Tom, circa 1974

Man, the 70s are out of sight. It's the goddamn Space Age. Can you believe that shit? Even our orange juice now is sci-fi now. How funky is that?

My brother just came back from Vietnam and he says America will never try to bomb its way to peace again. Says we learned our lesson. Can you dig that? I hope he's right. Time to give peace a chance.

When he got back, he bought a used car, '69 Camarro. Sometimes we tool it around town. It's totally sweet. When he gets home from work we drive it down the strip. All the stone cold foxes down there turn their head as we drive by. They don't mean to, but he always catches them looking in the rear view mirror. My brother could have a thousand girls at the snap of a finger.

Sometimes he gets restless and drives around town at night. Says it helps "him find his center." Dad tells me not to worry about it. Says he's a man now. Says he has a lot to think about.

Sometimes he gets a little heavy and doesn't want to talk. When I ask him what's the matter he says it's nothing. Says he's just been trying meditation to get grounded. Dad hates when he talks about that stuff. But since he's come back, Dad doesn't ride him like he used to. They don't seem to have much to say anymore, but I think they seem to have an understanding.

He's been working with the old man at the office, helping do books. Looks totally pinkpolo'd in his slick tie and nicely pressed shirt. I'm proud of him. He says everything is going to better now that the war is over. Says we're going to have peace. Not only overseas but inside.

He's been taking classes in T'ai chi and been on a health kick. Spent a whole day eating nothing but carrot juice. Been seeing this girl in Southington who makes her own yogurt. I think he likes her. I like her too. She's really nice.

He says things can only get better from here. The war is over, man has walked on the moon, and Nixon is on his way out. Soon, he says, Americans will discover the true last frontier: Themselves. A revolution is upon us. We are right on the cusp of a new day. And my big brother has never been wrong. If he says it, it's true.

A new world, a new way. Can you dig it? I know I can.

I don't know about you, but I think it's outta sight. Completely out of sight.

Advice from Uncle Carl about women, 1977

Hey, kid. That's right, you. Come over here. Do me a favor— see that bucket of ice? Yeah? Well, bring it over to me.

Thanks kid.

You ever tasted whiskey? Oh, you haven't? Well, here take a sip.

Ha! Has a bite to it, don't it? This stuff will put hair and your chest. Here, take a swig of water. That'll wash it down.

Tell me, kid. Your Mom still upstairs squawking with my old lady? Squawk, squawk, squawk. What are they talking about—how bad their husbands are? Yeah, I thought so. That's why I stay down here. I'd rather listen to the static on the shortwave radio than listen to the static in the kitchen.

These broads will drive you crazy if you let 'em. I don't let 'em. I spend most of my time down here in the garage alone here with my friend Jack. That's Mr. Daniels to you, son.

Kid, by the way, don't tell your mother I let you taste whisky, OK? Capiche? Good, good.

Billy, when you get a little bit older, you're going to want to meet a lot of girls. And that's ok, son. Have some fun while you can. I married your Aunt Nancy when I was 19. Got hitched a church in San Diego that had a neon sign. Place call the Four Square Church. Got hitched and went right into the Navy. Too young.

She was my brother's sister. We met while he was courting her. What are the odds that man is going to fall for the sister of his brother's girl? Not as bad as you'd think.

Son, believe it or not, broads are like janitors. They carry with them a lot of keys but for some reason they never seem to have to key to every door. There's always one room or another they can't open. This is just a fact of life. And there's nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with it at all.

Kid, you're going to meet a lot of women in your life. Make sure you sow some wild oats. But after you've broken a few hearts, just pick one. Don't be in a hurry and don't wait too long. Just pick one and be done with it. At some level, they're all the same.

Son, I bet your Mom is wondering where you went to. Come here. Take another swig of water. Make sure she can't smell that whisky on your breath.

And kid— do me a favor? Please shut the door on your way out.

