell Banker building, with its blue letters that lit up at night.  When we were kids, we each had blue and white combination lock coin banks from Coldwell Banker, and I figured out how to open them without knowing the combination, by feel. This did NOT begin a life of crime, fortunately.

We'd transition from the Harbor Freeway onto the 10 West to go to Grandma's house...but if by chance we were visiting friends farther south, that meant we'd stay on the Harbor Freeway, and I would get to see FELIX!  There's a Felix Chevrolet dealership across from USC, with a huge Felix the Cat on top of the building, which can be seen from the freeway.  That was my favorite cartoon as a child.  I didn't realize that USC was right there until I visited the campus for the first time in March 1982.  We didn’t drive south of the 10 freeway very often and it wasn’t until I was older and after the Century freeway was completed that I’d use the 110-105 route to get to the 405 freeway.  So it’s not a true part of my childhood….except for when we’d drive farther down to visit a friend of my father’s, and we’d pass the mileage sign where the streets were approximately one mile apart; thus, the mileage sign reads:

Florence Ave                1

Manchester Ave           2

Century Blvd                 3

There are a few other places in Southern California where this happens, but the only other place I can remember is on the 101 Freeway out in the Valley. 

On the way home from my grandparents' house, if I managed to stay awake for the ride, I got to see it run in reverse.  The first time I saw a lunar eclipse (that’s sun/earth/moon, in that order) was riding northbound on the Harbor, just before downtown, hanging low and golden red in the eastern sky as the sun was setting on a Sunday evening.  With all the new construction around the Staples Center, I don’t think I would have been able to see that today.  It’s definitely changing my view of the drive south.

The drive home also featured the TUNNELS!  I don't know why I like them so much.  Known as the Figueroa Street Tunnels, to me they signify that I'm "leaving LA" and heading home.  I smile whenever I see a shot of them in a movie.  I went to an art gallery about 10 years ago, featuring a local artist who had painted the freeway signs over the tunnels.  I mean painted a picture of them, not the actual signs.  To this day I'm kicking myself for not buying that piece.  Maybe I'll find it someday.  

One other homebound feature is the sign for the City of South Pasadena, just before the Orange Grove exit, to the right.  When I was a child, it was spelled out in flowers on a low hillside; now it’s formed of rocks.  I miss the flowers.  I would look to see if they’d been replaced in the spring.

When I was younger, as a passenger, I was on the freeway enough that I knew almost every curve, even when my eyes were closed.  It’s rare these days that I get to be a passenger, but about a year ago I got to experience that again, sitting in the back seat, eyes closed.  And I knew where I was.  I also noticed random things that I probably wouldn’t have normally noticed, like the fact that they’d replaced the lights in the tunnels.

Photos of the trip north:  http://www.westcoastroads.com/california/i-110_ca.html (not my photos)

The ride to LA always seemed so long, until I started driving it myself.  Then I realized that my parents drove it at about 50 miles an hour tops.  Well, they had kids to protect, and we weren’t in a sports car.  It wasn’t really designed for high-speeds, just a nice Sunday jaunt between Pasadena and LA.  The lanes are a foot narrower than other freeways, and there are some amazing on- and off-ramps which require Formula-1 engines to go from 0-60.  I don’t think I’ve ever used those exits.  The “safest” lane is the middle lane, since there are no on/off ramps to deal with (and there are no merging lanes, either: when you get on and off the freeway, you are IN that number 3 lane, so I stay out of it), and you aren’t right next to the guard rail like in the number one lane--there is no shoulder…well, maybe about 5 inches of shoulder.  There are a few turnouts on the northbound side between the Golden State and Avenue 64, however.  The entire design is just crazy compared to other freeways, but this was the first one.

My junior year in High School, a group of us made a school trip to downtown LA.  We were driven by a senior, who made it to downtown from school in about 8 minutes.  That scared the hell out of me.  I vowed never to get into a car with him again, and 6 months later, he wrapped his car around a telephone pole and was in a body cast for 8 months.  While that didn't happen on the Pasadena Freeway, it made me aware of driving dangers.  I later lost 4 friends and one coworker to accidents on the northbound route.  There's a spot southbound, right around Avenue 26 or so, where three friends have had fender benders; the drainage is crappy in the #1 lane, so avoid it if it's rainy or wet.  

