"I Can Do That"

Nine months in a plant nursery was plenty. In January of 1988 I went to work one morning, was given a task to perform, and said, "No." I went home and started preparing for my new career. The big news at the time was that movies were coming to Orlando. I had said for many years that if the movie industry weren't so far away, I'd be in it. I got a head shot taken by a professional photographer, and put together a montage from the pool of pictures of my Vero Beach experience. I answered ads for actors and extras, I had screen tests and interviews, I attacked it from every angle. What I finally figured out was, if getting into the movies is your whole focus and you're willing to sacrifice everything for it - work for nothing, schmooze everybody, hang around and try to worm your way in - you'll likely get some paying gigs eventually. Plus - the movies were coming, they had not yet arrived. Meanwhile, I had to earn a living. I scoured the newspapers for possibilities. Finally I saw one that asked for Scenic Carpenter/ Stage Hands. "I can do that!" I said. I went into the south end of Orlando and filled out an application. Lo and behold, Image International called me and asked me to start the following Monday morning. Wow! After my Long Wharf and other stage hand experience, I went out and bought myself an adjustable wrench. I still have it.

Monday morning, all starry-eyed, I rode to South Orlando, my wrench in my pocket, ready to begin my new career in show biz. It was a much more typical day than I thought at first. The guy that actually hired me was out of town doing a show, and nobody else in the Production Department had any clue that he had hired anybody. After some digging around, they found evidence to support my claim. I filled out my W-4 and was introduced to Al Ohlson, shop foreman. He pointed me at a "steaming heap" of busted up crap and said,"That's what we're doing. All of this is going out tomorrow morning." What? Going out where? To the landfill? So, bit by bit we pulled out flats, sculptures, platforms, step units and other scenic elements, installed glue, screws, staples, Bondo and fresh paint, and by the end of the day most of it looked pretty darn good. The rest we fixed up Tuesday morning while "the goofies" loaded the truck. The last few pieces were still wet when they were loaded.


We all went to the Marriott Orlando World Center, arriving at about 11:30 am. I overheard that we were supposed to get the room at noon. Room? We're going to need a bunch of rooms to fit all of this! I parked my motorcycle in the motorcycle parking lot and joined the crowd at the big-ass loading dock. Somebody went inside to find out the scoop, leaving us to begin unloading the truck. We unloaded the whole thing, some of it on carts, some on dollies and most just piled on the dock. We learned that we couldn't have the room yet, so chairs were scrounged from the periphery of the loading dock. Lesson one: hurry up and wait.


I didn't know who anybody was, other than Al Ohlson and Bob, the other shop guy. I was sitting on a step unit by a guy I'd seen loading the truck - a goofy. "If you need to go to the bathroom or anything, be sure to tell a supervisor," he said. "Okay," I said, "who is a supervisor?" He scanned the crowd. "Well, let's see. Al is a supervisor, and Bob, and Lonnie, and Otto, and Bernie, and Larry, and George..." "Maybe it would be easier to tell me who is NOT a supervisor." He scanned the crowd. "Well, let's see. There's you....and me."


Hours passed. The supervisors were in constant radio communication with headquarters, and with the Marriotters. Nobody seemed to know when we were going to get the room, but it could be just any minute. Eventually we were allowed to take our stuff inside, but we still didn't have the room. This was the beginning of my education in the fine art of hotel ballroom events. The humongous ballrooms could be humongous, or they could be divided into numerous much smaller spaces. The section we were waiting for was part of a larger space, with "airwalls" dividing it from other sections. In between this one and another occupied space was a "dead space" about twelve feet wide. We were given the go-ahead to (quietly) roll our carts and dollies along the back halls and into the dead space. Then we were supposed to sit there quietly until the function was over. After about ten minutes we were asked to wait outside, because Otto just couldn't shut the f*** up.

The supervisory board was really getting antsy now. The show was scheduled to be installed by 7:30, and it was after 4:00. I had already figured out that the 7:30 to 4:00 workday was going to be a wee bit longer than that. It was past 4:30 when the hotel events crew started opening the airwall and clearing the room. We all pitched in, stacking chairs into stacks of ten, folding the legs of the "rounds" and rolling them over to the table carts, and cleaning the areas where set parts were going. Then Al handed me a cordless drill with a screw tip, and we began assembling sets. I found out that this was essentially a corporate theme party, and the theme was "Welcome To Florida." We had a swamp area loaded with plants, a beach scene with a bath house and a lifeguard stand, a space shuttle standing on end, a southern mansion, a shack across the back of the stage, and a gazebo bar. Lesson two: always have a bar. Theme parties are a dish best served with a liberal portion of booze. We finished assembling everything and wrapping the plant pots while the lighting guys ran cords, plugged in and gelled the lights. The party was scheduled to begin at 8:00. At 7:45 we were backing out of the room, plugging in twinkle lights in the ficus trees and arranging plants to disguise our exit point. The overhead fluorescent lights were switched off, and the sets were bathed in theatrical lighting. I had to admit, it was breathtaking. Just add booze and it was magical.

Carmen was a little worried about me when I didn't get home until almost 9:00. I described my day, and she was incredulous. She was sure that a strong organizer could straighten out this craziness. It wasn't too many months later that she stopped asking me how late I was working on any particular day. "Until they say I can go" was all I could tell her. After about two years, I was able to take all of the information available and make a pretty good guess at how long a day would last. No matter how much information was available, however, days like the one just finished were entirely derailed by uncontrollable factors. Best laid plans meant nothing. As I continued to deal with this lifestyle, however, I came to understand that I had the perfect temperament for it. Flexibility has long been my strong suit. It's the only suit that fits show biz.