Chewbacca looks back: Part 1

Featuring guest blogger Chewbacca

The 70s were out of sight. When Star Wars exploded, it was like I was sitting in the Millennium Falcon as it blasted into hyperdrive. One minute I’m just another struggling actor serving fat slobs fried hash and pancakes at an IHOP in Van Nuys. The next moment—WHOOSH!— I’m moving so goddamn fast the whole universe turns into a freakin’ blur.

Dude, I won’t lie to you: the “blur” started a few years before Star Wars. Kashyyyk was certainly a nice enough planet to grow up on— about as comforting and stifling as a womb—but if I ever see another freakin’ Wroshyr tree I think I’m going to puke.

Even a few light years away, I knew that fantastic sun-drenched, Bikini-drenched, dope-drenched L.A. was where it was at. In the 70s’, L.A. was cosmically famous.

I landed in L.A. in 1974 and found myself living in a pink stucco house up in Laurel Canyon. Lived with a bunch of wanna-be actors and musicians, who spent most of their time getting treated for crabs and staying up all drinking tequila and snorting some of Central America’s finest hand-crafted exports. Like I said, “WHOOSH!”

I absolutely loved living in Laurel Canyon. Down the street, Joni Mitchell owned a gigantic furry dog—it looked a bit like the The Shaggy DA— and she used ask me to walk him when she was out of town. Frank Zappa would laugh when we passed his house—he lived in a log cabin that had once been owned by silent movie star Tom Mix. Staring first at the dog’s shaggy face and then at mine, he’d yell: “Hey, Chewie, are you taking your brother for a walk?”

At that moment, Laurel Canyon felt like it was at the intersection of all of the creative vibes in the cosmos. (That’s right, I just said the word “vibes” and “cosmos.” Back then we actually used groovy words like that. WHOOSH!)

Unlike my roommates, I didn’t come L.A. to get famous. My roommate Randy did. Back then if the adjectives “chiseled” and “good looks” ever came even remotely within proximity of your name, you moved to L.A. It was practically the law. In Randy’s case, it was as if the state of Rhode Island collectively said, “Randy, you’re just too darn good-looking to live here so we all chipped in to buy you this bus ticket to California.”

When I met him, Randy was a struggling actor with a predilection for seducing rich middle-aged women at the Polo Lounge. Class act, that guy. Last I heard he was selling real estate in Escondido.

Before I get into how I got the part of Star Wars, I just want to say that LSD was never my drug of choice. Weed and blow seemed more “natural,” to me—as if you could buy it in bulk at the health food store. Acid seemed a little harsh and industrial to me. My coworker at IHOP, another struggling actor, had an insider's Hollywood euphemism for LSD: "Special effects." To me it was like fiddling with your concsiousness with a pneumatic drill.

The night before my audition, however, I was given two tabs of acid by a coworker at IHOP. I was facing three days off work and was already restless. So on the day of the Star Wars audition, I had dropped the two tabs and sat on the sofa in the living room trying to figure out the chord changes to “Moonshadow” on the guitar, waiting for it to kick in.

Randy would get up around noon, invariably hung over, light up a joint, and read through casting calls on a hammock we put up in the living room. On this day, August 5th, 1975, Randy yelled to me. “Check this out, man. This is far out!”

I wasn’t quite at WHOOSH, but the edges of shapes were starting to take on a certain wavy iridescence.

Randy continued. “Listen to this casting call: ‘Hairy male Wookiee for supporting role in sci-fi film. Minimum 8 foot tall. Must be shaggy and must have piercing yelp’.” He attempted to jolt upright, swinging awkwardly in the hammock, the bogarted joint dangling from his lip. “Dude, the audition is today at 2:00pm!” I looked at my wristwatch, which was starting to warp and drift in and out of my field of view.

“Um, Randy. That sounds cool and all, but I don’t think an audition is a good idea. For one thing, I’m not in the Screen Actor’s Union…”

“Who gives a sh—

“And I just dropped two hits of acid.”

“Oh,” he said. "Oh, right."

But after reflecting for a moment, he said: “But who cares about that? This could change your entire life! Let’s go!”

To be continued...