J. D. LaRue - My Kinda Hero

Real Characters

"...a fake Rolex, cheap Italian shoes and a Member's Only jacket"

Kiel Martin - July 26, 1944 - December 28, 1990


The Hand Joke

It takes courage for an actor to portray a fuck up week in and week out. Kiel Martin's J. D. LaRue was that fuck up writ large. Martin would have been 67 today had he not died of lung cancer in 1990. Chain smoking, heavy drinking and twice divorced, it was said he didn't so much act as he played himself.

Stephen Bocho's brilliant Hill Street Blues took the cop show and put it on its Sam Browne belt. Basket weaved into the boiler plate police procedural were long looks into character's personal lives. Many times these diversions were bizarre but almost always honest. The good guys could be bad and the bad guys could be good.

Shortly after graduating from the police academy, I was assigned to the midnight to eight shift with a sergeant who would park our patrol car outside his girlfriend's double wide trailer, instruct me to listen to the radio and if we were called, honk the horn.

Hill Street Blues captured truth and humor in police work rather than the fictional hand jobs given in films like Dirty Harry or Bullitt. It looked into the darkness of people's lives which is where the gold is. And nobody on the show had more gold than J.D. LaRue. Although it was surely plated.

A swaggering detective with a fake Rolex, cheap Italian shoes and a Member's Only jacket, LaRue could have easily been that sergeant I worked for. A huge ego hid a mountain of insecurity, infidelity and drink. Easily hated the first season, his character, like the others, became more complex, sympathetic and real.

So here's to John LaRue and to Kiel Martin. Cooler than fifty Steve McQueens and a hundred James Deans put together. Happy Birthday.

Father's Day Advice

I'll never tell you what's coming back. I'll only tell you what never left.

My Sub today

Dad's Understated Choice



I grew up with the lore of my father's Explorer upon his return from war. It was an icon to me. His thick wrist covered in the black face and stainless steel with those beautiful numerals.

Front of photo: Dad in Nha Trang - 1967

Back of Photo: "Finger in ear! A typical pose. Look at that $200.00 Rolex shine in the "sun""

I learned to make fires in the Army and it didn't matter how wet the wood was. It always ignited. Thanks to a 5 gallon can of mogas. Despite her vulgar and wasteful ways the Army was not shy about collecting totems within units.

I was eight or nine when I first heard 'Rolex' from my father. It was the watch for Special Forces. Anybody in the military could buy one but few did.

Panmunjom, Korea - 1971

He's showing the Explorer to an anchor cranker or marine. No doubt the young 'El Tee' bought a Rolex before rotating home thanks to that mystical military allure. No, "Joe Shit the Rag Man" here. We're talking clued in. OD Green hipsters. Guys who sniffed out the best: restaurants, booze, cigars, music, reel to reels and wheels.

Dad - Ft Bragg, NC 1966

It was the totem I grew up with. The mysterious watch elicted 'oohhs and ahhs' from those in the know and not so much as a side ways glance from those not. That was the power.

Tintin - Ft Bragg, NC 1977

I pulled the trigger in 1976. Couldn't swing the Explorer but happily settled for the 5513. I was in the Sub Club few understood. Times have changed and the Sub is everywhere. When Dad and I talk about Rolex it's almost as if it's an old language we've grown tired of (Dad chucked his Explorer into a New Mexico desert and I'm close to chucking mine onto 7th Ave.). Inaccurate. Expensive to repair. Anxiety of loss.

But it was his advice I nearly always bought, "Drink the local beer. Be the last to a party and the first to leave. Check out her mother before you marry her. Never take anybody's last anything. Keep the rear sights in focus and you'll hit it every time." These things never seem to run slow or get lost.

Stupid Things I Bought When I Was 19

That watch has been more trouble. I banged it everywhere including the side of a C130 over Sicily DZ and the Devil's Playground in Spring Lake. Senior noncoms, not to mention officers, did not take kindly to a PFC wearing a Rolex...even if it was a lowly Submariner.

