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So one day in November when I was sitting in front of the fire, staring wistfully at my hound and whining excessively about not being able to cast for the elusive bass at Pretty Water, Carolyn happened by, and
sensing my pensive mood, offered advice.
“John ...someone’s making a movie in town. Why don’t you see if you could work as an extra? As long as it’s too cold to fish maybe you could...” Her words
trailed off.
There was no need for her to finish the dark thought. I silently did it myself. “...do something worthwhile with your life.” But me, work in a movie? How would that possibly compare to
the worthwhile accomplishments of Mother Theresa, Albert Schweitzer or Einstein, or even snagging a five-pound large-mouth bass?
It was true that even at this late date in my life I still awaited that well-deserved call from John Wayne, asking me to co-star with him. But, in some inexplicable way, Hollywood had missed me.
Well … maybe here was the chance to get as close to filmdom as I ever would, so I put on a leather flight jacket against the cold morning, called to my hound and cranked up my 1930 Model A Ford airport hack. Off we
went to the office of Route 6 Productions on Adobe Road. That single move has forever changed my life.
I no sooner killed the A’s engine when three men came streaming out of the office, John Wayne
not among them.
Well, so what? My destiny had at last kicked in, and I’d been discovered, Duke or no Duke. My ego beamed as they approached, grew as I saw their broad smiles, than shrank back to true size when these guys ignored me and proceeded en masse to pet the old Ford and my hound. Hell. They had been discovered, not me.
The leader of the group never took his eyes off the hack as he spoke. “Is she for rent? She’s a movie star if I ever saw one.” His eyes gleamed with passion but my own narrowed in momentary hatred
for the Ford. She had upstaged me.
“Huh?”
“The car, dummy. Is she for rent? I want her for the movie. Lori Petty would look absolutely foxy in her.”
I was
stunned. How ever could he look past me and instead fix his jaded eyes on a 70-year-old car? I mean this guy was missing some real talent. I decided to come back with a scathing counterattack.
“Huh?”
Now, for the first time, he took his eyes from the yellow Model A and stared incredulously at me.
“What part of ‘rent’ didn’t you understand?
I want to ... hey ... why are you wearing that flight jacket? Can you fly?” I gathered my senses. Now he was on my turf.
“Not without an airplane. And Lori Petty looks foxy in anything.” That
would shut him up, I smirked.
“Very funny but not original.” He was eyeing the AVG wings on my leather jacket. “Well, how about it? Now that we’ve cleared the air on the old Ford, let’s talk about
the sky. You wanna fly a camera plane for us? Maybe chase a car from Sheep Hole Pass to the Palms Bar? Think you could handle that, door off, cameraman hanging out in the air? Take maybe two days of shooting.”
“Yeah...sure. I’ve done crazier things than that.”
“I’ll bet.” His eyes rolled a bit.
“But that’s not why I came here. I wanna be an actor. I mean an extra. I wanna be in
the movie."
“Oh, yeeeeaahh...of course. You’re exactly what we’re looking for. Lou Diamond needs a co-star. Have to start you out a bit low until you get the hang of things. Ten thousand
a week OK? Now … while we’re waiting for your part to come up, how would you like to be a driver? I mean, drive the movie stars around until you can memorize your script. Think you can handle that?”
So that’s how I came to be hired by Lon Sunders to work on the U.S. Marshals Undercover film and was unceremoniously pitched into a beehive of wild, star-studded activity for most of November, six-day weeks, each day
starting at 3:30 a.m., wringing out my last ounce of energy then tossing me into bed, frozen and totally exhausted, three hours after dark. It was a wonderful circus, an insane round of driving, shooting hundreds of
short scenes, laughing, partying and eating with some of Hollywood’s best actors and actresses. And as things evolved it was the best flight I never had, because all the insatiable action took place on the ground
and not in the air. And now I can unequivocally state that being kissed by Lori Petty beats hell out of any airplane I ever flew. I think...
Lon instructed me in my duties and they were simple. I was to arrive at the production office each day at 4:45 a.m., have breakfast, then take my transportation assignments off the daily call sheet and make them happen, safely. Usually that meant picking up the actors (called ‘talent’) at the Best Western any time from 5:30 a.m. on, and delivering them to the set. It also meant getting them home unharmed at night. For that I was given a new 13-passenger Ford van equipped with V-10 engine and some amenities too advanced for an anachronistic pilot like myself to operate. I ignored them.
