The Club 22 at the Windsor Arms was an amazing place in 70's & 80's. It was like the hub of movie business in Toronto. Every day there was an adventure of some kind. Robert Miller was a writer for McLean's Magazine and CTV and had recently turned to novels like Dreadlock and some movie biz with Bill Marshall. I had bravely written my first screenplay and had given a copy to Bill Marshall. So we are sitting at the producers table with a few cronies at the mostly empty Club 22 and Bobby says come here I want to talk to you. he leads me to the empty piano bar. He tells me he picked up my script at Bill's office and read it. He than told me I shouldn't be in the movie business and picked my script apart line by line. He was good, he had a photographic memory and a grounding in writing and English and literature that was unmatched. I sat there speechless looking for anyway out. When I looked up in the mirror and said. "Hey isn't that Patrick Mcgoonan coming into the bar?"Bobby hardly broke stride he looked up briefly and went on. See that's what I mean, you don't even know who is who, that isn't Patrick McGoonan, Patrick is a personal friend of mine and that definitely isn't him.I got up and went back to the producers table ready to give up.
I looked again and went up to the gentleman at the bar. Hi aren't you Patrick McGoonan? Yes he replied I introduced myself and So Mr McGoonan what are you doing these days? "The manly sort of thing" he says"I try to drink a bottle scotch and write 2 poems everyday."I invited him to join us. I introduced him around the table, Robert Miller meet Patrick Mcgoonan I smirked as I watched the now speechless Bobby Miller sink low in his seat.
