Celebs Behaving Badly: Random Artsy Fartsies Edition

Lucky you! Here’s another entry in the gossip marathon I call a memoir, Celebs Behaving Badly. Be sure to see Celebs Behaving Badly, Celebs Behaving Badly: New York City Edition, and Celebs Behaving Badly: Burbank Edition.

Copyright © 2018 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved


The Fabulous Stains

I went to California Institute of the Arts. It’s an experience I can’t believe I survived. They really didn’t care what anyone did as long as no one got killed.

My dorm suitemate was Megan Anderson, an actor (I think). Megan was constantly screaming at someone, “Don’t call me Meg-un! It’s Meeg-an!”

Don’t-Call-Me-Meg-un had a large collection of Jacques Brel records (quel bore) and a best friend, Randall Edwards (she’s a girl). Randall’s very good friend was Ed Harris (definitely not a girl).

Randall was a crazed Bruce Lee fan. She would frequently explode into my room, ranting passionate declarations of love for Bruce, who alas was unavailable. She was inconsolable when he died without her permission. I finally had to move out of the dorm. Randall became a soap star. Megan’s probably on a street corner, yelling at people.

But back to Ed. He and Randall had no place to go to run lines or whatever, so they often used Megan’s room that adjoined my bathroom, a raging vortex of inappropriate sounds. Ed was no Bruce Lee, but he was certainly one superfine hunk of manflesh. There must’ve been some chopsocky cosplay going on. A lot of weird noises emanated from that place. Also a lot of used condoms.

Ed Harris. Photo Copyright © 2018 WallpapersDSC.net

Ed Harris. Photo Copyright © 2018 WallpapersDSC.net



CalArts rents itself out to a lot of TV shows and movies as a set. Officially the reason is to impart firsthand knowledge to students about TV/film production, but really the school just wants money. One of the shows that shot there was “The Invisible Man” starring David McCallum.

Let me just say this: I adore David McCallum. “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” is one of my all-time favorite TV shows (I own the entire boxed set), and I never miss  “NCIS.” I watch The Great Escape every time it’s on TV. I’ll even watch that one “Sex And The City” with him in it. Love love loves me some David McCallum!

Photo copyright © Sydney Schuster

Photo copyright © 2018 Sydney Schuster

But back to CalArts. While the alleged purpose of whoring itself out to Hollywood is to provide students with filmcraft knowledge, we were nevertheless banned from “Invisible Man” sets. I guess they were trying to protect their super secret technology from people who were about to make Star Wars: Episode IV and “Star Trek: TNG.” Or maybe McCallum had suffered more than enough frothing teens during his U.N.C.L.E. tenure. Whatever. We never even saw him just walking around the place. I mean, everybody goes to the can sometime, right?

Anyway, one day I learned McCallum was secretly stashed in an empty conference room, secretly waiting to go onto his secret set.

A guerrilla paparazza even back then, I barged in with my Instamatic.

I was shocked to find McCallum alone in the room, sitting quietly in an old lounge chair, wearing the show’s “secret technology” — a Chromakey mummy suit. Basically the same “secret technology” that suffocated original Invisible Man Claude Rains in 1933.

I clicked away at my hapless idol. And then my mummy spoke to me.

“Your pictures won’t come out without a flash.”

I was ecstatic! And then I fled before someone could throw me out. (And yes, my pictures came out black.)

Bonus points: I also got to meet the legendary Jackie Cooper, who was just walking around the place like a regular person. He played Walter Carlson on the show before Peter Gunn took over the role. Cooper was very kind and nice, although he did have a deer-in-the-headlights look, probably because everyone else wanted to meet him, too, all at the same time. Who wouldn’t?

David McCallum in “The Invisible Man.” Copyright © 1975 Dynamite Magazine

David McCallum in “The Invisible Man.” Copyright © 1975 Dynamite Magazine

Illya Kuryakin on a mission.

