Rick Long's Stories
July 15, 2005
The Wild One
By Rick Long
My part-time career as a magazine writer for the music industry was in its fourth year when I had a unique, life
changing opportunity fall into my lap. A few people know about the assignment but not very many. I kept the
event to myself for a long time after the initial interview because until the article published, I didn’t think
anyone would believe me. I’ve decided to loosen up a bit about it now and enjoy the chance to share the
story.
My pager went off one afternoon while I was working my nursing job. It went off three times in five minutes. I
checked messages and all three were from Modern Drummer magazine editor Kevin Kearns. He wanted me to
call him ASAP.
I though to myself, “What’s going on? There are no emergencies in the drum magazine business.� I
called the office and Kevin asked me in a hurried voice, “Rick, can you go to L.A. next week to do an
interview?�
“Sure,� I responded. “What’s up?�
Kevin then told me that a man had called the Modern Drummer headquarters in New Jersey to promote an
invention he had just patented. It was a new method of connecting drumheads to a drumshell that would provide
better tuning with only one knob to turn. It had the potential to revolutionize the drumming industry and make
tuning easier for amateurs and professionals alike.
For those that don’t know about drums, the heads are currently secured to the shell using a rim with several
tuning rods. Drums are notoriously hard to tune because each of the rods has to create the same tension on the
head. This simple method has been used for over 100 years mainly because it is a cheap way to manufacture
drums and it works well enough.
The editor jumped at the chance to do an article on the new invention. The caller asked if someone could come
over to his home in Beverly Hills to see the device and conduct an interview. Kevin suggested that I receive the
assignment, since I live in southern California, then asked the man for the name and phone number that I should
contact. The caller gave a phone number, then calmly said, “My name is Marlon Brando.�
Kevin thought to himself, “That’s funny. This guy lives in Beverly Hills and has the same name as a
famous actor.� Then it struck Kevin how much the caller sounded like Brando. The caller then began talking
talk about how for most of his life he had worked in the movie industry. He said that he used to play the drum
set in high school but that he switched to conga drums after falling in love with Latin music in the 1950s while on
location in Tahiti for the filming of Mutiny on the Bounty.
Then it really hit Kevin: “This is Brando!� Kevin called me the minute Brando hung up the phone. He
gave me the number and said that Brando told him a personal secretary would answer when I called and that I
was to give her my availability so a meeting could be arranged.
My wife gave me advice early in my writing career about how to deal with famous people. First and foremost,
don’t gush about how much you admire them. Second, puts some limits on things so they come to respect
your needs. After getting off work that day, I made the call. A pleasant Asian woman answered the phone. I
gave my availability and the next day, she called to set the appointment.
I asked if I could bring along someone who played congas to help check out the device, since I am primarily a
drum set player and the device had been originally developed for conga drums. This condition was also my way
of arranging a witness since I was concerned that people would not believe that I was really at Marlon Brandoâ
€™s home. Galen Parker, a former professional percussionist and local real estate agent, was recruited for the
job. He had no problem agreeing to go along. After all, who wouldn’t go?
The day of the meeting came. We arrived early to make sure we could find the address along Mulholland drive
and then went to a Starbucks down the street to wait for the appointed time. When we arrived back at the
house, the secretary met us in the driveway just past the two security gates. There is a permanent sign in the
driveway that says, “Do not get out of your car due to the guard dogs. Honk the horn and someone will
come to get you.� We had our escort and we were on our way to meet The Wild One.
(For anyone that might not know, The Wild One is a 1950’s movie starring Marlon Brando that is loosely
based on events at the Hollister July 4th run in 1946 while Life magazine photographers were in town. Those
images have tainted the public’s image of motorcycling for over half a century.)
Brando lived on a hill that provides a stunning view of Los Angeles. The house is not a traditional mansion but
instead, a collection of five buildings. The one we were taken to was much like a ranch-style home in a suburb.