I have no idea how many times I've been on this freeway.  All the trips to see my grandparents, and doctors visits at Kaiser (south on Pasadena, north on Hollywood, get off at Vermont, go north, turn on Sunset), then going to USC.  Then I finally got a car, and as my friends dispersed to parts south after graduation, it was still my main route.  I average driving on it at least once a week in the fall, and once a month other times of the year, although with dance and events at the Staples Center, it's becoming more often.  I’m always on my way to something enjoyable.  And oddly enough, I’ve been in relatively few traffic jams on this freeway.  I always seem to be going the other way when traffic is concerned.  And that’s fine by me.

It’s amazing that such a small stretch of highway has been such a large part of my life.

(not quite sure if there will be any more parts....but just to be sure...)

After a nice excitement-building week, waiting to see if we'd perform before I took off for NYC, and learned that we would, after a complete lack of sleep and way too much adrenalin, after a very nice flight, I was in a cab riding to Manhattan, passing the familiar brick homes of Queens and Brooklyn.  I was way too excited, and way too happy.

The elevators at the Marquis were a trip; they were glass elevators, in a semi circle, and you had to go to two places only to pick what floor you wanted to go to, then go to the elevator indicated on the panel, as there were no buttons inside the elevator to select floors.   Problem was, if you were picking the lobby, chances are that there was a huge queue of folks standing in front of said indicated elevator, with little chance of you getting in.

However, I wasn't smart enough to figure all this out in the beginning and rode about 3 different ones before finally started out on the ground floor AGAIN and then finding out.  Sheesh.  But I did eventually check in (and I probably could have gotten away with one less bag, but I seriously thought I was going to do more shopping, and I just wasnt into it), and the view was great.

Got in touch with T, who still had to leave work and come to midtown.  Talk about anticipation.  And despite realizing upon meeting that nothing was going to be happening, I was still happy.  Looking back, and knowing much more than I did that night, I still think I did the right thing.

My first night in NYC consisted of about a 4-mile walk through several neighborhoods.  We headed south, and I was far too busy looking to take any photos, which is why I have none from that night, except of the view of Times Square from my hotel room. Plus it was getting dark. We walked by Madison Square Garden, and now I'd wish we'd gone into the store to look for sports memorabilia, particularly if the Lady Liberty Dance team was selling anything....the Ole Skool Crew WILL have merchandise at the Team LA store at the Staples Center this summer! I'm excited!

That night, walking around, just talking, was really nice.  I'd realized early on that T would be a really big talker, with a lot to say.   Finally, I'd be spending time with someone who made me think and didn't annoy me. 

That night's dinner goal: NYC pizza. I can't remember if I'd ever had pizza in the city before, but it was long overdue. With a beer on Good Friday (I'd given up beer for Lent, which ended for me officially when the plane touched down at JFK). It was good. At this point, we were in the West Village, just talking, walking and looking around. We passed a basement bookstore that T said catered to mysteries. I HAD to check it out.

See, I read mostly mysteries. Lawrence Sanders, Lawrence Block, Sue Grafton, Walter Mosley, Elmore Leonard. There are even CSI books based on the characters of the three shows. The first two authors I mentioned typically base their books in New York. For a time I was following the characters with a map of Manhattan as I read those books, tracing their routes. I tend to read all my books multiple times, so this would add yet another visual to it.

Lawrence Block's most successful series was the "Burglar" series. If you ever saw the movie with Whoopi Goldberg, that was based on one of his first books. Bernie Rhodenbarr, the main character, owns a bookstore in NYC. The one I walked into was EXACTLY what I pictured in my mind as I read the books. I felt like I was home.

I immediately went to look for my favorite authors, looking to see if they had anything new.

Talked to the proprietress for a bit, and she knew her stuff. I was impressed. I mentioned the inconsistencies of the new author of the Archy McNally series (he has her drinking only sauterne, while Lawrence Sanders had her drinking pre-dinner martinis with husband and son, and only sauterne at dinner....told you I read the books a lot) and she knew what I was talking about. I was sad that there wasn't a store like this in LA....or is there? Must do research.

