It was sometime in early 1985 that I picked Graham up from LAX. I hadn’t seen him since the Summer of 1978 – when I worked as a lifeguard at Humewood Beach in Port Elizabeth, South Africa (my home away from home). I had met Graham the year before – when I worked as a longshoreman at the Port Elizabeth Harbor…I’ll never forget smoking a Jamaican-sized joint with some of the African workers and one of my favorites telling me: “Steve, you’re a pretty cool White guy – but I tell you – when the revolution comes, and I see you in the streets, I’ll shoot you down like a rabid dog.” I looked at him beseechingly and asked: “No head start?” “None,” he replied. I’m glad that Nelson Mandela was the Man of the Millennium.
Anyways, my buddy Gordon brought Graham down to Summerstrand Beach one day, and I came to learn that he had been a Rhodesian sniper – asked to “bump off” enemies from a distance. I certainly never questioned the authenticity of this claim – what with Graham’s long straggly hair, the huge eagle tattoo on his back, his preponderance for scraping his callouses and cleaning his nails with a large knife, and, the Russian flap jacket he presented me (Graham reported busting into a Russian camp in Mozambique and grabbing a few souvenirs…) – I was pretty sure that he had done a few dirty deeds.
Because Graham had a neanderthal aspect about him, and Gordon had fairly conservative parents, Gordon shoved Graham off on his Yank buddy (that being me). But since my folks were the entertaining kind, and loved meeting new people (to regale, I’m sure) – I invited Graham over for Sunday lunch.
Graham brought these huge, steak-sized mushrooms with him that he’d gone into the Bush to find and suggested that they could either be barbecued (braaied), or, cooked in a sauce pan. We went for the sauce pan – but sampled these mushrooms with great trepidation – as we didn’t quite know what Graham was up to. But Graham was the real deal. These mushrooms were incredible, and, actually had a meaty flavor.
So when I got a call from Graham in early 1985 (after being out-of-Africa for 7-straight-years) I was rather surprised and shocked – but somehow pleased — that he’d wanted to look me up! I guess he wanted to come to L.A. and try his hand at acting. So he told me when he was flying in – and I told him that I would be there to pick him up.
Being 1985, before the second Pearl Harbor of 9/11, you could go right up to the gate to pick up your party – so I waited for Graham at the gate. Graham was easily recognizable when he exited the plane – still with the straggly hair and imposing physique (not to forget that insane gleam in his eye that I haven’t yet mentioned) – so I went up to him and said, “Graham.” He looked at me and asked: “Who are you?” I replied, “I’m Steve, Steve Scheff.” Graham looked at me hard and said: “You are not Steve Scheff.” I, in turn, replied – “But I am. You were expecting Steve Scheff to pick you up, right? So here I am.” Graham looked at me with a mixture of disgust and disappointment and said: “You are not the Steve Scheff that I remember.”