John Huston

 

(John Huston made some great films.)

Yesterday, I read a story by Ray Bradbury with my high schoolers. It’s called There Will Come Soft Rains, and the title was actually stolen from a famous poem. Anyway, the protagonist of this tale is a house that can do all kinds of fancy things, such as cooking your breakfast and cleaning your floors. The only problem is that no humans are left because they’ve all been wiped out by a nuclear war.

I said, “I’ve never been a huge fan of Bradbury.”

One of my students smirked at me. “Why? Was he an alcoholic or something?”

Everybody laughed.

I shook my head. “Ray wasn’t a drinker. Quite the contrary. It got him into hot water with the famous film director, John Huston.”

He said, “Who’s John Huston?”

“John made a ton of great movies back in the day. And he wasn’t that bad of an actor, either. His most famous role is that of a perverted grandfather in Roman Polanski’s Chinatown.”

“You watch too much TV, Mr. Woodd.”

I nodded. “Ain’t that the truth. But let me tell you about Mr. Bradbury’s refusal to imbibe.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Ray wrote the script for Huston’s adaptation of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. John kept bullying the poor guy because the director believed that all great writers should be whiskey bent and hell bound. Anyway, Ray went on to write a story called The Banshee which served as a metaphor for the abuse he was forced to endure while working in Hollywood.”

“So why aren’t you a fan of Bradbury’s work?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it simply comes down to taste. What can I say? It just never floated my boat.”

Later in the afternoon, I caught the bus back home to my apartment. There was a bill in my mailbox. My wife’s car is old and runs on diesel, so the Korean government is charging her a green-energy tax. She has to pay forty bucks for having the audacity to drive a vehicle that is harming the globe.

I took a picture and sent her the bad news. It wasn’t long until she called me back.

She said, “You such da cheap man.”

“Well, the vehicle is in your name, and I’m no longer able to use it. So you have to pay the fine or risk the consequences.”

“You also change da Netfrix passwahd.”

“That’s not true. The password is the same.”

“You da riar. It work on my phone but not da computah.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s working fine here at home. In fact, I’m currently watching Peaky Blinders.”

“Good foh you.”

Then she hung up on me.

I walked to Rice-Boy Larry’s room. He was busy studying for a science test.

I said, “Your mom’s Netflix password isn’t working.”

He sighed heavily. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Perhaps you could call and guide her through the process.”

He smiled at me. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Why?”

“I’m through with her, Dad. Done with a capital D. In fact, I no longer have a mother.”

That’s the thing about Larry. He’s not one of those kids who believes in second or third chances. He sets his boundaries and sticks to them. The kid has a heart of stone. But who knows? Maybe that’s a healthy character trait.

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