2 - 11 July 1965

	Run For Your Life Starring Ben Gazzara Homepage Paul Bryan's Journal 2 - 11 July 1965
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2 - 11 July 1965 ("Three Passengers for the Lusitania" / "Hang Down Your Head and Laugh")

A brash runaway teenager (played by Kim Darby), whom Paul met on a cross-country bus, threatens to accuse him of rape if he doesn't drive her to California.

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Return to "The Committee for the 25th" page or read from Paul's journal about the events of

Chronology of Events				Journal Entry

Three Passengers for the Lusitania His car broken down, Paul gets a ride from two young men who are running from the law. The driver, Bud, shows amazing skill with the car, slightly bumping telephone poles as he passes them at high speed - for a lark. He is keen to bet with Paul, and having learned that Paul is driving in a motor race, pays a fortune to obtain a suitable car to participate as well. The wagers also take the form of a poker game, after which Paul demonstrates a parlour trick that wins his lost money back.				Acapulco Friday, July 2 Kate took me to the airport for the flight to Acapulco, and as we said goodbye and touched foreheads, each of us almost said in unison the equivalent of something like, “we'll make the best of this.” I bent to kiss her, but she put her fingers to my mouth, and kissed my cheek, as if to say that she was still too fragile to face what we once were So now I start again. Took a cab to Jessica's, and things worked like clockwork. The Mastin was produced in gleaming condition, but I think they may have put more into the outside than under the hood, as she conked out on me halfway into the city. I walked a ways to see if there might be a garage in the area, and was nearly run down by two fellows who then offered me a lift - which was more like a roller coaster ride. Couldn't help but be mesmerized by the one who was driving - Bud - not just because of the insane and skilful way he handled the car, but his proclamation that he didn't have long to live. For my fascination, I was treated to his grazing 20 telephone poles as part of a bet with me. At least, he dropped me by a garage that picked up the Mastin, and got it into top condition as well. Starving by this time, I was looking forward to dining at the Countess', but received a note that she'd popped off to Rome. Went out for some local culture, and who turned up but Bud and Lee - wanting me to advise them on buying a car to enter qualifying for the race. They'd amazingly found two excellent machines, and for all I knew, they appeared equal, and I watched Bud hand over what must have been twice the value in cash to the delighted owner. Bet-happy Bud then took me to a poker game, and he came away with everyone's cash. I admired his moves with an aficionado's respect, but then performed Judge Haynes' 25-card pat hand trick, and won the pot back from him. It turned out that he couldn't just drive and play poker like a master, but afterwards at a bar, got up and did a turn with Lee that would make Bud & Travis proud - on guitars they bought from the house musicians - again for twice their value.
When the three go to a bull fight, Bud is reminded of the policeman they killed after a successful robbery, and gets up to leave quickly. Second last to qualify for the race, Paul scores the fastest time - until Bud's run is even better.				Acapulco Saturday, July 3 Took the lads to a bull fight, and Bud seemed very upset by the proceedings. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing the practice outlawed. Since we'd arrived late, our qualifying slots weren't until the end of the day, and my brief moment of glory in pole position was quickly eclipsed by Bud's time. Nevertheless, I am ecstatic. Rang Pete in Spain, and despite the bad line, he was able to give some tips for Monday's race. Such an instinct to pick up the phone and ring my Mom and Dad, but I feel sure that they must have been watching and cheering me on from heaven.
As if to fulfil a death wish, Bud dives off a 100-foot cliff into a possibly shallow sea. Paul, who went up only to deter him, finds himself goaded into doing the same.				Acapulco Sunday, July 4 Celebrated the holiday with fireworks of my own - by jumping off the cliff at the Mirador Hotel - a hundred feet straight down into what I hoped would be 16 feet of water. But I was only the second amateur of the day to accomplish the breathtaking dive that I have considered impossible the hundred times I've seen it over the years. Had gone up to try and persuade Bud not to make the suicidal leap, and when he did, some wires crossed in my brain, and I dove off myself. Three times the height that won me a silver platform medal at the California State Championships in high school, and like a sky dive without a chute. I am still trembling from the experience, but at this point, more shaken that I attempted the act than having experienced it. Surely, I am going mad. Back here at the hotel, meditation had become impossible, and finally, only a phone call managed to free me from the shaking trance. It was the Countess, back from Rome, asking me over for the evening. How much I'd liked to have casually dropped the line about becoming a Quebrada Cliff Diver for the day, but I know that everyone would have thought me crazy. In fact, lots of people at the party were speaking about the two mad Americans who'd done the stunt. Instead, I allowed myself to impress the company of other amateur racers with the fact that I'd been driving with Pete Gaffney. All appeared envious to hear it, and it seemed a sufficient and more appropriate claim to fame. But when the Count and Countess let off their Fourth of July fireworks, my heart started pounding anew.
