friend

It’s not merely trendy psychologizing to salute the qualities of a sturdy tree: a humbling reminder of time’s immensity, but also a living embodiment of shelter, change and growth. Leave it, then, to a massive gingko on the grounds of a medieval German town’s college to cosmically center the three-pronged, multi-generational character study “Silent Friend” from Hungarian filmmaker Ildikó Enyedi.

Enyedi, from her mesmeric, calling-card period lark “My Twentieth Century” to the eccentric love story “On Body and Soul,” has always been preoccupied with that realm in which the everyday meets the all-seeing and possibility is awakened. So it shouldn’t surprise anyone that she’d give a starring role to a 200-year-old tree, which just may inspire the needed answers. And why not? Our living, “breathing,” sky-reaching neighbors have considerable communication skills with each other.

Our entryway is a modern day neuroscientist played by Tony Leung Chiu-wai (and called Tony), who arrives at the University of Marburg as a visiting professor ready to further his groundbreaking research into the mysteries of infant brain development. The gig becomes a lonely endeavor, however, when the pandemic hits and he’s confined to a depopulated campus, sent unwillingly into a kind of monkhood.

It’s as if the nearby natural world, photographed by Gergely Pálos and edited by Károly Szalai, was just waiting for such a solitary moment to draw Tony’s undivided attention into the prospect of green intelligence.

In tandem, Enyedi transports us to 1908 to meet aspiring botanist Grete (Luna Wedler), the university’s first female student, subjected to cruelly patronizing treatment by smug male elders, yet driven to see plants anew when introduced to the light-capturing rigor of photography. The movie’s third woven-in protagonist is a wide-eyed, resourceful farm boy, Hannes (Enzo Brumm), in 1972. While his fellow students spark to the winds of political change and sexual freedom, he becomes fixated on what a lone geranium, imaginatively monitored on its windowsill, might have to convey if given the chance.

The fluid, idiosyncratic charm of “Silent Friend” — which never feels like two and a half hours — is in Enyedi’s heartfelt belief that curiosity is simply a garden that grows progress. It doesn’t hurt, of course, that this veteran dreamweaver’s key cast are entrancing, inviting specimens themselves, led by an inner glow of compassion in Leung that feels like its own natural energy source. When his character contacts Léa Seydoux’s French plant expert, it becomes almost too much rapturously intelligent star wattage for one quietly poetic movie, even if these god-tier actors are just zooming and talking shop.

Hardly anything is overdone here and, in one essential way, Enyedi is also making the case for movies themselves as phenomena to protect and treasure: ecosystems of light, texture, wonder and nourishment. Visually, the film toggles between intimate 35mm black-and-white, grainy 16mm color and multi-purpose digital cameras that visually represent distinct eras. Needless to say, that gingko tree is sublime and majestic in all of them.

Clarence Carter, the blues and soul singer famous for songs including the raunchy hit “Strokin’” featured in Eddie Murphy’s “The Nutty Professor,” has died.

Fame Recording Studios in Carter’s native Alabama announced the singer-songwriter’s death Thursday morning. In a statement shared to Facebook, the studio said Carter “was more than an artist to us,” adding he “was family.” The post did not disclose additional details about Carter’s passing, including the cause of death. Carter was 90.

The Grammy-nominated musician, who was blind since age 1, was most popular in the late 1960s and early ’70s, with chart-busting hits including 1968’s romantic “Slip Away,” 1970’s “Patches” and the Christmas hit “Back Door Santa.” He released a steady stream of music through the ’90s — Carter released 22 studio albums over the course of his career — and earned two Grammy Award nominations.

Carter received his first nod in 1970 for composing ex-wife Candi Staton’s single “I’d Rather Be an Old Man’s Sweetheart,” which was nominated for the rhythm & blues song category. He received his own nomination in R&B vocal performance the following year for his story-driven “Patches,” about a young man fulfilling his father’s expectations.

Former Times pop music critic Robert Hilburn wrote in 1992: “Clarence Carter is one of the most overlooked soul stylists of the modern pop era.”

Among Carter’s musical talents was a knack for descriptive lyricism, which he channeled for unapologetically sexual songs “G Spot” and “Strokin’.” In these numbers, Carter spares no detail in his approach to lovemaking. “Strokin’,’” released in 1986, notably received play in 1996‘s “The Nutty Professor” as Murphy’s titular character drives over to a date.

Born in 1936 in Montgomery, Ala., Carter took an interest in music in his youth, enjoying the blues records his stepfather bought and learning to play the guitar. “I would lie in my bed and hear those bands playing and say to myself, ‘One of these days I’m going to play just like that,’” he told The Times in 1987.

He graduated from Alabama State College in 1960 with a bachelor’s in music and worked briefly as a schoolteacher before beginning his professional music career. Carter formed a duo with friend and singer Calvin Scott, but his collaborator was later seriously injured in an automobile accident. Carter then went solo and began recording music with producer Rick Hall and Fame in Muscle Shoals, amid the late-’60s soul boom.

After the success of his early hits in the ’70s, Carter struggled to find the same chart success amid disco’s popularity. “Nobody’s gonna keep a hit record all the time,” he told The Times. In the early ’80s, his “Working on a Love Building” was a moderate hit. Carter signed to Ichiban Records to record his 1986 album “Dr. C.C.,” which featured “Strokin’” among its tracks.

“By the time I finished doing that song and walked back up to the control room, [the engineer] was laughing so hard he hadn’t even turned the tape machine off,” he said a year after the hit’s release.

Carter released his final studio album, “Sing Along With Clarence Carter,” in 2011 but continued to release live albums and compilations until 2020. He also continued performing live through the 2010s.

The singer-songwriter was married to Staton from 1970 to 1973 and they share a son, Clarence Carter Jr. He married Joyce Jenkins in 2001 and has lived in DeKalb County, Ga., since 1983.

“Clarence Carter leaves behind a legacy of timeless music, unforgettable performances, and a friendship we will always cherish,” Fame Studios said in its statement. “We extend our love and prayers to his family, friends, and fans around the world.”

When a friend asked if Tom Steyer could stop by my wife Delilah’s downtown Santa Ana restaurant, I had to explain to her who he was.

It’s not political apathy in my honey’s case. She’s just exhausted from running her small business, Alta Baja Market, in these inflationary times. She’s one of the 16% of undecided voters in a recent California Democratic Party poll — a group that may determine which two candidates for governor face each other in the general election.

Delilah agreed that Steyer could visit on Saturday after I told her that many of our friends support the billionaire’s progressive platform.

