Previously published in The Story Shop VII, 1998, Amarillo, Texas.
LEAVING L.A.
BY
KEITH LAUFENBERG



L.A. proved too much for the man, too much for the man,
He couldn't make it so he's leaving a life he's come to know,
Bought a one-way ticket back, back to a life he once knew,
Don't you know, he's leaving on a midnight train to Georgia.
Midnight Train To Georgia, Gladys Knight and The Pips.



It was a sad day in the life of Gary Greb, as he was leaving a life he had come to know as well as any in his short 30 years on this planet. He had first come to the City of the Angels in the spring of 1970, five years in the past, after his managerial contract had been bought, back in his hometown of Macon, Georgia, when an L.A. connected promoter had seen him box on a local card and had bought his contract out and paid his way out to L.A., where the G-Man, as he was also known, dreamed of a title shot. But, he soon learned that L.A. was filled with other fighters yearning for that same shot and that if you lost a fight at the wrong time it could mean an end to your dreams, which was, in extent what happened to the G-Man. He beat tough Benito Juarez, in Las Vegas, then beat Lonnie Harris and Charlie Jordan and was in top spirits figuring he would soon be in line for a shot at the middleweight crown but was making little money as his manager, Howie Steindler was taking half of all his purses. He was matched with Art Alderete and when the fight was declared a draw, the G-Man started getting depressed and slacking off on his training. Then he contacted mononucleosis and not realizing it lost an 8-rounder to tough Shelly Lyons. He then took a month off, on the advise of a doctor, and came back with two knockout wins over Lou Howard and David Liston but then fought a tough southpaw named Wade Smith and lost a decision, then got beat in an 8-rounder by Linnes Johnson and stopped training, drifting into a life of late nights and long dreary days. A call from Steindler got him back in the gym but only for a week, when he was put in an 8-rounder with Vicente Medina, an up and comer out of Tucson, and lost another decision. When the calls from Steindler stopped coming, the G-Man took a job as a bouncer in an East L.A. Night-club and started spending too much of his time at the bar. One night, when a comedian who acted as an M.C. failed to show, the G-Man took his place and was paid twenty bucks for his trouble. He quickly became a hit and stayed on for a month, getting a hundred and fifty bucks a week and free drinks and meals. But, then the owner closed the club and Greb was out of work. But, the month of work doing stand-up had sparked an interest and desire in the G-Man to try his hand as a comic; he had always been able to make a crowd laugh and he was living in the entertainment capitol of the world. The only trouble was he had no unearthly idea of how to find another job as a comedian, as in 1970 comedy clubs were few and far between and those that were in operation were booked solid, as agents stood in line to book their charges and the clubs only used well-known, name, comedians. But, then one night the G-Man was walking in Alvarado Park when he heard a commotion across the street from the park. He walked over to the storefront, where a large sign identified it as the church of scientology. They were having a talent night and Greb walked in to see a folksinger taking the stage. He stood in the back of the room of about fifty or sixty people and was soon accosted by a young man with his hair in a ponytail and pair of sunglasses.
'Hey man, wanna sign up?'�
'Sign up?'�
'Yeah man, tonight's talent night man, poet's and singers, you know?'�
'Hummm, poetry huh? Like Muhammad Ali then huh?'�
'Yeah-yeah sure, can you do some poetry?'�
Greb shrugged his shoulders.
'Yeah sure I can man, where do I sign up at?'�
The pony-tailed man pushed a paper with about a dozen names on it towards Greb and he signed it. The man picked it up and giggled.
'Oh, the G-Man? That's you huh?'�
'That's me pal.'�
'Okay then man, all right; probably be about an hour or so before you go on G-Man, okay?'�
Greb nodded and leaned against the wall. He wasn't a poet but figured it was as good a front as any for him to steal a chance to make the audience laugh.
As he listened to the poets and singers do their 5 or 10-minute sets, Greb began to get nervous, wondering if they would listen to any of his jokes and stories. He realized he had to get them quick, make them realize he was using the forum for comedy; it would be unexpected, which was a double-edged sword when you're trying to get a group to respond positively, if they laughed you could build on it but if they didn't you could dig a hole you'd never be able to climb out of. He glanced at his watch and saw it was almost midnight and he had walked in over two hours ago, at just before ten. He swallowed a mouthful of dry salvia when the pony-tailed man, who was doubling as the MC., took the stage amidst a smattering of applause for a wispy, young female poet. Greb surveyed the crowd, realizing that more than half had already left and he remembered how it got harder as the night wore on, especially for a comedian because if you couldn't get an audience's attention you couldn't very well get them to laugh. When the M.C. introduced him as the G-Man, he hurried to the stage, as a great compulsion to run out the door almost overwhelmed him. He stumbled on his way to the microphone and several people giggled but Greb recovered quickly and rasped:
'Me fall-lah, nevah, nevah, because Ah'm the gee-rate'tis of all tahm, the gee-rate'tis of all tahm. Watch mah hands, watch mah feet, everybody knows I can't be beat. Float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, everybody know I'm Muhammad Al-lee, ahhhhhhh!'� Greb's imitation was phonetically almost identical to Ali's voice and the audience responded with laughter and some


