Alcohol is really an anesthetic and trying to get an erection while in the bag, only works when you're around 18 years old. Having booze in you however, makes going from thinking that you are a lover to feeling omnipotent a natural progression. Emphasized by drinking, at the rate of a drink every ten minutes, got me there in one big fucking hurry.
The next step in drinking booze was absolute nirvana because at that point I thought I had become invisible which led me to say and do the weirdest things. Every fucking drunk believes, when loaded, that if he or she closes their eyes no one can see them.
In 1970-1971, two geniuses approached me to form a venture capital partnership which was then a relatively new concept. Approaching me to become a partner should have been a warning signal, that they weren't so fucking smart.
What was a winning thought for many turned out to be a fucking disaster for us. Not only was our basic concept terrible but the business plan really sucked and was impossible to execute. Coming out of the gas, suicide seemed like the smart, natural option for me.
The warning, that the deal wouldn't work, was when the partner who furnished our offices had good but very expensive taste in furniture. He rented space in a new, fancy San Francisco address: One California Street. Made me feel big fucking time until we closed up and sold the furniture for a fraction of its cost.
But the notion took me down a great lifetime experience road with the Vatican Bank (aka The Institute for Religious Works), Archbishop Paul Marcinckus and even The Knights of Columbus. Yeah, one time the Knights were trying to track down the then retired Bishop and they called me to see if I knew where the Bishop was living. They apparently remembered that Jesus was a Jew. The irony was not lost on me and it gave me great pleasure to accommodate the Knights with the Bishop's address and phone number.
One of my partners knew a guy (Lloyd Hand) who had been Chief of Protocol for President Johnson, so he knew every son of a bitch and his uncle. We paid him $10,000 ($70,000 today) plus travel expenses which added another $3,000 ($21,000 today) to introduce us to the Bishop who ran the Vatican Bank.
Archbishop Paul Marcinkus was a street kid from Cicero, Illinois loaded with common sense. Financial and people sense? Not so much.
The Bishop, we were told, ran the bank and was President of Vatican City both as a result of saving the Pope's life in the Philippines when the Pope was attacked by a fucking nut with a knife. That trip was, for me, a wild, booze driven, insane trip. Travel for me was a way to get away from a wife who disliked me, drink big time and walk around feeling like shit every day.
At that time, one of my kids was on the Mishmar David Kibbutz in Israel. So I thought I would "stop by" and see him before I went to Rome to meet with the Bishop. Thinking that Rome and Tel Aviv were "kissin' cousins", close by one another was downright stupid. That was a major misconception which resulted in almost 5 hours of non stop drinking.
Spending a night at the kibbutz was memorable with a hard fucking bed (hardly like staying at the Carlyle Hotel in N.Y.) but the mood of the Israelis and the volunteer workers from other countries was terrific. It was but a few years after the `67 war with patriotism, Zionism and high ideals the mood in Israel.
Off to Rome and the next day’s meeting with the Bishop.
The night before the meeting, we went for a God Damn horse and buggy ride to get acquainted with Rome. Expensive and a piss poor way to see Rome. Very boring and the smell of a fucking horse reminded me of those terrible days farming in Iowa.
The next day we went to see the Bishop. He had been an "advance man" for Pope Paul VI. The Bishop's hands were huge, like ham hocks and he was as tough as nails. Chain smoked Pall Mall cigarettes like there was no tomorrow. But at that point I was smoking 4 1/2 packs of Lucky Strikes (no filters) every day with yellowed fingers. So the Bishop and I looked like two fucking smoking chimneys.
My partner who insisted on doing the major part of the presentation was a very nice, smart guy whose voice never seemed to stop "droning". Your eyes would glaze over as he droned on and on. He could put a sore ass in vinegar to sleep.
The Bishop managed to stay awake and while he was not a financial man, he knew a dumb deal when he saw one and turned us down. But it was for me, through the booze driven, cigarette haze and yellowed fingers, a fabulous experience and the beginning of a wonderful long term personal relationship with Bishop Marcinkcus.
A great person, in spite of his fruitless efforts to convert me, the Bishop opened my eyes to spirituality.
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