“Politics is your job, not mine,” she joked as we drove to Alta Baja and I named the other major candidates. The only ones she had heard of were Antonio Villaraigosa (“I liked him as mayor, but he needed to keep his pants on,” referring to his extramarital affairs) and Katie Porter (“Some of my workers like her, but I don’t know what she’s done”). She might be the last person left in the Golden State who hasn’t seen any of Steyer’s television and YouTube ads.

His campaign seems to have stalled in the polls even as he has spent more than $150 million of his own money amid doubts from some voters about whether they want a billionaire to lead the state.

So a visit to Santa Ana, the heart of Latino Orange County, was a good move. At Alta Baja, he could talk to my Mexican American wife and other blue-collar Latinos.

When rival Xavier Becerra came to O.C. a few weeks ago, on the other hand, he appeared at a private fundraiser attended mostly by professional Latinos.

“I just want someone who tells us where our taxes are going and treats this country like a business, and we’re not wasting money,” Delilah said. She’s a socially liberal and fiscally conservative Democrat who has been especially angered by President Trump’s deportation deluge, which left the streets of downtown Santa Ana empty for months last summer. “Because right now, our government is a hot-ass mess.”

I asked what questions she had for Steyer.

“So insurance had to cover all the disasters that happened with the fires,” Delilah replied. “So why is everybody else having to pay for it? And what are you really gonna do to help the state?”

She paused. “Tom is a Democrat, right?”

Delilah prepared for Steyer’s noontime stop as if it were any other day. She has fed the likes of U.S. Sen. Alex Padilla, Orange County Dist. Atty. Todd Spitzer and former Speaker of the Assembly Anthony Rendon. Republican gubernatorial candidate Steve Hilton is a fan of Alta Baja’s blue cornbread; Oakland Mayor Barbara Lee held a meet-and-greet there when she ran for president two years ago.

“You know who should ask questions?” Delilah said after she set the till for the day. “Angela.”

That would be 19-year-old Alta Baja employee Angela Nino, who will be voting in her first election.

“She’ll always be telling me, ‘Did you see the debate? Did you see the debate?’ And I always say, ‘No, I’m too tired to watch.’”

Nino soon clocked in.

“Guess who’s coming, Angela?” Delilah said before looking at me. “Is his name Tim or Tom?”

“It’s like I agree with some of his things, but he’s a billionaire,” said the Orange Coast College student and Santa Ana resident when I asked about Steyer. “His answers at debates have been pretty broad so far.”

Delilah smiled.

“You’re the future, girl, so ask him anything.”

Almost everyone who came in as we waited for Steyer was a campaign worker or volunteer. Former state Controller Betty Yee, who ended her campaign for governor last month and endorsed Steyer, sat at a table with her husband. Orange County Supervisor Vicente Sarmiento, who initiated Steyer’s Santa Ana visit, thanked Delilah for the opportunity. He has known her since the start of his political career on the Santa Ana City Council nearly 20 years ago,

“This is a city where our residents were criminalized because of ICE, our downtown suffered because of construction, and all this on the heels of a pandemic,” he told me. “These are the folks Tom needs to listen to.”

Sarmiento’s staffer got his attention. Steyer was here.

The candidate strolled in with a videographer and photographer. He wore his usual casual billionaire outfit — white-and-cardinal Nikes, jeans, checkered shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a colorful Southwestern-style fabric belt.

Steyer went straight to the counter.

“Are you running for governor?” he cracked while shaking Delilah’s hand.

“I don’t want to,” she replied.

“I knew you were a smart woman!”

He listened with wide eyes and a stern face as Delilah complained about a years-long light-rail project in front of Alta Baja “that has been worse for businesses here than COVID.” Insurance rates have gone up 30% in the last year alone, she said.

“Well, look, that’s my whole thing,” Steyer responded in his low, gravelly voice. “I’m willing to take on the big corporations who are ripping off California. And they’re all spending a lot of money against me.”

It was the Steyer I’ve heard on too many commercials: pugnacious, compassionate but spouting a whole bunch of boilerplate. Delilah smiled weakly.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “And we need more of that.”

Then she waved Nino over. Usually shy, the architecture major now channeled her inner Lesley Stahl.

“Why do you have to be governor in order to do something while you have billions of dollars?” she said.

Steyer didn’t flinch as he explained how he has funded ballot propositions and nonprofit initiatives to fight for a more equitable California.

“So I’ve been able to do something, but what I see in California — and what Delilah and I were just talking about — is big corporations actually run the state,” he said.

“That’s true,” Nino conceded.

“You have to take on the big corporations that are screwing everybody. And you can really only do that as governor,” Steyer continued.

“You want to tax the billionaires, is that correct?” Nino asked next, as Steyer nodded. “How come on some [campaign disclosure] forms, it shows that your billions are in different [countries] besides in the U.S.?”

The candidate vigorously shook his head.

“I might have investments outside the United States, but there’s nothing I’m doing to not pay — I pay full California and American taxes on everything, promise. There’s a lot of ways I could avoid taxes, but I don’t. And so, anything that I’m doing overseas is not to avoid taxes. … I give you my word.”

One more from Nino!

“And how can the people trust billionaires when currently they have been very disappointing towards us?”

“I understand why people are skeptical,” Steyer replied. “They couldn’t be more skeptical than I am.”

He argued that other moguls “are supporting every other candidate. Those people hate me — like, they think I stand for something really bad, which is making them pay their fair share,” referring to a proposed November ballot initiative that would impose a one-time 5% tax on billionaires like Steyer (he supports the measure).

“And they’re right,” Steyer concluded. “And so it’s like, they hate me, and that’s fine.”

Nino stayed silent. Delilah thanked Steyer, who was off to visit other local businesses owned by friends of ours. He bought a bottle of rosé, posed for photos with Delilah and Sarmiento and went off — but not before a staffer adjusted the back of his collar.

Delilah and Nino went back to prepping lunch orders. What did they think about Steyer?

“To be honest, I’m so skeptical,” Nino said. “I don’t think he has enough experience as some of the other candidates, and I feel like he could have been more into detail about his policies.”

What about you, honey?

“Gracious, very kind and not pompous, which is what I would expect from most politicians,” Delilah said. “I like that he heard out Angela — that’s important [that] politicians listen to the next generation, and I think everybody should be doing that. But I wasn’t satisfied with my insurance question.”

“And we don’t know if this is a performance,” Nino added, drawing a playful gasp from Delilah. “We’ve seen, like, throughout the years, many political people go into, like, regular [businesses] to seem like, ‘Oh, we’re relatable to the people. We know your struggles.’”

“Do they really?” Delilah interjected.

Nino frowned.

They could just be putting on a show for the cameras, she said.

The most recent death on Mt. Wilson claimed the life of a man identified as New Zealand-born, L.A.-based composer Mark Smythe. Following the tragedy, his colleagues and family poured out their hearts as they remembered a man they called smart, funny and a true supporter of his peers.

