We saw a lot of things there. It was like UCLA Outreach, into the community, and we were on everybody’s list, went to everything we could, joined causes, supported the arts large and small, had earned our way into the inner and outer circles, fit right in, hobnobbing, rubbing elbows.

The wonderful Kirk Douglas retrospective, replayed so many of his films, good to great, saw Lust for Life, and The Vikings, and 20,000 Leagues, and Spartacus. And the presenter read a letter from Kirk Douglas, near his very end, apologizing that he couldn’t be there with us in person but was there in spirit, and we felt it too. And we missed him and cried and watched the films and cried again.

And Gene Kelly’s American in Paris. We celebrated how lucky we all were to have had America’s Great, a dancer of the people.

And how the Yes Men brought their films to us, and came with them to talk to us in person. We’d mingle in the courtyard by the little café with outdoor tables, and the Yes Men would take our tributes appreciatively in stride. And how I became instantly world class when I thanked them for influencing me retroactively, and they let me explain at length. How when I was in high school I had the same edge to cut and parody, how without thinking through, the brash young kid, upset when I just heard about the goings on of the House Un-American Activities Committee of the Government when lives were destroyed and I wanted to do something about it, and wrote a pretend letter to The Committee Chairman to show them up for what they were, posing as some local good old lady, name approximately Emma Sue Carpenter, I don’t quite remember now, praising and thanking him for his good work, and did he have a kit that he could send me so I could test my neighbors to see which ones I could turn in to the authorities, and I awaited by the mailbox for days, not really expecting an answer, and then came boxes and boxes of documents and Committee Hearings and the glowing letter thanking me for being such a good citizen for wanting to turn in my neighbors, and for helping make America what it is.

And then the sudden panic, the realization of validating the adage: “Think before you act.”

What if they want to come to thank me in person, the reporters and cameras, and find out who I really was when nobody in the neighborhood knew Emma Sue Carpenter, not at this address, and the fear that suddenly I had no future, they could drag me before their Committee, and there were jails, and it didn’t protect me that I was just a dumb kid, and I waited for weeks by the mailbox, ready to rush and crawl into a corner where I could hide. And after weeks of little sleep, I breathed a careful sigh of escape, but still watched the mailbox for months.

And the Yes Men said, “Oh, really?”

And I told them, going on too long, and trying their patience which I could see must be thinning while they tried to stay friendly polite, and I said to them, I was like you, but I didn’t learn my lesson, didn’t stop. I had a high school French class where I learned a little something, and irresponsible me I wrote a letter to the French Government. I told them that of all the chateaux of the Loire, Chenonceaux was my favorite and I wanted to buy it. And if it wasn’t available right now, I’d like to rent a room in it for a week or two to know what it felt like…

No answer.

So I wrote back.

I told them I hadn’t heard from them, but my offer still stands. I guess I allowed them to think I was some crazy rich American oil baron. I put the extra postage, and before very long I got a reply.

Something short, stiff, official, like: “Your original letter was unaccountably lost. In any case, the Chateaux are, like all French Monuments, glories of French Culture. They are not for sale ever to anyone. And we would never rent rooms under any circumstance like some cheap hotel…” The tone of injured pride and suppressed hostility was inescapable, ill-concealed annoyance of having to respond at all.

I thought that was the end of it.

But then, within a few short weeks, the French Government announced to the world that it was opening up its chateaux and castles to the public who could rent rooms and “feel what it was like to live as French aristocracy…”

I had a mixed response of triumph and fear. What had I done? How was I able to influence an entire government with my words? I was suddenly afraid that I had been thrust into a Status of Power and World Influence and I knew I was neither ready nor worthy. I felt vulnerable. Again.

And I thanked the Yes Men for being such a strong retroactive influence, and they shuffled their feet, and I thought, “At least I got it said.”

And all of this is just a quick survey of some of my experiences with the Billy Wilder Theater and the UCLA Film Archives and the Hammer Museum, just around the corner down the street from LACMA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, next to the La Brea Tar Pits and their own Museum.

It’s a rich area as part of the L.A. experience, and I’ve been lucky for so long to have been able to be immersed in it.

As I say so often, there are many ways to make life good.