Go To Toledo, Spain While You're Still Young

Manny is the kind of guy you imagine riding with on a motorcycle trip through South America. He's macho, loves to travel, and enjoys adventures. The only reason he doesn't still ride a motorcycle is because a friend of his got into a wreck while riding in Argentina and it caused permanent brain damage. Manny was 22 and his parents wanted him to get rid of his motorcycle. He and his friends all sold their bikes for travel money, and when he told his parents, "I sold my motorcycle," he followed it up with, "and I'm using the money to go on a vacation to Los Angeles." Like so many who end up coming to LA, he never left.

1965 was a great year to be in Los Angeles. The hippy movement was strong, he saw Jimi Hendrix and The Beatles play in concert, and Manny was blessed with good looks. Although he tells me, "I had to push the women away," I think he allowed quite a few to get through the cracks.

On a trip to Toledo, Spain with a girlfriend, he saw the older tourists struggling to walk through the hilly, narrow streets, and fanning themselves because of the oppressive summer heat. He told me, "Travel while you still can," and although I don't have it on camera I think it's a great piece of advice.

I asked Manny about any mistakes he made over the years. He told me that he has regrets about leaving his family. "I lost all the years with all [sic] my father, mothers, sisters, everybody... so I never saw them grow up. So I think that's one of my mistakes. And if I has [sic] to do it again, I don't think I'd do it. I have two daughters - really nice, very beautiful person [sic] - and this is one thing why I'd do it again, because of them. But if I have to think about it, I lost too many things to get these two daughters that I have. I lost a lot."

I interviewed Manny in the back of a restaurant, the night his daughter's boyfriend surprised her with a marriage proposal. We wanted to sit at a table where the workers eat between shifts and take smoking breaks but a very drunk customer had taken it over; so we stood. Manny told me his oldest daughter, Jen was proposed to "by a very nice guy, Jeff. And, I'm really happy for him." Realizing he was getting more emotional on camera than he tends to like people to see, he finished, "That's it. That's all I want to say."

We went back in to the restaurant and talked for the rest of the night.

Stay Married

Stay Married... says the divorced Romanian. Helena's a sweet lady in the neighborhood who owns a black cat. She brought home the cat thinking he would be an inside cat but quickly learned that he had no interest in being cooped up in her apartment. So now he sits on the front steps of the apartment building watching over everything and everyone. I'm highly allergic to cats but I always found her cat interesting enough to sit next to every once in awhile. He looks smart - like if he could talk I imagine we'd have some really deep conversations. Sure, I'd get tired of being so deep all the time but there's a slobbery pitbull across the street who likes to ogle the female dogs who pass by and I know he'd be up for some lighter talks.

Helena was standing outside when she saw me approaching her cat. She warned me, "He doesn't like people." So when her cat slinked over to me for some loving, Helena was surprised. "Wow, he must know you," she said. I told her we were old friends. Although hesitant to go on camera to give me advice, I think it was seeing me with her cat which tilted the luck in my favor.

Helena left Romania during the war. Although she didn't have the immediate fear that my Jewish neighbors had, she said, "There was always a problem with the Russians." She moved to Austria where she met her husband. Then years later they moved to New York. She got divorced but made a living as a property manager in a high rise building in the city. She told me she loved her job because she was able to talk to all kinds of people all day and that was her favorite thing to do. I said, "I like to talk to people, too." She looked at me for a beat - "I can tell."

Helena, over 80.

Academy Award Winner Jon Voight

I met Jon in 2001 when I worked at a division of his production company. We had talked a few times but he didn't spend much time in the office as he was often busy working. One of the execs, curious to see me act, had asked me to perform a monologue for Jon. When I was done performing, Jon told me that while he watched me he had to hold back from standing up and acting with me right there. He was being hyperbolic, I'm sure, but he made me feel great. Then he spent the day making fun of the way I walked and talked because I fidgeted a lot around the office. But, outside of doing some errands for him we never spent much time together. I've run into him a few times over the years but I only worked there a short time and I know he has no recollection of me. Still, I always liked him.

Today I was heading home with some friends when I saw Jon sitting in his car outside of Al Schwartz's apartment. Al's always told me how good Jon's been to him over the years. I normally leave them alone when they're chatting in his car but after interviewing an Oscar winner yesterday, I felt it was pretty serendipitous to find another one at the end of my block. I didn't want to miss a good opportunity. So, I walked over to Jon's car and Al lowered the window. I said Hi to the guys and asked Jon if he had seen the interview Al gave with me. Jon said he hadn't. (You can see Al telling Jon about his advice at the opening of the clip.) Jon told me he didn't want to talk to me for the blog - "I'm not old enough." I said, "Don't worry. You're old enough." He laughed.

My friend walked over to the car - a Hasidic Jew with a long beard. Jon perked up, "Who's this?" I introduced him to Shmuly and I knew Jon would be hooked. He had been working with Chabad (the Lubavitcher Jewish organization) for years, helping them to raise money for their telethons. I remember when I worked for Jon, I asked him why he cared so much about the Jews. I said, "You're as goyish as it gets." He told me he wanted to be a Jew. I don't know if he meant it. But then he told me how much he loves Chabad and what they do, and he said that's why he helps. He genuinely cares about people who care. And, after he gave me his advice I knew I still liked the guy.

Jon Voight, Actor.

Academy Award Winner Errol Morris

I worked on a KFC commercial today, which was directed by Errol Morris. He didn't tell any of the actors what we'd be doing in advance and he even went so far as to bar us from the sound stage so we couldn't hear the other actors working. Once I was in front of the camera, Errol's face appeared in the lens - a technique he invented in order for the subject to feel like he was talking directly to him (and therefore, the audience). He talked out lines, intimating with his tone how I should say them. I don't like being locked to a line reading so I often veered from the tone and toyed with different readings. Errol seemed to go with it. In fact, I felt like we were bonding without actually saying much more to each other than "$5.00 for all this? Wow. That's a good deal." But, maybe that's his talent.

I had heard he could be tough on set, but he was far from it. He put his tray down to eat with the actors, which I've never seen when working on commercials. When I told him about this project, he asked me what kind of advice I had gotten. I said, "Get a good job," seemed to be a big theme. He nodded... in agreement?

I had seen a couple of Errol's documentaries and before the shoot I read up on his life. He was born in Hewlett, NY in 1948. I was born next door to Hewlett - in Woodmere. I know it's my sad desperation for a father figure to want to connect to a man who is a contemporary of my dad and who's also a New York Jew from the same town. I found myself feeling the need to "push" conversation during lunch. I felt embarrassed when he walked away because I realized how much I wanted him to like me.

During shooting, I asked Errol if I could interview him before I went home. He said, "I could be open to that, if there's time." After I was wrapped, I ran to get my camera. Errol just had me dancing like a lunatic all over the sound stage and I was winded. Another actor was getting into position and I only had a short window to talk to him. He was meeting with his producer to go over some agency notes and as soon as there was a break in the conversation, I grabbed him. I was out of breath and felt a little rushed, so I know I could have done a much better job (or at least a slightly better job) with a little bit of time. But, such is the life of a documentarian as Errol knows well. We talked for a minute and then I clicked on the camera. I mentioned my dead dad. Oy, I'm pitiful. Why can't I stop talking?! Errol ended the video with a strongly worded, "And if you're in this business... find an alternative." And then, just as I'm clicking off the camera, he smiled slightly and said, "You did great today." I thanked him and went to shake his hand. He gave me a hug.

Errol Morris, Director.