CELEBRITY

I spent many years working in the entertainment industry, both as a professional actor, and in production, I have met and interacted with many high profile people.  In addition, 100% of all the Celebrity posts will be narratives of my personal, one-on-one experiences.  As this blog grows, I will add interviews with actual celebrities; as well as 2nd hand stories from people I trust for truth and accuracy.

Further, and most importantly, I am only posting POSITIVE material.  There will be no gossip, dish, speculation of any kind.  As this blog grows, I will add interviews with actual celebrities, as well as 2nd hand stories from people I trust – again, either funny, fun, inspirational and/or upbeat.

Hope you enjoy!

Hugh Hefner, Playboy Magazine’s publishing giant, died on September 27, 2017. And just today, October 1, 2017, Ross Douthat, wrote a scathing op-ed piece in the New York Times entitled, “Speaking Ill of Hugh Hefner.” It is a very slanted, negative and audacious obit (of sorts).

Douthat’s nasty (and perhaps honest) essay about Hugh Hefner actually triggered a cascade of memories that I had not visited in many years. Good memories, btw. Here it is: I had breakfast with Shel Silverstein once at the Playboy Mansion and it was grand. Just how this happened is a very circuitous story. But first, allow me to digress and wax poetic about the great Shel Silverstein (if you don’t already know).

Shel was an American poet, singer-songwriter, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author of children’s books. He won a Grammys for “A Boy Named Sue” by Kris Kristofferson, and “Where the Sidewalk Ends, as Best Recording for Children. He was nominated for an Oscar for Best Song, “I’m Checkin’ Out,” for Postcards From the Edge, sung by Meryl Streep at the end of the film. Silverstein’s friendship with “Hef,” and why he had carte blanche at the Holmby Hills mansion began in 1957, when Shell became one of the leading cartoonists for Playboy – a job that sent him around the world doing illustrated travelogues. Eventually, this collection of writing and illustrations was published in 2007, and called Playboy’s Silverstein Around the World. Shell’s work was translated into more than 30 languages, and his books sold over 20 million copies. He was ALL of that. He was no slouch. Now, ON to breakfast:

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It was October of 1988. My best friend (and fellow Chicago native, Karen) and I flew up to Lake Tahoe on a miniature American Eagle airplane that had no bathroom. Having never received that memo, I drank a can of Ginger ale prior to boarding. In terms of my bladder, the one-hour flight was actually 10 hours and excruciating. That’s what it felt like. Lesson learned. The purpose of the trip was to visit the set of David Mamet’s second film, Things Change, co-written with his good friend, Shel Silverstein. Things Change was a lighthearted story based on a series of misunderstandings and plot twists. Well reviewed, it was mostly shot on a very large soundstage in Lake Tahoe, where there they built an exact replica of a room at Chicago’s Lincoln Park Hotel (a landmark where David once lived as a starving artist).

Both Karen and I had known David Mamet for many years via the Chicago theater scene. Karen did several plays with him, and I fell in love for 3 months. We also knew some of Mamet’s favorite “stock players,” like Joe Mantegna and JJ Johnston who were both in Things Change. JJ made bunking arrangements for us in a nice townhouse and set up our rendezvous with Mamet at his condo after we arrived. It was a laid back and delightful reunion. David tried to pretend that he didn’t know we were coming, but I know JJ told him. David Mamet is brilliant beyond the pale, but not a great actor…

The weather was crisp and beautiful. There is nothing like the air in Lake Tahoe. In fact, there is nothing like Lake Tahoe.

For three days, we hung out on a soundstage, watched filming and ate with the crew. And yes, it was impossibly fun. Mamet runs a very relaxed set and he feeds people really well. Craft service was spectacular. During those three days, I got to meet veteran actor and bonifide movie star, Don Ameche; WHO, at the age of 77, won his first Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in Cocoon, directed by Ron Howard. As you may recall, late in life, Mr. Ameche also made a huge splash with Eddie Murphy in Trading Places. During lunch one day, Ameche told me something stunning. His anecdote is emblematic of the whimsical nature of an acting career. Anything can happen at any time.

Ameche: “Until Trading Places, I didn’t work as an actor for 35 years.”

Me: “Oh my goodness!! What did you do?

Ameche: “I raised 6 kids.”

