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We Will Always Live in Beverly Hills: Growing Up Crazy in Hollywood (1990)

door Ned Wynn

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The early part of the book is very interesting as it deals with a child’s view of Hollywood celebrity. The writing style is good and it holds your interest. The author is the son of actor Keenan Wynn and the grandson of the great comedian Ed Wynn. His step father was actor Van Johnson. His childhood memories include Peter Lawford, Lee Marvin, Tyrone Power, Marlene Dietrich, Betty Grable, and Ava Gardner, among others. However, as he matures, his life has no focus. He feels always out of place among children his own age and joins in with other bullies to pick on the other nerds, just so he can feel part of the crowd. He drifts into alcohol at age 15 and afterward begins drug use. He also has no respect for women, just looking for easy sex and seems to have no real remorse for impregnating a girl and then leaving her. He never speaks of what may have become of the daughter she bore. The more I read, the angrier I became for this wasted life. A life that had so many opportunities to make something of and make a real contribution was spent in an alcoholic, drug, and sex filled haze. As he aged (I can’t say matured because I am not sure if he ever did), he hung out with John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas. His father, Keenan Wynn, was alcoholic by this time as well. Yes, he did not have good role models as a youth nor did he seem to have a real mentor. Yet, when he had an opportunity to get a job or do something productive, he screwed it up. He seems to have no real feelings even for his family members – just wanting to get away from his dying grandfather. He did finally stick it out with his father’s illness and began to show some maturity at the end of the book. Hopefully this book will reach out to other young people and show them what NOT to do. Hopefully this man has finally grown up and started to accept some responsibility for his actions. ( )
  knahs | Jun 21, 2013 |
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"It was 5:55 in the morning. I was standing in front of Westward Ho market on San Vicente Boulevard. I had dragged myself to the market because I needed a drink. Just a couple of nice cold beers to put out the fire in my stomach, and a little half-pint of tequila to still the rockslide in my head. That is all I needed. The market opened at six, and I was there five minutes early, just in case my watch was slow.
At six sharp a white-haired man got out of his car in the parking lot and joined me at the door to the market. He was wearing a bathrobe, was unshaven and bleary-eyed and needed a drink as much as I did. He looked me up and down. Even a smile hurt. I squinted at him. It was a real effort to speak. So I didn't.
The manager opened the door and we went inside. We both padded softly to the liquor shelves, pulled down our favorite medicines, paid, and left. One the way out the older man turned to me. 'Give us a call, huh, son? We'd love to see you.'
'Sure, Pop,' I said. I watched my father return to his car. He waved. I waved. He drove off. I slipped back to my apartment as swiftly and smoothly as possible, holding the the bottles gingerly, as if they were condor eggs. We both knew I wouldn't call."
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"This book is dedicated to the memory of Ed Wynn and Keenan Wynn and to my loving mother, Evie."
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"I remember warmth and light."
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