(Hah...there's one near UCLA....figures....but I'll go check it out this weekend....and it's called..."Mystery Book Store")

She also told us there were some ancient bottles of wine in the cellar that might not have yet turned to vinegar, but I knew as much as I liked the store, if we'd stayed to check it out, I'd never leave!

I did end up buying a book while I was there. Like I couldn't after all of that. "Dissolution", set in 1530s England, about the closing of the monasteries as the Church of England rose to power. Fantastic book so far! And a great book by a first-time author. It really needs to be a movie.

We did eventually leave, to walk around the village more. Found a spot for wine, and found myself discussing the Lakers game from the night before, at which the Ole Skool Crew had performed. It felt surreal, since it was less than 24 hours later, and I was 3000 miles away. We then headed back to the gorgeous Marriott Marquis in Times Square. If I did anything right this year, it was to pick that hotel. They had a great Easter special going on, and the hotel was beautiful.

So, if you know me....then you know that one of my favorite movies is the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Yeah, the cult classic.  That's the one.  It came out in 1975, and by the time I was in high school, it was being shown as the midnight movie at the Rialto in South Pasadena.  However, the first time I saw it was on the Z-Channel, the Pasadena area's first cable movie channel.  It would show 3 movies repeatedly for a week, beginning at 7pm and continuing til about 1am or so.  If you really liked a movie, you could see it a bunch of times.  Remember, kids, this was before regular cable and VCRs and DVRs and all that good stuff.  We took it when we could get it.

But I digress.

So I did see it alone at midnight one night, around 1981.  Which meant it was pretty damned weird.  But I still wished that at one point I could be a part of the Rocky Horror experience, and that happened about 5 years later at USC.  They showed it on the side of a building over by Birnkrant two nights in a row, and we all sat in the parking lot, where I was officially de-virginized.

That was only the beginning.  A small group of friends and I became die hard RHPS groupies, going every weekend to the aforementioned theatre in South Pas.  Fortunately, we knew one of the ushers and didn't always have to pay. 

The experience involves yelling back at the screen at designated spots, as well as utilizing props from the movie.  I'm sure you've all heard about the toast, the newspapers, and the flashlights. At theaters with a bigger core audience, members actually dress up as the movie characters and act out the parts.  I won't say anything else, but I will provide to you this handy dandy guide to audience participation:

http://www.rockyhorror.org/faqtext/t-aud3.txt

No, I'm not going to tell you what the movie is about.  Follow the script, find a theatre or a bunch of groupies, and check it out.  If you're the type of person who likes watching the same movie a bunch of times and being completely silly, this one is for you.

So...this was my summer of 1986.  The Rialto would show Mick Jagger/David Bowie's "Dancing in the Street" before the movie, and we yell stuff out at that, as well.  The stuff we'd yell out was pretty much as written on the site above, but with a few additions. Not only did we go to South Pasadena, we'd also go to other theatres in the LA area.  Some places did have characters, other would have crowds of people participating.  Sometimes, in South Pas, we'd be the only ones participating. 

We'd throw out own USC Band spin into it, of course.  My favorite participatory event was the time a character would say "You see...", and we'd follow it up with "LA Sucks!" (as in, UCLA sucks...get it?)  That went over really well when we went to see the movie in Brentwood.  There was almost dead silence after we yelled it.

The other thing we'd do that summer was go to see "Little Shop of Horrors" at the same theatre on Friday nights (Saturday was RHPS night).  The Rialto tried to make it a cult movie, but failed.  We were the only people who came every week, and most people didn't want to hear us.  But we had a lot of funny lines and it was a good weekend.

Why am I even writing about it?  Oh...well, my sister gave me a copy of the movie for my bday, and when my cable went out this past week, I decided to watch it.  It's damned weird watching it by yourself, but it's a nice rehearsal.  :)  I'm also learning the words to a lot of the songs by having the subtitles on.  Shoot, words to the movie, as well, since there was so much shouting going on at all the theatres.