"Joe Bob Goes to the
Drive-In" for 6/22/90
cutline: Jimmy Dean is comforted by
relatives as he examines spoiled sausage in "Big Bad John"
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine,
Texas
"The
Art of the Deal, Part 2," by Donald Trump:
Many
people ask me what a normal day in my life is like.
I
usually start by giving a quarter to the doorman at Trump Tower. I used to give
him a dollar, but now it makes the guys down at Manufacturers Hanover a little
nervous.
By
8:15 I'm on the phone, doing deals. The first call is Randy Simpson, my man
over at Chase Manhattan. He has a question about a $20 million interest
payment.
"Hey,
Randy, that's not due till Tuesday. Check your calendar!"
I've
known Randy for years. We frequently joke during business deals.
Randy
tells me, if I don't pay up, he'll take my yacht and my mansion in Florida. In
a typical Donald Trump day, we call this "Banker Talk."
Next,
breakfast with three of my largest investors--Bob Samson at First Fidelity
Bancorp, Nick Wallinsky at Bankers Trust, and Fred Ferragamo at First Federal
Boston. We're having what's called a "meeting" to talk about
"money."
At
9:43 we're still going at it, when Nick uses the unfortunate word "deadbeat."
I've known Nick for years. What a joker! Our daughters go to the same private
school.
At
10:15 I excuse myself, turning the bankers over to my closest advisor, Vinnie
"The Hammer" Margolis. No sooner do I get back to my desk than
another phone call comes in. It's Stu Slussman, my personal divorce attorney
and a pretty fair golfer in his own right. Stu has a question about Marla. He
wants to know how many times we "did it." I know it sounds funny, but
the strangest things can affect corporate income in a real-estate business as
large as mine.
Every
morning at 11 I call my chief pit boss at the Taj Mahal, one of my three casino
properties which, in my opinion, are the finest gaming palaces in the world.
John Mahoney, the man on duty this morning, takes my call and tells me a
Japanese businessman has won $400,000 at the baccarat table. I tell Mahoney I'm
NOT pleased. He promises to keep me informed.
Every
businessman should keep time in his schedule for charities. At 12:15 I have my
secretary call the Lord & Taylor lingerie department and order the
"Midnight Passion" two-piece stretch-mesh see-through bra and
G-string, one of those kinds with the spaghetti straps and underwire support
that's open in the back and on a woman with a 36 double-D it kind of bounces
when she walks, and I have the secretary send it to a needy woman I met
recently working in the bond department of Kidder Peabody.
I
have just a few moments after lunch to prepare for my two o'clock meeting with
the Sultan of Brunei, who wants to buy the Plaza Hotel. Even though it's my
favorite property, I'm never ashamed of taking a profit when the opportunity
presents itself. Unfortunately, I get a call at 1:45 from three Japanese banks
informing me that they will be meeting with the Sultan of Brunei and that, if I
try to horn in on the meeting, they'll foreclose on $100 million worth of
high-rise condo properties on the west side of Manhattan. Vinnie The Hammer
advises me to stay in my office, and I always do what Vinnie says.
John
Mahoney calls back from the Taj Mahal, and tells me the Japanese businessman
had a terrible run of luck and now owes the casino $600,000. I make my decision
quickly.
"Take
his money and kick him out."
I
find that it's always best to speak briefly when it comes to business. John and
I discuss the upcoming Wimbledon tennis tournament, then hang up. John has
ejecting to do. I have more meetings with bankers.
People
sometimes ask me, "Do you ever guarantee loans with your personal
money?" And, of course, most real estate investors would tell you
"No" or perhaps "Never" or perhaps "Are you
CRAZY."
Not
me! I have $2 billion in bank debt, and $500 million of that is guaranteed by
me personally. That's why I have to go meet with eight more bankers right now.
It's funny what bankers will do when you personally guarantee loans. They'll
take your yacht, they'll take your luxury vacation homes, they'll take your
airline, they'll take your hotel, they'll take the royalties from your books,
they'll take your game show--I suppose, if they could, they would take this new
book that I'm writing, but there are certain privileges you have when your name
is Donald Trump and there's no way they can take away "The Art of the
Deal, Part 2" unless they actually walked into my office and starting
carting away furniture and then they walked up to me and took my paper away and
my dictaphone and then took the pen out of my . . . [manuscript ends here]
Speaking
of time running out, they finally made the movie version of the hit song
"Big Bad John." I know it might SEEM like it took a long time, since
the song went to number one on the charts in 1961, but think of it this way.
