In 1996 I was your average, mild mannered gourmet coffee shop owner. But seven years earlier I influenced a film you probably saw. I worked for Francis Ford Coppola at the time. I didn't work directly for him, of course. My position was several levels below him. In fact, it was probably the lowest position anyone could have and still claim to work for him. I was the assistant janitor of the Sentinel Building in San Francisco, which Francis owned.

It wasn't glamorous but it was an okay job for a nineteen year old kid from Scranton attending San Francisco State University. I needed money for living expenses and a pricey latte habit I developed at Cafe La Boheme in the Mission District. It's one of the best cafes you'll find anywhere. It served as an inspiration for Cafe del Sol.

Despite having to empty the trash and clean toilets the benefits of the position went beyond the monetary. I had the privilege of meeting Francis, his wife Eleanor, his son Roman and teenage daughter Sophia. Occasionally, my boss gave me tickets to Giants baseball games. They were usually against some lousy team. I presumed they were offered to my boss and then to me because no one else wanted them. I didn't either but took them and scalped them to help pay for my ever growing latte habit.

Along with everyone else who worked at Zoetrope, even I, the lowly assistant janitor, received free tickets to the San Francisco opening night of two of Francis's movies, "Tucker" and "New York Stories." (New York Stories actually has three short films; one by Woody Allen, one by Martin Scorsese and one by Francis.) After both movies, Francis and a few of the actors talked about the film and took questions from the audience.

I also had some interesting experiences while working at Zoetrope. There was one incident in particular that I thought was going to come out some day. I've waited long enough so I'm writing about it myself.

This is a story I enjoy telling people but rarely have the opportunity. I need a reason to bring it up in conversation. I can't just say "oh, hey, did I ever tell you about the time I talked to Francis Ford Coppola?" They generally don't believe me or eye me up suspiciously when I tell them.

Here's the story. My sister and her husband lived in San Francisco and still do as of this writing. I went out to visit them for a couple weeks after I graduated from high school. I loved The City, as columnist Herb Cain called it. I returned the next year to attend San Francisco State University.

As I mentioned, I needed a job and landed one through a friend of my sister's. This friend, who shall remain nameless, was the janitor at Zoetrope studios, Francis Ford Coppola's film company. The janitor needed help and, more importantly, someone he could trust. The building had a recording studio with lots of expensive equipment and shelves filled with music scores from Francis's films. The janitor fired his first assistant because a lot of items began disappearing from peoples' offices within days of his employments. They were little things--fancy pens, some loose change and other things scattered about peoples' desks. But what really got the guy fired, my boss told me, was the movie posters Francis had signed and a half empty bottle of scotch that went missing.

My sister's friend figured I was a safe bet compared to hiring another stranger off the street. If I stole anything, he knew where to find me. So I got the job. With my new source of income, I could drink all the lattes at Cafe La Boheme I wanted.

#

The Sentinel Building, home of Zoetrope Studios, wasn't a studio in the sense of a Hollywood studio with big sets or anything like that. For the most part, it was a regular office building with administrative and accounting departments and a recording studio in the basement.

The Sentinel Building, also known as Columbus Tower, is a very recognizable San Francisco structure. It was still under construction when the Earthquake of 1906 destroyed much of The City. It has lot of green copper work on the outside. You've probably seen the building on TV, in movies, or on postcards with the majestic Transamerica Building behind it.

The Sentinel Building stands at one of those odd intersections where the block it's located on is not rectangular but triangular so that the base of the building is triangular as well.

On the first floor back then was a Captain Video store. The basement had a storage room, recording studio and small kitchen where people took lunch breaks. On the kitchen counter sat one of those big Italian Espresso machines that as far as I know, only Francis used.

The second through seventh floors housed offices. They had the feel of an old detective novel. Ancient light fixtures hung from the ceiling. The orb shaped lights resembled large breasts. A pointy metal tip formed the nipple. The hallway floors were marble. The doors were wood-framed with a glass center. The names of the people who occupied the offices were painted on the glass. Anytime someone was hired, fired or moved offices, Charlie would promptly appear to paint the new name on the glass. He was a wiry old guy in his sixties.

"I put three kids through college painting names on doors. There was a lot of work back in the old days. I couldn't keep up. Most businesses switched to plastic nameplates in the seventies and put them on the wall next to the door. Who wants their name on plastic? It's cheap and temporary looking. If given a choice I bet most people would choose to see their names painted on their doors. It looks and feels better, permanent, like their staying awhile. But the nameplates are cheaper. A whole industry was wiped out. As far as I know, I'm the only one still going in San Francisco. All my friends quit years ago."

The eighth floor was a Penthouse apartment where Francis stayed when he was in town. Yes, I did refer to him as Francis, everyone did. He wasn't a pompous man that demanded to be called Mr. Coppola by the lowly assistant janitor.