We were not shown inside the other buildings. Brando later told us that he purchased the home from Howard
Hughes in the 1960's.
Once inside, the secretary disappeared around the corner to find Brando. A young Argentine maid came out of
the kitchen and asked what we might like to eat and drink. I thought to myself, “Well, I’m not thirsty
because I’m full of Starbucks coffee and who could eat! I’m meeting Brando!!� We politely asked
for water and tea. She came back with a silver platter piled high with massive pastries, strawberries that were
the size of small light bulbs, and individual bowls of olives and party mix. They know how to snack over in
Hollywood.
Then from around the corner, a voice called out, “Ready or not here I come.� And it was Brando. He
walked out, sat down on the couch, and for the next thirty minutes, asked us about our families, told us about
his kids, and basically just talked about the usual things you would talk about with friends. He really made us
feel very comfortable.
The secretary brought out the prototype of the conga drum with the tuning device installed. Brando had a non-
disclosure form at his side but at the last minute, he threw it down and said, “I don’t want to fool with
that. You two look like people I can trust.� I began to make my notes about the product, Galen tested the
drum, and we talked about Brando’s interest in percussion and music in general.
Then Galen said something about a statuette near the fireplace. “Is that Tahitian?� he asked.
Brando replied, “Oh, let me tell you about Tahiti. Have you seen my island?� We answered no and for
the next half-hour, we were entertained with pictures and stories of Tahiti and his private island, purchased in
the 1950’s for less that what people pay today for a house in a California suburb.
I believe that when you are 78 years old, as Brando was at that time, you have a license to be easily distracted.
You’ve lived a long life, you’ve experienced many things, you have an opinion about most everything,
and you are not shy about expressing it. I could see that my job was quickly becoming difficult.
While I was certainly enjoying listening to Brando and my friend talk about Tahiti, then Eastern Indian
Philosophy, I was realizing that I needed to come away from this interview with enough information to write a
coherent article about the new product. I would steer the conversation back to the drum when possible, get the
answers to a few questions, and we’d be off around the world again talking about Asia, Europe, or Latin
America. Brando was a well-traveled, intelligent individual who also happened to be able to act.
One incident that occurred during the visit stands out in my mind. A loud banging sound was heard and the
sliding glass door shook violently. It sounded as if we were having an earthquake. I thought, “This will be my
legacy. I grew up in a small town in the rural South, moved to California, became a writer, and died interviewing
Marlon Brando.â€� As it turned out, it was just one of the dogs trying to get in. “Have you seen my dogs?â
€� Brando asked.
“We saw the sign,� I replied. With that, Brando called for the maid to bring in the dogs.
“One of them weighs 178 pounds and the other is just a little bigger than that,� Brando informed us. “I
call them ‘mind changing dogs.’ If you come on this property with mischief on your mind, you’re
going to change your mind when you see these dogs.�
I was caught up on my notes at that point and the conversation had changed to eastern India again. I watched
out the window while the maid, who was maybe all of 100 pounds at most, tried to coral these dogs. Only one
of the dogs would come when she called and he wasn’t there to be petted or collared. He had come over
as if he was on patrol and just checking to see what the disturbance was about. He wasn’t about to come in
the house just because she wanted him to. She grabbed the collar and he took off with her in tow. She finally let
loose, threw her hands in the air, stormed back in the house, and announced in a somewhat defeated tone, “I
cannot get the dogs.�
Brando looked over at her, waved his hand, and said, “That’s OK. We’re talking about something
else now.� She breathed a sigh of relief and headed back for the kitchen.
We talked a while longer, then promptly at 3:30 pm, Brando rose from the couch, said, “We better wrap
this up. Kids will be home from school shortly.� I asked if he had grandchildren living on the place. He
replied, “No. I have a seven-year-old.� My friend and I silently hoped that we would be as virile in our
seventies. We found our way back to the driveway and headed for home.
I wrote a formal thank you that very evening. Within a few days, Brando called with a few questions for me.
