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What the book is about...

In the beginning Frank put everything he owned into his car and drove to Hollywood.

"I became an artist -- a starving artist!" Frank Capri

Shooting Stars in Hollywood is the inspirational story of how Frank eventually made his dream of becoming a photographer happen with a positive attitude and stubborn persistence.

Introduction from Pulitzer-prize winner, author Frank McCourt:

Frank Capri is a superb photographer. His portfolio and experience will tell you that and personal experience with his work with cinch it. Now, as he turns his talent to writing, his prose is as direct and unfussy and illuminating as his photography. The man knows how to tell a story and when he grabs your attention in his opening lines he knows how to keep it. The writing is tart and energetic and makes you want to keep turning pages. Shooting Stars in Hollywood, the inside story of a celebrity photographer's life, makes a terrific read.

Part 19


(Go to Part 1 for the beginning.)



(Continued from Part 18)



 I'm allergic to lying, even little white lies but Ralph's right, I tell myself. This is survival, and I rehearse the routine, how I've been a waiter for over a year at The Cave where I had to dress like a caveman.



My first interview is at The New World Restaurant in West Hollywood. The manager brings me back into his small stuffy office and looks over my application. Hmmm. Looks okay, he says, lighting up a cigarette. The first questions are easy and then comes one from left field. What kind of waiter system did they use at The Cave? Ralph never said anything about any system and my forehead beads with sweat. The manager kills the time blowing smoke rings my way. The best answer I can come up with is a system from my high school football days, and I say, We used a man-on-man system. He tilts his head. Never heard of it. How'd it work? It worked good. What else did they use? Sometimes they'd switch to zone but it was mainly man-on-man.



There's a pregnant silence and he's staring hard. I curl my toes so tight they start to cramp. I want to jump up and stand on the cramping but endure the torture of my toes and the torture of the smoke and the torture of the lie when suddenly he blurts, You're no fucking waiter. He says it as cold fact. If he had asked that would be one thing but he flat out tells me You're no fucking waiter and I do my best to look shocked and offended. What?! I said you're no fucking waiter! You're a fuckin' fraud, and he rips up my application which is a relief because I can stand again and ease the terrible tension in my toes and get away from the smoke that's burning my eyes. And to pay him back for torturing me I point to his cigarette and say, Those things are gonna kill you, and he says, I don't give a rat's ass. Get the hell outta here!



That night, curled up in the backseat of my car in the parking lot of Sunset Grocery, I'm wondering about the wisdom of trying to make a living from drawing with light. I don't know if I'll ever become a photographer but I know I won't become -- I won't ever become a houseman and for damn sure I'll never become an indoor houseman.



(to be continued every Monday)


posted by CAPRI PHOTOGRAPHY @ 12:25 PM  

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