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handclapping. Greb began searching his pockets, exaggerating it purposefully and then barked:
'Oh shee-it, I mustah left mah poetry at home. Shhhh and I live a long way from here too. Yeah, I grew up all over the world cause my father was in the air force so I grew up on Guam, the Phillipines, San Antonio and Japan but most of the time I spent growin' up in a small African nation though, yeah, maybe you've heard of it, Washington, D.C.'�
The crowd roared and Greb smiled and roared back:
'Hey, any lawyers here? Personally I like the Boston pronunciation of the word; liars, which is what they are, yah know? Know the difference between a porcupine and two lawyers inna Porsche, heh onna porcupine the pricks're onna outside.'�
The audience laughed and clapped and Greb plowed on:
'Yeah, yah know what Adam said to Eve don't yah? Heh, said stand back ain't no tellin' how big this thing's gonna get?'� The audience roared again and the G-Man 'killed' them for almost fifteen minutes before running out of jokes and stories and exited the stage. A few people shook his hand and one guy produced a card identifying him as a theatrical agent and asked Greb if he'd consider representation. He said he was sending out trios and quartets to Vietnam to entertain the troops and he needed comedians to use as M.C.'s The G-Man agreed on the spot and signed a contract with the agent.
A week later, the G-Man had been paired up with a group of soul singers calling themselves 'The Four Spirals'. The agent had pictures of them shot and Greb was sent to a hospital for a round of inoculations in preparation for the trip to Hawaii, the first stop on the way to Southeast Asia. Greb had spent 4 years in the Marines and found it to be quite ironic that he was now going to Viet Nam as a civilian, instead of a soldier.
He almost made it there too but what happened put him out of commission for quite awhile. He was to leave the following day and his girlfriend at that time came to see him for a fond farewell; she suggested a bar and that was Greb's first mistake; his second occurred when a drunk made a wise-crack about the girl's bosum and the G-Man called him on it, after all, a challenge is a challenge. The trouble was the drunk was also an off-duty cop and he pulled his piece and Greb took one in the neck before he knocked the cop flat on his back.
The G-Man lost over 50 pounds in the hospital and he could barely talk, the bullet nearly shattering his larynx. His voice never would be the same again and his show-biz career was basically over before it even had a chance to get started. His girlfriend visited him a couple of times but soon tired of the hospital and his agent gave up on him as soon as he found out he wouldn't be able to talk in a normal voice again.
He finally got out of the hospital and got a job driving a truck but his heart and soul seemed to be leaving his earthly body, they seemed to have been sucked out of him by his five years in L.A., as he saw things in a different light, a whole new perspective since his accident. He saw people running and running, chasing their dreams, oblivious of everyone else and even willing to step over or even on anyone who got in their way. The G-Man started to wonder why he had ever left Georgia and what had happened to his dream and if that dream had ever been worth it. He remembered his hometown and his family and friends and when one day a letter came from home he quickly made up his mind to leave the City of the Angels once and for all.

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*********








As the big jet-plane roared into the sky that day, and the city got smaller and smaller, the G-Man bid it a silent farewell and slumped back into his seat. Had his dream died or had he killed it? Or was it just deferred? Suddenly, he felt a pair of eyes on him and turned around to see a small boy, maybe six or seven years old staring at him. He smiled at the lad and the boy beamed back and said:
'We go-win back home'wah, Mis'sah, we aw'wah.'�
'Yeah, well that' s nice kid, real nice. Where is home champ?'�
'Ah'wah May-kin Mis' sah, May-kin Jaw'jah.'�
The G-Man's smile grew larger. The dream was dead but another would take its place. He winked at the little boy and was sure that the next dream would a better one, a much better one.





























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