Smythe died Saturday at 53 after suffering a cardiac emergency on a hiking trail, according to the coroner’s online database. His cause of death was atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease, in which plaque builds up in arterial walls and can lead to a heart attack.

The Sierra Madre Police Department said Saturday that a man — at that point unidentified — died after having a medical emergency on the trail and that no foul play was suspected. First responders arrived at the site around 10 a.m. and administered aid but were unable to save his life.

Smythe had been head of the department of Composing for Visual Media at Los Angeles Music College since last summer, according to his website. Among other honors, he was nominated for a 2023 Society of Composers and Lyricists Award for his work scoring the movie “The Reef: Stalked.”

Kate Ward-Smythe, the composer’s sister, acknowledged his death late Sunday on Facebook.

“It is a comfort to know that he was doing one of the things he loved, hiking in the hills, and we are grateful to his wonderful friends (and emergency service responders) who tried so hard to resuscitate him,” she wrote.

“Mark was a strong larger than life connector in LA, as a professor, composer, musician, and loyal friend. He was also fiercely talented, and an absolute cheerleader for music performance and recording across multiple genres.. he was only just getting started and had so much more to give .. We are heartbroken and trying to process this tragedy, as are all Mark’s friends and family.”

Bear McCreary, known for scoring TV series including “Outlander,” “The Walking Dead,” “Black Sails” and “Snowpiercer” and movies including “Happy Death Day,” “Godzilla: King of the Monsters” and Blumhouse’s “Fantasy Island,” called news of Smythe’s death “awful and surreal,” saying they had just been chatting at a mutual friend’s party a few weeks ago.

“Mark’s enthusiasm and humor were off the charts,” McCreary wrote Sunday on Instagram. “He brought a shark with a bowtie to the red carpet of an SCL awards ceremony when he was nominated for his work on a shark movie – hilarious! When he found out I was writing a metal album, he curated his favorite German folk metal bands for me (turning me on to his favorite band, Finsterforst).”

Having said he always thought he would get to know Smythe better one day, McCreary called his death “a stark reminder to spend time with the people you care about while you can.”

John Massari, who has more than 150 music credits stretching back to “Little House on the Prairie” and contributed music to TV series including “Dancing With the Stars,” “Pawn Stars” and “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” said in comments that “Mark was a bright light and a refreshing spirit in our community. He is greatly missed.”

“I’m so deeply sad to lose my friend. Mark, I miss you and love you. Thank you for your love, passion, humor, and joy and for always making me feel loved and valued,” singer Baraka May, whose voice can be heard in “Avatar: Fire and Ash,” “Wicked: For Good” and “Beavis and Butt-Head,” wrote Monday on Instagram.

“He was funny and snarky and whip-smart, yet when we collaborated, he just melted into the music and gushed like a fan with child-like wonder. What a tremendous heart and mind!” the vocalist wrote. “I had the honor of collaborating with him on three of his beautiful pieces as a conductor, and I loved his boyish, genuine joy and excitement even in our rehearsals. He wrote and voiced his music beautifully, which often felt haunting, romantic, deep, and sensitive, and his bass playing was so beautiful and thoughtful. He was such a vivid, enthusiastic music lover, and I was very much looking forward to making more music with him.”

The Los Angeles Film Conducting Intensive also mourned the loss, saying online that “Mark was a brilliant talent and a genuine friend to all, a true pillar in our scoring community.

“During the pandemic, Mark generously joined our 2020 New Music Project to support new repertoire for our music community during a time of great uncertainty and when most traditional pieces could not be performed.”

The Hollywood Music in Media Awards remembered Smythe winning a career-propelling prize at the organization’s 2013 ceremony, soon after he arrived in L.A. from New Zealand.

“He quickly built a distinguished body of work for film, shorts, and television, earned multiple HMMA nominations, served as COO of the Society of Composers & Lyricists, and returned to present at the 2018 HMMA Gala,” the organization wrote. “Mark’s talent and generosity enriched our community — he will be greatly missed.”

Smythe’s death was the second this month on Mt. Wilson. On May 3, a man identified as John McIntyre, 66, was declared dead on the same trail after falling down a ravine at Mt. Wilson Road and the Little Santa Anita fire break in Sierra Madre. His cause of death was blunt force injuries.

When political commentator Ana Navarro recently arrived at Mercado Little Spain, the José Andrés-owned food hall downstairs from CNN’s New York studios, a seat was ready for her constant companion, a rust-colored miniature poodle named ChaCha.

“I am her service human because I’m servicing her all day,” Navarro said of the well-behaved pooch who has been by her side since the 2020 COVID-19 lockdown.

As Navarro and a reporter order tapas dishes for the next two hours, patrons at nearby tables raise their cellphone cameras. Andrés’ daughter Carlota stops by and gives an update on her father, a Navarro pal. Later, a Spanish-speaking young woman comes over and thanks Navarro, a political exile from Nicaragua, for defending immigrants amid the aggressive deportation efforts of the Trump administration.

In a fragmented media world where critical mass is becoming harder to attain, Navarro has become one of media’s most recognizable political talking heads thanks to her two high-profile TV roles.

She is a co-host of ABC’s “The View,” the No. 1-rated daytime talk show that has become a target in Federal Communications Commission Chairman Brendan Carr’s efforts to discipline President Trump’s broadcast media critics. She is also a regular panelist on CNN’s roundtable program “NewsNight with Abby Phillip,” which extends its reach far beyond its modest ratings through frequent viral clips on social media.

In February, Navarro, 54, joined the growing list of media personalities who have launched a digital platform to reach consumers no longer watching traditional TV with a weekly podcast for iHeart called “Bleep! With Ana Navarro.”

Navarro is her uncut self on “Bleep!” She interviews guests but can also go into a 30-plus minute monologue without a script when she records at iHeart’s midtown Manhattan studios, where ChaCha looks on from a cushy pillow.

Navarro delivers her arguments against the Trump administration as if she’s schmoozing with friends across a kitchen table. She always appears calm but as the podcast title suggests, she serves up a few four-letter words she doesn’t use on TV.

“Bleep!” gives Navarro her own platform at a time when the legacy media networks she works at are under pressure. Upheaval is expected at CNN if parent company Warner Bros. Discovery becomes a part of Paramount and its Trump-friendly owners David and Larry Ellison.

Carr recently called for an early review of ABC’s TV station licenses. He said its related to an investigation into parent company Disney’s diversity practices but it comes amid the administration’s criticism of the network’s Trump coverage, which has included “The View.”

Ana Navarro on the set of ABC’s “The View.”

