Falling in Love With America

It had been a life changing journey. The shift in my attitude towards America and Americans over the last three weeks was inconceivable. I pulled up outside the yellow neon lights of Izzy’s Diner. Still unsure of how to park in America, I picked a random bay on Glenham Drive and stopped the car. Checking the clock on the dashboard, I saw it was 3.37am, just about my birthday. I always counted a birthday to start as soon as you woke up, not before you went to bed.

The cool September air surprised me a little. Reaching for my Paul Smith jacket from the back seat and slipping it on, it immediately quelled the rush of goosebumps on my arms. I looked out as to where I thought the Pacific Ocean would be, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.The sea air sharp and crisp, delivering deep, subconsciousness, rapid-fire memories of all the beaches throughout my life experiences. My heart felt alive, my head clear, I was starving hungry.

Swinging into Izzy’s Diner, low level country music instantly calmed the soul. I’d always hated country music but now, somehow, I completely got this trademark of American music. I’d also become accustomed to the paper thin coffee that greeted me in every eatery I had visited over the last three weeks. From initially scowling at it’s tepidness, to now genuinely embracing it's welcoming ritual - the coffee wasn’t about the coffee.

I sat in a booth and was handed the all important giant deli menu. The charm, vastness and innocence of Izzy’s menu made me smile inwardly. There is something joyful about a business, when one guy puts his whole life and soul into a vision and creates a piece of history. A place where you can feel the energy and nostalgia in every corner. This was the epitome of the American Dream.

I wondered who Hal Linden and Florence Henderson were to have whole sections of the menu named after them. They were not alone in the menu, the bright eyes and perfect smile of the self-proclaimed Dalai Lama kept them company.

I plumped for a Rabbi Reuben’s Reuben, corned beef and pastrami with fries coleslaw and pickle. I’d not eaten since 11.00 am and it ticked so many boxes. Looking around the diner, I could see a few people quietly going about their lives. A heavy-set guy, 210lbs or more, sat to my immediate left, his big hands delicately turning the pages of the Santa Monica Daily Press, his salt beef sandwich piled high with fries, taking second place to his interest in the local news.

This one diner scene felt like the whole of America played out in front of me, never would I not embrace this amazing country. It had been fifteen years since my last visit to Los Angeles and a lot had happened in that time, births, deaths, marriages, career changes, a self-awakening and more recently, the collapse of my business empire.

In 1998, my last visit to America, it was all about Hollywood, glitterati and paparazzi. I had lived a rock and roll lifestyle for a few months - limos, gigs, endless parties and fake smiles. It was a soulless, frightened and lonely life, papered over by the superficial glamour of how life was meant to be.

In ’98 I rolled around in a giant Dodge Ramcharger, peering out of the windshield at the community less streets of Tinseltown. Only in my final week did I discover the Farmers Market in Santa Monica. This was the first time since my arrival at JFK, that I had strolled along, browsing items without feeling nervous, fearful or pressured to buy.

Santa Monica was a breath of fresh air during my dizzily star-struck and suffocating three month experience. I vowed never to return to America, but here I was, fifteen years later, sitting in Izzy’s Diner on my 43rd birthday.

My food arrived, the waitresses name badge told me her name was Angelina. As it turned out, Angelina had worked at Izzy’s for close to six years, like the black and white frames that adorned the Fifth Avenue and Broadway roll of celebrity honour on the walls around me, she was part of the furniture, she was part of the history.

The who’s who of Hollywood’s yesteryear looking down on me from their black and white frames, reminded me nothing is permanent in life. The front end we choose to show the world often covers a deeper and darker internal truth.

The aroma of the fries stimulated all the sweet spots of my brain as more pale brown hot liquid hit my cup. I picked up a fry and ate it.

“Thank you Angelina."

For the umpteenth time on my journey, my London accent sparked conversation.

“You’re a long way from home Mr. What brings you to L.A.?”

