John Holmes - Porn King

By the time I made it back to Los Angeles all I could do was fall into bed. My days of getting out of bed and going to work became fewer and fewer. I began to have all kinds of health problems. The doctor informed me that I needed hemorrhoid surgery. The procedure was rather simple and it didn’t concern me. However, I really wanted to keep my identity a secret. Discretion was most important in this matter. This wasn’t always easy as I was recognized everywhere I went. Confidentiality of medical records meant very little to me. If a nurse or an orderly or someone in the hospital were to recognize John Holmes as a patient, chances were good that they might tell a friend, who would tell a friend and so on.

The surgery was successful, however by this time my immune system had been so compromised that I wasn’t sure if I would ever heal. Sure, the hemorrhoids were gone but the pain was worse than before. With my noticeable health problems, instead of telling people that I had AIDS we told them that I had colon cancer and that they had taken out six feet of my intestines. I probably should have left the little bastards alone because the word of my failing health spread quickly. Now the press was banging at my door, wanting to know if it was true that I had cancer—or did I really have AIDS?

“AIDS?” I said with a tone of disbelief that they were even asking me this question. “NO WAY,” I replied. “I have cancer,” I tried my best to convince them.

We had other reasons for not wanting anyone to know that I had AIDS. The Meese Commission was going strong and Edward Meese was currently lobbying the White House in an effort to shut down the porn industry. If people knew of my condition they would use that against us. We had to protect the industry.

Eventually I did start to feel better and in the fall of 1986, I was invited to Italy to star in three adult films. It was a three-week gig and they were paying TOP dollar. First class all the way, all expenses paid. Ordinarily I would have been packed in an hour but this was a big decision to make, one I didn’t take lightly. I turned them down at first but after being approached several more times, I was persuaded to accept the offer.

After more than 20 years in the business, offers were still coming my way. I considered myself not only lucky but a survivor. Most of the performers in my line had disappeared after only a handful of films, burned out or washed up. The public was after new faces, new bodies and new thrills. I had walked a few tightropes in my time, even dodged a few bullets. In spite of my shaky reputation, however, my films were selling better than ever. The demand for theatrical releases may have slipped, but the hot video market had expanded both the audience and its demand for fresh product.

I really needed the money and was looking forward to the opportunity of seeing the hillsides of Italy one more time, a place I had always thought was so beautiful, with great food and wonderful people. Of course, there was the risk of infecting someone else. However, I had been told that they were flying everyone out from the San Fernando Valley. We all had sex in circles; I honestly believed that if they didn’t get the virus from me they were sure to get it from someone else. It wasn’t until after my arrival that I discovered that I would be working with someone new. Her name was Ilona Staller, better known as “La Ciccolina.” An Italian film star, she was also a member of the Italian Parliament. The movie was to be called The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empress.

Filming in Europe can have its drawbacks. Some years earlier, while working in France, we had to shoot the entire production twice, once in English and again in French. As soon as a scene was finished in one language, we went back and did it again in another, line by line, until we got it perfect; then we would go onto the next line. It was somewhat of a bore and I hadn’t the foggiest idea what I was saying in French.

The Italians were fifty times more professional. They had us work straight through, in English only, then dubbed the finished product. They also stayed sober on the set. The French crew was drunk by mid-morning and literally dropped the cameras while film was rolling.

Working with an Italian crew meant having a translator on set. The studio furnished us with a little redhead, the cutest thing since Oreo cookies. I wanted her in the worst way, but I knew I would be putting her at risk too, so I didn’t press it. Had I made a move on her I might have left Italy without my most strategic body part. We later discovered she was a Mafia princess.

One of the benefits of filming overseas is the side trips. This time, because of the long schedule, I was able to sneak off between pictures to as many places as possible during any free time available. I visited old friends in Germany, and wandered Romania, Czechoslovakia, and Spain.

Between work and running from place to place I had little time to relax. The pace seemed to agree with me and for the first time in months, I felt terrific. Not even the constant changes in food, water, and climate affected me. I had only one “off ” day, which I blamed on a night without sleep. I knew better, but I wasn’t complaining. For me to feel as good as I did was kind of a miracle. Nevertheless, I laid low for awhile. The production company simply cancelled me out that day and worked around me.

It wasn’t until the shoot was about over and I was about to leave Italy that I began to fall apart. I knew something was wrong almost immediately. I decided to stop in Ohio on the way home to see my mother, perhaps for the last time. It had been years since we last talked. She had called while I was incarcerated during the murder trial but I didn’t want to talk to her at that time. I knew she would have wanted to come to California during that time to visit me and I didn’t want her anywhere near that scene.

My mother is a very special lady. Through the years she had even earned the name “Mother Moses” because she always knew and felt things before they happened. I had hoped to surprise her by showing up unannounced. I hadn’t called, written or anything to let her know that I was coming to visit. When the doorbell rang, she asked, “Who is it?

“Jessie James,” I replied. The joke was on me when she opened the door, held out her arms then said, “I knew you were coming Johnny Buck.”

We had a wonderful visit but there were things that were purposefully unsaid. Before having gone to Italy, I had needed to get a new passport. I had lost all my personal papers when I had been on the run days after The Wonderland Murders. I had to send off for my original birth certificate. When my birth certificate finally arrived, I was only too surprised to learn the name listed as my father wasn’t Edward Holmes as I had believed all my life. Instead, it listed someone named “Carl Estes.”

“Carl Estes?” Who was this, I wondered. While visiting with mother I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t want her to be embarrassed or make her feel ashamed or uncomfortable. If she had wanted me to know she would have told me, I figured. Besides, that was Ed’s and Harold’s little game, not mine.

The stop-over in Ohio to see Mother was like an injection of miracle medicine for me. However, the high of being in her company, amid old familiar surroundings, soon faded as the miles stretched between us on my return flight to Los Angeles.

After returning home to Misty, it was more difficult than ever to return to my everyday office routine. The days of working 10-12 hours per day were long gone. At first, I would cut out just after lunch and make for home. Within several months, I wasn’t going to the office at all. Why even bother? I certainly wasn’t accomplishing anything when I was there.