Seems he didn’t know much about the drum industry and wanted me to help him make a few contacts. For
six months, we didn’t go more than two weeks without a call, or an e-mail, or a message between the two
of us. I would not say that we were friends but I would say that we made each other’s acquaintance.
There was one more visit to his home just a few months prior to his passing. He was not well but he retained
that Brando mystic. He wanted desperately to see his invention become accepted by the percussion industry but
it was not to be at that time. Perhaps someday, one of the manufacturers will give it a chance. Who knows.
The morning his death was announced to the public, I was packing for a weekend getaway to Catalina. My
mother-in-law called and said in a tearful voice, “Turn on Channel 5. The news says Brando has died.� I
did as she said and learned the truth. I was not surprised. I was sad but knew that the pains of his life, and there
had been many, were over now.
Out on Catalina that weekend, it was as if Brando was following me there. You’ve seen those paintings of
Hollywood legends sitting around a bar, with James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, and a young
image of Brando from the movie “A Street Car Named Desire.� There was one of those hanging by the
doorway in my favorite Avalon restaurant and Brando’s gaze seemed fixed on me as I would pass by.
Another with a different collection of stars was in a storefront window. Again, Brando was looking at me as if to
say, “Enjoy the island life. Take in what the world has to offer but don’t let it run your life. Don’t
make my mistakes. Make your own mistakes. Live life your way and to heck with those that don’t really
care about you anyway.�
There will be other articles about other topics. There may be other opportunities to interview famous individuals.
But there will never be another Brando. My time with The Wild One will be one of those experiences that mark
my life with indelible ink. I am forever changed by the experience that I have shared now with you.
---
Brando was adamant that his privacy be maintained throughout the process of writing and publishing the article I
was working on. His private life was very precious to him. When you are ultra-famous, everybody knows
everything about you or at least they think they do. The small things of life that others might not think were
important become precious because they are the things that are truly yours and are not shared with the world. It
is with great respect of that desire that I have not included more details about my two visits to Brando’s
home or the discussions we had.
By Rick Long
My part-time career as a magazine writer for the music industry was in its fourth year when I had a unique, life
changing opportunity fall into my lap. A few people know about the assignment but not very many. I kept the
event to myself for a long time after the initial interview because until the article published, I didn’t think
anyone would believe me. I’ve decided to loosen up a bit about it now and enjoy the chance to share the
story.
My pager went off one afternoon while I was working my nursing job. It went off three times in five minutes. I
checked messages and all three were from Modern Drummer magazine editor Kevin Kearns. He wanted me to
call him ASAP.
I though to myself, “What’s going on? There are no emergencies in the drum magazine business.� I
called the office and Kevin asked me in a hurried voice, “Rick, can you go to L.A. next week to do an
interview?�
“Sure,� I responded. “What’s up?�
Kevin then told me that a man had called the Modern Drummer headquarters in New Jersey to promote an
invention he had just patented. It was a new method of connecting drumheads to a drumshell that would provide
better tuning with only one knob to turn. It had the potential to revolutionize the drumming industry and make
tuning easier for amateurs and professionals alike.
For those that don’t know about drums, the heads are currently secured to the shell using a rim with several
tuning rods. Drums are notoriously hard to tune because each of the rods has to create the same tension on the
head. This simple method has been used for over 100 years mainly because it is a cheap way to manufacture
drums and it works well enough.
The editor jumped at the chance to do an article on the new invention. The caller asked if someone could come
over to his home in Beverly Hills to see the device and conduct an interview. Kevin suggested that I receive the
assignment, since I live in southern California, then asked the man for the name and phone number that I should
contact. The caller gave a phone number, then calmly said, “My name is Marlon Brando.�
Kevin thought to himself, “That’s funny. This guy lives in Beverly Hills and has the same name as a
famous actor.� Then it struck Kevin how much the caller sounded like Brando. The caller then began talking
talk about how for most of his life he had worked in the movie industry. He said that he used to play the drum
set in high school but that he switched to conga drums after falling in love with Latin music in the 1950s while on
location in Tahiti for the filming of Mutiny on the Bounty.