On our second night in Tahoe, Mamet and Silverstein invited Karen and me to dinner. We all piled into a rental car along with JJ Johnston and headed out. David drove. I don’t remember the restaurant, but it was an upscale steak, seafood and whiskey type joint. And as you might imagine, it was a lively dinner, filled with anecdotes, jokes and outrageous remarks. From that slightly raucous and interesting evening, I can share that Shel Silverstein was a great provocateur, and often a little bit naughty. I posted a photo of Shel to illustrate that he DID NOT look at all like someone who wrote award-winning poetry and children’s books, but he did. After dinner, we all went back to David’s condominium and talked for a few hours. At the end of that evening, Dave said, “I wish I had known you were coming. I would have put you in the movie.” As it was, he put his nanny’s in the film!!

 

Karen and I flew back to Los Angeles with Shel on another American Eagle balsa wood airplane. Unfortunately, this trip my bladder was devoid of fluids, BUT we flew at night during a raging thunderstorm. Seriously. Both Karen and Shel were seated across the aisle from each other and I was by the window. During the flight, our toy plane was bandied about the sky like a Pixar cartoon, but it wasn’t cute. Thinking we were all going to die, Karen and Shel held hands across the aisle, while I chewed off my knuckles. Shel leaned over every few minutes, “Are you okay?”

Upon landing safely and recovering emotionally, Shel said, “I’m staying at The Playboy Mansion – why don’t you two come to there tomorrow for breakfast?” Without hesitation, we said, “YES.”

 

The next morning, we pulled up to the famous stone edifice, with an expansive and empty driveway. All was quiet. A butler or some such male answered the door. Karen and I walked into the very dark entry. To our immediate left was the famous mahogany staircase (leading up to Hef’s famous playpen). Looking straight ahead, we could see an expansive lawn; and to our right, were a kitchen and more rooms. I found the mansion very dank and somewhat depressing. It seemed to be stuck in a time warp, and never updated. It did not feel fresh, and the carpet probably had never been replaced. If I had known, I would have brought some Glade. This place would have been ideal for George to the Rescue.

 

Within moments, Shel appeared, smiling and lead us into a breakfast alcove, with a large round table, white tablecloth and china. The large round breakfast nook was surrounded by ornate windows, which were closed. Almost immediately, a “waiter” showed up to take our order. I naively asked, “What do you have?” The waiter said, “Order anything you’d like. We have a full service kitchen – we can make anything.” I think that Karen and I snuck glances at each other. We were in new territory. I ordered eggs Benedict and Karen ordered blueberry pancakes – and cappuccinos of course.

 

The food was good. The three of us reviewed every moment of our “near death” plane ride. Karen was a master flirt in a way that I could not compete – she had Southern born chops for the art of flirtation, and it made for great entertainment. It wasn’t serious or romantic, but she and Shel really hit it off. I watched them like it was a show.

 

At that time in my life, I was a youngster. I had zero idea that I would eventually morph into a writer. It’s astounding and even regrettable to think that I could have essentially interviewed Shell. I could have blitzed him with an avalanche of questions about writing. Never happened, but perhaps it would not have played out well. Perhaps our innocence was refreshing. I didn’t have the crystal ball. I was a single cell organism.

 

After breakfast, Shel showed us around the grounds, and of course, took us to the famous grotto. At that time, it was a nice piece of architectural landscaping (probably still is) – with whitewashed stones, waterfalls, a giant Jacuzzi and a covered lagoon, etc. Looking at the sexually exotic playground, ALL I could think about were germs. All I could think about were bodily fluids too. Not only that – bodily fluids belonging to the rich and famous, co-mingling. Noooooo! It did not take a genius to “get” that the grotto was rife with famous DNA. Even with a boatload of chlorine, the grotto looked to me like a small lake, full of flesh-eating organisms. That being said, the grounds were cool.

 

It was a great weekend in Tahoe, and it was a great breakfast with Shel Silverstein. Saying goodbye to Shel on the front steps of the Playboy Mansion was a little bit poignant. The tree of us had just bonded over a special weekend. We both hugged him and thanked him. Karen stayed in touch with Shel by snail mail for about a year, but we never saw the likes of him again. We knew that we never would. How fortunate we were.

 

Shel Silverstein, a true original, died at the age of 68 on May 10, 1999.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
Tennessee Williams; A Streetcar Named Desire

Once upon a time, I worked at a big, magical movie studio in Hollywood.

