After I completed writing my book, "The Cherry Boy Chronicles," I kept thinking of people and events that somehow, I'd missed or forgotten. I've decided to write these addendums in the form of a blog. I hope you enjoy them.
Today I'd like to recount, "Running over Chevy Chase’s suitcase" (1975).
My wife Toni and I had been invited to Michael Butler’s home in Montecito several times, and on one such visit Toni mentioned a job she had coming up for Playgirl Magazine, being shot by our good friend Norman Seeff. It seems the job was set, but that was all. There was no real story and no location for the shoot. Half-jokingly, I suggested doing the shoot at Michael’s. To my surprise, Michael loved the idea, and after a phone call to Norman, plans were set in motion. Not only was the job to be shot at the Butler estate, but Michael was to be the centerpiece for the story.
Our friend Jackie Carlin (Chevy Chase's girlfriend and future wife) was hired as one of the several models for the job with Toni. We drove up the night before (with Jackie “stuffed” into the small space behind the seats in my Mercedes 350SL) and partied hard and late. The next day, Norman arrived with his crew and the people from Playgirl to find a bunch of hung-over models and Michael in no shape to work in front of the camera. Plans were changed from a day shoot to a night shoot to give everyone a chance to recuperate from the previous night’s debauchery.
Somehow the job was completed with only a few touch-up shots needed the following morning. In the early afternoon the three of us made our way back to Hollywood and I pulled into the supermarket parking lot where Jackie was being picked up by her boyfriend, Chevy. Toni got out and helped Jackie get her suitcase from the trunk. I heard arguing and rolled down the window to see what all the commotion was about. It was Chevy and Jackie in a knock-down-drag-out. Toni got back in the car and told me to get out and break up the fight. I told her it was none of my business and that I wanted to go home. She turned on me and after spitting a rather rude remark in my face, she jumped out of the car and walked over to Chevy's car, I assumed, to mediate. I yelled out the window for Toni to butt-out and get back into the car. She ignored me and I concluded that the only thing for me to do was to leave her to it and go home. I put the car in reverse and hit it with a little emphasis on the accelerator. Ba-boom, I ran over something—something large. However, in my agitated state, I was not stopping for anything. I threw the car into drive and ran over the obstruction again, on my way out of the parking lot. In the rearview mirror I saw the three of them, no longer fighting, but looking my way and screaming. I saw what used to be a suitcase, and strewn clothing blowing around in the wake of my departing car. I couldn't make out what they were screaming so I chose to ignore their protestations and pealed out of the lot, onto Highland Blvd and drove home.
I later learned that the suitcase had belonged to Chevy.
We had been acquaintances—I didn't foresee us becoming good buddies. Oh well, Hollywood is a tough place to make friends.
