Sharon Tate, Doug McClure and Jay Sebring at Topanga Beach

When I lived there Malibu’s Topanga Beach wasn’t known as party central or a druggie’s beach. It was an eclectic, but diverse community along a stretch of beach that was home to families, couples, students, teachers, surfers, lifeguards, actors, writers, artists, musicians, builders and a variety of people who worked for the entertainment industry. It was a community in every sense of the word.

Many of the residents owned their homes on beachfront land leased from the Los Angeles Athletic Club. And for those of us, like me, who rented some of the houses, it offered a way of life we wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise.

The house I was living in the summer of 64 was owned by a Dr Schwieiger and shared by a different people who’d come and go depending on the time of year and work or school schedules. My housemates at the time were a young married couple working on their graduate degrees and a lifeguard, while I was working at a surfing magazine.

When I first moved onto Topanga Beach it was 1961 and nobody I knew locked their doors. No need to then. Besides there seemed to be an open door policy where neighbors became friends and friends dropped in on each other. Impromptu parties were not uncommon.

By the mid-60s that had changed a bit, but that day I was standing in the kitchen making myself a sandwich when two people walked past the window and stuck their heads in the open front door.

“Hello! Anyone home?”

I set aside my sandwich and they introduced themselves when I popped out from the kitchen. “Hi, we’re your new neighbors. Well … for the summer anyway. We’ve rented the house next door.”

“Ah … the Roachs” house. Hi, I’m Bob.”

“I’m Doug and this is Sharon. We’re sharing with another couple. Jay Sebring and ….” I didn’t catch the other name but I think it was Abigail. I’d seen Doug around, but the others were strangers.

The Roachs’ house was one of the “proper” houses on the beach. A family beach home belonging to a large family that also had a big house on Adelaide Drive overlooking Santa Monica Canyon. It was only a few blocks from where I’d grown up and I’d gone to school with one of the sons. So due to the size of the house and the furnishings I figured they were paying a premium price for the summer.

“We’d like to ask a favor,” said the beautiful Sharon. I was all ears and hormones.

They explained that they’d ordered a phone connection but that it wouldn’t be turned on for a couple of weeks. Could they use our phone until it was. “We’ll pay for all the calls of course.”

Maybe things have changed, but back then just about every call made from Topanga Beach was a toll call. So when I hesitated, Doug reassured me. “Oh we know about the toll calls. The phone company is making a fortune. But we’ll reimburse you. Promise.”

“Also,” added Sharon with a heart melting smile, “could we borrow a cup of sugar?” We laughed.

The walkways along the side of each house ran next to each other and were only separated by a short fence topped with lattice in need of paint. So we’d see each other often as we came and went. We always got smiles and waves. No noise or loud music. They seemed like perfect neighbors.

A few weeks later I came home from visiting another neighbor to find Doug on the phone in our living room. He was arguing with someone on the other end and he waved me away as if to say, “I need some privacy here.” Seeing my expression he smiled, shrugged and mimed his apologies.

When I returned from my bedroom he was gone. But it did start me wondering why he was still using our phone. After all they’d been living next door for nearly a month.

One of my housemates also walked in on one or the other of them using the phone a few times and asked me to check and make sure they were going to pay for the calls because I had been the one to say it was OK to use the phone. The account was in my name but we shared he cost and paid for our own calls.

If I remember correctly the phone company was Pacific Bell and very slow to send out their bills. So when one arrived with a major increase from calls made the first week they’d been next door, I was very concerned. I waited until I knew they were home and presented them with the itemized list.

“Oh gee,” said Doug. “We’ll get onto that right away. Those aren’t my calls, but I’ll ask the others to pay you pronto.”

Pronto turned into a week or so and Sharon came over and presented me with a check. Of course we had already paid the bill so having to wait until we were in town to deposit it and then for it to clear put a strain on my finances. However, I was the one who’d said OK. At least her check didn’t bounce.

We all noticed that they’d become less friendly, but when one of my housemates found Doug McClure again having an argument on our phone he confronted him. He outright asked Doug why he was still using our phone. Doug admitted that theirs had never been connected. He blamed the phone company, but my housemate told him that he didn’t want them coming into our house or using our phone again when we weren’t there. Did they even order the connection?

We started locking the front door when we were out.

Now I didn’t know who Sharon was. Or Sebring and his pretty girlfriend. But I knew who Doug was. He was an actor and my mom and stepdad knew his parents. We didn’t have a television at the beach and I hadn’t watched one except occasionally since I left home. But I figured that since Doug was nearly a local and my parents knew his he could be trusted.

I was wrong.

A few week after they left I got a huge phone bill. They’d not only made long calls to Hollywood and Beverly Hills, they’d phoned Paris, London, Rome, New York, San Francisco and even Mexico. The bill ran into the hundreds of dollars.

I’d been able to get Doug’s number from a mutual acquaintance and talked to him several times. He was always apologetic and promised to pay the bill and never did. Finally he’d hang up when he’d recognize my voice. Then I was able to get the number at the studio where he worked and after being put through twice and getting the same runaround I was told he wouldn’t take my calls. I called is agent. He was apologetic but said, “Look … people like Doug don’t pay their bills like other people. So you’re wasting your time. He’ll never pay you.”

Over the years I’ve run into quite a few people like that who work in the industry. To them, people like me should feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet them and pay for the privilege. The agent ended with “Be glad you’re not his tailor.”

I must admit that being that close to Sharon Tate almost made it worth it.

Sharon Tate, Doug McClure and Jay Sebring © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All Rights Reserved