Tuesday, March 23, 2021



All the way to a whole new piece of everythings. Brenda. This was now the end of the women from school and college and a whole new work on the television station in my town, Windsor, a town a fraction of Detroit in America. But still close to the big city as we worked close to the big monster city and it's huge ness. Five million. Windsor was a spot across the river. And I worked there and Detroit and go to both cities. But then it came to Brenda it was different. Brenda worked at the TV station as well as I did. This was over high school boys and girls. 

She lived in Toronto and moved to Windsor where I lived. And we became friends. And yes, we became friends. Very good friends. We took a holiday with nobody knew. While we had a two week holiday on an east coast trip as what we went to Quebec and Boston and Cape Cod and New York and all the way back. We camped in upstate New York and met family with two mutes with a 6-year old family. It was a beautiful camp and the boy translate all the language. We got married after our trip and that was it.

We now worked and married at the TV station and tried to keep it quit because the company might not like two people to work together. And our biggest event was our trip to the Canadian Rockies where we took art programs all summer in the beautiful place. 

But we never made it together with each other's home. And that was that. And we never really saw each other for a lot of years and didn't think it would happen again. But one day a unknown emailed me on line on Facebook with one short word. It says only this "Are you my mother's ex".

Well, it turns out quite interesting, in fact, really quite interesting and why will they both will know. The simple part is that her mom's first marriage. And know her mom's past and now future will come to complete it all. "Mom" finds this all can be real and is in real life. Mom's second. And that was me. It started with both we married to someone else and finally back to me.

It sounds so crazy, but it is there. And we talked for days and years and finally met each other again, in Canada where she still lives with her daughter. And, being a screenwriter, it begs for a real movie, so I wrote a screenplay and am trying to get it made

How's that? Real.

Monday, March 15, 2021



Blond, swedish angel, car hop, first girl to break my heart. Not that I did. My girls and I slowly seemed to take it bad for a day and then seem to be ok. Sorta! First night, at a party, we circle each other, talk a little, I can't take my eyes off her, but manage to go home with a raven-haired girl. Two weeks later, party at her Ingrid's , she asked a friend to make sure I'm there, like teenagers, after all we are teens. I go, she's cool, mostly ignores him, then she starts a fire in the backyard and all of us hang out, and I end uup in those mysterious ways, beside her, and she has a blanket in the cool night and we end up cozy under it as the fire dies and we don't even know that everyone else is gone because we can only see each other and don't need anything else. Ingrid was the makeout queen, holding each other. I had no car at that time so I and and my friend Perry and his girl and his car and Ingrid and I. Sometimes I get my dad's car for an evening and it was everything for us. But it changed, Ingrid found someone at the carhop job. It breaks my heart, I never really came back from that time. Even after, when she sees me and a high school dance I didn't want to see her again. But eventually she wanted to see me again and she did and but it didn't work like it did before. Perry and his girl drive us to the park but it wasn't good. I saw her a few years after graduation high school. She was hanging around with the Greasers, tough guys  I was not.


One time though, when I wasn't with Ingrid, and I met a girl at the House Of Pizza, where teens like us would hang around inside, listen to rock and roll. She was a dark haired who bewitched me in a sense, it wasn't my fault, haunted, can't remember her name. We danced from a radio and held each other. The place was brick and dark and nobody around and smelling of old people and dark walls and I began to not like it. Maybe even scared more. Maybe like being scared that I would lose my sole being a Catholic boy. It was serious in the way enough to try it. And I wasn't. I didn't want to show that, but she was just something that was. I stayed for a while and. I remember that from the movie Citizen Kane. I saw that movie a few weeks ago. The smell of old wood and dark walls and I didn't like it and didn't want to go in because I was scared, scared that that I'd lose my soul. It was serious with her, not just a guy and a girl and some fooling around. I never saw her again and wondered where she was. I often remember her and something that in that dark old house. And I wondered to think about her, mysterious and that house and what could I have known.


 For those who don't know where I came from the wild west of of Canada, well, not really wild west. Mostly wheat fields rising up to the small town that I grew up to 12 years and settled across the river. The The Detroit River. Yeah, a small city across to Detroit with around in the millions. And I had relatives also. You'll see Dey/twa while my city was Windsor, a small city of factory workers. I went to a American college about twenty miles from Canada, crossing the river two ways, massive bridge and the closest under the river also called The Detroit River. Two counties.

I would drive back to Canada by tunnel. My U.S. school was Henry Ford College. It was Orville Hubburd's white home and mayor since 1946 and he doesn't like blacks and they say that if the Russians ever drop a bomb on Dearborn, it will have to be painted white because otherwise it'll never get in. I met Carmen in a psyc class. Carmen is cool to me, she's one of those girls cool to me. She's one of those girls who flirt a little, I take up, she's one of those girls who flirt a little who have and I ask her out. We later meet to a "supper club" like they do here in the "states" and we have two drinks, we with Whisky Sours that Crys showed me later how to drink will liked Sunrises. "More on Crys". After two hours of talking about stopping the war and school we dance and we hold each other with the desperation  of cold war and generally make a spectical in front of the shorthairs. It was a little bit of our war world across the ocean. 


Lovely little Lucy, dark skin Italian girl with gentle features and delicate body. We talked. she liked me and I still love her. Her parents couldn't speak English and nuns at school told her see was hemmed  her skirt to her knees. One night we were walking home and we cut across a cemetary and we sat on an old one and talked and talked until it was midnight until she's crying, and saying she's how she'd beginning to believe the nuns are right. I tell her they're wrong. That she was as real as any other girl who likes a boy and she holds me and I. She says she likes me and I tell her the nuns don't know what they think about anyone and she kisses me and I feel her pain. Then she looks at me with those great doe eyes and lipsticked lips and she kisses me.and I feel through it lips and I just hold her. I learned later that she married an Italian. I never saw her again but someone said she left him.

