Billy Van Second Banana - Part 3

Billy Van Second Banana - Part 3

PART 3

Commercials                                                                                 103

-          Liar Liar Pants on Fire                                                 103

-          Cheezed Off                                                                        105

-          Falling for the Product!                                               106

-          Absorbed In My Work                                                   108

-          Vegetarian Nightmare                                                109

Colt 45 Malt Liquor                                                       112

-          Target                                                                       113

-          Airplane                                                                  115

-          Shark Attack!                                                       116

-          Front Loader                                                         118

-          Bullfight!                                                                120

-          Hotel                                                                         123

-          Underwater                                                           127

-          Colt 45 Ladies                                                       129

-          Beach                                                                        130

-          Log Jam                                                                   132

-          Moon Landing                                                      134

-          Timber                                                                    136

-          Haunted House                                                   138

-          Nairobi Trio                                                         139

-          Hockey                                                                    140

-          Elephant                                                                142

-          Rube Goldberg                                                    144

-          Ski Jump                                                                145

This is Billy’s original manuscript. 

Please note, no party or individual has been given permission or is authorized to use any part of its contents. This blog is not associated with any other individual or group.

All rights reserved. No part of this book, text, photographs, illustrations may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means by print, photocopier, internet or any way known or as yet unknown, or stored in a retrieval system.

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COMMERCIALS

          Over a period of years, I have performed in hundreds of commercials and jingles in Canada and in the United States and have witnessed a number of situations both good and bad.  On the downside, there was a period of time in Toronto when American directors were brought in to direct a project only because they were from the States and therefore must be great.  What a crock of crap!  A lot of these guys were absolute frauds and nobody bothered to check their credentials.  A number of them couldn't buy a job back home in the States.  They were merely hired because some jerk up here wanted to score points by finding a "really and truly American Director" to guide "those hick actors up in Canada" to that great CLIO in the sky.  Most of the directors I have worked with from the States have been great and know their craft.  I am referring to a particular time in the 60's when the incompetents were brought in by the bushel.  Happily for the most part, this situation has changed, but it still happens occasionally. 

LIAR  LIAR  PANTS  ON  FIRE !

          There were a few commercials that left a lasting impression on me.  On one occasion when auditioning for a commercial representing a popular cigarette Mark 10 (now defunct).  I was given the 'story board' to look over.

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  The story board is a series of rough sketches depicting what the action will be for the performer and also serves as a guideline for the director.  This story board showed a guy in tropical surroundings, diving into the water, swimming around and stealing some kind of coupon from their cigarette packages.  Unsuspecting people lying on various floating devices just basking in the sun were oblivious to this sneak attack in collecting the coupons.  The purpose in stealing them escapes me now as it did then!  But why should I care, it was a paying job and the shoot was obviously going to be somewhere in the tropics.  This audition was in late April for shooting in mid-May.  Hallelujah!  I got the gig and now awaited the shoot-date, location, plus all of the other pertinent information.  In my thinking, I saw a flight to the Bahamas for two or three days of much desired sun and sand. 

          Man, did they burst my little bubble!  It was now mid-May and the location was the frigid waters of Lake Ontario at 7:00 a.m. in the morning.  I had no recourse.  The contract had been signed and needing the job desperately, I was obligated to carry it through.  But from then on, I always inquired as to where a commercial would be shot and when.

          As in so many past jobs, but fortunately not all, there was little feeling if any for the welfare of the actor.  It was simply a case of getting the scene shot, no matter what, and I was a very lucky man that hypothermia didn't claim another victim.  When we finished the shoot, the usual thank-you and goodbye was non-existent, as the deception they used in the story board was now apparent.  In their eyes, I was only a hungry 

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actor and easily replaced.  The piss-off is they were probably right and will use the same kind of deception again.  As they say in Mexico, beware of "El Toro Poo-Poo!"

CHEEZED   OFF

          I was booked to do a commercial for a leading cheese product, which would be shot in a studio.  Bonus!  I would be hypothermia-free, so what could go wrong other than a possible temporary disruption of a bodily function because of a 'binding' cheese contract.   In the commercial, there was one shot that the director insisted upon for he thought it was crucial to show his artistic expertise.  Now I've had close-ups in my career, but this guy demanded that the camera be placed no less than 4 inches from my face.  Never considering myself as God's gift to ladies, I'm sure that even Paul Newman in his prime couldn't survive this invasion of every pore of the face.  I never did have the complexion of a Vogue model and asked the director if he could back the lens off a few more inches and give me a break.  Better to have said 'Your mother runs a cat house' because he went into a tirade of his unlimited talents as a director, second only in his mind to Steven Spielberg!  (There will be a short barf break here!)