The people who HAVE been waiting for the movie are starting to develop brain
tumors. They released this sucker JUST IN TIME.
Jimmy
Dean, the king of pure-pork sausage, stars in the movie, but here's the weird
part: THEY DON'T USE HIS VERSION OF THE SONG "BIG BAD JOHN." I don't
know who it is singing it, but he doesn't have near the pipes Jimbo does. (Or
did. Jimmy's 62 years old.) Anyhow, except for that, and except for a lot of
the plot not making sense, it's a pretty decent flick about an old coot retired
sheriff living with his beer-drinking dog Catfish in a Louisiana swamp
cabin--until Jack Elam and Ned Beatty come find him and convince him to go find
Big Bad John, who killed a man and ran off with the sheriff's daughter.
Jimmy
Dean plays the sheriff who goes trucking up through Colorado and New Mexico in
search of BBJ, and he decides to take along the only friend he'll need--"Gator,"
a QUADRUPLE-barreled shotgun. It's kind of one of those action swamp western
mining love stories. Kinda grows on you.
We've
got zero breasts. Two dead bodies. One excellent rocket-propelled
dope-smuggler's monster truck. Pool-cue head-cracking. Exploding target.
Exploding bar. Exploding coal mine. Three brawls. Convenience store Fu.
Drive-In Academy Awards for Doug English, the All-Pro defensive tackle for the
Detroit Lions, as Big Bad John, who's so sweet it makes you sick; Ned Beatty,
for being such a perfect slimeball; Bo Hopkins, as Lester, the town ex-con who
wants to waste the sheriff, for saying "You got to find the sheep before
you shear him"; Jake, as Catfish the Sarcastic Dog; Jimmy Dean, Mr.
Sausage, for working on this baby for 29 years and for saying "If you want
the keys, Billy, you're gonna have to shoot me to get em"; and Burt
Kennedy, the veteran director of westerns, for making another western but
DISGUISING IT so nobody'll know.
By
the way, if you rent "Big Bad John" at a video store, you get a
coupon good at the supermarket for 75 cents off "any Jimmy Dean meat
product." I'm not kidding.
Three
stars. Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE
HOPELESS
Communist Alert! The Fremont Drive-In in
Fremont, Neb., only operated half a season last year and it's starting to look
bad for 1990. Glendora Srnka says it's time for heavy pressure and reminds us
that, without eternal vigilance, it can happen here. To discuss the meaning of
life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and his "We Are the
Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
Joe Bob,
Your "Evening with Joe Bob Briggs"
show in San Francisco was GREAT!
You probably remember me: I was the utter fool who answered
"Montana" as the capital of Wyoming. I know it's Cheyenne. But I get
awed in the presence of greatness.
A fan in SF,
Jon Patterson
San Francisco
Dear Jon:
It takes one level of fool to yell out
"Montana" in the show.
It takes a much higher, more impressive
level of fool to tell the whole world that you were the fool who yelled out
"Montana" in the show.
There's a certain sense to it, like one
of those schizophrenics who gets so crazy they can use him for high-energy
physics decisions.
Congratulations.
It's Casper.
Dear Mr. Briggs,
As a corporate video producer for an
international electronics company, I have often noted numerous disgusting
parallels between the senseless, gratuitous sex and violence in drive-in movies
and the senseless, gratuitous sex and violence in corporate life. Yes, it's a
fun job. You have labeled the illusion
FU; I label the reality FY (not Fiscal Year).
While it is obvious that reviewing drive-in
movies affords you a wonderful opportunity to comment on great dialogue, I can
assure you it does not compare to the incredibly awful dialogue to be found in
a corporate video project. The present script I am now perusing on my desk is a
case in point: ". . . now we are transferring technology from expert to
expert, our employees are the first concern." FY! Yes, it's a fun job.
Sincerely,
Sandra G. Oak
Palm Bay, Fla.