Once on location the need came to transport the talent from our base camp, which consisted of four trailers used as temporary homes for the four principal stars, two for make-up, and two more for wardrobe and production. All eight were served by a huge diesel generator, even though each trailer had its own power plant and water supply. The stars’ trailers were placarded by actor name as taken from the script, so Lou Diamond Phillips became ‘Jack’, Lori Petty was ‘Steph’, Steven Williams was ‘Rabbit’, and so on. L.Q. Jones we simply called L.Q., or ‘The Dodge Sheriff’.
Not only did the lowly driver (me) transport the stars from Best Western to locations ranging from Split Rock to the old bank on Adobe Road to the Palms out Amboy Road to Pipes Canyon and Pioneertown, and the production office, but I was constantly called upon to get the talent instantly from base camp to set and back again, and I do mean constantly and instantly. Since
motion picture stars are expensive pets to keep, speed was of the essence. Try that some time on the Split Rock road in Joshua Tree National Park while it’s lined with forty vans, trucks, a dozen tourists, fans, and
a cast and crew of sixty. Then if that doesn’t provide enough challenge, throw in a catering truck, a water truck, a honey-wagon, two Blazers (our cop cars), a Pontiac convertible and a suburban (also props), two
flatbed trucks, three large double-auto trailers, a dozen lost motor homes on their way to Canada, and half a dozen curious Smoky Bears and their vehicles. And, oh, yeah … don’t run over any bushes while you
attempt to turn around those long vehicles on a twelve-foot wide road. Sure... (I understand that cost us $8000 in penalties). Then, just for fun, add a freezing wind, and when you get to the Pipes, a snow-storm,
all the time dressing the talent in light-weight summer clothing to match the movie’s projected season.
I felt sorry for the actors working in T-shirts and a 20-knot wind. Those kids went through a cold hell in order to make the movie.
And that, with the exception of L.Q. Jones, my cowboy hero from the past, was what the actors were to me: kids. Until L.Q. came along I was definitely the only father figure for the stars, more especially that of Lori Petty. She was the first one I met, and in some inexplicable way at that moment there came an instant bonding between us; I was captivated by her eyes and vibrant personality, and eventually her brilliant acting talent. And what was it for her ... did she need a dad? I don’t know, but that’s what I seemed to become for her over the next intense weeks.
The gist of the movie? I have a copy of the script and it’s intriguing: some forty years ago L.O. Jones, then a tough road-gang boss, in a fit of anger killed four convicts and steamrollered them into the hot asphalt
surface of the road they themselves had been building. Afterward their ghosts lived on that same road, ‘Old Route 666’, ostensibly somewhere north of our own Amboy Road.
Now move forward forty years to the still wiley L.Q., Sheriff Conaway, as U.S. Marshals Lou Diamond, Lori Petty, and others, along with a comic former criminal, Steven Williams, get themselves sidetracked off Amboy Road and onto Old Route 666, only to run into the angry spirits of the road-gang victims, now vengeful ghouls. Fate takes a curious turn as Lou discovers one of the ghouls is his father, and ... well ... I’d better stop there. It’s a horror flick you’ll have to see for yourselves, folks.
The 1950s sets were intriguing. Talented artists created a long abandoned movie drive-in at Split Rock, complete with tall screen shot through with holes, speakers and posts, and an ancient snack bar. Dilapidated swing sets and teeter-totters completed that set, along with a gigantic plastic rooster. It was deja vu and Smith’s Ranch reincarnate.
Farther down road was our creepy graveyard, and beyond that the ‘Snake Ranch’, which my wife said strangely resembled our own south lot, where I store a bunch of weird treasures, old trucks, and such.
So I watched Lou Diamond and Lori and Stephen and L.Q. and the rest of the cast closely for 12 and 14 hour days as they worked and played, and was amazed at what I saw. Having only a vague idea until then of the
mechanics of motion picture making, I was totally impressed; Hollywood is truly a world apart, and the experience vastly widened my horizons and appreciation of the craft of cinema and its people. To observe Lou and
L.Q. as they stood quietly talking by one of our Blazers while the directors, Bill and Bud, prepared for a shoot, then to hear Bud yell “action!” and see Lou and L.Q. instantly snarl and swing at each other was, as
Lou later affirmed, surreal. That was reinforced a few moments later as Bud yelled “cut!” and the pair stopped chopping at one another, and Lou, astraddle L.Q. who was on his back on the hard pavement road at Split
Rock, tilted his head at L.Q. and said, “I love ya, man!” It was a wrap in more ways than one. That night I took L.Q. a large box of Epson salts which somewhat repaired the damage caused by repeated trips to the
road’s surface as the scene was perfected by at least five shoots. He’s an indestructible veteran.