Then it really hit Kevin: “This is Brando!� Kevin called me the minute Brando hung up the phone. He
gave me the number and said that Brando told him a personal secretary would answer when I called and that I
was to give her my availability so a meeting could be arranged.
My wife gave me advice early in my writing career about how to deal with famous people. First and foremost,
don’t gush about how much you admire them. Second, puts some limits on things so they come to respect
your needs. After getting off work that day, I made the call. A pleasant Asian woman answered the phone. I
gave my availability and the next day, she called to set the appointment.
I asked if I could bring along someone who played congas to help check out the device, since I am primarily a
drum set player and the device had been originally developed for conga drums. This condition was also my way
of arranging a witness since I was concerned that people would not believe that I was really at Marlon Brandoâ
€™s home. Galen Parker, a former professional percussionist and local real estate agent, was recruited for the
job. He had no problem agreeing to go along. After all, who wouldn’t go?
The day of the meeting came. We arrived early to make sure we could find the address along Mulholland drive
and then went to a Starbucks down the street to wait for the appointed time. When we arrived back at the
house, the secretary met us in the driveway just past the two security gates. There is a permanent sign in the
driveway that says, “Do not get out of your car due to the guard dogs. Honk the horn and someone will
come to get you.� We had our escort and we were on our way to meet The Wild One.
(For anyone that might not know, The Wild One is a 1950’s movie starring Marlon Brando that is loosely
based on events at the Hollister July 4th run in 1946 while Life magazine photographers were in town. Those
images have tainted the public’s image of motorcycling for over half a century.)
Brando lived on a hill that provides a stunning view of Los Angeles. The house is not a traditional mansion but
instead, a collection of five buildings. The one we were taken to was much like a ranch-style home in a suburb.
We were not shown inside the other buildings. Brando later told us that he purchased the home from Howard
Hughes in the 1960's.
Once inside, the secretary disappeared around the corner to find Brando. A young Argentine maid came out of
the kitchen and asked what we might like to eat and drink. I thought to myself, “Well, I’m not thirsty
because I’m full of Starbucks coffee and who could eat! I’m meeting Brando!!� We politely asked
for water and tea. She came back with a silver platter piled high with massive pastries, strawberries that were
the size of small light bulbs, and individual bowls of olives and party mix. They know how to snack over in
Hollywood.
Then from around the corner, a voice called out, “Ready or not here I come.� And it was Brando. He
walked out, sat down on the couch, and for the next thirty minutes, asked us about our families, told us about
his kids, and basically just talked about the usual things you would talk about with friends. He really made us
feel very comfortable.
The secretary brought out the prototype of the conga drum with the tuning device installed. Brando had a non-
disclosure form at his side but at the last minute, he threw it down and said, “I don’t want to fool with
that. You two look like people I can trust.� I began to make my notes about the product, Galen tested the
drum, and we talked about Brando’s interest in percussion and music in general.
Then Galen said something about a statuette near the fireplace. “Is that Tahitian?� he asked.
Brando replied, “Oh, let me tell you about Tahiti. Have you seen my island?� We answered no and for
the next half-hour, we were entertained with pictures and stories of Tahiti and his private island, purchased in
the 1950’s for less that what people pay today for a house in a California suburb.
I believe that when you are 78 years old, as Brando was at that time, you have a license to be easily distracted.
You’ve lived a long life, you’ve experienced many things, you have an opinion about most everything,
and you are not shy about expressing it. I could see that my job was quickly becoming difficult.
While I was certainly enjoying listening to Brando and my friend talk about Tahiti, then Eastern Indian
Philosophy, I was realizing that I needed to come away from this interview with enough information to write a
coherent article about the new product. I would steer the conversation back to the drum when possible, get the
answers to a few questions, and we’d be off around the world again talking about Asia, Europe, or Latin
America. Brando was a well-traveled, intelligent individual who also happened to be able to act.
