Leonard Nimoy wasn’t acting …
I wish I could remember the exact dates because I can’t find anything on Google to confirm or support the story I’m about to tell. Maybe someone who reads it will remember the incident or have the issue of TIME Magazine that covered it.
As with so much of my life from my late-teens onwards the story starts with surfing. I’d learned to stand up on a surfboard and ride it at Little Dume, a surfing break that was part of Point Dume. So when I was still living at home in Santa Monica, working at a supermarket on Montana Avenue and going to Santa Monica High School followed by Santa Monica City College, I surfed when I could and usually locally.
Bay Street was a local break and I knew it well. Most the surfers who had “wheels” would park in the Bay Street parking lot next to what I knew as the Del Mar Club. Then the hardcore locals would hang out in the Apian Way parking lot because it was smaller, less crowded only. That’s where I parked. Besides when good surf meant skipping a class or two at Santa Monica High School, just a few blocks up the Pico hill, the teachers and coaches who’d try and bust the truants focused on the Bay Street lot.
The Del Mar club had gone through previous incarnations before it became the private beach club my mom and stepdad belonged to. It’s where my sister Mimi and I learned to swim and accompanied to the beach by club staff who’d look after us kids while our parents played. Years later I was told that there was gambling going on in private rooms and the players were some of the county’s best known celebrities, political figures and law enforcement officials. My mom and stepdad loved to gamble and would go to Las Vegas several times a year.
After my stepdad’s bankruptcy their membership lapsed and I don’t recall how the club finally succumbed to changing tastes. But by the time I start my story the Club Del Mar had been taken over by the drug addiction treatment organization known as Synanon.
On this particular day I’d parked my car in the Apian Way lot, pulled on my wetsuit, taken my board to the beach and paddled out to catch some waves. It wasn’t great surfing. Pretty average, really. But it was a chance to get wet, inhale some saltwater and work off some energy.
My vision without glasses is crap. Anything beyond the end of my outstretched hand becomes blurry. But as I left the water I could see a large gathering of people in front of what had been renamed “Synanon House.” The closer I got I could see that it was a cordon of uniformed police with riot gear.
Now this is interesting, I thought.
I asked one of the
policemen what was going on and he said they were there to make some arrests in the building and make sure nobody escaped. If the people they intended to arrest didn’t come out, they were going in after them.
Really interesting.
My old friend and former editor, Bill Cleary, had gone on to write for other publications and had told me that he was now a stringer for TIME-LIFE thanks to his mentor, Jordan Bonfante. I understood that Jordan was Los Angeles Bureau Chief for LIFE Magazine and that Bill was counting on him to help get his long awaited but constantly postponed book published.
So I got to a pay phone, called Bill and suggested that he might want to get down there and cover what might be a major story.
Bill told me he’d check with Jordan Bonfante and for me to call him back. When I did he told me that Jordan had just appointed me as a stringer for TIME-LIFE and my first assignment was to get inside the building and cover the story myself.
Writing for a surfing magazine is not the same as being a news reporter, but I did have some earlier training and subsequent experience. My senior year in high school had me taking a broadcasting course in conjunction with the Santa Monica City College FM station, KCRW-FM. Part of that training was in news reporting and the skills we’d learned played a major part of the final exam.
After the surfing magazine I’d worked as assistant editor under Bill at a publication called Young American Report and had done a lot of the research that led to us breaking the news about two major tobacco companies that had registered the names of two popular strains of marijuana: Acapulco Gold and Panama Red. The Wall Street Journal picked up our article and had given YAR credit. So, I felt ready for the challenge.
By that time I was out of my wetsuit and back in street clothes. I went back to the cordon, asked to speak to the “officer in charge,” and explained that I was on assignment to cover the story by LIFE Magazine. With hardly a glance I was allowed through the cordon.
Now what? Talk about bluffing it. I walked up to the front door. It was manned by some tough looking guys who were anything but welcoming. “What the fuck do YOU want?” They’d seen me talking to the police and probably thought I was representing them.
It’s amazing how saying you’re from a news outlet makes such a difference. I was ordered to stay in the lobby while they talked to someone else. After a fairly short wait I was taken in tow by an older man who kept a close watch on me as we climbed the stairs to the mezzanine level.
At this point I’ve got to explain that I knew very little about Synanon “except what I read in the newspapers.” I didn’t know who Chuck Dederich was and I didn’t know what they did or how they did it. It was a different world and not one I was familiar with or wanted to be. So I was going in cold.
I was motioned into a room that was buzzing with activity. People standing at the windows overlooking Pico, keeping a look at what was going on outside and barking back reports to an eclectic group of people sitting at some tables that had been put together like a boardroom.
After a brief word with one of the people who looked vaguely familiar and pointing at me, the man got up from the table, and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Leonard Nimoy and I’m on the board of Synanon.” He motioned towards the table, “Other members of the board. This is our command center and we’re discussing war.”
It was at that point that the seriousness of this situation hit me. Armed police with riot gear surrounding the building and threatening to storm it. Yes … that was war.
He told me that I was welcome to “observe” and ask questions, but that I was not to comment or ask anyone else questions. My first question was “can I have access to an outside phone,” and he said yes … as long as he could hear what I was saying.
WOW! This really was … real.
My first call was to Bill who gave me a number to call at TIME-LIFE. The man on the other end said I was to “file” my initial impressions. “Just tell us everything. We’ll do the rest.” I told him what had happened since I was allowed past the cordon and that my liaison was Leonard Nimoy. The pause at the other end was muffled but I could hear what I thought was the man talking to another person and telling him what I’d said.
He came back. “Leonard Nimoy the actor? Leonard Nimoy from Star Trek? Spock?”
Someone else came on the line. Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?” I explained as quickly as I could and mentioned Jordan Bonfante’s name. Another pause and another voice. “OK … this is what you do. You write down everything you can and file that with us just as soon as the situation changes. Got that?”
I’m sure Leonard (who’d asked me to call him Leonard) heard it all and seemed somewhat amused. He grabbed a steno pad and a cheap pen from the table and handed them to me with a smile. But his mood didn’t last long as one of the watchers called out that the police were starting to move!
A couple of guys burst into the room, “They’re moving away. It looks like they’re leaving. It looks like …” By that time everyone at the table was at the windows and the sense of relief in the room was palpable. “They’re GOING!”
When it became clear that the crisis had passed Leonard shook my hand and thanked me. He told me that someone would accompany me back to the entrance and that they had a lot more to do. Then he leaned close to me and quietly said, “Funny how things work out. I could swear that someone at your end told someone at the police end that this was being covered by the press and that Spock was involved. We’ll probably never know.”
I was secretly hoping he’d give me the Vulcan signal but he wasn’t Spock, he was Leonard Nimoy and he wasn’t acting.
Leonard Nimoy wasn’t acting © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All Rights Reserved
Pieces from a Puzzling Life 