Hard Truths, Real People
The thing about writing a memoir is that it’s about real people.
Some memoirs are filled with titillating gossip, often naughty bits, usually about celebrities. Some focus on the writer’s immediate family, particularly a family member that influenced their life to a great extent, for better or worse.
In an effort to keep peace or keep from besmirching someone’s reputation, some memoir writers will use initials or even pseudonyms to protect the identities of the people they write about.
In writing my own memoir, Jack in the Box, I thought it important to be honest in talking about friends and family that helped craft my life, from those who put me into the boxes that could’ve defined – and restricted – me, to those who helped me escape those boxes to find my hidden truth and purpose in life.
Writing about my dad was hard. There were few positive, funny or upbeat stories to share. But my relationship with him, from my birth to his death, was a significant factor in who I was to become as a man. I’m brutally honest in describing him and how others perceived him versus how I did. Even now I find it hard to reconcile the glowing stories his friends told about him at his funeral with the man I knew.
My mom, lacking good role models, a decent education and any hopes for a better life, put up with his philandering, his abuse and his depravity as a father and husband. And while I do recognize her shortcomings, I also acknowledge all the good things she did for me and my siblings.
In Jack in the Box, I name names, highlighting the people who stood by me, encouraged me and helped me survive. Joe Costello, the owner of radio station WRNO-FM (the Rock of New Orleans), gave me a start in sales and loaned me the money to start my modeling career. Julio Melara got me started in the magazine business, and with his help, I created Local Wear, the first fashion magazine in New Orleans.
Coach Ray Berni helped craft my love of basketball. Coach would’ve turned 96 last month. And if he were still around, he’d still be at Johnny Bright Playground, probably running a camp or giving advice to kids playing basketball. That advice might’ve been about sports, but more likely, it would’ve been about something that relates to life.
Real people help make us who we are. When I was putting my life story on paper, I wanted to make sure that readers could see the people as I saw them, as the people who shaped my life. Without them, who would I be?