          He wouldn't bend and finally said to me, "You know, you have a lot of holes in your face."  He then took the makeup lady aside and whispered something to her which I couldn't hear.  I caught the reaction on her face to whatever this S.O.B. had said and her unspoken expression was, "You've got to be kidding!"  

          She asked me to join her in the makeup room and then endeavoured to try some back-street plastic surgery by attempting to fill my pathetic little 

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pot-holes of imperfection with some kind of compound.  This broke the proverbial camel's back for me because she was embarrassed as was I.  So being me, I did what had to be done.

          Getting up out of the chair and walking onto the set, I let this bastard director know in no uncertain terms that he had best back the camera off and stop making me feel like some kind of a Quasimodo reject to the human race or he could stick his 'epic' up his ass.  I can only presume that no one had tangled with this jerk before and he folded like a tent.  He reluctantly backed off and we finished the commercial.  When it comes to some directors, perhaps a telethon should be held, to raise money for sensitivity implants.

FALLING  FOR  THE  PRODUCT !

          I did a number of commercials for a popular Canadian brewery for several years in the 60's and one of the more daring-do ones was to have a bunch of skydivers do their thing.  I guess that the message was to let folks know that jumping out of an airplane and plummeting to earth went hand-in-hand with the overwhelming desire to taste this product to the fullest, whatever it took.  Not exactly conventional, but hopefully it was supposed to show that gutsy guys (in more ways than one) drank this brew.

          Not then nor ever will I be a sky diving aficionado.  If I'm foolish enough to challenge nature in any way, it will take place on terra firma, where access to a rapid retreat is available!  

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          Featured as a trumpet-playing sky diver, I was about to become airborne into the wild blue yonder, only to dive downward and savor this elixir of life.  It was never intended for me to actually sky dive, but to merely look like it was second nature to me as a macho guy!  They wanted a shot of me dangling my feet outside the aircraft by means of an open door on the side of the fuselage.  The only hitch being that this shot had to be taken when the plane was 10,000 feet in the air!   The camera man was positioned inside the plane behind me, to get the somewhat harrowing shot.  I was harnessed into a parachute with a little emergency reserve chute attached in front.  Then a professional sky diver would hold on to me with what appeared to be a rather inadequate-looking rope tied around my waist (as if he'd make any difference).  He warned me that in the event an air draft sucked me out of the plane, not to bother pulling the cord on the main chute because he wasn't sure if it would work and for me to just pull the reserve one, since he felt fairly confident that it would work just fine.  How reassuring for me, but I didn't have the slightest intention of becoming a fly-guy.  After we had reached something like ten thousand feet, they directed me to lean further out and hold the trumpet to my lips, pretending to play.  When the wind hit the exposed trumpet, I had to hang on for dear life, struggling to keep my balance.  Certainly I didn't want my epitaph to say, "Here lies Billy Van, the boogie-woogie bugle boy we found in a tree."  Unfortunately after a couple of takes, it appeared that the sun wasn't quite right, so they would have to bank the plane at an even  steeper angle, to get the desired shot.  "Okay", I said, "But get one more guy to hold that rope and shoot it fast because that's as far as I go."  We finally got the shot and landed, much to my relief.  No, I didn't have their beloved beer.  I had a good stiff shot of brandy!

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ABSORBED   IN   MY   WORK

          Most commercials I have done over the years are pretty run-of-the-mill types, but on this occasion I did land one that was out of the ordinary.  It was a commercial for a paper towel company, which proved to be quite an experience.  It starts with me standing on a hillside, when a dump truck backs up very close and drops hundreds of paper towel rolls, almost covering me completely.  Non-chalantly picking one of the rolls up, I begin to speak to the viewers about just how terrific this product is.  At this point, the tape is stopped and a film of a dam breaking is edited in, showing the surge of water cascading down a valley, obviously on the way to unsuspecting me and of course the product.

          The next scene finds me in a studio, still going through my spiel, when suddenly I'm hit from behind with a deluge of water, knocking me off my feet.  This was achieved in the studio, by releasing two hundred gallons of water down a man-made sluice gate, with retaining walls (not seen by camera), to catch the overflow.  The last shot shows me completely immersed in an 800-gallon tank of very cold water, but still holding the product and gurgling the pitch words, despite my dilemma.

          It had been on air for a couple of weeks, when one morning while I was leaving for work, my seven-year old daughter Tracy started to cry.  I knew she loved me, but why the tears?  I said, "What's wrong honey?  I'm just going to work."   She said, "Do you have to get wet again?"  "No", I replied, "not this time."  Of course, in my business, who knows what's next!

