http://patdollard.com/about
Who is Pat Dollard? In His Own Words
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As I was flying through the sky, instead of being in a blackout as I should be, my mind was a perfectly focused computer: I realized that Conley had stepped directly onto a bomb, I realized he was dead, and I hoped as I landed that my wounds would not be so bad, and that I indeed might even survive. And somehow, I was able to wonder why I was completely free of the shock that 95% of the others told me they experienced. I wondered why I was so locked into the reality of what was happening.
I lived in a four story mansion with a beautiful wrought iron elevator that shot through the middle. I thought it was an extravagance at first, but after just one two story climb up the winding staircase I appreciated it as a necessity. This is what it’s like being rich - an elevator in your house can be a practical necessity, free of all pretenses. It had been a long a ride from the welfare and food stamps of my early grammar school years. Dad was a dead drunk by the second grade, Mom had fled with us from the immigrant concrete caves of New York to the endless sun and sea promise of Los Angeles.
By age 40 I was a Hollywood pimp with a seven figure income and Oscar-winning director Steven Soderbergh as my flagship client. I had made and spent millions. My mansion was in the hills just a click west of the Hollywood sign. As I took a shit every morning I watched planes land at LAX. They say the best view in L.A. is at a Japanese restaurant called Yamashiro’s. It sat a good distance below me. From Burbank to Long Beach to Santa Monica, my view was much better.
Before I landed I remember being horrified at the realization that a young boy like Conley was dead, and that the motherf____rs had planned for one of us to get out, and had buried the bomb to kill whoever did - and that Conley had made a bad decision. I was waiting to die. Time plays by such weird rules when you’re blown up. It’s impossible that so much went through my head, but it did, as I waited to lose pieces of myself, to be opened, to die. I really wanted none of this to happen, to fight through it all if any of it did or if they kept trying to kill me, which is why I was so focused. It must be the only reason. Or maybe because by now, I was a human camera, an anthropomorphized document. Maybe I was just doing my job.
Click on link above to visit his site:
He was on "Red Eye" - Fox News resently as well: Video link
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