Illya Kuryakin on a mission.


Training Wheels for Harleys

A while back I posted a 1991 piece I wrote for Spy Magazine, “Doesn’t Harley-Davidson Make Training Wheels?” It’s about celebs who own bikes and could benefit from some technical support.

For everyone wrapped in the cozy delusion that Harleys do not, in fact, come with training wheels, boy are you wrong.

The rig pictured here was designed and executed by Chas Smith, Welder to the Stars. He builds musical instruments, movie sets, recording studios, and massive sculptures for superstar artists (Paul McCarthy, Nancy Rubins, Mike Kelley, Chris Burden). He also masterminded the learner’s aid for the birotationally challenged that’s pictured below.

In the Not For Nothing Department: Yes, Harley training wheels do exist!

In the Not For Nothing Department: Yes, Harley training wheels do exist!

Photo Copyright © 2018 Chas Smith

Photo Copyright © 2018 Chas Smith

Chas explains: “Years ago I made these for a Levi’s commercial directed by Ridley Scott, where the lead had to ride a Harley and had never done so. He was going to ride the bike out of an elevator, onto Wall Street, and across a bridge with a babe on the back, and they had to be capable of doing 35 mph.”

Why didn’t Ridley Scott just hire an actor who could drive a motorcycle, you may well wonder. I sure as heck did.

So did Chas. “My first question was: ‘Why not get someone who can ride?’ And the answer was: ‘This is the guy who’s going to sell the product.'” The product being, I guess, pants for losers.

On the bright side, Chas says, “Easyriders was going to do an April Fools article on this, but it was too contrary to the Harley image.”

Below is the TV commercial. Enjoy!

PS — Chas’s own ride is a Moto Guzzi, with just the two wheels.

Photos Copyright © 2018 Chas Smith


Summer Exchange

Back when I was 17 I spent a summer in San Diego that I’m still trying to forget.

San Diego had a new nightclub called Earth. (No, really, just “Earth.” And had they known how hard it would one day be to google that, they’d have named it anything else.) Earth was short on emergency exits but had many enormous custom fish tanks and live-edge wood tables with embedded art under 87 coats of polyurethane. Ah, the ’70s!

The people I was staying with knew the people who were doing Earth’s light shows (remember those? lol), so we got in for free the night Ry Cooder performed. Opening for him was Elvin Bishop. That is, Bishop was supposed to open for Cooder, if he ever showed up. Dude was late late late.

No one knew why. The place was jammed with customers, all of them pissed. Not a good look for a new club. I don’t think there was even canned music playing while they waited and waited, drunk and confused.

Eventually Elvin blew in with his retinue like he was Elvis. Someone thought this a good time for him to meet the hot jailbait who somehow managed to sneak in, I guess because he wasn’t late enough already.

Next thing you know, people are pushing me at him and buzzing around excitedly, and he drools toward me and goes “Blah blah blah!” I wiped everyone off me and I sez to him, “Jeez, where the heck were you?”

Good show though. Late, but good.

Elvin Bishop. Photo Copyright © 2018 Raymond Boyd/Getty Images

Elvin Bishop. Photo Copyright © 2018 Raymond Boyd/Getty Images


All Kindsa Rolling

In the ’80s I hung out at the most fly bicycle store in New York City (or anywhere), Conrad’s Bike Shop. Back then it was owned by Conrad and Sarah Weiss, who were rock stars in the bikie world. It’s still there, in Tudor City, selling great bikes. The tech wiz who built everyone’s bikes, John Tsang, owns it now. Stop by sometime.

Back when Sarah was still the overlord, everyone knew her. She introduced me to Tour de France champ Eddy Merckx like they were old beer buds. She was equally chill around showbiz royalty. “Bob Weir was here today,” she announced drolly as I stumbled in, sweaty and traffic-addled. “You just missed him.”

So I was shocked the day she greeted me with something disquietingly unSarah-like. Not the usual “You again?” or “Don’t lean your bike on that!”

