The Zakarins and the L.A. Experience

In 1973 I had the opportunity to work in a Jewish summer camp named Camp Colang in Lackawaxen, PA. I was perhaps the only goy in camp and one of a very few not from New York City; a fabulous experience for a hick from Pittsburgh.  It was my third year in the camp and I was the Group Leader of the youngest division, boys from 5-10.  Campers came up from the city for eight weeks and saw their parents only once, on August 1st.  Some of them appeared not to recognize their parents, but that's another story.

One of my favorite campers from that year, Scott Zakarin, looked me up on Facebook a few years ago and we reconnected, becoming friends again.  We had spent a lot of time hanging out because he was the only ten year old and he was capable of having real conversations. Plus, it's nice to find someone who agrees when you think you know everything.

I'm the guy with arms folded in the center of the photo.  Scott is the long haired kid in front of me.

Sometimes you're in the right place at the right time through no fault of your own. Scott was incredibly open and receptive--tabula rasa--and he says he soaked up a lot that he used to become successful in business and, more particularly, as a family man.

Which brings me to L.A.  I planned to make the Zakarins home my first stop on the trip, but scheduling complications delayed my visit until November 4th.  I had mixed feelings about visiting L.A. anyway.  As Franklyn Ajaye was quoted, "When I saw a sign on the freeway that said, 'Los Angeles 445 miles,' I said to myself, 'I've got to get out of this lane.' "

I planned on arriving mid-day but was delayed by Peter the rim-rider (see November 9th entry) and arrived on a rainy Friday night in Pacific Palisades.  After receiving fuzzy directions from Scott's absolutely wonderful wife Debra I pulled into the neighborhood, and Scott, Debra and I spent a few minutes wandering around in the rain looking for each other.  I was looking for their place, Scott was looking for me, and Debra was looking for Scott.  Eventually, we found one another.

I'd met the family the year previous in San Francisco, and not only Scott, but Debra, Caleb and Maci welcomed me with open arms, literally.  I was embraced by each of them when I walked in the door and it seems like they never let go.  I swear I feel it even now.

They would not let me pay for anything.  Caleb insisted on sleeping in the living room on the couch so I could have his bedroom.

Pacific Palisades is a large community, near Malibu, Brentwood, etc.  Obviously, as an L.A. experience, it is as the blind man felt the elephant--only one distinctly different part of the whole.  Although their neighborhood consisted of condos and rentals, Steven Speilberg, Sugar Ray Leonard, Bill Cosby, and others live nearby.  Interestingly, the Zakarins don't appear to care about who has what.  We visited some obviously wealthy homes where Caleb and Maci were hanging out with friends, and we went grocery shopping and out to breakfast in different neighborhoods.  It did not matter whether Debra and Scott were speaking with the wealthy, the maid, the retarded bagger at Raley's, or anyone else we met--they were kindly treated.

The two overriding things I observed that connected the Zakarin family to one another and to their community: respect and love.  All their friends seem to share these fundamental characteristics, as do the people from their synagogue (Reformed).  We spent an evening at Jeff and Wendy's, close friends of the Zakarins, extremely enjoyable in every respect--particularly due to the delightful conversation--but one instance stood out to me.  Julia, the 13 year old daughter and close friend of Caleb's since birth, looked up to see her 10 year old brother Reid come in late from visiting.  The two walked straight to one another and hugged.  I liked that.

Whenever Debra or Scott spoke of any of their friends, it was always the same: "They are the nicest people you could ever hope to meet" or "They are some of our closest friends and we absolutely love them."  

This is not what you expect to hear from people in the film industry.  Scott makes video productions like Upstairs Girls and Downstairs Guys with millions of viewers, but you wouldn't know it.  He doesn't have the stereotypical L.A. vibe and neither do their friends.  What they all have in common is an apparent belief in the fundamental goodness of others and a ferocious love for their children.

And dogs.  A lot of them have dogs.  Lots of dogs, all indoor dogs.  Four dogs, five dogs, seven dogs...I've never seen so many dogs in my life.  BIG dogs.  Scott and Debra only have one dog, an arthritic, old, delicate dog with astonishingly bad breath.  A great little dog nonetheless..

Scott and Debra asked if I wanted to see museums, theme parks, etc., but I'm not keen on tourist venues and I can see museums when I'm alone. Scott and I did go down to the boardwalk at Santa Monica, which is apparently unchanged since the sixties.  Very quaint in its way, on an amazingly large and empty beach.  The day was not especially warm, but man, these people are spoiled.  That's only one of many spectacular beaches down here, all with plenty of room.  I would have liked the chance to ride my bike down the beach bike path; you can go for miles.  It's really nice that the beaches are located so close to where the city was built.  Very convenient.

I felt very welcome at the Zakarins and can't wait to go back again.

Next: The Road East