I had just gotten off the phone with Madonna, having explained to her “I love my wife and child and would never do anything to hurt them,” when I noticed Patrick Goldstein’s “Hollywood’s Real True Lies” (July 31).

The world as I know it was shattered. Call me naive (my friend David Letterman calls me “an innocent,” Sylvester prefers “gullible”), but I had never realized after spending seven years in L.A. as a writer/producer/actor that there were dishonest people in show business.

Oh sure, there have been moments with various producers, agents, directors, writers, actresses, publicists, but they all had excellent reasons why they’ve been out to lunch every time I’ve called. So why, I ask, would anyone in this town try to inflate their standings by misleading fellow “professionals”? I asked Francis Ford (we’re working on a deal) what I should do. He suggested writing to The Times. But why would a hard-working, diaper-changin, new father take the time to write a letter except to achieve the type of nefarious, moment-in-the-sun artificial hype that so bothered him in the first place?

Having no answer, I brushed my teeth, put on my sunglasses and wrote these words.



Valley Village


An old story that’s apropos to Patrick Goldstein’s story on Hollywoodland:


There were two Indian tribes living in Hollywood during the 14th Century. They were the Blackfoot and the Whitefoot. The Blackfoot always lied and the Whitefoot always told the truth. One day, an Indian came walking down Dung Street, which is now Hollywood Boulevard. And a man asked: “What tribe are you with?” And the Indian answered, “The Whitefoot.”