“Tell her,” is what she said.

Huh? Tell who what? I looked around.

Lurking nearby was Rolling Stone‘s photographer Annie Leibovitz. “Tell her what a good bike she got,” Sarah begged me.

Annie was there to pick up the high-end ride she’d ordered. It had a hand-built Italian frame, if memory serves, magnificently assembled with top-shelf components. That’s what Conrad’s does and why Sarah is famous. Annie was having second thoughts about it.

Apparently she was unconvinced it was something that should cost thousands of dollars. And Sarah, she was quietly panicking. A custom bike wasn’t something you returned to the manufacturer for a refund on account of buyer’s remorse. So she drafted an expert explainer. Me, the gonzo columnist for Bicycle Guide magazine.

I assured Annie it was indeed a splendid bike, which it absolutely was — certainly way better than I could ever afford or I would’ve yelled DAMN, GIRL, IF YOU DON’T WANT THAT I’LL TAKE IT! — and worth every dime Sarah was wringing out of her.

Annie left happy and Sarah seemed as cheerful as was possible for Sarah, being relieved that she wouldn’t have to part out Annie Leibovitz’s dream bike.

Conrad's Bike Shop. Photo © Walkerseventeen NYC

Conrad’s Bike Shop. Photo © Walkerseventeen NYC

Copyright © 2018 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

I make no money from this blog. If you find it interesting or useful, please buy my book Dead Spot. The Kindle version’s only $5 and you’ll love it! Thanks.

DEAD SPOT on AmazonSydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.


Speaks for Itself

An adorable but completely insane admirer linked this to Dead Spot. Can’t imagine why!

Dead SpotCopyright © 2013 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved
Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

Women Riders Now Rocks!

Many thanks and a big shout-out to Women Riders Now, who included my novel Dead Spot in their holiday gift guide. Check it out! http://www.womenridersnow.com. This hip website targeted to female motorcyclists has something for everyone.

Copyright © 2012 SYDNEY SCHUSTER

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorsed any third-party advertising that may appear on this blog, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

DEAD SPOT now available in paperback!

Good news, everyone. My bangin’ novel DEAD SPOT is now available in paperback!

Order it today from Amazon or my website.

Ready to ship! You’ll receive a brand new, perfect bound 5.5″x8.5″ paperback book, professionally printed with snazzy laminated color cover. Want multiples? No problemo — available with shipping discount if you order from my website!

Bonus: I’ll personally autograph your copy on request!

Copyright © 2012 SYDNEY SCHUSTER
Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorsed any third-party video advertising that may appear on this blog, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

It’s Here! | DEAD SPOT 3D

If you order my cool novel DEAD SPOT, here’s what you’ll get:


Yup, this is a 5.5″ x 8.5″ quality paperback, professionally printed, with laminated color cover and 255 pages of salty goodness within.

You know you want it! Get it on Amazon. (Also available there as an ebook.)

It’s super easy, and you’re just a few clicks away from being the envy of your friends!

The Phoenix and the Chicken | 1970 Triumph Daytona

I just loves me some old bikes! That’s why I used to write about them for a slew of now-defunct vintage motorjunk rags — Old Bike Journal, Classic Cycle Review, and others. It was truly a labor of love, because the pay truly sucked.

The piece you’re about to read was written in 1994. The photos here are from 17-year-old Kodachrome slides that used to be in color. Trust me, this bike is purple.

Anyway, this piece was never published because I wrote it for a magazine that went under just before I mailed it in. So wait no longer. Enjoy!

Text & Photos Copyright © 2011 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

A 1970 Triumph Daytona Gets a Second Chance

“You’ll never find it by yourself,” Ron Butler assures me over the phone. Is he talking about the Titanic? Shangri-La? Inner peace?

Nah. He means his house in Lebanon, Pennsylvania, where I’m going to check out his bike.

