A perfect stranger makes everyone else feel special
Some things you need to know about Paul Salata, beyond the fact that he comes across like some kind of screwball.
First of all, he’s never had a drink. Never once in his life, and he’s now 80 years old. He acts the way he does, and he’s sober.
When it came time to name his insurance/investment company years ago, he elects to call it, “Group And Son,” or “G.A.S.,” which his brother Tom explains, “has no meaning whatsoever.”
He likes to buy lottery scratch-offs and just give them to people. He also likes to donate money, “boy, does he like to donate money, and I know,” Tom says, “because I write the checks.
“Back in the days of hobos, they’d get off the train and start knocking on doors looking for something to eat. When they found food, they’d put a soot mark on the door so the next hobo that came along would know they could get a free meal there. Well, Paul’s got a soot mark on him.”
Salata’s a former USC football player, so long ago that if you meet him, it’s obvious they weren’t wearing helmets then. He loves his Trojans, marvels at Pete Carroll’s ability to recall Salata’s wife hails from Nebraska, as if anyone would want it to be known they are from Nebraska.
Salata is liable to show up anywhere. If there’s a charity dinner, he’s there, or sponsoring someone who needs a night out. “The guy just drives you crazy,” Tom says. “He has to make everybody feel like it’s their day.”
He’s a big band jazz music lover, so he makes the rush-hour drive from Orange County to the Valley twice a week because they have an early-morning place where folks can dance to big band jazz music. “I’m the youngest guy there,” he says.
Everywhere he goes, he takes a pack of stickers. “Kids love stickers,”’ he says. At one time they were pictures of a “Handicapped Parking” placard with the letters “UCLA” underneath. Most of the stickers now have something to do with USC, or Irrelevant Week, another zany idea of his.
Years ago he heard about someone picking a name out of the telephone book, calling them and inviting them to Laguna Beach just to have a good time.
It gave him the idea for Irrelevant Week, so 32 years ago he began to honor the last player selected in the NFL draft with a free trip to Newport Beach. This year the No. 1 player picked bought himself a $5,000 watch, so hearing that, Salata will now make sure Mr. Irrelevant gets a $5,000 gold watch too.
“He also gets two books on how to make paper airplanes,” says Melanie, Salata’s daughter, a real Irrelevant Week workhorse, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate being called that. Did I mention the daughter is armed with the same sense of humor as her old man? We all have our crosses....
This year’s Irrelevant Week festivities began Monday with his arrival, and while the guy’s name is irrelevant, plans for a police car escort had to be adjusted somewhat. Salata’s idea of a police car, of course, is a miniature toy car built for a 3-year-old, a great idea until it’s discovered the 3-year-old hired to pedal it doesn’t have the legs to keep it moving.
“Irrelevant,” Salata says, and so plans are made for someone to push the car ahead of Mr. Irrelevant’s arrival and put the 3-year-old to bed.
Since the arrival party takes place at the beach, Mr. Irrelevant is seated on a lifeguard stand, and one by one, 213 gifts donated by local businesses are placed in his lap -- ultimately burying him.
The Northern Trust Bank makes Mr. Irrelevant a millionaire for the day and presents him with a check for $67.67 -- the one-day interest on $1 million. It’s just one more crazy Salata idea.
When they present Mr. Irrelevant with the Lowsman Trophy at a banquet Wednesday, a fine statue depicting a player dropping the ball, a number of special guests will also be honored. Salata, who has a thing for underdogs, has invited 15 service clubs to send their most under-appreciated members to the banquet.
When he speaks at the banquet, imagine the three-headed monster that is Joan Rivers, Don Rickles and George Lopez, and get ready to duck under the table. This year he plans to honor UCLA’s valedictorian, while a picture of a crossing guard is shown on a big screen behind him.
His irrelevant idea has raised approximately $1 million for charities over the years -- this week’s earnings going to the families at Camp Pendleton who are waiting for their loved ones to return from Iraq.
He’s wacky smart, all right, and always full of surprises. When he hears about a newborn baby, he makes a point of sending a gift -- 500 business cards with the baby’s name and address under the title “Professional Kid.”
ALL OF THAT, and yet none of it really cuts to the essence of Orange County’s No. 1 cutup. As down to earth as any screwball you’re going to meet, Salata, the investor and land-speculating businessman, lives with the credo, “profit pays for everything,” which has given him the means to make a difference.
Money or not, though, he’d still do it, Tom telling a story about his brother Paul, the freshman at USC, working with kids at a boys club, spotting a youngster with an infected sore on his head and on his own taking him to a doctor.
“We didn’t have two dimes to scrape together,” Tom says, “but Paul convinces the doctor to treat the kid for nothing. Then to the day that doctor died, he became lifelong friends with Paul.”
Hard not to -- the philosophy responsible for Irrelevant Week, the charitable donations and even the business cards for the “Professional Kid” all the result of a zany philosophy that makes him so interesting: “Just doing something nice for someone for no reason at all.”
Did you ever hear of such a screwball idea as that?
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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.