Leading the race near the end, Bud's car goes out of control and crashes. Right behind him, Paul stops, and pulls Bud out of the wreck seconds before it explodes. Police see photos of Bud being carried off in a stretcher, his friend beside him, and they are identified as the robbers who shot a policeman. Armed officers surround their hotel room and call for them to come out, but Bud shouts back that they have a hostage - Paul Bryan. As one last bet, Bud then gives Paul a chance to walk away free, should he draw a higher card than Bud from a deck. When Bud draws the lower card, he lets Paul go. Paul asks the police to try and capture the men alive, but the two come out shooting, and are killed.				Acapulco Monday, July 5 If yesterday had my heart overperforming, today was a blur of thrilling and terrifying moments to match it. My race went well until Bud had trouble and crashed. I was just behind him in second place, and stopped to pull him out of the machine a moment before it blew up. Though concussed, Bud checked himself out of the hospital, and the three of us went back to their hotel. I remember finding myself irritated by Bud's frequent jibes to me about being a passenger on the Lusitania, and wondered if he'd found something out about me. Then, all of a sudden, a police megaphone was calling out a Come Out With Your Hands Up message. I never dreamed it was meant for the room I was in, but in response, Bud broke the window, and said he wasn't coming out - and had a hostage. Me. What was that show? …. It was on the radio when I was in my teens, then on TV later too …. Called You Bet Your Life. Well, that's exactly what happened. Bud, who, when he wasn't constantly making pointed remarks to me about the Lusitania, was trying to top me or win a bet, offered me the chance to walk away free - if I drew a higher card from the deck. I did, and as with succeeding in the suicide dive, I seemed meant to live on. When I came out, the police were ready to go in, but before they did, the boys came out with guns blazing, both shot dead in seconds. Apparently, they had killed a policeman, and there was a big manhunt out for them along the border. Later I learned that local police had spotted them in the pictures from the race. Such a waste of life, I am brought from pinnacles of exhilaration to a depression that refuses to lift. Rang Eileen to confirm my flight tomorrow, and fear that I will be the opposite of what she needs right now.
Paul visits his childhood sweetheart, Eileen - now with the new identity of Evelyn Marsh - at a safe house somewhere in northeastern Kansas.				Kansas, Tuesday - Wednesday, July 6 - 7 Rang Jessica in Chicago to offer thanks for lending me her car. As genuine as always, she described plans to go to Paris shopping, and seemed happier. That gave me a little lift, but I couldn't get the tragic death of Bud and Lee off my mind. Was met at Kansas City Airport by a Miss Smith who drove me out to Eileen's in a quiet suburban town a few miles away. She told me that she would be handing me an envelope for delivery to Switzerland at my departure. This woman is Eileen's security blanket, and does all the outside things. Eileen, seeming unusually calm, said that she hadn't left the secure house since she'd arrived, and I was her first real guest - aside from her psychiatrist who came over every day At first the atmosphere seemed spooky, but I knew that everything was intended to restore Eileen's sense of trust and security. “I'm Evelyn Marsh,” she laughed, when she came out, and I said that I'd just call her Bumble, as always. We spent a long time talking about what we'd each been doing in the 15 years since I left for the Air Force. After two years at Cal she got a degree at the Sorbonne. There was a photo from her time there - the only one I saw in the house - of herself with Jacqueline Kennedy, the girls' arms across each others' shoulders, heads thrown back in gales of laughter, an unreadable banner held in their free hands. No picture of her husband. He was the one subject that she seemed unable to speak about. But other than that, she was like a garden of flowers with so many fascinating stories of her life. having spent a few years in Switzerland, and then gone on to live in Italy Since leaving San Francisco in April, I've felt some necessity to be secretive about myself, and it was wonderful to just be able to answer Bumble's questions freely and openly. Hours slipped away as if minutes. Miss Smith, who turned out to be a fine cook as well as guard and companion, joined us for dinner, and then left the house for several hours. Bumble and I came still closer, and when the evening was over, I think we were both feeling quite sentimental for our youth together. In the morning she seemed more relaxed and refreshed, and told me my presence had been better than a thousand therapy sessions. Admitting that she'd probably be walking on eggs for a while, Bumble was still sure that a time would come that she could start living normally, work and be creative again. Carried away, I added, “and join me on some of my travels,” unable to help feeling a sense of joy that she looked forward to the idea. Once again we'd be Polo and Bumble, the Robin and Marian of West Almeria. We talked - and then even laughed - until our throats were dry, and as our second day together developed, I found myself feeling less of a need to protect her, surely the result of an instinct that she would get over the horror and blossom again.
