I walked Death Valley where I discovered the secret of life.

Waged a successful campaign to bring the Pandas into this country

Spearheaded Charter Schools in San Diego,

 Did a 10,000 mountain climb for Jerry Lewis’s MD campaign, and

two 12,000 sky dives in a blatant go at ratings enhancement.

…...They also fulfilled a need in me to cut the string and soar... 

I had read the legends about walking Death Valley, especially the death part where those who tried often wound up as vulture pickings, so it seemed to be the right Rite of passage. The Death Valley walk happened in 1972, as my air career was entering its final glide path. It was a Rite in which I told myself that I had jumped as high as I was ever going to jump, run as fast as I could, acquitted myself as well in other physical feats as I could, but there was this one shtick sticking in my cerebrum before making peace with the inevitable..

I chose September for the Walk rather than the winter months. This way, nobody could claim I was evading the vultures. At that time of year, daytime temperatures rose well above 100 degrees, usually 110 or 115. They hovered around 100 at night,  so it was a welcome relief when walking  almost two entire days with  only a short rest break each hour.  Walking Death Valley was going to be a grueling ordeal like when Job wandered the desert wailing,” Why me, O Lord?” Except, unlike Job, I was bringing this on myself. 

            Some call it chance, but I call it part of my Divine Plan that I drove into a car wash and found Jerry Lewis waiting for his car.

We had known each other since New York in 1960 when I was at WADO and was asked to appear on one of his first Muscular Dystrophy Telethons, then local. I showed up at WNEW, met Jerry for the first time, sat next to Del Moore, then his sidekick, did my ad lib bit with him and was commanded to stay over into the next break. That meant he liked me.

We  both wound up in San Diego, me to do three years at KCBQ after my tectonic career in the Midwest, him to live on his yacht and, come out occasionally to do a Broadway show-Damn Yankee-direct a movie, or host the now national Muscular Dystrophy Telethon.

Seeing me, he proffered his hand and said, “Harry,I want you to help me with the Telethon this year.” Without skipping a beat I said, “Jerry, I am thinking of walking Death Valley.”

 He was ahead of me. “Book it!” he exclaimed in his patented Jerry Lewis wail.

 With hundreds of thousands of San Diegans watching the Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon, failure was no option. No more laughing at Mr. Death. That might piss Him off and single me out for some grim reaping.

It was June. I had three months to whip myself into shape. I called a friend, Maylen, the strength coach of the San Diego Chargers. Maylen, like all big-time strength coaches loved inflicting pain. “We start today!” He proclaimed with joyous anticipation.

Unknown to Maylen, I called for back-up, the Commanding General of the Marine Corps Recruit  Depot, and asked him to assign to me a tyrannical DI, a guy who would accompany me, berating me, Marine style,  to keep me going.

He was a player. He assigned Lt. Dick May to me. Dick was a world class marathoner, in charge of boot training at MCRD. He ran over a hundred miles a week just to stay in tune. When we met, I shook hands with a man who had zero body fat, 170 pounds of tendon and muscle.

He started out “sir-ring” me but I soon put a stop to that. “Dick,” I told him.  “I want you to whip my ass into shape. and go with me on the Walk through Death Valley and make sure I make it.” “No problem,“ he said quietly. This was the man who thought nothing of pushing young Marine boots beyond their capabilities, until they either  washed out or became  the world’s most rugged fighters. I wasn’t one of the few good men  they talk about, but I had to do.

This was the drill, as they say in the Corps.  Maylen would put me on a strength and stamina regimen Monday thru Friday. Weight lifting, running machine, and a lot of bench work, push ups, sit-up, with increasing time in the sauna. The fat oozed out of my pores, and bulges began to appear on my pecs and buttocks. My abs hardened, and on the fourth Saturday, I showed up for my first session with Lt. May.

He  met me at the MCRD gate, and it was here that we started running 10 blocks to the track where he led the way in a double time trot around the 440 yard oval 10 times. I began to wash out around circuit  #8.  He slowed down, and ran just ahead of me I visualized a string attached from his shoes to mine, and drafted him until the 10 laps were done. Now came the strength stations.

Boots had to run through 20 of them. He easily scampered hand over hand up and down the 20 foot rope and then beckoned to me. I made it up one heaving tug after another to the top, then slid down.  Maylen’s regimen was paying off. A horizontal ladder challenged me to go hand over hand across a good 20 feet of hand holds. I  got a  running start up a fifteen foot wall, and threw my body over to the other side.

