Call Me Lumpy: My Leave It to Beaver Days and Other Wild Hollywood Life by Frank Bank, Gibu Twyman Page B
Authors: Frank Bank, Gibu Twyman
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I thought about, pretty much, anyway.
Hell, at that age was there anything else to think about?
Page 74
Chapter Four
Speaking of Lots of Beaver
I have slept with over 1,000 women.
I don't exactly say that with pride.
I'm not exactly apologetic, either, although I'm sure there are good reasons to be.
But the fact is, I engaged in a perpetual sexfest in my youth, and there's no expunging it from the past.
And if I stand back and take a clinical view, what I see it as, more than anything, is a kind of footnote to history.
It was the product of being in the business I was, in the city I was, at a particular time when the first furious fusillades of the sexual revolution in America were being fired in earnest.
That's what turned the sexual spigot on for me. Turned it wide open. I drank from it. I bathed in it. Heck, I did the backstroke and breaststroke in it.
When everybody went into the pool, I dived into the deep end, the shallow end and all the ends in between.
Which may seem preposterous when you think of the muddled, dumpy, awkward character most people saw in me when I played Lumpy Rutherford.
It also may also sound bogus, in a Wilt Chamberlain kind of way.
Remember when Wilt the Stilt, the Hall of Fame pro basketball star, claimed to have bedded over 5,000 women? Malarkey, is what I'd say. I don't know if his stilt would have wilted, but it seems like a logistical problem anyway.
Figure the man-woman-hours available, and it seems beyond time management.
Five thousand? Can't be done.
One thousand? Can be done.
Believe me.
The bulk of my sexploits came in an apartment I rented at 8939 Cadillac
Page 75
Avenue in L.A. Actually, it was left over from my first official marriage, to a woman named Marlene, hereinafter referred to as my Six-Day Wonder. Yes, that's right, I married this girl and six days later we ended the marriage.
We had it annulled. But I'll tell you more about that later.
What happened was, Marlene moved out. I kept the place on Cadillac and it became my first real bachelor pad. It turned into something of a drive-thru sex market. Every day women would show up at the front door. They weren't always there to see me. My buddies were in on the act, too. But starlets and harlots and girls from high school, college girls, girls we hustled cruising Hollywood Boulevard and the Sunset Strip several times a weekthey just knew there would be action on Cadillac Street.
That's where the boys were.
That's where the girls were.
We each made sure we got together.
There were many nights and days when I had sex with four or five women.
Lots of toga parties.
Lots of towel parties.
I didn't even know the names of half my partners.
Was it socially responsible?
No way.
Safe sex?
Absolutely not.
This was before AIDS. This was even before Roe v. Wade.
I had one close buddy who had to get this one girl an abortion, and one of the reasons we could do it was because I knew the generalissimo of the Mexican army and his brother-in-law was the biggest abortionist in Tiajuana. So my buddy took her down there. The generalissimo's name was Victor Fuentes. He was a Beaver fan and he took care of it.
Of course, this was all selfishness on our part.
All I was looking for was a good time.
It was 1964. I was 22. What red-blooded American boy wouldn't have wanted this? What was the No. 1 thing on the mind of the average 22-year-old, single American male?
Girls.
Hey, I guarantee, every red-blooded, 22-year-old American girl, the only thing on their minds was boys. So I didn't do anything they wouldn't have done.
And, you know what? If they wanted to have sex with my roommate or my buddies after me, that was fine and dandy. A lot of them did.
So they had a wonderful sexual time.
Page 76
Right about now, I can imagine some of you are skittish reading this.
Or appalled.
What could we have been thinking? How could we have gotten away from the wholesome norm we'd all known as a country up through the 1950s?
How could we have left behind the
Hell, at that age was there anything else to think about?
Page 74
Chapter Four
Speaking of Lots of Beaver
I have slept with over 1,000 women.
I don't exactly say that with pride.
I'm not exactly apologetic, either, although I'm sure there are good reasons to be.
But the fact is, I engaged in a perpetual sexfest in my youth, and there's no expunging it from the past.
And if I stand back and take a clinical view, what I see it as, more than anything, is a kind of footnote to history.
It was the product of being in the business I was, in the city I was, at a particular time when the first furious fusillades of the sexual revolution in America were being fired in earnest.
That's what turned the sexual spigot on for me. Turned it wide open. I drank from it. I bathed in it. Heck, I did the backstroke and breaststroke in it.
When everybody went into the pool, I dived into the deep end, the shallow end and all the ends in between.
Which may seem preposterous when you think of the muddled, dumpy, awkward character most people saw in me when I played Lumpy Rutherford.
It also may also sound bogus, in a Wilt Chamberlain kind of way.
Remember when Wilt the Stilt, the Hall of Fame pro basketball star, claimed to have bedded over 5,000 women? Malarkey, is what I'd say. I don't know if his stilt would have wilted, but it seems like a logistical problem anyway.
Figure the man-woman-hours available, and it seems beyond time management.
Five thousand? Can't be done.
One thousand? Can be done.
Believe me.
The bulk of my sexploits came in an apartment I rented at 8939 Cadillac
Page 75
Avenue in L.A. Actually, it was left over from my first official marriage, to a woman named Marlene, hereinafter referred to as my Six-Day Wonder. Yes, that's right, I married this girl and six days later we ended the marriage.
We had it annulled. But I'll tell you more about that later.
What happened was, Marlene moved out. I kept the place on Cadillac and it became my first real bachelor pad. It turned into something of a drive-thru sex market. Every day women would show up at the front door. They weren't always there to see me. My buddies were in on the act, too. But starlets and harlots and girls from high school, college girls, girls we hustled cruising Hollywood Boulevard and the Sunset Strip several times a weekthey just knew there would be action on Cadillac Street.
That's where the boys were.
That's where the girls were.
We each made sure we got together.
There were many nights and days when I had sex with four or five women.
Lots of toga parties.
Lots of towel parties.
I didn't even know the names of half my partners.
Was it socially responsible?
No way.
Safe sex?
Absolutely not.
This was before AIDS. This was even before Roe v. Wade.
I had one close buddy who had to get this one girl an abortion, and one of the reasons we could do it was because I knew the generalissimo of the Mexican army and his brother-in-law was the biggest abortionist in Tiajuana. So my buddy took her down there. The generalissimo's name was Victor Fuentes. He was a Beaver fan and he took care of it.
Of course, this was all selfishness on our part.
All I was looking for was a good time.
It was 1964. I was 22. What red-blooded American boy wouldn't have wanted this? What was the No. 1 thing on the mind of the average 22-year-old, single American male?
Girls.
Hey, I guarantee, every red-blooded, 22-year-old American girl, the only thing on their minds was boys. So I didn't do anything they wouldn't have done.
And, you know what? If they wanted to have sex with my roommate or my buddies after me, that was fine and dandy. A lot of them did.
So they had a wonderful sexual time.
Page 76
Right about now, I can imagine some of you are skittish reading this.
Or appalled.
What could we have been thinking? How could we have gotten away from the wholesome norm we'd all known as a country up through the 1950s?
How could we have left behind the
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