Lori Petty was not alone in gender, and she and a young supporting actress, Mercedes Colon, often came running through the desert, automatic pistols blazing. They received a lot of attention from the guys, including Dale Midkiff, Rob Roy Fitzgerald, and Alex McArthur. Most I had seen on the screen before working on this film, but not the stunt men, our ghouls. And now I can say I truly know four monsters. Michael, Rhino, Gary and Peewee turned out to be true pals, and I had fun showing them off at the Thirsty Lizard and the AM-PM. In fact the whole cast, stars and supporting actors as well, including a young Adam Vernier and Chester Tripp who played sheriff’s deputies, fit into 29 Palms very well. Glowing fan reports filtered back to me as the Hollywood kids were spotted at various watering holes, grocery stores, and the gym. They undoubtedly owned our attention for the month of November 2000.
Since these folks were working so hard to entertain us, I though it only fair to reciprocate, and one night invited the four principals to dinner at my home. Stephen had a previous engagement, but Lou Diamond arrived with roses for Carolyn, while Lori and L.Q. each presented her with a bottle of wine. Carolyn, who had prepared roast beef for the men and a special vegetarian plate for Lori, was delighted with the gifts. After dining we listened while the three told of their own particular pathways to Hollywood. L.Q. fired all our imaginations as he spoke of encounters that went back to the 1950s and included such greats as John Ford and Sam Peckinpah. It was a genuine treat for us to have these talented people in our home. Now, when we view a video made by one of them, new values appear to us, and Lou Diamond’s roses have been dried, the memory preserved.
Early on I identified myself as ‘only a driver, the low man on the totem pole.’ That fooled no one but myself and quickly forced a realization of the true importance of my job: If I cracked up the van and
injured my passengers I would have been no less responsible than if I crashed an airplane with the same results. Justifiably, local star-love would have dictated that I be hunted down with pitchforks and torches;
Frankenstein would have been shown more mercy. Beyond that, a serious delay could have blown the picture (literally) all to hell, and I took what a couple of other, younger drivers thought of as a lark-job very
seriously. (They were quickly dismissed.) The need for safe driving accentuated by the unusual value of my special passengers, motion picture stars, held my attention as much as flying does, where nervous energies
expended to keep me alive causes the loss of one pound of body weight for each hour flown; by the end of the month my bathroom scale read considerably lower numbers when I stood on it, in spite of the tremendous
nourishment provided by Pat and Alex, our caterers. Their food was served wherever we were, rich, plentiful, and three times a day. They got to anticipate my preferences, and when I was off set driving my van they
very thoughtfully made certain a plate was waiting for me when I returned. If I was on time I simply stood in line and when my turn at the counter came didn’t even have to order: they just smiled and loaded my tray,
heavily. In spite of that I lost weight.
The crew was a hard-working bunch; loaders, sound men, camera operators, gaffers, grips, artists, electricians … you name it and they were scurrying
about, making things happen, along with production assistants, assistant directors (1st AD, 2nd AD, 2nd 2nd AD), steadicam operators, 2nd unit folks, weapons people, and our production team on Adobe Road. And none
had more responsibility and worked harder than my immediate boss’s crew, transpo captain Haryl Deason and his assistants, Alvin and Randy. Their work habits and hours were brutal and nothing would have
happened, absolutely nothing, without them. Their ability to move a complete base camp in the cold of night from, say, Split Rock to Pipes Canyon, was simply astounding. I never saw harder working men.
The camera work itself, the actual shooting, was headed by our director of photography, Phil Lee. I was told by those who saw some of the footage after it was developed that Phil was a true genius. That’s easy to believe. And Bud, our 1st AD? When I first watched Bud work at directing I gave him about a month to live. I have never seen a busier human being in my life. He was everywhere, moving at the speed of sound. Bud was the life of the movie, and we were his family. He did a great job of getting tremendous amounts of work done while keeping the family peace.
Then there were the makeup and wardrobe girls: Babette, Simone, Erin and Sonia. Their’s was an interesting and demanding craft and as I drove them from production to location and base camp to set, I heard all the ups and downs of movie making. They were smart and capable and hard-working, and the only time they irritated me was at Pipes Canyon, where the girls room was remote from the set, and I nearly went insane driving back and forth between the two. I whined about that to such an extent that we eventually got an outhouse on set. Thank God … my van was being worn to a frazzle. (I’ll always wonder about this feminine preoccupation with bathrooms. Pilots worry about engine failures and the resultant need for emergency landing fields, but women only seem to worry about the availability of powder rooms...)
