Reality Solidly Based in Fantasy

“ ‘We’re going through!’ The commander’s voice was like thin ice breaking . . . the crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned, ‘The old man’ll get us through . . . The old man ain’t afraid of hell . . . . ‘ “

“ ‘Not so fast! You’re driving too fast!’ said Mrs. Mitty. ‘You know I don’t like to go more than 40. ‘ . . . Walter Mitty drove on toward Waterbury in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in 20 years of Navy flying fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind.”

--JAMES THURBER

“The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”

In each of us, John Alexander knows, there dwells a Walter Mitty. An accountant who fantasizes about being a jet pilot, a duffer who dreams of teeing off with Arnold Palmer.

And so it was that a decade ago he created Dreams Come True, an L. A.-based fantasy factory that brings smiles to the faces of even the done-that, seen-that, had-that set.

He has arranged a jazz club gig for tone-deaf twins (they blew on muted instruments while the real musicians played behind a curtain) and has sent two people to Egypt for a sleep-over in the king’s chamber of the Great Pyramid.

You name it, Alexander will try to do it “if it’s fun, legal, doesn’t require an act of God or a date with a celebrity.”

He adds, don’t bother to ring up if you’re “really crazy.” You’ll be transferred promptly to the miracle department, which doesn’t exist, on the ninth floor, which doesn’t either.

But if a golfer on your Yule list yearns to play in the prestigious pro-am tournament at Pebble Beach in February, that can be arranged, “for the first person whose check clears.” That check should be for $75,000.

And, the recipient must have at least an 18 handicap. If the price seems a bit steep, Alexander reasons, “It’s the equivalent of being the quarterback on an NFL team in an NFL game, a one-and-only chance to be one of the big boys without being a big boy.”

Is there a New Ager on your list? There’s still time to pick up one of those pyramid slumber parties. The tab: $20,000 (air fare extra). Both Napoleon and Alexander the Great are said to have done it--and had life-changing experiences.

For a slightly slimmer budget, Alexander suggests 90 minutes as co-pilot of a fighter jet, “the complete ‘Top Gun’ thrill” for any armchair pilot--loops, spins and all--for just under $3,000.

Alexander, who has a master’s in marketing and “the sort of mind that works to embellish the obvious,” hit upon his idea about 14 years ago, fed up with last-minute Christmas shopping frenzies for his family in Pennsylvania and with the “wrong size, wrong color, throw it in the back of the closet” syndrome.

He asked himself, “Why not give people what they really want?” So he took everyone by stretch limo to dinner and the Ice Follies, for which he’d bought front-row seats.

Back in Los Angeles, his first big hit was his chef-for-a-day package, wherein dedicated foodies stirred soup alongside Wolfgang Puck at Spago.

For a carpenter, he arranged an insider’s tour of Howard Hughes’ wooden flying ship, the Spruce Goose, with a member of the team that built her. And he sent a client around the world by private jet to ride all the great roller coasters.

Of the latter, Alexander says, “I’d rather eat glass or set my hair on fire.”

For big band fan Frank Freed’s 65th birthday, his wife, Evelyn, made his dream come true with a bash in the arboretum of the Crystal Cathedral, with a big band and a line of dancing girls, Rockettes-style.

For the 80th birthday of Evelyn Freed’s mother, Naomi Wilden, Alexander provided the entertainers for an English tea on the tented tennis court of the Freeds’ Santa Ana home. Among them: a cowboy to sing “Red River Valley,” a song Wilden’s late husband used to croon to her.

Guest look-alikes included Marlene Dietrich, Fred Astaire and Elvis. Said Freed, “I wouldn’t have picked Elvis for my mother, but this young man was wonderful.”

Franz Birkner of Encinitas, a telecommunications executive and amateur pilot, had “always dreamed of flying a jet fighter plane.” So last May, for a decade-marking birthday, girlfriend Portia LaTouche made his dream come true.

For 75 minutes, he “ripped up the skies north of Van Nuys” as co-pilot of a Yugoslavian-built Soko. “A whale of a lot of fun,” said Birkner of his adventure, which included high-flying acrobatics and “strafing of unsuspecting farmhouses and cows.”

How does Alexander make dreams come true? Are there People in High Places with palms to be greased? His answer is one he once heard from a magician:

“Can you keep a secret? So can I.”

He adds, “If people knew how I do what I do, they wouldn’t need me.” But, he acknowledges, “there’s always a price to be paid” to access the inaccessible.

Even he is occasionally frustrated. He’s been unable to arrange for one couple’s fantasy, dinner in a formal European garden with Luciano Pavarotti.

He knows, “It’s easy for a dream to turn into a nightmare.” Once, a charter helicopter was to deposit a couple Downtown for an anniversary dinner. The copter never showed up. “Those people went ballistic. They’re going to carry my name to their grave.”

At 40, Alexander is still dreaming. “My absolute fantasy is an around-the-world trip on a private jet,” with gator-watching on the Amazon, breakfast in bed at Mad King Ludwig’s castle, Neuschwanstein, and “turning the pages for a famous pianist” at the Tchaikovsky competition in Moscow.

Hot Tea Time With Wedgwood

Lord Piers Wedgwood flings a fine Wedgwood saucer onto the carpet to watch it bounce. Not a chip. But, he cautions, “I wouldn’t advise doing that on a stone floor.”

We are taking tea at Geary’s in Beverly Hills, where his lordship--a direct descendant of Sir Josiah Wedgwood, the father of English potters--is signing Wedgwood Christmas gifts while fielding queries such as whether the china is earthquake-proof (alas, no).

His lordship is the genial, rather portly fellow in the pin-striped suit and teddy-bear necktie, serving up Wedgwood tea in Wedgwood cups and sharing his tea tips:

Never reboil the water, lest you get “a sort of soapy-looking tea.” Always warm the pot, to avoid china crazing. Don’t skimp on those leaves--”one teaspoon for everybody, and one for the pot.”

But Lord Wedgwood, 40, hasn’t journeyed here from London just to talk tea. He’s an international ambassador for Waterford-Wedgwood. About one-fourth of Wedgwood sales are in the United States and “we’ve been struggling through the recession.”

There is Wedgwood, the familiar blue-and-white stoneware, and there is Wedgwood bone china, which has graced tables from Buckingham Palace to the White House (Teddy Roosevelt commissioned Black Colonnade with a gold presidential seal).

Lord Wedgwood, the only family member now in the business, is a staunch conservative and a member of the House of Lords, having inherited his title and his seat, from great-grandfather Josiah. “I try to get back at the critical times” to vote.

As Wedgwood spokesman, he’s known the anger of collectors of discontinued patterns--”They’re offended. ‘Are you saying I have no taste?”’

He can talk patterns: Prince Charles has “Wild Strawberry.” “Napoleon Ivy?” “We supposedly sent it off to St. Helena when he was exiled.” And, he’ll tell you, all of them can go in the dishwasher, but for the china’s sake, no lemon in the detergent, please.