“Meet me at the Big Chicken,” he says.

The Big Chicken? Right.

So off I go on my mission, which is to inspect not large poultry but rather something closer to eternal life: Ron’s painstakingly restored 1970 Triumph T100R. It’s a shiny purple bomber resurrected from a rust-encrusted hulk. But before we get into that, let’s get you up to speed on this chicken thing.

Unlike Ron’s house, you couldn’t miss the Big Chicken with a busted Hubble. And what the locals call a chicken isn’t a chicken at all, but a rooster. A six-foot-tall rooster. It’s a major landmark here in Lebanon, but it would be equally distinctive anywhere.


As promised, Ron is waiting for me at the Big Chicken. It squats majestically on Route 322, perpetually trying to hatch a feed mill office. From there we proceed to Ron’s house, where several nice bikes live with Ron. When he’s not crossing your wires in his secret life as a phone network analyst, he’s out cruising blacktop on a couple of big Harleys or a Kawasaki triple.

But the undisputed star of his fleet is the T100R. Also known as the Daytona Super Sports, this unit 500 twin debuted commercially in 1967, the same year the works prototype won at Daytona. The production model was essentially unchanged from the racing version. Consequently, the Daytona holds a special place in history as one of Triumph’s first café racers.

Production continued through 1973, when Triumph abandoned the model as a result of financial woes and the whims of a buying public clamoring for big twins. The Daytona 500 was exported to the U.S. in smaller numbers than the 650 Bonneville and Trophy, making it a rare sight indeed in the colonies today.

Modest sales failed, however, to squelch the Daytona’s historical importance. Among its technological innovations was a radical new unit twin design. Unit construction engines per se weren’t new, having been introduced in 1957. But they’d been well-hidden beneath bathtubs until 1967, the year the new T100’s muscle was exposed for all the world to see. The next year a revolutionary hole appeared in the T100’s primary chaincase that allowed ignition timing to be checked with a strobe light.

The seven-year production span was a parade of firsts, including an oil pressure gauge and a rev counter. When turn indicators and idiot lights made their appearance, they were hot news in the motorhead world.

By 1970 the T100 had morphed into Ron’s version. At 83.25 inches long and 336 pounds, it’s a compact bike with a huge power plant, and so buff that it needs an eight-inch twin-leading-shoe front brake to manage all its fire-breathing horsepower. The spec is 41 BHP at 7,200 RPM; contemporary literature pegs its top speed at 120 mph or so (on leaded gas). When asked to verify that figure, Ron just grins and says his bike goes pretty good.

Fair enough. But no way would you believe it was unrecognizable a couple of years ago, little more than a decaying doorstop in someone else’s garage.

Back then, Ron says, “The engine was a deep red color from the rust” acquired from a decade of hatching dustballs. Complementing that was an attractive topcoat of pigeon dung.

Arguably the scariest part was prying the Daytona from its then-owner, an old-timer who claimed he was “saving” the bike — because it was so rare and valuable! Rare, certainly. Valuable? Maybe to pigeons.

“I mean, it was ugly!” Ron says, laughing now about the treasure he paid “a couple hundred bucks” for after two years of dogged persuasion. When he finally went to collect it, he says, “I didn’t even try to start it up. I kicked it over with the kickstart to make sure the engine wasn’t frozen up. But I wasn’t even going to try to get it going.”

Given the circumstances, “wasn’t frozen up” is compelling testimony indeed to the immortality of the 490 cc OHV motor that once kicked ass at Daytona.

Inertia and corrosion were only two of Ron’s problems. Before abandoning it in the dovecote, the T100R’s former owner had tarted it up with the wrong head and a single-carb conversion, and tossed the original dual Amal Concentrics. The mufflers were incorrect, the electrics were shot, and all the decals and badges were missing. Ditto any chrome that had ever safeguarded its metal parts. Assuming the speedo is original, it’s been a helluva long 18,774 miles.