(Lou Rocco (ABC))

Navarro was pulled into the fray last year when she was approached by Walt Disney Co. Chief Executive Bob Iger at ABC’s upfront advertiser presentation in New York. The huddle led to reports that they discussed the anti-Trump commentary on “The View.”

“We had an honest conversation but I’m not going to tell you what it was,” she said. “Nobody is muscling us. All I’ve got to do is show up and do the same thing that I’ve always done, which is be as truthful, and authentic and informed.”

(On Friday, ABC filed a petition with the FCC over the agency’s recent scrutiny of “The View,” and whether the program qualifies for an exemption from seldom enforced equal time rules for political candidates. The network accused the FCC of actions violating its 1st Amendment right to free speech.)

Navarro has been pounding at Trump for so long, it’s hard to remember that her rise as a TV pundit began 14 years ago when she was a loyal conservative Republican. Jeff Zucker, who ran CNN from 2012 to 2022, said her personal evolution sets her apart from other pundits.

“She’s funny, insightful, knows how to turn a phrase and she’s gone on a political journey,” Zucker said in a recent interview. “So she understands the entire political spectrum as well as anyone.”

Navarro was eight years old in 1980 when her family fled Nicaragua and sought political asylum in the U.S. after the socialist Sandinista National Liberation Front took power. Her father stayed behind to fight with the anti-communist rebel Contras in the country’s civil war.

“Reagan was taking on the Sandinistas when Bernie Sanders wasn’t,” she said.

She was granted amnesty and became a U.S. citizen under the immigration reform bill signed by President Reagan in 1986.

Growing up in Miami, Navarro was part of the enclave of Latinos whose political perspectives were shaped by having fled Fidel’s Castro’s Cuba and other communist regimes in Latin America. She became a political operative in Republican politics, starting in local Miami races and eventually served as national Hispanic chair for 2008 GOP presidential nominee John McCain. Her Cuban-born husband, Al Cardenas, was on Reagan’s transition team and once led the Republican Party in Florida.

Navarro watched in dismay in 2015 when Trump came down the escalator of the midtown Manhattan skyscraper that bears his name to announce he was seeking the Republican presidential nomination. “Calling Mexicans rapists and criminals — that just hurt my heart,” she said.

When Trump mocked a disabled journalist during a campaign rally, Navarro was reminded of family struggles with one of her older brothers, who has non-verbal autism and is self-injurious. “That brought back so much outrage and anger,” she said. “For me that was a line I could never forgive.”

But being an anti-Trump Republican has become a lonelier job in recent years as the party establishment’s support solidified behind Trump during the historically successful campaign in 2024 that returned him to the White House. For Navarro, it has meant the end of many long-standing relationships.

“I’ve lost some very close friends over Donald Trump,” she said. “And I’ve had to make peace with that. They feel that I’ve betrayed the Republican Party. Some of them think I’m an opportunist, doing this for today.”

One of those friends is Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who she’s known her entire adult life. Navarro still has his cell number in her contacts, but it’s been awhile since she’s called. She still respects Rubio‘s credentials in foreign policy but doesn’t see herself ever supporting him if he runs for president.

“Unless he was running against Satan incarnate, no, I would not go over to him,” she said.

Navarro keeps her cool on “NewsNight,” which occasionally erupts into bedlam when guests clash with Scott Jennings, the show’s resident MAGA Republican. But she misses the days of sparring with Democratic operative Donna Brazile when they were on opposing sides on CNN’s Washington set, and then went out for oysters and wine at Old Ebbitt Grill afterward.

“It’s a completely different world than it was,” Navarro said.

The highly self-confident Navarro has always spoken her mind, encouraged by her father and the Sacred Heart nuns who operated her private school in Miami where she still resides. “Those nuns could run Fortune 500 companies,” she said.

She is not afraid to draw on her own painful, personal experiences to deliver a point. Another older brother died of a heart attack at age 38. Her cousin’s son was a fatality at the 2016 Pulse night club shooting in Orlando, Fla.

“I refuse to live in hopelessness and trauma,” she said. “The things I’ve gone through have shaped me into who I am and made me resilient and empathetic. One of the reasons I abhor Donald Trump is because he completely lacks empathy.”

Where Navarro often separates herself from most Democrats is foreign policy. When Venezuela President Nicolás Maduro was ousted and arrested by U.S. forces, Navarro, on holiday in Madrid, joined exiles from the country as they celebrated in Puerta del Sol.

Navarro expects to have the same reaction if Trump makes good on his threats to end Cuba’s communist regime.

“I will go out there with my metal pan and my metal spoon and I will bang the drums in joy,” she said.

Matthew Perry’s collection of “Friends” memorabilia, fine art and other prized possessions is going up for auction next month, nearly three years after the actor died at age 54.

Auction house Heritage Auctions announced Tuesday that it will partner with the Matthew Perry Foundation to sell the late actor’s collection. The proceeds will go toward the nonprofit, which seeks to support people living with addiction and move past the stigma that surrounds substance use abuse disorder.

The auction for items from Perry’s estate officially begins June 5, but interested buyers can preview the items from May 18 to May 29 at Heritage Auction’s showroom in Beverly Hills. They can also start placing proxy bids. The listed items notably include plenty of “Friends” memorabilia, ranging from art pieces depicting the TV cast to magazines featuring the “Friends” crew and Perry to episode scripts signed by the cast. Currently, the bid for the signed script of the “Friends” pilot is set at $3,600.

Perry’s painted portraits are up for sale as are his Screen Actors Guild Award from 1995 (he and his co-stars won the prize for performance by an ensemble in a television comedy) and trio of nomination certificates. Perry famously portrayed the wisecracking Chandler Bing in the hit sitcom, which aired on NBC from 1994 to 2004. He starred alongside Courteney Cox, Matt LeBlanc, Lisa Kudrow, David Schwimmer and Jennifer Aniston.

Before his death, Perry shared his love for Batman via social media, often calling himself “Mattman.” His Batman fandom is also abundantly clear in the more than two dozen items of Batman-inspired art, furniture and trinkets that are also up for sale.

The actor and author’s personal art and vintage movie posters collection — including a pair of Banksy works, a piece by Pablo Picasso and a framed “It’s a Wonderful Life” movie poster signed by its star James “Jimmy” Stewart— are among the listings. A handful of miscellaneous items — sports gear and equipment, a Nintendo GameCube, accessories and fine jewelry and a black bi-fold wallet — are also up for auction. The full catalog of listed items can be found on the website for Heritage Auctions.

“Matthew believed addiction should be met with compassion and science, not stigma and silence,” Lisa Kasteler Calio, chief executive of the Matthew Perry Foundation, said in Tuesday’s announcement. “This auction fuels the Foundation’s work to expand access to evidence-based care and confront stigma. It is one more way we ensure that no one has to fight this disease alone.”