One incident that occurred during the visit stands out in my mind. A loud banging sound was heard and the
sliding glass door shook violently. It sounded as if we were having an earthquake. I thought, “This will be my
legacy. I grew up in a small town in the rural South, moved to California, became a writer, and died interviewing
Marlon Brando.â€� As it turned out, it was just one of the dogs trying to get in. “Have you seen my dogs?â
€� Brando asked.
“We saw the sign,� I replied. With that, Brando called for the maid to bring in the dogs.
“One of them weighs 178 pounds and the other is just a little bigger than that,� Brando informed us. “I
call them ‘mind changing dogs.’ If you come on this property with mischief on your mind, you’re
going to change your mind when you see these dogs.�
I was caught up on my notes at that point and the conversation had changed to eastern India again. I watched
out the window while the maid, who was maybe all of 100 pounds at most, tried to coral these dogs. Only one
of the dogs would come when she called and he wasn’t there to be petted or collared. He had come over
as if he was on patrol and just checking to see what the disturbance was about. He wasn’t about to come in
the house just because she wanted him to. She grabbed the collar and he took off with her in tow. She finally let
loose, threw her hands in the air, stormed back in the house, and announced in a somewhat defeated tone, “I
cannot get the dogs.�
Brando looked over at her, waved his hand, and said, “That’s OK. We’re talking about something
else now.� She breathed a sigh of relief and headed back for the kitchen.
We talked a while longer, then promptly at 3:30 pm, Brando rose from the couch, said, “We better wrap
this up. Kids will be home from school shortly.� I asked if he had grandchildren living on the place. He
replied, “No. I have a seven-year-old.� My friend and I silently hoped that we would be as virile in our
seventies. We found our way back to the driveway and headed for home.
I wrote a formal thank you that very evening. Within a few days, Brando called with a few questions for me.
Seems he didn’t know much about the drum industry and wanted me to help him make a few contacts. For
six months, we didn’t go more than two weeks without a call, or an e-mail, or a message between the two
of us. I would not say that we were friends but I would say that we made each other’s acquaintance.
There was one more visit to his home just a few months prior to his passing. He was not well but he retained
that Brando mystic. He wanted desperately to see his invention become accepted by the percussion industry but
it was not to be at that time. Perhaps someday, one of the manufacturers will give it a chance. Who knows.
The morning his death was announced to the public, I was packing for a weekend getaway to Catalina. My
mother-in-law called and said in a tearful voice, “Turn on Channel 5. The news says Brando has died.� I
did as she said and learned the truth. I was not surprised. I was sad but knew that the pains of his life, and there
had been many, were over now.
Out on Catalina that weekend, it was as if Brando was following me there. You’ve seen those paintings of
Hollywood legends sitting around a bar, with James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, and a young
image of Brando from the movie “A Street Car Named Desire.� There was one of those hanging by the
doorway in my favorite Avalon restaurant and Brando’s gaze seemed fixed on me as I would pass by.
Another with a different collection of stars was in a storefront window. Again, Brando was looking at me as if to
say, “Enjoy the island life. Take in what the world has to offer but don’t let it run your life. Don’t
make my mistakes. Make your own mistakes. Live life your way and to heck with those that don’t really
care about you anyway.�
There will be other articles about other topics. There may be other opportunities to interview famous individuals.
But there will never be another Brando. My time with The Wild One will be one of those experiences that mark
my life with indelible ink. I am forever changed by the experience that I have shared now with you.
---
Brando was adamant that his privacy be maintained throughout the process of writing and publishing the article I
was working on. His private life was very precious to him. When you are ultra-famous, everybody knows
everything about you or at least they think they do. The small things of life that others might not think were
important become precious because they are the things that are truly yours and are not shared with the world. It
is with great respect of that desire that I have not included more details about my two visits to Brando’s
home or the discussions we had.