Angelina like so many other kind souls, took the time to listen to my story of realisation. It was a story of a mid-life crisis and hope. I told the tale of my cathartic Route 66 journey which took me from living deep in my head to the edge of living the American Dream in just three weeks.

I’d always held a strong belief that America was the same language but a totally different culture to England, and not a very nice culture either, compared to my civilised London life. So, it was strange I had chosen America as my mid-life crisis destination, but what started as a crazy idea in the bathtub of my house in Kensington, took me to Chicago in early September.

The traditional Route 66 had taken me through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and finally, to Izzy’s Diner. In true John Steinbeck fashion this colourful and brilliant journey had forced me to listen to the heartbeat of America and of my own.

“How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?” - John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

It was a journey of iconic motels, weak coffee, big smiles, warm handshakes and heart-felt enthusiasm for life, which created the poetic charm of my journey. I had experienced the wonderful qualities of normal people, which were missed out in the fear-driven news bulletins back home. This fear had been the bread and butter of my American diet, until now.

I recalled to Angelina, a recent story in Oklahoma City. It had been close to nightfall and a puncture on the deserted highway brought scenes of Deliverance fresh into my mind. For the first time in a long time, I had felt really scared. I didn’t have a gun but believed that everyone else did. Hurriedly, I hid my grandfathers Rolex in my jacket pocket and tried to figure a way through this. With my car on three wheels and the daylight finally gone, a yellow pick up truck closed in behind my car, the lights blinding me. Two guys jumped out and for a minute, I imagined the worst, my heart beating me to death from the inside out.

However, within 30 minutes brothers Josh and Kevin Thomas had not only fixed my spare wheel onto the car, but took my original off too to repair it locally. I was staying at the Arcadia Motel, so the following morning I bought the Thomas brothers breakfast and insisted on paying for the repair. This was yet another moment of simplicity and kindness, which renewed my faith in humanity and endeared me even more to real American life.

Mile after mile of highway, allowed me to process my brain's contents, clearing out my personal history into some semblance of order and control. And finally, I arrived at the art deco door of Izzy’s diner. As I pushed it open, a well-dressed elderly woman sitting near the door, caught my eye. I guessed she was mid 70’s. She had noticeably great posture and her movements were full of purpose and confidence.

It is human nature to create a life story for the complete strangers we meet. We never get it right but it helps us to put them somewhere safe in our minds. I watched Angelina greet the old woman with her welcoming coffee jug. Their laughs and obvious comfort with each other told me the woman was a regular. Angelina’s hand was placed gently on the woman’s arm, no menu required, their eye contact adding depth to their conversation. The strength and need for human connection was evident, even at this unlikely time of 4.00 am.

I fast-forwarded myself 30 years and wondered what I would be doing in my 70’s. I felt a tinge of jealousy for the unknown stranger in front of me whose life seemed to be in order, free and simple. But this was merely a presumption. What did I know?

The last three weeks had definitely been free and simple for me. However, the sound of the real world was coming into focus, like a brass band marching in the distance, getting louder and louder. But what was the real world?

Angelina took my empty plate, the food had done its job, I was contented and I felt tiredness setting in. Taking out a beaten brown envelope from my jacket pocket, the contents spilled out onto the table. It had been my filing system for the entire journey and was now stuffed with books of matches, beer mats, phone numbers of new friends and receipts from motels. I checked my reservation, my bed was just a few blocks away and I figured I could do with the walk. Raising my hand to get Angelina’s attention, I used the international writing gesture for the bill, which always worked.

“It’s my birthday and I’d like to pay for your friends order,” pointing to the woman. “Let her know once I’ve gone, no fuss at all.”

“Sure, I’ll let her know, that’s very kind Mr.”

I had been so well treated on my journey it felt an obvious gesture to make. I tossed a $50 onto the small plastic plate in front of me and stood up. Taking a last look around, I felt I had come full circle. I had come to terms with my past and was now ready to live the rest of my life. I hoped that wherever life would take me next, I would hold the warmth and enthusiasm from the American people I had met, in my heart.