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VEGETARIAN   NIGHTMARE

          On a commercial for a meat manufacturer, I was required to consume their various products throughout the day's shoot.  Whenever you do a food commercial, it's a good idea to back off any vittles before the gig.  The reason is fairly obvious.  You never know how many takes the director will want, which can prove to be a potential problem so I prepared by laying off any food the night before.  It was my luck that the chosen director was a perfectionist, not that anyone should knock that business ethic, but they have a tendency to shoot scenes many times over.  We were dealing with a variety of four scenes of different meats with nothing but chowing down and afterwards showing your satisfaction, even if you disliked the product and most times, I did!

          On this shoot, we were tackling a variety of three cold meats, with a mess of sausages as the finale.  This was to be a Four-Round bout and I came out in the First Round, bright-eyed and bushy tailed to face my first opponent, ham slices.  No problem!  I had it KO'd in six takes. 

          My next opponent, turkey loaf, didn't worry me, but I knew it would be tougher, and it was!  Seven takes.  Again I was the winner, but starting to feel the pressure all over.  The director called for a lunch break, but I wisely passed, needing that hour to recuperate and prepare for Round Three.

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          Lunch was over and Round Three was about to begin.  My adversary this time was that terrible trouble-maker,  pressed chicken.  The term 'chicken' didn't fool me for a minute, knowing full well that this was a tough old bird.  I was right.  It put up a hell of a fight, but once more I emerged victorious although it took yet another seven takes and the battle-weary signs were beginning to be felt throughout my body!

          Round Four would bring an enemy that even I feared, the dreaded and formidable foe, sizzling sausages.  It was no secret that we didn't get along, so this was to become a grudge match to the end!

          To make matters worse, the clients arrived to watch the final culinary climax of me savoring their products.  I was weak, but determined to last the event and stagger away the champion.  In my mind, the 'Rocky' theme echoed, driving me to best these hated little tubes of torture.  We started.  Take one, take two, take three.  Determination was calling upon every fibre of my being to claim victory.  Take four.  And then the magic words were spoken, "Thank you Billy.  That's a wrap."  I had triumphed.  Thanking the director and the clients and hurriedly saying goodbye, I quietly departed and unceremoniously hit the washroom to say a final goodbye to all of my opponents once and for all!  "Adriannnnn......!!"

          There is a very strange and sad phenomenon in Canada in the entertainment industry, compared to the United States.  In Canada, if you are fortunate enough to land an on-camera commercial, you are considered a winner and reap the benefits of money and exposure.  

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Unfortunately, if you get on a roll and add two more on-camera commercials, you are now sent to purgatory.  Having worked in Canada and the States, I have been a witness and victim of this situation on a number of occasions.  Now the opposite holds true in America, for if you score a big commercial there, you more than likely will be in demand for many more.  The expression applies that "everybody likes a winner", but not necessarily so in Canada.  Here, you are punished for success, therefore one more reason for the drain of our top performers heading south.  Another misconception is the amount of money and residuals involved between the two countries.  The Canadian public thinks that when you have a national commercial on the air, you can just about start making plans for a secure and early retirement.  Wrong!  Compared to the States, you can merely apply the ratio of viewers.  My figures are approximations, but the point will be made that there is a vast difference in the population - Canada - 30 million, the United States - 230 million.  Hence the difference in fees paid in proportion to audiences receiving the message.  You can definitely make a good living here if you are successful in your field, but definitely not the same as national exposure in the United States.

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COLT  45  MALT  LIQUOR 

          Years ago, I was fortunate in auditioning for an American beer commercial that was shooting in Toronto.  The tag of the commercial and in each one to follow, was:  "In the dull and common place occurrences of day-to-day living, one thing stands out as a completely unique experience ..... Colt 45 Malt Liquor".  Happily I got the job as the Colt 45 man, not knowing that this venture would become a unique mini-career.  Unique is almost an understatement for what followed.  Shooting twenty-one commercials in London England, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Israel, Hollywood, much of the United States and Canada over a period of eleven years, (1964-1975), it could be said that this beer commercial series enjoyed a long and successful campaign.

          In each and every spot, the premise was the same.  A guy seated at a table, always dressed in his dark blue suit, patiently waiting to be served his precious brew.  The Colt 45 character never spoke.  He was an unflappable gent, oblivious to the bizarre events that occurred around him while awaiting his brew.  Seemingly simple, but what happened while waiting for his beer was not only unique, but chaotic!  He survived a shark attack, falling trees, bullfights, dynamite blasts and other assorted mishaps, but always managed to get his beer and drink it too.

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          Over those Colt 45 years, I tasted a good deal of danger, fun, travel and many insane events, but thoroughly enjoyed each and every scene we shot.  All of the commercials had their elements of surprise, danger, humour and adventure, which with supporting photographs, I would like to share with you. 