As a member of studio productions, my job was to rent various sound stages and back locations for movies, music videos, television shows and “still shoots.” Once settled on the lot, I oversaw specific shoots, from early morning until very late. At 5’2 and 110 lbs, I was in charge of large men – electricians, grips, directors, assistant directors, haz mat teams, special effects people, stuntmen and often, wild animals.

In the early days on that 8-year job, I set up an outdoor video shoot in an alley adjacent to our New York Street location. It was for 3 young women who called themselves, Destiny’s Child. Nobody knew who they were- just 3 pretty women. Imagine? I stood next to Bey and didn’t even know it.

In my first year, I also did an estimate for an R&B singer named Usher. At a production meeting, I asked, “Has anyone heard of an artist named Usher?” I got blank stares. Not one person knew of Usher. In the end, all that work I did was for naught – his company could not afford to do the shoot. Times have changed!

Such was my job at the big, magical movie studio. And although I worked very long days, it was often fun.

And speaking of fun, enter George Clooney, the oh-so-attractive star of ER (around 1999).

One day, out of the blue, I was assigned to an Esquire Magazine “still shoot,” featuring George Clooney. It was for their cover. At that juncture in his escalating career, he had vacated his role on the hit television series, ER, and was at odds with the intrusive photographers stalking his every move.

Tremendously frustrated, Clooney launched a campaign to stifle the aggressive paparazzi. This cover of Esquire depicted George in a tux, surround by twenty-five male photographers, holding fancy cameras. It was a political statement, done with enough humor that it garnered him a lot of positive attention.

This photo shoot was scheduled for late morning with a running time of less than three hours. The location was a brick alley on the back lot, adjacent to a much larger area known as New York Street. Although small, it was a very popular location. It was the same place where I shot there with Destiny’s Child.

On the morning of the Esquire shoot, I headed out to meet the photographer and discuss logistics. All was well. He looked at his watch and asked me to go see if George was ready. I then jumped in my golf cart and headed for George Clooney’s trailer.

As I pulled up to his trailer, the door was wide open. Sitting on a sofa facing the door, were a man and woman. Not recognizing them, I walked up the stairs, stepped into the trailer and said “Hi, I’m Carrie from Production Services. Is George here? The director is ready.”

All of a sudden, a big hand jutted out from my right peripheral vision, and a deep, familiar male voice said, “Hi, I’m George.”

I said, “Yes you ARE.” It just came out of my mouth. I wasn’t thinking. No matter. He was smiling, and impossibly relaxed. In fact, George was more relaxed than any human being I’ve ever met (who is not on medication, that is).

Dressed in a tuxedo, he jumped into my golf cart and I hurried to the alley location. As I pulled up, George jumped out of the golf cart, thanked me and began the photo shoot – surrounded by 20 young male extras dressed as paparazzi. When the photographer wrapped an hour later, I drove George back to his trailer. We even made small talk. Upon arrival, he jumped off, thanked me again.

This is precisely when the INCIDENT happened. Just as George was about to climb the stairs to his trailer, a male extra approached him and rudely tugged at his tuxedo sleeve. Wincing the totally inappropriate moment, I opened my mouth to interrupt, but it was too late. I stood back and watched. To make the scene even sadder, the poor kid was an eccentric misfit. If I had to cast him, I’d say he was a genetic cross between Jack Black and Josh Gad (both actors I love, btw).

Extra: “George, George.” YANKING at Clooney’s tux. “Can I give you something?”

Oh no, I’m thinking!

George turned to the guy. Inside, I’m thinking “Oh nooooo.” I was standing three feet away from the scene, but it happened so fast, I was unable to deter the young extra. Nobody else witnessed the awkward exchange. Just me.

George stops. “Sure. Nice to meet you.”

Extra: “Would you look at my reel? Would you?”

Clooney did not hesitate. He smiled warmly, shook the kid’s hand, and accepted the cassette (circa, 1999).
George, “Sure buddy. Good job today.”

From my perspective, it was a cringe-worthy moment. I winced. But George didn’t. He was classy, calm and NICE. While other celebrities would have obliterated this boy, George Clooney did the opposite. He was kind.

George Clooney would never ever recall that moment, let alone the shoot – but I do. I was witness to a moment. I was witness to the incredible kindness of George Clooney. The Jews have a slang term for people like George. He’s a mensch. According to the dictionary, a mensch is described as “someone to admire and emulate – someone of noble character. That’s George. George Clooney is a noble mensch.

NOTE: This is the first in a series of essays that are solely devoted to my positive and personal experiences with celebrities.