Life Goes On
Just about the time Police Chief Daryl Gates was thumbing his nose at L.A., a model in a peach-colored spandex exercise outfit that fit her like skin was standing in front of a camera at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, doing what models do. She was tossing her blonde hair, smiling coquettishly and posing.
Gates, meanwhile, was doing what Gates does best. He was refusing to resign, refusing to answer questions at a press conference and generally coming across like the Terminator in his ability to cling to life despite severe damage to his systems.
I make these comparisons because I tried hard Tuesday to get away from the Christopher Commission’s grand pronouncements on the LAPD. I figured there’d be enough print and air time devoted to the issue to fill a freeway and they didn’t need me cluttering up the side roads.
So I went to the competition for Super Model of the World in Beverly Hills and then sat through America’s favorite movie, “Terminator 2: Judgment Day,” the light-hearted story of future world destruction and present day mayhem.
I’m sorry to say, nothing at the skin show or the movie matched the arrogance and chutzpah displayed by The Chief in the face of his own special Judgment Day. Even Arnold Schwarzenegger pales in comparison to Gates’ cybernetic tenacity.
A robotic pit bull would be a better comparison.
Competition for Super Model of the World saw 36 contestants from as many countries go through the motions they hope will make them, if not the next L.A. police chief, at least the next Christie Brinkley.
They smiled until their faces froze and found ways to display areas of their erogenous zones that will no doubt be landmarks of future competition. I didn’t know the human body could twist into such configurations.
There were some similarities between the model competition and The Chief’s response to the Commission report which, in effect, suggested that Gates quit and the LAPD be nice.
It wasn’t worded exactly that way, but you get the idea. Nothing reforms a racist like having a finger shaken in his face.
Both Gates and those aspiring to be super-models face life with the same thin facade of appeal necessary to convince the crowds they are what they are.
In the case of the models, it’s that neon smile, a good body, shiny hair and the ability to display themselves in a manner that will sell shampoo.
In the case of Gates, it’s that PR smile, a hard attitude, a shiny badge and a manner that defines the us-against-them attitude prevalent in L.A.
The contest was sponsored by Ford Models, which is not a classic car company but an agency that has spawned the careers of such free world thinkers as Brooke Shields and Cheryl Tiegs.
There was enough hair-tossing going on around me to power a small city, the gesture apparently being an important element of model training, or perhaps model aerobics. But if it makes them $2 million a year, I say toss away.
Jerry and Eileen Ford, who own the agency, admitted there are few requirements to being a model, other than certain physical assets, an ability to follow simple directions and a desire to display one’s self.
A Ph.D. in astrophysics, while no doubt personally satisfying, is not necessary. A cute behind is.
I discovered during the Super Model competition there was no way of getting away from the long shadow cast by Gates and the Christopher Commission, even amid nubile females with little to offer but their bodies.
The competition was being held by the swimming pool. Basking in the sun on lounge chairs nearby were a group of men staying at the hotel. Publicist Georgiana Francisco gestured to them and whispered, “They’ll be there as long as the models are around. They think they’ve died and gone to heaven.”
But when I sat next to them and listened, they weren’t discussing the models, but whether or not Gates would quit in the near future.
“They need a Harry Truman to throw him out,” one middle-aged man said, in obvious reference to the ex-President’s firing of Gen. Douglas MacArthur during the Korean War.
“They need a battering ram,” another said.
It was that way too at the theater where I saw “Terminator 2.” Three food servers, with normally nothing more challenging on their minds than popcorn, were actually discussing whether or not The Chief ought to quit.
One of them said, so help me God, “If the newspapers and television would just shut up about it, everything would be OK. You want butter?”
Well, they’re probably right. I’ll skip the butter, eat my popcorn and go about my business from now on, without so much as another thought to Terminator Gates.
Another Judgment Day come and gone in L.A.