Perhaps because Ron lives in the shadow of a leviathan pullet, it takes him a while to find a bright side to this chapter. But eventually he recalls something good about the mess he brought home: “I don’t think this bike was ever wrecked!”

He never doubted its potential or authenticity, not even after showing it off to a buddy whose response was, “What the heck did you get that for?!”

A good question. But when the bike going gets tough, the tough go to someone with a storeroom like a transit museum. In Ron’s neighborhood, that would be Hermy Baver, Jr., of Hermy’s Cycle Sales in Port Clinton, Pennsylvania.

Ron told Hermy the project was a piece of cake. “All Hermy had to do was completely dismantle the twin, fix everything, and then just reassemble it again to new condition.” See, men of vision are different from us mortals.

I call Hermy and ask him for any fond memories. “The bars were rusty,” he says after thinking for a while. “And the engine was cracked and had to be welded.”

The job took six months. Ron says the work order was seven pages long.

Fortunately, Hermy’s been around the block with old Triumphs. He dug up new rims and spokes, the correct head, a wiring harness, and stock mufflers. He reinstated the correct Amal carbs. Everything that was ever chromed, he replated or replaced. The hardest piece to locate? That was the styling strip atop the gas tank. Naturally, Hermy triumphed.

An interesting footnote to this restoration suggests hope for the spawn of Detroit. The Daytona’s paint and powder coating were jobbed out to a car dealership, Knopf Pontiac in Allentown, and executed there by master craftsman Jesse Britton. The worst-kept secret in Pennsylvania, Britton reportedly repaints more old bikes than Catalinas, and it shows. During deconstruction Hermy had found traces of the original purple paint on the underside of the tank, which Jesse replicated perfectly. And check out the hand-applied pin striping!

Ron says he fixed up his bike to ride, not show, and boy does he. Dusting the Big Chicken was never so much fun. And how does that Daytona run?

“Great! It’s brand new again!” says Ron. It looks brand new, too. “I’ll be riding it ’til I’m 95!”

Text & Motorcycle Photos Copyright © 2011 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

Big Chicken Photo Copyright © 2011 DEBRA JANE SELTZER

I make no money from this blog. If you find it interesting or useful, please buy my book Dead Spot. The Kindle version’s only $5. Thanks!

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

Doesn’t Harley-Davidson Make Training Wheels?

In 1991 Spy Magazine asked the multi-talented Paul Rudnick to write an epic feature about celebrity faux rebels. They asked me to write the sidebar about faux rebel bikers. Because I had a huge file about this sort of thing plus industry friends who were inclined to gossip, mine was the stress-free (and admittedly much shorter) assignment, submitted by deadline. Rudnick’s was not.

The magazine told me they weren’t going to pay me until they got the feature. A month passed with no paycheck, then another.

Rudnick is a celebrated novelist, playwright, and screenwriter. He authored (among many other things) the screenplay for The Stepford Wives and satiric film reviews for Premiere magazine as “Libby Gelman-Waxner.” In 1991 he was a regular Spy contributor, and an awesome scribe in early bloom as the Hot New Showbiz Thing. He had more stuff on his plate than a Denny’s Grand Slam.

I’d never met Rudnick, but he was listed in the phone book so I called and asked him what up. (This was before the Internet, when people had to actually talk to each other.) Nicest guy in the world! So mean with a keyboard, so sweet to a struggling freelancer. He asked Spy to pay me immediately, and by god they did!

Rudnick’s delicious main article was called “Everybody’s a Rebel.” It was the cover story for the March 1992 issue, which came complete with lick-and-stick biker tats. What follows is the part I wrote. You can see the entire article as it originally appeared here.

And thank you, Paul.