Perry, who had been open about his struggles with addiction, died Oct. 28, 2023, from acute effects of ketamine, a drug sometimes used to treat depression, officials said. The woman known as the “ketamine queen” who provided the drugs that killed Perry was sentenced last month to 15 years in prison. Jasveen Sangha pleaded guilty in September to one count of maintaining drug-involved premises, three counts of distribution of ketamine and one count of distribution of ketamine resulting in death or serious bodily injury.

Samuel Monroe Jr., known for ‘90s cult classic films “Menace II Society” and “Tales from the Hood,” is fighting for his life after doctors misdiagnosed a meningitis infection.

Monroe’s wife, Shawna Stewart, confirmed the news with Complex, telling the outlet that the star contracted meningitis 18 months ago while filming in Las Vegas.

“He went to several different hospitals, where his condition was repeatedly misdiagnosed and because of this negligence, the meningitis went untreated for eight months,” Stewart told the outlet.

She said that by the time doctors properly diagnosed the actor, the infection had already spread “not only to his spine but also to his brain.”

According to the Mayo Clinic, meningitis is an infection and swelling of the fluid and membranes around the brain and spinal cord. The inflammation from meningitis typically triggers symptoms such as headache, fever and a stiff neck. While viral infections are the most common cause in the United States, bacteria, parasites and fungi can also cause the condition.

The family launched a GoFundMe on Monday, sharing that the financial strain has been “immense” and that over the last nine months, Monroe has been in multiple hospitals and two rehabilitation centers. According to the fundraiser, the actor will require around-the-clock care if he regains consciousness and is removed from life support.

“As the whole family and friends do not want to think negative in the event that Samuel is taken home by God,” Tayonna Stewart wrote on the GoFundMe. “Any funds raise would be put towards a proper and respectful celebration of life for his family, friends and fans to attend.”

The actor’s mom, Joyce Patton, also shared the news on Facebook and asked for prayers for her son.

“Please pray for Samuel Monroe Jr. my son who is now on life support,” she wrote on Saturday. “God don’t make no mistakes but he is gracious and I am humbly asking for his mercy and grace for Sam. I love you son … to the moon and back 100 times.”

At present, the GoFundMe has raised 7% of its $50,000 goal, with “Big Boy’s Neighborhood” radio host Kurt Alexander contributing $1,000.

Monroe, who has gone by the stage name “Caffeine” and “Caffamilliano,” landed his first acting gig in 1993, opposite Patti LaBelle on the hit TV series “Out All Night.” The same year, he splashed onto the big screen, portraying Ilena’s cousin in “Menace II Society.”

He’s also acted in films “Tales from the Hood,” “Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood,” “What Goes Around Comes Around,” “Set It Off” and “The Players Club.”

Most recently, he acted in 2023 films “Packz” and “Payment Received.”

Ciara Miller and Maura Higgins will be among the stars competing for the Mirrorball Trophy.

“Summer House’s” Miller and “The Traitors” contestant Higgins — both publicly betrayed by men they trusted on their shows — are the first celebrities joining Season 35 of “Dancing With the Stars.” Disney announced the new season Wednesday during Hulu’s Get Real House event in Los Angeles.

Miller joins the cast less than a month after it was revealed that her “Summer House” castmate and ex-boyfriend, West Wilson, was dating her friend on the show, Amanda Batula. She teased her “DWTS” news with an Instagram video in which she wrote out her “Next Chapter 2026” to-do list, which included “prioritizing” herself, “taking risks” and “Dancing With the Stars.”

Higgins, who lost Season 4 of “The Traitors” in the finale after being blindsided by her friend and co-star Rob Rausch, rose to prominence on “Love Island” in 2019. Higgins shared her excitement in a video on Instagram, saying, “Please pray for me.”

“Get me on that dance floor. I want to win the trophy,” Higgins said. “I’ve manifested this.”

Higgins told reporters at the Get Real House event that Mark Ballas is her dream partner.

The announcement comes after a landmark season of “DWTS,” which saw a record-breaking number of fan votes. In November, The Times spoke with “DWTS” showrunner Conrad Green, who attributed the ratings spike to reviving “communal viewing experiences.”

“It’s been largely a question of keeping our existing audience and then finding a new audience of 18- to 30-year-olds. That’s partly fed by social media. It’s partly fed by a desire to have communal TV viewing experiences,” Green said. “That was something everyone had with ‘American Idol’ and ‘Dancing With the Stars’ 20 years ago, but TV doesn’t lend itself to that so much anymore.”

During the event, Disney also announced a new spinoff series, “Dancing With the Stars: The Next Pro.” “DWTS” Season 34 winner Robert Irwin will host the show. According to the synopsis, it “features 12 exceptional up-and-coming dancers who move into one house and compete in a grueling audition process, all vying for a coveted spot as a pro dancer on Season 35 of ‘Dancing with the Stars.’”

“DWTS” pro and three-time Mirrorball champion Ballas will host the show alongside his mother, former ballroom dancer Shirley Ballas. The series will premiere July 13 on ABC.

With more than 60 song credits, Armenta’s songwriting prowess can be heard across some of the most popular música mexicana albums to date, whether by Fuerza Regida, Tito Double P, Peso Pluma or Dareyes de la Sierra.

“I consider myself a tailor,” said Armenta, 25. “[I’ll create] a sound that will be good with your vocal timbre, with your tones, with the vocal intention you need.”

The singer-songwriter wrote Fuerza Regida’s gritty hit “Marlboro Rojo” in 45 minutes, ensuring that the song’s aggressive, battle-ready lyrics also captured a romantic spirit. (“The devil’s bullets and I only think of your eyes,” sang Jesús Ortiz Paz, a.k.a. JOP.) And he wrote “Dos Días” for Tito Double P and Peso Pluma one early morning after a wild night out with friends; you can hear the emotional hangover in the way the vocalists’ rugged voices flail in desperation.

“The most important thing is always to convey something where people can immerse themselves in a feeling,” said Armenta, whose full name is Miguel Armenta.

He dialed into our interview from a tour bus departing from Austin, Texas, en route to the next concert venue on the Dinastía Tour by Peso Pluma, Tito Double P and friends. Armenta was instrumental in writing and producing Tito Double P’s 2024 debut “Incómodo,” a 21-track project that helped distinguish the Mexican corrido singer from his already famous cousin, Peso Pluma.

“I feel that it’s a project that has solidified the responsibility we have as composers and as artists, [it’s] an album full of hits,” said Armenta, who later wrote tracks on Tito Double P and Peso Pluma’s joint 2025 LP “Dinastía.”