Dear Sandra:
The difference is that the senseless,
gratuitous sex and violence in movies has a purpose.
Dear Joe Bob Briggs
(Your Heinous Oh Great One):
You'll never in a million years--well, at
least a thousand--believe what just happened to me! I'll tell you anyway. I had
a dream that you called me. On the telephone! I'm usually not prone to
dreaming. You see, I never sleep. But that's neither here nor there. It's above
but kinda around that side but a little to the left.
Joe Bob, this is akin to a religious
experience. I don't think I'll ever wash my right ear again. I haven't washed
it since you called and . . . huh? . . . did you say something? . . . what? . .
. speak up!!
Excuse me for a second while I go rearrange
my socks.
(One day later)
The people at K-Mart said to leave their
socks alone. They didn't believe that they were all mine. The nerve!
So I call my favorite girl, Bella--Bella
Zabub is her name--and tell her about the call:
Me: (burp) Bella! Bella! (Oops, phone still
ringing)
Bella: Hello?
Me: Bella! Guess what! Joe Bob Briggs
called me and he liked my letter and he's sendin' me a million bucks and he
wants me on Showtime and he's sendin me a million bucks . . . and . . . (pant,
pant).
Bella: Who IS this?!
Me: It's me Bella, your honey, Rob. Joe Bob
called and he said . . .
Bella: Hello?
Me: Bella, it's me, Rob. Remember, it's
your sweetheart Rob Pirog.
Bella: Oh, it's YOU again. I told you
before, I'm gonna call the cops if you keep calling. I don't know how you got
my number and I never heard of you. So stop it! (Click).
Bella is such a kidder. That's why she's my
sweetie.
Sincerely,
Rob Pirog
Cheektowaga, N.Y.
Dear Rob:
I tried to call you and give you the
million and the shot on Showtime, but someone kept answering the phone and
mumbling, like they were dreaming or something.
Dear Joe Bob,
Even though it's only been a year and a few
months I thought you might enjoy a Drive-In summary of the Bush administration.
Drive-In totals: untallied body count from
Hud & S&L scandals, two breasts (Peggy Noonan's), Drive-In Award
nominations for George Bush for giving us "Read my lips,"
"Thousand Points of Light," "Nobody's gonna mess with social
security," and "This was a screwup," as well as putting the veto
stamp on a bill raising the minimum wage by $.35 and letting congress give
themselves a raise without doing a damn thing. Drive-In Award nomination for
Dan Quayle for mutilating the United Negro College Fund slogan, keeping a
straight face after being told he was no Jack Kennedy and for saying
"nothing happened" to questions after being implicated in a 1980
congressional sex scandal involving lobbyist Paula Parkinson. George and
Barbara Bush Fu after they ganged up a journalist who, after asking George
about his involvement in Iran-Contra, got a smack on the head from Barbara.
Drive-In Award for theme music provided by Lee Atwater. Drive-In Award for Dan
Quayle for being the subject of an unflattering book. So far is's four stars.
Sincerely,
Wes Pierce
Orlando, Fla.
Dear Wes:
Unfortunately, he's being held over.
Joe Bob,
I wonder if they're still doing it . . .
When I was stationed at Clark Air Base
(Philippines) from 1977-79 they would show movies weekend nights on a gigantic
roll-out screen in the center playing field of one of the base football fields.
The best seats were at the top of the cement bleachers as it took time for the
dope-sniffing dogs and their handlers to climb all the steps.
Many a tropical evening was spent in hazy
bliss at this bastion of American high life.
Although not a "drive-in" it was
the closest thing for those of us tasked with making the country safe for
Imelda's shoes.
Let's hope the "walk-in" theater
is still in use.
Can you check on that for us, your
supporters?
Keep up the column. You are one of
America's best art educators.
Peter H.
Chico, Calif.
Dear Peter:
Yep, the outdoor military drive-in
viewing areas are still in place in the Philippines (where many great drive-in
movies are made, by the way), in Guam, and in West Germany. (I'm in Stars &
Stripes. I know these things.)
Unfortunately, most of the military guys
in charge of base movies think "Viva Las Vegas" is a really hip
Friday-night choice.
© 1990 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved