The Writer

Not that it matters, I suppose, but the fact remains that I have always been a "writer", doing extra credit notebooks in elementary school, turning in reports in college that could have been weighed by the pound, writing three manuscripts for novels that have never seen the light of day, or a publisher's desk, or the eyes of the public, writing poetry every time the urge moves me, reviewing films like an Ebert clone. When I wrote the blurb for the Profile Page for this blog site, I was restricted to just a few sentences and thoughts. So here is a somewhat more expanding Bio, for those who have the stomach to slog through it, or even a shred of curiousity about this strange creature who is a writer, has always been a writer, and has never been paid to do so; more's the pity.

A WRITER PREPARES

I was born in Seattle in 1944, when Airport Way was blocked off and guarded by armed soldiers, camoflauge nets were stretched over Boeing field at night, and one could walk across Elliott Bay on the parallel steel decks of gray ships of war.

Growing up as achild of the '50's, I wore my hair like Elvis, and pumped iron like Steve Reeves. I was a good student, but coming from an upper/lower class blue collar family, there were no funds for college. I rationalized, went out and found a crap job cleaning out rat traps at a machine shop next to the Duwamish, and decided that college was for wimps. Two years later, I was begging Highline College to let me into night school. Coming in the back door of education, still, I found college to be the most stimulating environment I had ever been immersed in.

I studied hard, wrote poetry, starred in several college plays, and graduated in 1964, "First in Class"; seemed like a big deal at the time. A cute story connected to that Highline graduation. The ceremony does not occur until several weeks after the last class. I had already got a summer job working at Pacific Food Products, the old Sunny Jim plant on Airport Way. I got into my personal routine, or carousing and going to movies as much as I could after work. On the night of the graduation, I had forgotten it. I guess I was real impressed knowing that I was supposed to lead out the procession of graduates, being number One and all. I went to downtown Seattle, and went to the Paramount Theatre to see Anthony Quinn in THE LOST COMMAND. It was a double bill. I called home during intermission, and my little brother was very excited, "Butch! Your school has called three times! You are supposed to be at graduation right now!". "Oh, shit," was all I said, dropping the pay phone and going into a dead run, leaping into my 1958 Ford Fairlaine, 312 with tri-power, and laying rubber all the way up to I-5. I drove at 110 miles per hour, making it to Des Moines exit in about 10 minutes. I came screaming into the Highline parking lot, and there were several of my instructors standing there, waiting for me. I jumped out of the Ford, and lied about having car trouble. I pulled the cap and gown over my greasy work clothes, got into line, and that night, Buttkus came in last, after Zambroski. No one believes me when I relate the truth, for it is too bizarre.

A little over a year later in early 1966, after I had transfered to the U of W, my mother died of cancer at 39 years old, and I got drafted right out of college. To add insult to confusion, I was conscripted into the U.S. Navy. In the late '60's, all the services drafted, even theMarines, although it was never public knowledge. In1968, I spent several months at the Balboa Naval Hospital, and I got to watch busloads of war-wounded roll in every day. I wrote a lot of poetry during that period.

By 1970, I was back at the University ofWashington as a double major, English and Drama. Ironically, instead of becoming a teacher, I was accepted into the U of W Professional Actor's Training Progam, earning a BFA, and a short career as an actor, three years later; slaving 24/7 in the conservatory; appearing as apprentice at the Seattle RepertoryTheatre, and ACT Seattle. I was soon a member ofActor's Equity, SAG, and AFTRA, a had loser agents for all three disciplines.

In 1977, fatigued by the rejection and the artistic poverty, I took a job atthe Braille Institute of America, located not far from my apartment in Hollywood. 28 years later, I now have my Masters in SpecEd, and I enjoy working with blind people more than I ever enjoyed entertaining the general public. I have worked for the Department ofVeteran's Affairs in Tacoma, Wa, for 23 years now. I had 8 years of college, restarting 4 times, three college degrees, had nearly a ten year career as an actor, had a live-in girlfriend in the '70's, and a practice wife in the '80's.

These halcyon days, I am happily married to a Texas belle a decade my junior. In my teens and twentys, I always dreamed of being a Writer, with a captial "W"; one of those guys that could actually get paid for doing something I loved. Later, as an English major in college, I had several college English professors assure me that I was, in fact, a writer; albeit an unorthodox one. When they read the first few chapters of BLACKTHORN, my existential Western, they nearly pulled their hair out, explicating that I was violated the genre. "It's like Kurt Vonnegut wrote a Western," one said. "Cool," I said. The book had graphic sex scenes, free verse passages, science fiction themes, and the protagonist died in the end; all quite taboo I found out soon.

Later, I did pursue another dream, and became anActor, and got some work in film. But to my sad chagrin, on a list of 10 things an artist needs to succeed, talent is near the bottom. A business and marketing degree might have been more appropriate.While I was mostly unemployed as an actor, I finishedmy second unpublished manuscript, a movie buff detective novel called, BAERBAK.

As the decades have rolled by, in the corners of my abode, pages by the thousands have gathered the dust of ages. While still in college, one aspect of writing I seemed talented at was film criticism; reviewing the movies. I have always been a movie buff. I had young parents,and as a family, we went to the movies twice a week minimum. I have maintained that number, and presently it is mandantory for my mental health.

Over the last15 years, I have satiated my needs for celluloid consciousness, by collecting movies. For years before that, I had collected old movie ads, one sheets, and lobby cards. I sold them as frameable art. At one point, I had over a ton of clippings. A shyster bookstore owner conned me out of them a few years ago. My wife was happy to see all those musty treasure go. I wept, and then smiled. At last count, my whole basement, about 1400 sq. feet of it, is covered floor to ceiling with movies, DVD's and VHS, about 13,000 ofthem; the complete history of film, from BIRTH OF ANATION to KILL BILL, Vol I.

Now, thanks to this wonderful blog site, I have been able to dig out, and dust off, and rewrite a lot of my old poems, essays, movie reviews, and narratives; stretching back over the last forty years of my life. My old dreams of being a Writer are re-emerging, fresh, intense, and passionate.


Glenn Buttkus 2007