The Columbia 30 - Part 1
I am not sure how to tell this story. I really don't have a handle on it. In fact though it occurred so many years ago I've still never been able to explain what really happened. I may get a bit lost at times so bare with me, but I'll try to give you my best recollection.
It was the late 1970s, 1978 to be exact, before the internet, cellphones, social media, an other insane developments. It was as the fella said “a simpler time”. Books and newspapers were still the thing to get most of your information from, though television and radio were pumping out their pap as well. It was the tail end of Disco and all the status dance clubs, a strange frivolous era.
An ad appeared in the newspaper. Well, several big city newspapers around the country and even some in Canada. Columbia Pictures was looking for new faces for their films. They were starting a studio acting program. In the 1930s-40s it used to be called the farm system. Where young actors under contract were trained in acting technique as well as plugged into small roles so they could learn their craft in the real world of movie making.
A friend at work told me about it. I was toying with the idea of learning acting and trying to pursue it. I decided to send in a picture and resume to the address provided in the ad. I dropped it off at a UCLA mail box. I was going to get a workout at their gym and track on a Saturday. To this day I remember the moment I mailed that manilla envelope with my 8” x 10” glossy photo and a cooked up resume, since I had little experience, plus a letter about why I wanted to become an actor. I never gave it another thought until...well I'll come to that.
My day job at the time consisted of being a medical supply/patient transport factotum officially called a Logistics Technician (or Log Tech for short) at Cedars Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, CA. The job was always interesting with regard to the people you'd meet and what you'd see everyday. The one bad thing about it was too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Sometimes there'd be 6 supervisors versus 3 workers on duty in my department. A certain amount of tension existed between the workers and these supervisors as they tried to justify the need for so many of them. Mainly it was their superior attitude and treating us like inferiors. It wore us on after a while. Similar to what postal workers put up with I think. I was working a Friday night shift. I had just switched to the evenings so I could free up my days and hopefully get out on casting calls. I was under the supervision of a particularly over zealous supervisor who's name thankfully escapes me. He complained about something I had done and had me into his office for a reprimand. It must have been bad because I got really pissed off at him and quit. I went home. I do remember telling him he was acting like it was Nazi Germany—which was ironic because he was a Jewish. I assumed that job was over and I would soon be working another. I was partly right.
When I got home there was a message on my telephone answering machine. It was Columbia Pictures calling. They wanted me to return their call. The envelope I mailed? I went to see a gal pal, Josie. She lived in the same apartment complex next to mine and a floor above. I told her and her sister Ria what had happened at work and about the message from Columbia Pictures. Ria showed me the Calendar (arts and entertainment) section of The L.A. Times. There was an image of a man named Joshua Shelley next to stacks of 8” x 10” glossy photos and resumes of young actor hopefuls from all over the country. He wore a quizzical expression. Whoa I thought—the Talent Program. What strange timing. I lose my job, then this. At this time in my life out of the ordinary events kept hitting me one after the other.
Later I found out I wasn't fired from work, but suspended. Another friend and co-worker, Lee, said some of the employees were filing a class action against the supervisors in our department and he wanted me to join the effort. I said okay, but I didn't really want to come back to work at Cedars, at least not that department with all those chiefs and us Indians being in the minority.
I called the Columbia Pictures number left on my message machine. A secretary named Davi told me they wanted to schedule an audition appointment. We did. Several days went by and then I drove to Columbia Pictures in Burbank with my little red '65 VW bug. The guard at the Studio Gate let me in and told me where to park. I found the office where I was expected. The secretary, Davi, greeted me. She was nice. Friendly. In a few minutes I was admitted to Joshua Shelley's office. A woman named Mary Carver, an actress and acting teacher, was there as well. I didn't recognize Shelley but he was a seasoned actor, director, and acting coach.
They wanted to see a monologue. I did a piece from Lenny Bruce's “To is a preposition, come is a verb.” I think Mary liked it, but Shelley didn't. He said I should never imitate someone else as an actor, but always be myself. I didn't know what he was talking about. I thought it was me doing the piece. I didn't think I was actually imitating Lenny Bruce just using his verbal style—but that's what Shelley meant.