Doesn’t Harley-Davidson Make Training Wheels?
Copyright © 1991 © 2011 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

Like the leather jacket, the motorcycle has outgrown its humble beginnings as an item of utility: Bikes are now fashion accessories, props for tediously long ad supplements, and the subjects of custody battles. They’ve inspired charity drives (Harleys for the Homeless!) and preemptive movie-contract clauses (a tradition begun when Warner Bros. forbade Steve McQueen from riding his Triumph to the set of Bullitt). But just as the amateur owners of fancy, professional-quality cameras often don’t know how to work the things, possessing a bitchin’ bike doesn’t necessarily mean one knows how to operate it properly. Herewith, a collection of notable motorheads with varying degrees of road competence.

DAN AKROYD rides a police bike with red lights, siren, and dashboard scanner tuned to police frequencies. He recently hosted a legal-aid benefit for convicted drug trafficker Sandy Alexander, a former Hell’s Angels president so cretinous that even the Angels have disowned him.

GARY BUSEY, an anti-helmet-law lobbyist, sustained temporary brain damage when he crashed his Harley into a curb in 1988. Though he claimed to have been doing 50 mph, a witness said he was cruising at a walking pace. Afterward, Busey told the press he still wouldn’t wear a helmet. He was subsequently fired from the film Cadence because he couldn’t remember his lines. Last seen on talk shows saying he’d reconsidered the helmet thing.

DAVID CROSBY, the ex-inmate and firearms buff, broke his leg, ankle and shoulder when he lost control on a curve in Encino, California, in 1990. He claimed his new Harley’s throttle had stuck open.

The late MALCOLM FORBES, who at one time owned 72 bikes, once suffered a collapsed lung and a concussion and broke two ribs. Nine days later he felt well enough to crash a balloon.

BILLY IDOL ran his Harley through an L.A. stop sign and into a car in 1990, breaking his leg and arm. As a result, what was to have been his first major film role (as a roadie in The Doors) was greatly reduced. [Update: because of his injuries, Idol also forfeited the role of the T-1000 cyborg in Terminator 2: Judgment Day, which was so memorably performed by Robert Patrick.]

BILLY JOEL, who owns two motorcycles, dresses way down when he takes his bikes in to be serviced to assure that he won’t be overcharged. (One dealer says he once mistook Joel for a bum and chased him away from a $14,000 BMW.) In 1982, driving his Harley illegally with a learner’s permit, Joel collided with a car in Huntington, New York, and fractured his wrist and thumb.

JOHN LARROQUETTE broke his collarbone in a dirt-biking accident in Malibu in 1991. “He’s more embarrassed than hurt,” said a spokesperson, who added that some of his Night Court wardrobe had to be altered “to hide his wound on the set.”

JAY LENO owns 15 bikes, and his two-garage home is equipped with a motorcycle elevator. Around 1977 he trashed a Honda CBX, and in 1991 he fractured his leg when he made a U-turn and was hit by another motorcyclist.

JUDD NELSON drives a bike with “SCUM” painted on it.

MICKEY ROURKE’s mechanic says Rourke “doesn’t care how his Harley runs, as long as it’s loud.” Other biker qualification: hires men to rough up people who look at his woman.

BROOKE SHIELDS was introduced to biking in 1987 by a 420-pound Undertaker (his club, not his profession) whom she met in a topless bar. “She didn’t even bitch about being sore afterward,” he told Outlaw Biker.

ROBERT SINCLAIR, the 59-year-old recently retired CEO of SAAB Cars USA, wiped out at around 100 mph in 1988, breaking his hand and melting his face shield.

KEN WAHL claims that were it not for a teenage motorcycle mishap, he might have become a pro baseball star instead of embarking on the career (gas-station attendant) that led him to acting.


In the Not For Nothing Department: Yes, Harley training wheels do exist!

In the Not For Nothing Department: Yes, Harley training wheels do exist!

Copyright © 2011 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

I make no money from this blog. If you find it interesting or useful, please buy my book Dead Spot. The Kindle version’s only $5 and you’ll love it! Thanks.

Dead SpotSydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.