Since the beginning of March, Armenta has joined the pair of cousins on stage for their acoustic- and brass-powered song “London,” a track on the deluxe edition of “Dinastía” that indulges in fantasies of living like kings. The song was cut from Armenta’s own 2025 debut, “Portate Bien,” a blend of corridos tumbados with melodic touches of reggaeton and pop.

“I had just bought my own house and I wrote [‘London’] feeling like king of the world in my own studio,” Armenta said. “I thought that song was dead, but I got a call from Double P [Records] asking if I was interested in releasing it with them.”

Armenta’s entry into the música mexicana realm was not as calculated as his lyricism; at least not at first. Coming from a family full of industrial engineers, the Sinaloa-born, Tijuana-raised composer initially set his sights on a degree in biomedical engineering. “I liked the idea of being able to use technology to create advancements that benefit humanity,” he explained.

His passion for music, however, lingered persistently in the background. Starting from when he was 11 years old, Armenta would write lyrics in journals and strum along to the guitar his brother bought him. “He didn’t like that I used his guitar, so he bought me one,” he recalled.

He also gravitated toward independent YouTube artists who uploaded their raw compositions online. By age 18, he would compose one of his first R&B songs, titled “Dame” — though the tenderly sung track wouldn’t be published until two years later.

“It was the first song that I bet on as an artist, and I spent the very little money that I had on it,” Armenta said. “A literal sacrifice. I knew that the song had something, but I didn’t know what until later.”

In about 2020, Armenta helped compose some songs for Angel Ureta, a friend who signed with Street Mob Records, founded by Fuerza Regida’s JOP. Armenta eventually developed a working partnership with the indie label, which continued sign popular música mexicana acts like Calle 24, Chino Pacas and Clave Especial.

One of Armenta’s earliest hits with Fuerza Regida came in late 2022 as “Bebe Dame.” The band recorded the song alongside Grupo Frontera, who earlier that year had reached TikTok popularity for the cumbia nortena spin on “No Se Va,” a 2018 pop song by the Colombian band Morat.

Armenta proposed the adoption of his own track from the vault, “Dame,” which by that point had fewer than 1,000 views online. With some lyrical tweaking by Edgar Barrera — a 29-time Latin Grammy-winning songwriter, who Armenta later befriended — the revamped version, “Bebe Dame,” became an immediate sensation.

It helped score Fuerza Regida their first career entry into the Billboard Hot 100 at the start of 2023, later peaking at No. 25. By 2024, Fuerza Regida became one of the biggest streaming Latin acts in the U.S., alongside Junior H, Peso Pluma and Bad Bunny.

In 2024, Armenta and Barrera reunited again in secret to hash out what would be Grupo Frontera and Fuerza Regida’s joint EP, “Mala Mía” — “without either group knowing,” Armenta said. Their viral corrido-cumbia single, titled “Me Jalo,” secured Fuerza Regida’s first Latin Grammy nomination, and Grupo Frontera’s fourth, under the category of regional song at the 26th Annual Latin Grammy Awards.

“Edgar and I focus a lot on how to evolve sounds,” Armenta said. “We are in the process of recognizing [the value of] música mexicana, that we can’t let this die.”

Between 2024 and 2026, 12 of Armenta’s songs have been recognized by the BMI Latin Awards — which honors songwriters, composers and publishers — including Fuerza Regida and Grupo Frontera’s joint collaborations “Bebe Dame” and “Me Jalo,” as well as Fuerza Regida’s “TQM,” “Nel” and “Por Esos Ojos.” Tito Double P’s “Dos Dias” and “Escapate” (feat. Chino Pacas) also received accolades.

For now, the songwriter shows no signs of stopping his lyrical magic, though he figures he might part ways with the music world 10 years from now — but not before winning a couple of Grammy Awards, he said, or even starting his own publishing label for songwriters and composers. (“My mom says I’m going to get gray hairs,” he added.)

“I think that life put me here to have fun,” Armenta said. “I had another destiny, but life accommodated itself to place me in this valuable situation.”

Cameron Collins was sick of Joe Biden.

The owner of concert promoter Brew Ha Ha Productions describes himself as a libertarian-leaning conservative who built his career in San Juan Capistrano. He’d kept his personal politics out of his popular SoCal events, like the ska fest OC Super Show and the nationally touring Punk in the Park fest, a staple for bands like Bad Religion and Pennywise.

On May 30, 2024, Collins felt dismayed that Biden had pursued reelection. In a fit of anger, he donated $225 to Donald Trump’s campaign.

“It was just an impulsive thing,” Collins said in an interview. “Biden had said he was going to run again. I was like, nope. He’d said he wasn’t. It was more about that than anything. I don’t post anything political or talk about anything politically. I’ve never donated to anything like that before.”

That donation proved fateful. After a small punk label discovered and decried Collins’ donation, the scene turned on him. Influential bands pulled out of his festivals or said they wouldn’t return.

On Feb. 27, Collins canceled every Punk in the Park date for 2026.

“The current climate surrounding the events has created challenges that make it impossible for us to move forward,” the organizers wrote on Instagram.

It’s no surprise that an underground music scene would loathe a Trump-donating promoter. Amid the Iran war, raids by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and the Epstein files, many Americans want Trump supporters gone from their lives, some viewing any form of support for him as an attack on their and others’ safety and dignity.

Yet until this donation, Collins was a respected promoter whose events sustained hundreds of acts, including progressive bands. Some artists who relied on Collins’ festivals — even if they hate his politics — said the backlash will hurt their livelihoods too.

“It was the worst money I ever spent,” Collins said. “It was not worth this.”

On a March afternoon after canceling his tours, Collins spoke to The Times on a Zoom from his home in Texas. He wore a thick gray beard and the chunky glasses of an aging rocker. His home office was plastered in concert posters from his decades of shows, which include Punk in Drublic (a long-running collaboration with his friends in the left-leaning band NOFX), Silverado Showdown in Orange County and SoCal rock radio station KLOS’ Sabroso Festival.

He expressed bewilderment over the fan revolt that turned him from a scene mogul who gave to pediatric cancer research charities to a villain with a gutted festival business.

“I feel like my reputation with every artist I ever worked with was that they would say, ‘The guy’s got integrity. He treats everyone right. He fights for this scene,’ ” Collins said. “I’m wondering what is happening right now that this has become so polarizing.”

Asked what Trump policies he supported, Collins sighed and said, “A vote for a candidate is not an endorsement of everything they stand for. I am very antiwar. There were promises that Trump made — no more foreign wars, supporting Ukraine by ending that war, lowering prices on gas and on groceries. Dinner table topics.”

Those goals are significantly at odds with the president’s track record. Did Trump deliver on Collins’ donation?

“The way that this whole fiasco has gone down — no one would have voted for that,” he said.

