8 – Italians at the Greco
San Francisco, Early 1992
It was a sleepy Sunday morning when I stumbled into Caffe Greco. Despite the overpriced mochas and tourist treatment, they still serve a sweet caffeine punch in a private observatory that overlooks the lively Columbus Ave.
On this day though, it was early, too early for the masses. Even the Chinese grocers hand-trucking their goods through the streets were out of sight.
A few steps up and I entered the still cafe, lulled by Italian opera, there...there sat a film family dynasty, like a DaVinci painting, as if the cafe was their god-damned living room.
Francis Ford Coppola sits with his family in the Solarium of their San Francisco house, March 1972. Photographer: Ted Streshinsky/CORBIS (borrowed from Bloomberg)
Let me say, I stood stunned. First there was Francis. My eye brows rose. Then his wife Eleanor. As my eyes continued clockwise, there was hey, "Yo Adrian!" echoed in my head. Okay I know she's done other stuff besides Rocky, but her name escaped me at the moment. (Talia Shire!)
All six of the family members buried their heads in a section of the New York Times. It was a sight to behold. I was about to barge in and disturb the peace.
"You're a great inspiration to aspiring filmmakers." The grizzly stood up and took my hand in his giant bear paw and shook. Thanked me.
Mind you, I had recently watched Eleanor's documentary about Francis and the making of Apocalypse Now.
What I wanted to tell the couple was how I loved the scene in Hearts of Darkness where Francis is standing on the helicopter's landing skids. How he continued to give directions as the chopper rose. He was so consumed in the moment, full of conviction, that his mind was elsewhere, totally unaware of his safety. They would have appreciated that observation. It was genuine and still an intimate detail.
Instead I vocalized some nonsense that lingered in the air. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I'm certain it was cringe-worthy. That's just par for my celebrity interactions.
Like the time I ambushed Michael J. Fox on the streets of Manhattan across from my office in the Citicorp building. I told him, "You're beautiful!" (metaphorically speaking of course) as I slipped him an invitation to go on my father's boat later that weekend. I just imagined we'd chill, throw back some beers on the Sound, and recount hilarious outtakes from Family Ties or Back to the Future. No pressure. Just behind-the-scene stuff that nobody else knows about.
After a few breaths, the second-hand started moving again. I politely acknowledged every one of the Coppolas with a nod, then let them continue reading. I ordered my mocha and banged my head on the counter in disbelief.