I successfully made it through all 20 of the stations.  Earning the  faint approving smile of this amazing man was a rush that stays with me to this day. Each week grew easier with the 20 foot rope,  even the run to the sit-up station for 100  sit-ups.

He was a world class athlete, and  he was going to make sure I double timed the 84 miles across Death Valley. I soon realized that Great DI’s have a spiritual gift for making you better than you are.He was the ultimate Marine.

I told you in a prior episode  (Happy Hare’s Trifecta) that I had married Carol, luring her away from a dream job in Miami where she served as her dad’s Administrative Assistant. He was Ben Chapman who ran the “Flipper” series  in Miami, and had line-produced “Shogun, Bridge on The River Kwai.” and other great productions. He had been an Air Force General. His gorgeous daughter inherited his gift for logistics and organization. Her picture is in that Trifecta episode.

She had stood by long enough. “How about a support team when you get there?” she asked, holding up a page full of details I had not imagined. She did not share the list with me, but began helping me by arranging for an RV to go along on the road paralleling us.  She called  buddies  that she had come  to know, who had helped me in other intrepid adventures,  and  were always ready to jump in and help.

There were Will Tapp, Wes Reynolds and Lois McCoy of the Mountain Rescue Team, intrepid walkers themselves, but ready and eager to go along and give me whatever support I needed.

Finally, Carol began showing up with me to train with Maylen. Cowabunga!  She was going to walk with me, insisting on no fanfare , but to be with me for the fun of it.

It had never occurred to me that she would want to walk Death Valley On the other hand, she had been conditioned to swim forever at a UCLA  Phys-ed class, and had spent a couple of years in the company of the rugged stunt men at her dad’s studio. She had helped organize them while they made “Thunderball,” guys who could jump out of  a plane into the deep water, and  fight the bad guys, the way you might have seen them do in that movie. Both good and bad guys were her dad’s stunt men and Carol was their organizer during the movie in Florida and the Bahamas. Now, she was, in effect, my Unit Director. She didn’t ask. She was going.  

A world class Marine, rugged Mountain  Rescue Teamers, and Carol. That was the support team.

She went with me to do the strength training with Maylen but did not venture into MCRD on weekends. That would have created a major distraction to these testosterone-ridden young boots.

Lt May drew a varnish colored goop, called Tough Skin. out of Supply. The feet are the first to go in otherwise in-shape marathoners. Rubbing it on daily, both Carol’s and my feet were leathery by end of  two weeks.No blisters for us.

He gave us heavy Vietnam jungle clothing, perfect for Death Valley. It slows the rate of perspiration and keeps it from evaporating. Evaporating sweat dehydrates you., washing  you out in a walk like this. Of course, we wore wide brimmed Marine hats, and the canvas and rubber combat boots.

Carol would walk with me, and give me a rub-down  at the end of each eight hours as a bonus. Well, what the hell, She was the better athlete.

Dick May had mercilessly put me through my paces each weekend .Maylen had happily tortured me with increasing reps and heavier weights until I felt I could handle anything short of a grizzly.

For the  grand climax of his training regimen, Maylen placed a stationary bike in a 120 degree sauna where I was to pedal  20 to 30 miles per hour for thirty minutes.

San Diego Chargers, regulars in the gym,  took time out to watch, including members of the 500 pound club, guys who could bench-press that load. This was when I knew I was becoming something special.

Thirty minutes in the hot sauna  quickly evaporated while I pedaled close to 30 miles per hour. At the end of this final test, Maylen burst jubilantly  into the small  torture room. He had turned a 7 and a half body into a 9, at least temporarily. Everyone in the gym erupted into wild cheers.

At Carol’s insistence, I submitted to a physical before throwing my body into the fray. The day before the Walk. I stood while the doctor asked me to cough as he hooked his index finger into the negative space under my pubic bone, then applied his stethoscope to my chest,  placing it in several places, listening intently.

Finished he looked at me solemnly and pronounced, “You have the heart of a 45 year old. ”I am a 45 year old,“ I protested sharply, then quickly realized that it was his little joke; another Happy Hare listener, gaining his revenge for my years of trickery.

I, Carol, and Lt. May were flown to Death Valley in a Mountain Rescue plane. Will Tapp and Wes Reynolds drove the massive motor home and Lois McCoy drove her radio equipped truck. She was the one who had realized that Death valley was ringed by iron mountains and that we would not be able to feed a signal back to San Diego unless she drove to a mountain top and bounced it to the Jerry Lewis Telethon.

Now, all that was left was for me to do was what many regarded as impossible: Walk Death Valley in the summer……….Later