Punk has long struggled with a reactionary streak. British bands in the ‘70s wore swastika armbands for shock value. The Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten and the Ramones’ Johnny Ramone turned rightward, and Orange County’s hardcore scene has had neo-Nazi extremists. Gen X punk fans who consider themselves anti-establishment might see online leftists as imposing on their ability to have consequence-free political speech.

Yet the vitality of today’s punk scene is driven by young, racially and sexuality-diverse fans who believe they are in grave danger from Trump’s policies.

Last year, Brandon Lewis, the founder of the Columbus, Ohio-based label Punkerton Records, was poking around on the donor database Open Secrets. He was curious how his scene was donating, and he’d attended Brew Ha Ha events like the Ohio punk festival Camp Anarchy. He checked where Collins put his money and was appalled that it went to Trump.

“We refuse to support, defend, or stay silent about someone who gave money to a man actively destroying everything we care about, deporting our friends and families, erasing the existence of our trans community, stripping away civil liberties, civil rights, and workers’ rights, while dismantling the Constitution itself,” Lewis wrote from Punkerton’s Instagram.

“I’m a combat veteran, and this administration is just pushing everything I believe in about freedom out the window,” Lewis told The Times. “When I would listen to Trump’s rhetoric about ICE — I’ve got friends who are undocumented. Supporting that in a financial way, supporting someone saying my trans friends don’t exist, and to do so coming from a music scene that to me is accepting and kind and certainly not ripping families apart, I couldn’t in good conscience let that go.”

Other bands in the scene, like Dillinger Four, found more donations — around $100 or $200 each — from Collins going to the Trump-supporting political action committees WinRed and Never Surrender and the Trump National Committee. Collins’ support ran deeper than a one-off gesture.

Left-leaning fans demanded that bands drop off Collins’ festival bills.

Dropkick Murphys, a rough-and-ready enemy of Trumpism in punk, had played Collins’ past events. When word of his donations spread, the band came out swinging.

“Punk Rock and Donald Trump just don’t belong together,” they wrote in an Instagram post . “So, upon finding out that Brew Ha Ha promotions donated to the Trump campaign, we will not be playing any more Punk in the Park shows.”

Some acts, like old-guard punks the Adicts and ska group the Aquabats, canceled sets at Collins’ events. Other bands, like Dead Kennedys, said they opposed his beliefs but fulfilled their contracts.

“Dead Kennedys have always stood firmly against authoritarianism, racism, and fascism. That has not changed,” the group wroteon social media. “After these scheduled appearances, we will not be participating in future Punk In the Park events.”

Collins said he understood why bands jumped ship. “There was so much pressure building,” he said. “The bands are a business. You have to say, at what level is the pay worth the headache?”

Yet he insisted that “anyone that pulled off did not pull out because they were standing for something, but were being pummeled to the ground by everyone that said they’d better do it or else. I don’t want those bands to go through that.”

Many fans say that Collins is seeing the predictable consequences of supporting a politician the scene despises.

Others struggled with what to do in response. Monique Powell, the singer for the Orange County ska band Save Ferris, describes herself as a “queer anarchist anti-Netanyahu Jewish child of a North African immigrant,” and far from a Trump sympathizer. Yet Save Ferris played Collins’ OC Super Show event in spite of the protests and bands pulling out.

She said that, while she opposes MAGA, she “wasn’t willing to disappoint fans and put hundreds of people out of work just because someone had a view I didn’t agree with.”

She said Collins “has been an important part of creating and nurturing this scene. He gave a lot of people work. From onstage, I see all the vendors, the stage crew, all providing jobs for people of all backgrounds. He’s given a place for fans to come together, even if they don’t all believe the same stuff.”

Save Ferris was a breakout act in the ‘90s and is now a working-class band on the ska and punk festival circuit. “I see the midsized, hometown venues that the bands of my ilk play — they’re being bought out or dying,” Powell said. “I’m not about to start getting out pitchforks for someone who did something that’s nothing compared to the effects of larger companies.”

Take, for example, Beverly Hills-based concert giant Live Nation, which was in the news last week after a federal jury in New York ruled against it in an antitrust case. Live Nation’s chief executive, Michael Rapino, has donated to Democrats Kamala Harris, Sens. Jacky Rosen of Nevada, Lisa Blunt Rochester of Delaware and Adam Schiff of California, and the music biz-friendly Texas Republican John Cornyn. Live Nation’s PAC has given to Republican Sens. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee and Ohio Rep. Jim Jordan, alongside several Democrats. Billionaire Philip Anschutz, whose namesake firm AEG is the parent company of Coachella promoter Goldenvoice, has donated millions to Republican politicians, PACs and party organizations for decades — exponentially more than Collins ever did.

It’s fair for to wonder why music fans who hold the line on supporting a Trump donor like Collins might attend those other shows. Lewis said he struggles with that contradiction too but said it hurt worse coming from a punk promoter.

“Donating to Trump is antithesis of what punk means. Hating people for their sexuality or skin color is not punk in the least bit. People clearly expected better from a punk rock festival,” he said.

“I think Live Nation should be broken in half,” Lewis added. “But it’s no knock on someone who wants to see Social Distortion at a Live Nation venue; they need escape as well. I’m just not going to pretend Live Nation is a beacon for good things.”

Those punk communities are pushing back beyond Collins’ events. The SoCal gothic-cumbia DJ collective Los Goths pulled out of the Orange County festival Los Darks after learning its organizers, Peachtree Entertainment, produced the MAGA-champion Kid Rock’s controversial Rock the Country festival. The Los Angeles crust-punk event C.Y. Fest was scrapped after its organizer, Ignacio “Nacho Corrupted” Rodriguera was accused of sexual misconduct (he called the claims “false allegations and misinformation,” but stepped back from the festival).

Collins’ company produces events outside the punk scene, focused on craft beer and other music genres. He recently revamped his upcoming Me Gusta festival into Sublime Fest after the rap group Cypress Hill pulled out. (Last year, Sublime played at the Trump National Doral golf course for the Saudi-backed LIV Golf tour.)

Collins is not sure how he’ll find his way back into the punk scene or if the fans will want him there again.

“I still go out into the audience because I just want to see, is it real? Do people hate me?” he said. “We have bands up there like the Casualties, who are flying [anti-ICE] flags. People are like, ‘You’re a fascist,’ but I’m paying a band to go on my stage to say whatever they want, and then signing a check and going, ‘Thanks for doing it.’ ”

In America‘s current political climate, left-leaning punk fans may not have patience for Trump sympathizers. Having heterodox beliefs is one thing; financially supporting the president is another. Collins is a free market guy, and the punk market has spoken.

Yet huge companies that donate to Trump and his allies are consolidating the industry. It’s harder for progressive punks who want the scene to reflect their values.