I miss her even now, think about her. I miss them all.

Wednesday, March 10, 2021


Okay, I'm back, well actual having some problems from that horrible thing that calls itself story teller. Well, let's go back in '66" - '69" with me and Sidi, the "ramblin'n' gamb'lin man" go to the "east side" where he lives, all black. And I'm there with him in a house along with a Black Panther who hates my guts for being white, and two girls, one of which has the greatest skin I ever seen, smooth and dark, like a black pearl. And she likes me, and I go on like some idiot from Canada, which I guess I am. At least I'm not like the draft     doggers up in Toronto who get laid by girls feeling sorry for them. But things get tense, and I know I should get out of there so I say goodbye to Sidi, see ya in school tomorrow, and drive off in the '65 Pontiac convertible with the new roof. The one I drove down Michigan Avenue in '68 when the Tigers won the World Series and me and Ron took six hours to get home. Dozens of people jump in and out of the car until we took the tunnel back to quiet Windsor. It was a twenty mile parade blaring, everyone's happy, no matter what color.

So there I was, hanging out, remembering me in Indianapolis , in the ghetto , registering black votes for Bobby Kennedy. People are surprised to see a white guy like me there. Older people invite me for coffee and talk about how great it would be good with Bobby. Young guys are suspicious and kids just watch me do what I do, I don't feel scared, I feel good, but maybe I'm wrong. But I had their hospitality and I liked it. Now they're killing each other and I wondered that I dreamt it all. They got nothing but they got hospitality. I shook his hand in Indianapolis. It's all gone when Bobby got killed. I wouldn't do that and cried when he was gone and his brother first. Nothing came nothing.

Sunday, January 31, 2021

Spag and French Wine

Hey, it's me with some thing that might you have interest with some "new matter" as they say. More stuff from me (Jimmy - real name) but more known as Jim. I'm still in the game as they say, still got scripts pushing around. And one piece that's probably pretty good. Well, maybe okay. But beginning, I've got a short piece of writing about some of the women I've known before 17 up to 23 and basically the and same ages of me -- so there. And one 23, actually. All of them from high school and college.

This was around the 80's with Santino, both of us living in Sherman Oaks, California where I was spent writing screenplays and a few features and watching the 'oaks people with actors and writers and talking about girls and finally who reminded the girls we grew up with in the 70's. It all began with our girl friends, old times from 17 to 23. Santino's reading my anti-war material. He was in Vietnam already and never wanted to see it again. He wanted my life way back in there, the music and color and war and I was a Canadian across the river which was a small city filled with American cars being made.,

Before I was hanging out in Detroit across the river and with Sidi and in and holding from McComb College in a hotel room in Howard Johnson's on Grand Boulevard. Outside, ghettos just a block beyond GM's  world headquarters. The year before, National Guardsmen with M-16 rifles stops us on John Lodge Freeway looking across the river to Canada. Where I lived. Safe. Now we're driving across to school on the American side to John Ford College. I heard a guy here at Howard Johnson's was shot out at a window and died.

Now I'm here, Mary Hanover, American, beautiful blonde wasp from upper middle suburbs and we're together while her girlfriend cries about a guy who didn't notice her. I listened for awhile and she left . We were all collage people and it was the world for us, we had the whole thing. The whole thing belonged to us. Detroit in 1969, a good place to be for a farm boy from the prairies. I meet a beautiful college girl in Detroit and she lived in the northern part where rich homes thrive. She's rich but doesn't care and across the river far away from across the river where I live with a quiet home but not her life. But she doesn't care and we continue to belong in two different countries and will stay on for the rests of our lives over and over.

Dee..troit in 69, a good place to  be for a farm boy again. Crystal, but calls herself Crys. She's three years older and going to U. of D., she taught me all about Scotch one night in her dad's great house in Bloomfield Hills. He was an architect  who built it himself, me and Crys in the "conversation pit" putting Cutty Sark and she's got her legs up and says and how pretty she looks, checks. She is. And I'm crazy about her She's never married, got dumped by some guy went to Africa in the Peace Corp and she never got over it. Grad in two years.  Syc class. Wanted to join. maybe.

Hang on.

Friday, January 1, 2021


If any you've read my story about the story about Steve Tene, "the King of the Gypsies" as in a book and movie and you've can find it and see in my blog in two times: One is a long piece I wrote and had some connection to Steve's passing and his brother Tene. 

I had read your wish for me to write a good story that I'll do for you. Trouble is I saw you name but your phone at 561-633-5404. So Tene email. I'm in Canada and live there now. But I tried the phone number you gave me. But some man said it was not his phone number. If it's different, please call or email.

Jim Makichuk

Wednesday, December 30, 2020


Well, yes I am here finally and back to finding stories that brought me into all the pieces of everything that brought me finally back for that almost one year damn that is getting in the way of stories and hopes. If course there will be new stories to play around with old stuff as new stuff that I found in boxes and dozens of ideas that I didn't consider. Maybe good and maybe better, or no good at all. Well, maybe.

I'm writing a new story that could be a new screenplay. It's about whom I've liked and loved. Remembering the women in my life, some lost, some found. It's a collection of these women whom I stayed with, found other and I still think of all. I hope to be honest and write what me and them will see in their own words in some places, or usually lost but not exactly near or far from me.

And I will be honest because some of them might have other methods. But none of them were angry nor I. These would consist from my first 11-year old from to know. I'm not trying to show off, rather I want to go back until I hope I  find them,  or at least and heard of them and remember I hope.