Bill McHenry, Orrin Evans, Joe Martin & Byron Landham live at Small’s NYC. Magic.
“Where will you go from here?” he says.
“Baltimore,” I say, grimacing a little.
“Yeah?” he says. “Do you get back to your old hometown often?”
“Not that often. And every time I do, my love-hate affair with the place surfaces and I end up kind of upset.”
Eastwood smiles and pats me on the back. “I know what you mean,” he says. “I feel that too. But you never want to lose contact with it altogether.”
“I guess not,” I say, not quite sure.
“Nah,” says Eastwood. “You got to go back every now and then so you don’t forget how to say it.”
“Say what?” I ask.
With his best Dirty Harry smirk, Eastwood sneers: “Asshole.”
“Ford,” he says reverentially. “Fucking Ford. You’ll never see skillets and steaks like that in anybody else’s picture. He’s like the dickens. It’s all about bigger than life. That’s what the old guys understood about movies. If it’s not bigger than life, put it on television.”
— Lee Marvin