What happened next was a series of tests to find out what made me tick. Shelley told me he had a letter from my mother and wanted me to read it silently to myself. Being the wise ass I was I wanted to know how he'd gotten my mail. Joke. I took the blank piece of paper from him and pretended to read it. I over did it, acting like it was a tragic news in the letter. Shelley grabbed the paper from me and said that's not what we want. Then Mary suggested an improv. I could do anything with Shelley. An idea came to me immediately. I said okay. I stepped outside his office. Waited a moment. Then entered. I played the part of a young man who wanted to marry his daughter, but he was against the marriage. I really went at it making up all sorts of wild accusations. Shelley kept saying to Mary “I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.” Mary really got a kick out of this one. Finally Shelley said “Okay that's enough. Sit down.”
Shelly looked at me and said “I don't know if you're disciplined enough.” I didn't know what to say to that. Disciplined enough? I knew there were things I had to be disciplined for in the past like studying Karate and some of my schoolwork. I guessed I wasn't measuring up to his standards. Then he wrote something down and handed it to me: his phone number. He said “I want you to call me at 5 o'clock today.” That was all. They both thanked me for coming in to audition. I left. I didn't know how I'd really done. I went back to my place and did the laundry. Later that afternoon I went to see a doctor, a skin specialist. I had some warts on my cock and wanted him to remove them. It was getting very close to 5 pm. The doctor told me it was nothing to worry about and he put some mild acid on the warts saying they'd come off in a couple of days. I noticed the time was 5 pm. I asked to use a phone in his office. I called. Davi answered and then transferred me to Shelley who asked “What do you want to tell me?” I didn't know how to answer that, so I said “Mr. Shelley I want a chance to learn what you can teach me about acting.” He said they'd let me know. That was it. I hung up and still none the wiser as to what was going on.
Meanwhile the class action at my former job was progressing. We had a meeting in the hospital personnel director's office with the head of my department, Rolando, and the shop steward for the maintenance crew who was heading up the investigation. At one point he asked “What the hell's going on up there on your floor Rolando? I hear more complaints from your employees.” Rolando just smiled, remaining evasive. The director asked me what I felt and I also launched into some accusations—which what they were exactly after all these years I can't remember, but I'm sure they were heartfelt because I was getting the impression the personnel director was sympathetic towards me—even though she couldn't really do anything. The meeting, after airing our feelings, concluded. Nothing more became of it. I was eventually awarded some back pay, but my days at Cedars were not to continue. Besides I would soon have other fish to fry—or rather, I was about to be the one fried. Little did I know a life changing experience was coming my way. Something that would help point me down a self tortuous path for many, many years to come.
I received another call from Columbia Pictures. They wanted me to come back to their offices.
I did. Again I was admitted by the security guard at the studio gate and soon I went into Joshua Shelley's office. This time I stepped on the back leg of a rocking chair Mary was sitting in. I whacked my shin hard which must have given her a jolt as well—OUCH—I thought, but didn't let on like it smarted. I said hi to Joshua. I walked right by Mary as though she didn't matter. I didn't mean to act this way, but I was thinking more of Joshua as the big operator and her as a sidekick. He blurts out “Oh fuck not this guy again!” Of course he was joking. He told me to have a seat. They stared at me for a while. There was another man in the room: David Marks the line producer for the Talent Program. He smiled enjoying the big moment. Josh says “Kid you're in the Program.” I was excited. They gave me some info about coming to a luncheon the next week to meet other young actors in the class. I mentioned how it was perfect timing since I'd just lost my job. Marks said I bet it was because of Proposition 13. A bill recently passed that was drawing a lot of criticism in California for underfunding or eliminating many jobs and social programs. I didn't contradict him, or mention my exact circumstances. I just smiled and nodded.
That night I called a friend of mine, Dick. We got together for what I thought was going to be a few celebration beers at the bar—but instead we just kept driving around. Dick was extremely concerned about his girlfriend, Julie, who had just been held hostage in her apartment in San Diego and repeatedly raped by some crazy psycho on the loose. I used to hear a lot of weird stories coming out of San Diego. I don't know if it had anything to do with the military bases there, but the radio station I listened to was always reporting some violent macabre crime going on. Once someone had both arms cut off and was discovered in a delirious state running around in a ditch by the side of the road. We drove up Highway One on the coast towards Neil Young's nightclub Crazy Horse in Malibu and I just listened to Dick relate his gruesome story. He described how the rapist would fuck her, then after try to wipe his cum out of her pussy with a rag. She was a tough gal to go through this and not lose her head. Dick said the guy eventually just left her tied up and took off. The police were still looking for him. We never did stop at the bar for beer, let alone celebrate my studio contract. Finally I dropped off Dick back at his place and headed home. Well at least I still had a few beers in my fridge.
End of part one.