Donald James Morand (July 2, 1931 - November 28, 2022)

Saturday, December 3, 2022

The most significant presence in my life for the past 68 years is (was) my father, Wallace, my mother, Shirley, and her brother (my Uncle) Donald Morand. The strange occurrence of my Uncle and mom (Brother and Sister) dying in the same year is painfully ironic. One side of my family is physically erased, but memories of them will not die. My whole aesthetic and the reason I create is because of this powerful trio of individuals who happen to be my family.

I have written about Wallace and Shirley in my memoir TOSH, but I only briefly mentioned Don because of a combination of privacy issues as well as the structure of my bio. The truth is Don is a massive figure in my life. For one, he introduced his little sister to Wallace while in line at the Coronet Theater, waiting to see Jean Cocteau’s Blood of a Poet. Donald and Shirley were regular spectators of the avant-garde films in Los Angeles in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Being the bigger brother Donald was my mom's gateway to an exciting and bohemian life. From childhood to his last breath, he embraced living as a cultural stance with an understanding of all its poison and beauty in the world. Like my mom (and my dad), Donald accepted the toxicants in the world. They didn’t embrace it, but they acknowledged and, without moral judgment, accepted the presence of that world. The non-judgemental stance was very much part of my cultural landscape.

Every Christmas as a child was either waiting for my dad to wake up or for Donald to arrive at my grandparent’s house. Once he entered, great fun was promised. His entrance into a room brought glamour and, to me, a better life. I remember waiting patiently for Don to show up for a Christmas dinner, and I heard a knock on the door. I ran to the door, opened it, and a lion jumped on me. The lion pretty much treated me as a rag doll in her mouth. Luckily she had no teeth, was old, and a pet Donald kept in his home in Palm Springs at the time. He had a ranch where he lived with Lori Foxx, criminal mastermind number one (you can read about her in my memoir), with wild animals.

Donald started as a dress designer and was excellent at it, but eventually, he became a hairdresser, which was his profession for the rest of his life. He worked until he was 85 years old. As a child and teenager, Don’s occupation was very glamorous. I worked at Book Soup on Sunset Boulevard for many years; I would visit Donald at Yuki’s hair salon on the Sunset Plaza. Since we lived so close to each other, I would sometimes take a ride with him to work or a ride back home. Besides my wife and her family back in Japan, Donald and Shirley were my immediate family.

Like my proximate family, none of us had a practical sensibility regarding business. Donald preferred to work in a salon than to open one with his name. He could have, but being a businessman was not in tune with his aesthetic or lifestyle. He worked with Carrie White and Yuki. The Don social world was strong, and to be allowed in its presence was magnificent for a child/teenager. I came upon that world with some professional interest as I grew older. I went to beauty school thinking I could become Donald’s assistant in the shop once I graduated. That was not meant to be. I never was interested in the beauty business, but I was more interested in being in Don’s world. That will not happen, but socializing in his world was enticing, and whenever I visited him at the shop, or he came to our house, it was a real treat for me.

Donald’s friends/clients were interesting people like Mamie Van Doren, Barbara Bain, Jennifer Jones, and Janet de Cordova. My record store friends were impressed that Don cut and styled Chris Hillman of The Byrds hair, which made them flock over to his chair. Since they knew that I was his nephew, he gave them free haircuts. I would have charged them double, but Donald wasn’t money orientated in that sense or any other world. When Wallace died, Don moved in with us for a month or so in Topanga Canyon. To have such an elegant and sane (at least I thought he was at the time) man in the Canyon of death and misery was the one light for me. The meals were brighter, and sharing his physical world at the time was the only thing I think saved me in the long run. All I knew was when he returned to his home after staying with us; it was like having the lights turned off in my world. And now, I feel the same after his death.

Whenever I mention to anyone that Donald did the hair for Rachel in Blade Runner, they go nuts. If there was ever an iconic hairdo on film, it’s Rachel’s hair in Blade Runner. It seemed that Ridley Scott and the actor who played Rachel, Sean Young were unhappy with the hair. Donald was called at the last moment, and Young came to the salon for him to do the hair after the others failed. The result is that the hair is one of the highlights of this science-fiction classic. Whenever anyone mentioned the importance of this hairdo, he would raise one of his eyebrows as if this type of work was an everyday occurrence. And it was for him.

My first introduction to Japanese culture was not through my wife but through Donald. However, his magic worked; he somehow sponsored or became in tune with a great deal of Japanese talent who came to Los Angeles to work as hairdressers (a lot of them became Don’s assistants) or open up sushi restaurants in the San Fernando Valley, mainly in the Encino area. I remember the first time I ever sat at a sushi counter, and it was with Donald; I had to request a fork and Teriyaki chicken. On the other hand, his library had novels and a photo book on the Japanese author Yukio Mishima. He wore a uniform, did bodybuilding, wrote novels, and committed public suicide. What is there not to like about Mishima? That leads to other interests in Japanese pop culture, and I have to thank Don for that adventure.

Don was an elegant man, and the other thing I learned from him is to live elegantly no matter what the surroundings are, or how horrible things are in life. Life is what you make of it, and it is not made by others. Donald Morand was a prince, and I learned from the master.

One other thing of interest is that a few days before he died, Don sent me a text, which was highly unusual. It was a link to a YouTube channel focusing on the artist/singer Cyrille Aimée. It brings comfort to me that he found an artist 48 hours before his passing. His brain never stopped, just his body. Here’s the link: Cyrille Aimée. And thanks to Masao, his husband, for taking care of Donald for so many years.

Donald Morand, Photo by Lun*na Menoh from her Headdress, 1997