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… OK, I pause now as you in the peanut gallery spout off some steam: I can hear the plaintiff shouts of, "Hey! I bet you can't do any
better!" and, "Who died and made you Mr. Model Expert?" and the always favorite, "Who the Hell are you, and why are you so mean?"
Fair enough. Let's get this over with:
I have, I do, and I will continue to produce work of a much higher caliber than that performed by most studio and independent effects
miniature-making craftsman. I've built effects miniatures, I've designed them, and I have restored a few of 'em.
Sit back, calm down, you're in good hands here. Oh, would you be surprised to know that some of you, right now, produce better looking
scratch-built models than those produced by the motion picture/TV industry? Marc, Rick, William, Bob, Joel, Chris, Dennis and a few others come to mind.
SO … YOU WANT TO BE AN EFFECTS MINIATURE MAKER? Let me tell you a little story.
I was thirty, four years married to this great looking little Phillipino gal. Three kids. And I was twelve years in the Navy, at the time
serving as a Torpedoman/Second-Class (hard-hat) Diver. Ellie and I had been looking forward to retirement at the end of twenty. Maybe it was that 'seven-year-itch' thing you hear about; the 'mid-life-crises' that
men in their middle years sometimes suffer. Whatever it was, I took it into my head to finally chase a dream held close to heart since my early teens: to become an effects miniature maker in Hollywood.
Only today, with the perspective offered me by time and the supposed wisdom of advanced years, do I appreciate what a wonderful thing it is
to have a wife – back then not knowing what the hell I was going to do from one month to the next – who was always supportive, always on my side of an issue, never failing with the, "OK, lets go get 'em, Hon!"
After some confirming phone calls to people on the West Coast, the time had come. I had the family station-wagon checked out at the garage;
I signed off from the USS RECOVERY on a thirty-days leave; headed home where Ellie and I packed up the Hornet; topped off the gas tank at the local Exxon; left Ellie's Mom to watch the kids and apartment; and we
hightailed it due west. I optimistically estimated that we could make the trip from Virginia Beach, Virginia to Burbank, California in three days.
It was 1981. I was crazy: I was prepared to give up an investment of twelve years of service to enter the game of movie magic … that's how
much I wanted into the effects industry. And the trip was vital to that end: no other way to know for sure whether there was a viable market out there for long-term employment as an effects model maker or not; and
that meant job interviews on-site, presentation of my portfolio, and getting straight answers as to job availability, hours, pay-scale, and required affiliations.
Among other professionals whom I had struck relationships with, and whom I corresponded with on a regular bases prior to all this, was Bob
Burns. Bob had graciously offered to make some introductions on my behalf if I ever got over there. I took him up on his kind offer.
Completing our sometimes-harrowing three-and-a-half day cross-country blitz, Ellie and I finally arrived at downtown Burbank. It was
Detroit's 6-mile road (only seedier) dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts, long hair, and sandals. What a dump!
Dirty, tired, and … just one wrong word … just one side-wise glance … just an inch away from killing each other … right there in the car, in
front of God and everybody! Ellie and I were totally fried.
… Burbank was hot, dirty, and smelled awful! We also fit that description! Our once new and sweet running wagons A/C had crapped out
somewhere in Kansas. The Hornet now shimmied and the transmission was making noises. Neither of us had gotten any worthwhile sleep during our cross-country march-to-the-sea. It was late afternoon; we drove around a
bit, in a complete daze. What the hell was I thinking three days ago?! I didn't really have to ask that question. At some point past Arizona, Ellie had begun to spout that same question … at five-minute intervals!
Oh yeah, this was working out …
Day-one in beautiful California neared its end. Putting the wagon in gear we found a motel and settled in. First showers, then a nap.
Spreading a local road map down on the bed we studied it as best we could and simultaneously came to the same pronouncement: California Road Engineers were mad! Pure chaos! I picked up the phone and called Bob Burns
and got directions to his place in North Hollywood. We headed there in the morning.
Inviting us into his house (the Bob Burns Museum was still just a dream in those days) Ellie and I marveled at all the movie and TV
artifacts stuffed in every corner of the downstairs rooms. I particularly enjoyed screening his Major Mars pilot, the famous Halloween spectaculars, and the inspection of his massive collection of vintage effects
miniatures, props and other neat stuff. I was a kid in a candy store! But, we were there on a mission and Ellie eventually shot me a stern glance. The time had come to settle down and to plan out the job interviews
Bob had arranged for us during the few days we had there.
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