Today, every three to five years, it'll start running fast, then slow and then finally stops resulting in a $600 repair bill and a two to three month wait.

Sharing my enthusiasm of Ultravox! in 1977 with an Army barracks was something of a problem. Stereo wars were endless what with competing blasts of the Commodores, Boston and Thin Lizzy. Still, the Sub and Ultravox have stood the test of time. Better than Seiko and Boston. I just wish the Devil's Playground was still in business.

Murphy's Law: Guns

"This is my rifle. This is my gun. This one's for shooting. This one's for fun."

Pardon me while I dig through old boxes of slides but I'm amazed how well they scan. These were taken in the army. That's not me but it's my watch. I had all the instincts of Madison Avenue as a buck sergeant. I shot these with a P.X. purchased Olympus OM-1. Sgt. Murphy was the model and while I thought I was too creative for the army - - Sgt. Murphy was an artist.

As sergeants we carried .45s in the field. Problem was they were a pain to clean after 30 days in the woods. Depending on how big a jerk the guy running the arm's room was - you could spend a life time cleaning the damned thing before it ever passed inspection. This caused great anxiety because all you wanted to do was get a hot shower, change into civies and head into town for lemonade and cookies at the Methodist church social.

Almost everybody wrappped their .45's in OD green plastic and stuffed them in the holster. We were playing war in the woods of North Carolina so no one really cared. Murphy had a brilliant idea that. It involved the purchase of a Daisy BB gun from K Mart ($19.99) that was a dead ringer for a real .45. We'd wrap it in the same OD plastic and no one was the wiser. Plus, we had he added enjoyment of shooting at each other with BB's or playing darts with a board we took to the field (the Daisy fired pellets and darts as well as bbs).

When we got back to the barracks after the exercise we'd run up to our rooms, unlock our lockers, take the real .45 out and swap it for the BB gun. Run downstairs and turn it in while the arm's room guy wondered how it had been kept so clean - or was cleaned so fast. Like I said, Murphy was an artist. God, I hope men like him are in the army today.

Tomorrow - Murphy's Law: The Tank

A Trad Investment

Michael Williams of a "A Continous Lean"turns 30 today. I was thinking that my watch and perhaps some of my boxer shorts are older than he is. I bought my Sub, like so many others, while I was in the Army. It was required if you were in Special Forces. The Sub was cheap back then. I would'a sprung for the Explorer but it was on the high side. I think $50 or $75 more. Trad Dad paid $225 for his Explorer in 1967 while serving in Vietnam with 5th Special Forces Group. A few years ago he admitted to getting pissed off with his watch, taking it off his wrist and slinging it out into the middle of the New Mexico desert. So much for my inheritance.

I've owned two Subs. The first one was left in a Hardee's bathroom in Fayettville, NC after helping an Army buddy change a motorcyle chain in the restaurant's parking lot. I took it off to wash my hands and left it in the soap dish. Didn't notice until I got back to my barracks. I had this very odd feeling in my stomach just before I had the desire to kill myself. I lied to Trad Dad and told him I lost it on a night jump over St Mere Eglise Drop Zone at Ft Bragg.

A couple of days ago I was in Bergdorf Goodman and saw a Sub just like mine (model1530) and a Explorer like Dads. The Sub was $10,000 and the Explorer was $12,500 or there abouts. I know my Dad reads this blog from time to time and I can only hope he isn't feeling that stange feeling in his stomach. Jeez, you couldn't do better in stocks or real estate.

PS- The middle photo is a Sub like mine but not mine. I've added a photo of mine and am ashamed to say it's overdue for a servicing. It's had four services in the 33 years I've owned it. The book is "Handmade Shoes for Men" by Laslo Vass. I'm not a fan of what I believe to be a heavy Hungarian style but the book is mindblowing.