“I feel like we created a sustainable, realistic scene that can keep going for years, and bands can earn the money that they need to anchor those tours,” Collins said. His donation caused this avoidable backlash, but “if you take away festivals that are their anchors, like we have been for so many of these artists over the years, how do they tour? This is what the bands are telling me, that ‘we’re the ones getting killed here.’ ”

Clavicular, the manosphere influencer leading the “looksmaxxing” movement, was rushed to the hospital Tuesday after a suspected overdose in a Miami nightclub.

The controversial internet celebrity, born Braden Eric Peters, was live streaming to his hundreds of thousands of followers from a Miami hot spot Tuesday night when the party took a dark turn. Live stream footage showed Peters hanging with friends outside of the club when he took a swig from a tiny bottle and said he was going to be “done for,” and “that was giga,” meaning that whatever he had taken was a large dose.

Inside the club, with cameras still rolling, Peters found a place to sit down with his friends and started to say “Oh my God” repeatedly and rubbing his eyes. A friend sitting next to him, influencer Androgenic, asked “How f— are you?” and then repeatedly offered him an “addy,” which is short for Adderall, a prescription stimulant used to treat ADHD that’s often sold as a party drug. Peters started to mumble, sway and close his eyes as the camera panned away.

TMZ obtained the audio from a 911 call alerting emergency services to the possible overdose of a 20-year-old man. Additional videos, taken by bystanders, have since made their way online showing Peters being carried out of the nightclub.

A source close to Peters told the Times that he was hospitalized for the overdose and checked himself out Wednesday morning.

“Just got home, that was brutal,” Peters wrote early Wednesday on X. The influencer, who has said he has autism, also posted a selfie with dried blood on his face. “All of the substances are just a cope trying to feel neurotypical while being in public, but obviously that isn’t a real solution. The worst part of tonight was my face descending from the life support mask.”

On his Kick channel Wednesday, Peters live streamed as he played online slots and said that “it could have been worse” and he wouldn’t “do that s— anymore.”

He also said that in the hospital, doctors asked what he planned to do after he was discharged. “Then I was like, ‘Dude, I got the club grand opening,’” he said, adding that doctors advised him to get rest and shouldn’t attend. “I was like, dude, gotta be on the grind.”

The influencer, who rose to fame helming the “looksmaxxing” movement — a subculture hyperfocused on taking extreme measures to perfect one’s physical appearance — has been candid about using drugs, from steroids, peptides and testosterone to methamphetamine and Adderall. He has also said he chisels his face by smashing his bones with a hammer.

Androgenic, the influencer videotaped asking Peters if he needed “an addy” as Peters swayed and lost motor function control, has also been vocal about his own drug use. He recently posted on X that he was on “Walter White’s batch” when someone snatched his wig off his head and ran away. (Walter White is a fictional chemist and crystal meth manufacturer from the show “Breaking Bad.”)

A source close to Peters told The Times that Androgenic was escorted away from the hospital where Peters was being treated for the overdose Tuesday night.

Androgenic has not responded to The Times’ request for comment.

Tuesday’s suspected overdose is the latest in a series of incidents involving the manosphere personality. Last month, Peters was arrested in Florida on suspicion of misdemeanor battery. The Osceola County Sheriff’s Office alleged Peters instigated a fight between his girlfriend, Violet Lentz, 24, and a 19-year-old influencer in February at a short-term rental in Kissimmee, Fla.

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission launched a separate investigation into another of Peters’ videos involving an alligator in the Everglades.

In that video, the influencer appears to come across what is seemingly the carcass of an alligator floating in the water and shoots it repeatedly. Peters has not been charged with any crime in that incident.

According to Peters’ Kick live stream, the influencer is headed back out Wednesday night to celebrate Miami’s Bacara Club streaming launch party.

Anyone who has jumped out of a plane with a parachute deserves respect, but to do it 36 times, that’s worthy of a salute.

Saul Pacheco, who turns 88 in November, is sitting in a lawn chair at the Arcadia Invitational with his friends, the starters dressed in red suits who fire pistols to begin races.

That’s when he mentions how he was in the 82nd Airborne Division and jumping out of planes in the 1960s after graduating from Wilmington Banning High and UCLA.

“I was a jump master who became in charge of the parachute troopers,” he said.

Then he talks about becoming a teacher and wanting to return to his alma mater, Banning, which had no openings, so he ends up at rival Carson and coaching the offensive line for Hall of Fame coach Gene Vollnogle for more than two decades. Vollnogle was football coach from 1963 to 1990, winning eight City titles.

Pacheco also became a track starter in 1977. He was already well trained to fire a pistol. It was learning all the rules required in track and field that needed to be mastered.

He apparently did just that, because he’s been at it for 49 years and plans to retire as a track starter this spring. For 25 years, he was a starter for the Arcadia Invitational. Then he became the meet referee to settle any disputes. The respect he has earned can be seen in the way other starters appreciate him for helping them learn the ropes.

He’ll be inducted into the Carson Hall of Fame this fall for his contributions as a coach and athletic director.

His story is pretty amazing. He was one of 13 children. His parents apparently wanted enough siblings to form a football team. His father was a carpenter helping build minesweepers at Terminal Island for the Navy. His mother stayed home and took care of everyone. The first seven kids born were boys. He was No. 5. Imagine the competition for food at dinner time.

“Everbody came in to eat at different times,” Pacheco said. “My mother did a great job having stuff ready.”

But what about 13 children together for Thanksgiving?

“We had a lot of laughs. We all got along.”

Five of the brothers are still alive, including a 90-year-old. All three sisters are alive. One of his brothers, Henry, was football coach at San Pedro for 12 years. Henry was drafted and ended up in the Vietnam War, where environmental issues might have led to the illness, lymphocytic leukemia, that took his life in 1991.

Two of his brothers worked for the LAPD. Two other brothers became firefighters. He has a grandson who’s a deputy sheriff in Riverside.

Pacheco has worked five state track championships and numerous City Section championships.

Like an umpire in football who calls a holding penalty, the only time anyone notices a starter in track is when there’s a false start.

“If there’s a false start, someone complains,” he said.

So why spend 49 years as a track starter?

“The fun part is watching all the athletes compete and being around all the other officials,” he said. “The officials are tremendous and dedicated trying to do a good job.”

All this came out by just happening to stop by and say hello to the starters who are always pleasant and enjoy talking. Unless you ask a question, you’ll never find out about someone’s background.

So why wasn’t Pacheco wearing a red suit like the rest of his friends at Arcadia?

“I brought it just in case,” he said. “I was an alternate.”

Pacheco is always prepared, whether jumping out of planes or teaching life lessons to football players.

If anyone deserves a salute, it’s Saul Pacheco.