Hang Down Your Head a nd Laugh On a cross-country bus Paul meets unconventional teenager Tina who charms him with her eccentricity, appeals to his compassion, and also threatens him mercilessly. Their bus breaks down, and the passengers spend the night in the parking lot of a garage. When they get to a point where each must change buses, Tina's threats increase, and Paul rents a car to complete the journey to Los Angeles (though he was on his way to San Francisco). All the while, Tina refuses to tell him why she's on the road, but eventually, he reads in a newspaper that she has run away from her grandparents' New Jersey home in the midst of a court battle her father in New Mexico is waging for her custody. Never believing that she'd go through with any of her threats, Paul risks many years in jail over a period of hours, and finally places the girl in the hands of her father.				Kansas - Texas - New Mexico - San Francisco, Thursday - Saturday, July 8 - 10 My original plan had been to fly back to California, but over breakfast, I suddenly got an idea to take a bus west, and maybe see a little of the country. We never spoke of the diagnosis, and even though I thought it impossible to stay long in the company of someone who knew, there wasn't one uncomfortable moment with Bumble. The day I left for Korea, she had taken my hand in hers, and put her index finger across my palm, declaring, “you have a long life line. I know you'll come back safe.” When we said goodbye today, she made the same gesture, and said, “I have a good feeling about you.” Miss Smith drove me into a nearby town, and handed me an envelope, saying that I'd get further instructions about it later. Shortly after I boarded a west-bound bus, a young girl named Tina got on, and stuck to me like glue until I delivered her to her father in Albuquerque. It turned out that she had run away from her grandparents in New Jersey. Maybe because I'd experienced his company and fate so recently, I had the feeling that this girl could easily turn into a female version of Bud. She was out of control and wildly over confident, and it seemed worth the effort to make a stab at offering a good influence or providing a little guidance. As things were, both were probably impossible goals, but at least I got her into a situation where she'll get good care and love - and I came out of it without being arrested for transporting a minor over state lines - as well as a few other charges thrown in for good measure. The fact that I had to spend Friday night in the parking lot of a garage when the bus broke down was just another reason while I'll stay away from this mode of transport in future. Soon as I dropped Tina off, I made it hot footed to the airport, and flew back home. A telegram arrived saying that a reservation had been made on Monday's Swissair flight from New York to Zurich. Made dinner for Kate, and filled her in on all my adventures as we ate, then broke the news that I'm selling the house. While I insisted that it didn't mean I'd never come back to San Francisco, and would keep Granny's place on the cliffs, it was clear from the way she looked around the room, that in the make-believe world we'd come to reside in, Katie still saw herself coming to live here as my wife.
In order to raise cash to set up a motor racing team with driver Pete Gaffney, Paul puts his Cessna 182 plane, Cal 40 yacht and house in San Francisco up for sale.				San Francisco, Sunday, July 11 I knew today would be a hard one, but kept telling myself that I was divesting myself of treasured possessions to get into racing, and not for another reason. When I'd spoken to the broker on the phone, he said it would be quick work to sell a Cessna 182, and I can't put this off any longer. Went out to the airport to make sure all the documentation was in order, and then say goodbye and clear out the Abel Leader. How many weekends she spirited me away to Mexico or up north, or just took me into the clouds to clear my head. I sat at the controls and said to myself, if you can do this, you can do anything, and tried to picture myself instead flying through the streets of Monte Carlo. Parting with the Sea Farm was ….. harder. Only in one way less of a wrench, since Garrett Hamilton is buying her. “You can have her back anytime you want,” he said encouragingly over lunch at the yacht club, implying that he'd probably outgrow a Cal 40, and would be happy to put her back in my hands eventually. I have been meditating for years, trying to increase my mental control - thinking it was part of my preparation for politics, but I certainly didn't get far enough down the road for the situation I'm in now. Instead of thinking Monaco, Monaco, Monaco, the only thought in my mind was the pride and thrill I felt the day I bought that beautiful boat, and all the memories that have attached to her in the meantime. After lunch went to see Tim Lewis, and asked him to handle the house sale. Went "home" and packed a few boxes, and now over to Kate's for what feels like the ending of something.

12 - 23 July 1965 ("Borders of Barbarism")