The penthouse was a small but luxuriously appointed apartment with lots of woodwork and brass. Off the elevator and around a curved glass tiled wall was a rather minimalist office that didn't look like Francis used much. There was one thing that made it special, however. On a shelf in the office sat an Oscar Francis received for the Godfather.

I wanted to pick it up. I almost did one time I was cleaning the penthouse. I wanted to see if it was as heavy as it looked. It was very tempting but as I reached out my hand I got nervous and stopped just inches from the statuette. The Oscar was polished and shiny. I was afraid of smudging it with my fingerprints. As a movie director with an eye for detail, I'm sure Francis would have noticed his Oscar was slightly out of place. I also worried I might trigger an alarm with the result of me getting fired in no short order. I'd no longer be able to support my latte habit. I couldn't take that chance.

The front of the penthouse had a view of the action where Kearny Street intersects with Columbus Avenue. But the best view was not out the window, it was above. A fabulous mural painted on the rotunda ceiling portrayed various scenes from Francis's life. There was a rendering of scenes from the Godfather and the Apocalypse. His son, who was killed in a boating accident, was also up on the ceiling. I think there were depictions of his wife and parents as well. I forget exactly. I just remember being awestruck the first time I saw it.

The penthouse apartment had a workspace with TVs and video editing equipment built into it. There was a small kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. The bathroom had an old fashioned commode like in the Godfather with the toilet tank high up on the wall. To flush it, you had to pull a wood handle that hung from the end of chain.

As assistant janitor, it was my job to help the janitor clean the building--dusting, emptying the trash in each office, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms, that kind of thing. My boss cleaned the penthouse. I only went up there to clean if my boss was away on vacation.

At some point my boss went to Hawaii for two weeks while Francis was staying at the Penthouse. As I began my shift one evening, I got on the elevator in the basement with my janitor's cart full of cleaning equipment and supplies. I pressed the button for the seventh floor. The doors were about to close when Francis emerged from the recording studio and approached the elevator. I quickly pressed the button to hold the doors open so Francis could get on.

We said hello to each other. I had already met and seen Francis a few times by this point but I was never in the elevator with him. Francis pulled his keys from his pocket and inserted a key into the elevator panel which enabled him to press the button for the penthouse.

For some reason, turning the key for the top floor caused the elevator to freeze for twenty seconds as if it had to remember what to do next. I expected that. It happened every time. But if that wasn't bad enough the elevator was painfully slow anyway. Francis and I were going to be in that elevator a good minute or two. That's a long time in the presence of a great film director when you're a nervous nineteen year old.

This occurred while Francis was getting ready to film the Godfather III. For months, the building was abuzz with talk of the third Godfather movie and the money that would flow in from it. The week before I saw a note on Francis's desk with a message saying: "Francis, Al Pacino called." A number was written below his name. Another note said "Diane Keaton returned your call. You can reach her in New York." Her phone number was also listed. I called my friend Jake back in Scranton and told him about the notes. He was a big fan of the Pacino and the Godfather movies. Jake told me to take the notes the next day. They could be worth something. That seemed like a guaranteed way of getting fired so I ignored the suggestion. For all I knew, there were hidden cameras recording everything I did up in the penthouse. I wasn't going to take any chances.

So here I am in the elevator with Francis Ford Coppola. He's an imposing figure at six feet tall. He's big around as well. The dark eyes and beard give him a cerebral though not unfriendly face.

I had watched the Godfather I and II over and over in high school. I just rented them again a couple weeks before when I heard the news of the third film. It prompted my interest in them again. But there was always one thing about the Godfather II that never sat quite right with me and I wanted to tell Francis about it.

#

This was my chance. With my nervous energy, I blurted out "I really love your movies, Francis, especially the Godfather films but I always wondered how at the end of the Godfather II Michael could have his own brother Fredo killed. I have brothers and couldn't imagine killing one of them no matter what they did."

Francis paused for a moment, shifted his stance, and said "Fredo went against the family. Even though he was Michael's brother and Michael loved him, Michael had to look out for the family organization. He had no choice but kill whoever caused the family harm, even if it was his own brother."

I said "okay, thanks" or something to that effect. The elevator finally stopped at the seventh floor and opened. I pushed the cleaning cart out. The back wheel got stuck in the gap between the floor and the elevator door. Francis gave the cart a push to help me liberate it from the gap. It was embarrassing. I felt like an idiot. The doors closed and Francis proceeded to the penthouse.

I thought about what Francis said to me for the rest of the night. To tell you the truth, I was unsatisfied with the answer he gave me. I don't know what I expected, nothing profound, but something more.

[Read the rest of the story when the book is published in November.]

Copyright © Greg Halpin, 2010 All Rights Reserved