After a week we were all on first-name basis, about fifty cast and crew, and everyone opened up and we got to know one another. Quite naturally attention focused on the stars themselves, and they were all very down-to-earth people. When Lori became aware that I was to fly the camera plane her interest grew and she quizzed me often about flying and airplanes. Then she began introducing me as her pilot, and thereafter insisted I be her personal driver. I was flattered.
At night in particular, on the way home from location, the conversations in my van were, to say the least, stimulating. They ranged from insane to flippant to risque, and, as a matter of fact, confidential with me. Driving the talent around was much like taking a group of adult friends to Disneyland or the beach, and an intense holiday atmosphere prevailed in the van, an endless letting off of steam. It was so lucid, racy and loud as to be the stuff of novels. It was personal, and what I heard in my van will remain there, always.
I was continually impressed by the generosity the stars exhibited when it came to giving autographs. I personally gently herded several shy tourists and fans to Lou, Lori, L.Q., Stephen and others so that they could obtain a signature. Some were so nervous they hyperventilated as they drew close. No two actors stimulated emotion more than Lori and Lou Diamond, and I watched with interest as more than one young woman almost fainted in the actors’ presence, and men stumbled on their own words. We Americans appreciate our heroes, and Lou was even kind enough to send belated photographs for me to deliver to Brooks Bauer, who built some of our sets, and Myrna McRae, who got early morning coffee almost every day at the production office while walking her dog. Lou is a thoughtful person, as are the other actors and actresses.
The last day of shooting was done at The Palms on Amboy Road and many fans and spectators were present. Lori had invited my wife Carolyn to observe, and she sat with Camille Contorno, our talented script supervisor,
for four hours while the cast worked their magic. There was much firing of automatic weapons that day as ‘Russian’ hit-men attacked the stars. The outstanding villain was Sven-Ole Thoresen of “Red October” fame.
Sven’s AK-47 rattled ominously as he tried unsuccessfully to obliterate Steven, Lori, Lou and four ‘marshals’. But Big Sven is really a soft puppy, a true gentleman who spent much time signing autographs and
chatting amiably. He was a resounding favorite with everyone, both talent and fans, and is obviously a dedicated actor.
It was at The Palms that Sheriff Conaway, L.Q. Jones, was vengefully steamrollered into the asphalt in a truly ingenious bit of motion picture sleight of hand. I won’t tell how it was done ... the movie would be spoiled for you if I did. And it was at The Palms some fans got supreme thrills. Lou, for instance, signed a young girl’s jeans, on her thighs, and caused a Gone With The Wind sensation by kissing Carolyn fully and completely right in front of the whole world. She was flying high for a week after that. I settled for Lou’s signature on his coat, which he gave to me.
We filmed inside The Palms late that night and exhaustion among the stars was obvious. At one point Lori wearily leaned against me for a full five minutes, then resumed acting. When Bud Robertson finally yelled, “That’s a wrap!” we all cheered with appreciation. It was over. And it was sad in a peculiar way. That which we had all worked so hard for, and all the good times we found along the way, was past. We had been a tight family for a month and now those times were gone, slowly receding into our memories. As one of the crew said, “A month of madness, and yet a movie is made.” He was right.
A hushed air of melancholy pervaded our somber van that night as I drove Lou and Lori and L.Q. and Steven and Mercedes, and the other talent, home to the Best Western. This was my last responsibility to them, and my nerves were a bit taut as I completed this final driving assignment safely, and despite the sadness of the moment I wanted it to live. It had been a unique time for me and I did not want it to end.
And it didn’t. After I carried a box of Lori's possessions to her suite that night she invited me in, jotted down her home phone, gave me a daughter’s kiss on my cheek and asked me to call her. I intend to do that. Lori Petty is a talented, lovely person well worth knowing. I miss her, and her companions.
And who knows? I’m told our movie friends will return to 29 Palms in January for one last shoot, to include some camera time in an airplane. That will complete the story for me except for the viewing of U.S. Marshals Undercover when it gets to the screen. You can bet I’ll be there watching, along with many of you. Hey ... maybe we can get a group discount ... we have an investment here, one I never would have enjoyed without my wife, my hound, an old Ford, and that listless day when I tried to break into Hollywood.
Writer John Luke, who has a novel due to be published this spring, is a resident of Twentynine Palms, CA. He is also an avid pilot, and during the summer months he flies a Waco YMF-5 for Bryce Canyon
Airlines.
This story about the filming of U.S. Marshals Undercover (starring Lou Diamond Phillips, Lori Petty, L.Q. Jones, and Steven Williams) on location in Twentynine Palms, CA, and Joshua Tree National Park, appeared in the January 2001 issue of The Sun Runner Magazine.
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