Lee Harvey Oswald & Me

                                                                                 
In February of 1981, I was working late one night in
my tiny office in the funky Writers & Artists Building
in Beverly Hills. I was leaning out my window when
traffic that was zipping by on Santa Monica Blvd. all

of a sudden stopped zipping. Police cars and ominous
sedans blocked off streets left and right. Newly inau-
gurated President Reagan was in town. When the pres-
idential motorcade came into view, I realized I was look-
ing kind of Oswald-y. My old office building must have
seemed like the Texas Book Depository and there I was
suspiciously leaning out my second story window in the
building’s only illuminated office. My first response was to
yank my head out of the window but that might look like I
was reaching for my 6.5 millimeter Italian carbine with a
four-power scope. As the motorcade was now only a few
hundred or so feet away, my only option was to stay put.
I thought of waving in a friendly manner but feared in the
dim light, it might look like one of my hands was packing
heat. Like a possum cornered on some backyard wall by a
household pet, I did the next best thing: I froze. The motor-
cade swooshed by but it wasn’t until at least five minutes
later that I unfroze, pulled myself back into my office and
slammed the window shut.

*

A month later, John Hinckley Jr. tried to kill our 40th president
to impress an actress who at that time was living two doors
away from me in Hollywood on tree-lined Sycamore Avenue.
Even before the shooting, Jodie Foster was not what any
rational observer would call “friendly.” I would have advised
Hinckley to instead stalk Helen Hunt, who back then appeared
to be a bit more approachable.