Life's Work

 David Milch grew up in Buffalo; his father was a surgeon and a high-functioning addict. Milch was repeatedly raped by a camp counselor, in childhood, then he made his way to Yale.

Having graduated summa cum laude, Milch found himself at Yale Law School. But some issues arose. Milch had started using drugs, and he did not know who or where he was. He once showed up at a final exam on torts--and his instructor laughed at him. "You don't actually know what a tort is, do you?"

The final crisis: Milch took out a shotgun, one evening, and fired several rounds at the traffic lights of New Haven. Cops surrounded him and--because he was white--he was released after a mild slap on the wrist. He eventually became a TA (!) in Yale's English department.

I have no idea how we get from here to "NYPD Blue"--and that is partly because Milch wrote his memoir while also struggling against dementia. Have you recently watched the pilot of "NYPD Blue"? It's extraordinary. Dennis Franz corners a mobster--but, first, he shoots holes in the guy's tires, to create a pretext for a traffic stop. The "dirty cop" maneuver is exposed; everyone knows what really happened. Franz begins fighting with the mobster, and he ultimately trails him to a Manhattan restaurant--where he picks him up from his chair. Franz forces the mobster to eat his own toupee.

Franz next loses his partner, and he is half-slaughtered--via gunfire--while visiting a turncoat prostitute. All of this is mesmerizing and unpredictable; there is so much cop material on TV, but Milch's show still feels "new."

Milch lured Franz to the show by suggesting that this would be a short-term commitment, but Milch always knew that the Franz character would survive. Also, Milch would submit rewrites just minutes before filming; Jimmy Smits eventually left his contract because he couldn't tolerate Milch's work habits.

If I'm going to read a memoir, it helps when the writer is truly a writer. That's David Milch. He has the right instincts. He knows how to "tattle" on himself. For example, here's a memory that many of us would try to repress. Milch once had to attend a party in the Hollywood Hills. He didn't want to go--and he planned to exit early. Life happened: A toddler waded into a deep pool, and Milch had to perform a rescue, and thus he had to sit by a fire for many, many minutes, while his clothing dried. When he wanted to drive off, he discovered that twenty or thirty cars had already fenced him in.

At this point, Milch--with his wife, and small children--opted to go "off-roading." He drove down mountainous terrain--creating a need for $25K, for car-restoration--because he couldn't bear to be at the party for one minute more.

Milch tells the story, happily; he knows he has found a great character, and rich material.

I really enjoyed this book.