An unbelievably funny, revealing memoir from a man who served as Howard Hughes’ bodyguard in the years that the legendary eccentric became a recluse.
The man in Bungalow Four is very particular about his flies. Anytime one sneaks into the room, he calls one of the three bodyguards who are always on call in the next building to come and kill it. They are not allowed to use fly swatters or bug spray, and the fly must never touch their hand. The man in Bungalow Four commands his bodyguards to kill the flies with a Kleenex, and the bodyguards do what he says, because everybody listens to Howard Hughes.
In the late 1950’s, Hughes was one of the wealthiest men in the world, but his hold on reality had started to slip. He spent all his time inside, stark naked save for a napkin covering his private parts, and men like Ron Kistler were his only contact with the outside world. In his three years working for the mad billionaire, Kistler saw the crazy side of money and power—and somehow lived to tell the tale.
“Loony!” —Kirkus Reviews
The man in Bungalow Four is very particular about his flies. Anytime one sneaks into the room, he calls one of the three bodyguards who are always on call in the next building to come and kill it. They are not allowed to use fly swatters or bug spray, and the fly must never touch their hand. The man in Bungalow Four commands his bodyguards to kill the flies with a Kleenex, and the bodyguards do what he says, because everybody listens to Howard Hughes.
In the late 1950’s, Hughes was one of the wealthiest men in the world, but his hold on reality had started to slip. He spent all his time inside, stark naked save for a napkin covering his private parts, and men like Ron Kistler were his only contact with the outside world. In his three years working for the mad billionaire, Kistler saw the crazy side of money and power—and somehow lived to tell the tale.
“Loony!” —Kirkus Reviews
