Still An East Coast Guy in LA

"I can tell you're from the East Coast!" The salesperson in the Hawaiian short and the extra large Khaki shorts and leather thong sandals surprised me with his confidence about my origins. "Really? Is it my accent? I'm from New Jersey but I've lost most of my East Coast twang." I was curious what was it that was giving my hometown state away. Was this guy insulting me or paying me a compliment? "Come on, what is it that makes you so sure I'm from the East?" He smiled, "You're wearing a black leather jacket. All guys from the East Coast wear black leather jackets."

The salesperson had me pegged. I've been wearing black leather jackets since I was seventeen. I use to wear black leather motorcycle boots and once donned black leather pants-inspired by the Door's Jim Morrison,  not from the East Coast.

An East Coast guy is often exposed by his jacket. It's true. I've noticed California men would rather not wear a jacket when the weather starts to chill down. I bring jackets everywhere-even to a night baseball game in mid-August. You know . . . it may get cold after the fifth inning and the breezes start to blow in at Dodger Stadium about 9:30 p.m. You take a jacket to the baseball game, hang it on your chair and forget about it except when you need it.

But what is it with California guys who won't admit when they're cold? If it's raining, they wear t-shirts, shorts, no hat or -God forbid - a raincoat. I won't throw in the galoshes because even I won't wear them . . not even in a flood. Is there some kind of award every California guy is going to get when he passes on to the next world - an award for all the times when the weather dropped below 60 degrees and they refused to wear a jacket.

Comedian Jackie Mason typified Jewish mothers when he said, "A Jewish mother will always tell you to take a jacket or a sweater. Even if you protest and tell her it's 101 degrees outside, she'll say, 'You never know . . . the temperature may drop to 97. Take a sweater."

I'l never take it that far.  But when it's cold -anything nearing the high 50s-the black leather jacket comes out of the closet. I'm an East Coast guy. 

When I came to LA I had no job.  I knew no celebrities.  No Hollywood connections.  Yet I did land a job working in a graphic arts photography studio as a photographer.  So I was in . . . I worked with huge ad firms that had accounts with McDonalds, Taco Bell and Sizzler.  Now I was hot stuff.  I had something to strut about at L.A. parties. 

Even though my hands always smelled from photographic chemicals and I was getting metal toxicity in the process, I felt pretty cool.  Until I realized one day that I was walking into a West Coast trap.  I was now somebody in LA because I was connected to somebody else.  I backed off and had an East Coast moment.  "Hey Louis!  What are you doing?  You're from New Jersey, remember?  You're only somebody when you make something of yourself.  A trustworthy and responsible guy.  A man who knows how to treat women with respect and is not afraid to tell someone off if needed. What's with this 'who-you-know-malarky?" 

I've been in LA for over thirty years and I do know a lot of people in the entertainment business. Some celebrities I've met are decent people and some are . . . well, you know.  But I try never to name drop or I fall into the LA trap.  You want a name?  Louis Lapides.  That's a name.  Try me out. You want someone you can count on, give it a shot.  You need a favor done, I'm your man. You want someone who can be a gentleman around the ladies and will speak up when some jerk speaks inappropriately to a woman,  I'm the guy.  

Disregard my New Jersey idioms.  What matters most is not who you know, but who you are.  I took that trait all the way from Newark, N.J. and carried it to L.A. in my '66 Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible. And I love it!