TARGET

          This was the first commercial of the Colt 45 series that we shot.  The location was an outdoor restaurant, somewhere in the Caledon Hills outside Toronto, Canada.  On this day, sitting at my special table on the patio, a journey would begin of twenty-one commercials and eleven years of wonderful memories.  It can definitely be said that these spots were not your run-of-the-mill commercials and this one proved to be the establishment of the hero character, Mr. Colt 45 -- a guy who would have to prove time and again how cool, unflappable and fearless he was in his quest to get his special brew, no matter what may befall him.

          As I was seated there, a circular target was wheeled in and positioned directly behind my head.  Now I was required to remain oblivious to any and all events that would obviously be coming my way.  Suddenly a knife thrower appeared, armed with a menacing array of sharp looking objects.  Without so much as a by-your-leave, he  began hurling his missiles of Mayhem at my head!  Being the ever unflinching hero, I would not allow such mundane happenings to affect me.  At this point, I must be honest and reveal just how this effect was accomplished.  The blades that appeared to be hurled, in fact, never were.  The 

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camera would cut away as soon as the knife thrower finished his forward motion of throwing, but he actually never released the projectiles.  A duplicate set of knives was rigged to a spring-like device behind the target.  Aligned with pre-cut slots, the blades would be released at lightning speed to coincide with the knife thrower's motion.  With carefully worked out camera angles, the illusion was complete because the daggers were coming out handles first from the target.  The daggers themselves were bolted to the apparatus to stop after protruding, to give the impression that they were in fact sticking into the target.  There was one important thing that had to be adhered to.  Once my head was in position, it was imperative that I not move or my noggin' could be on the receiving end of some very nasty cutlery.  Even with the blade handle alone hitting you, the fact that it was coming out with such force could prove to be quite hurtful.  A year earlier, a fellow using the same routine, moved his head and received seven stitches for his efforts, therefore I was a good boy and managed to stay suture-free.

          In this commercial, as in all of them, a beautiful young lady would appear, giving me an inviting look, which I was directed to ignore.  In this particular scene, when I didn't respond, she walked away and a huge Japanese karate expert entered, bearing a thick slab of wood.  With the usual Japanese politeness, he bowed and proceeded to let out a "Bonsai" bellow that would make Godzilla retreat.  He then smashed the plank over his head and with another respectful bow, departed from whence he came.  A waitress then appeared and presented me with the object of our exercise, my first Colt 45 Malt Liquor.  Over the next eleven years, I would witness a lot of strange goings-on to get my brew.  It was definitely worth it.

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AIRPLANE

          Of all the spots we did, I think this one possibly caused me the most apprehension.  We were filming at a small airport twenty miles outside of San Juan, Puerto Rico.  As usual, the premise was that dangerous and strange things would happen, but nothing would phase me until my precious brew arrived and then the smile would occur showing a happy camper.  The most difficult things to control in any of these commercials was not so much looking cool, calm and unflinching, but not being allowed to blink for any reason.  Most times I could steel myself for the task, but having a twin- engine Beech Craft approaching from behind and taking off just 15 ft. over my head meant my work was cut out for me.  The added problem was that if I blinked, they would have to radio the pilot to circle back, land and taxi down to the starting point and do it again.  A very time-consuming process and as in any business, time is money.  Having always prided myself in getting things done quickly, I was only human and blinked on at least four takes due to the powerful down-blast of the aircraft flying so close to the ground, and me!

          To my way of thinking, I thought I did very well by not panicking and running like hell to duck the plane that was zeroing in on me!   Now some directors believe that actors are easily replaced, therefore not paramount in the whole scheme of things.   Our director was just that - a director.  He proved my theory correct by announcing as soon as the plane was ready to go, that, and I quote, "In the event of an engine failure, 

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camera and crew will move to the right."  What the hell was I, fog?  Confidence builder?  I don't think so!  After about nine nerve-racking takes, we finally got the desired result.  No flinching, trembling, panicking or blinking for a wonderful six seconds on camera.

          The pilot who flew the Beech Craft was also the fellow who flew us to and from location each day.  His name was Manny, a young personable Puerto Rican kid who loved to laugh at anything that he found humorous and I mean, really laugh.  I should have remembered that it didn't take much for Manny to go into gales of laughter at anything that hit him as funny because he would lose all control of his body until the laughter subsided.  After the final shot was in the can, it was time to fly back to the main airport.  On approaching the runway for a landing, I noticed in the water below, an old freighter that had gone aground years ago during a storm and was lying half submerged and forgotten, just rusting away in the ocean.  Looking down, I mentioned aloud, "Hey Manny, looks like somebody goofed."  Wrong!  It hit him funny and he started to laugh uncontrollably, which is not a good idea when you're landing a plane, especially with me on board. I had to resort to punching his arm hard to snap him back to reality and to me, his precious cargo!  Mr. Cool lost it for a second, but at least, I'm here to tell the tale. 

SHARK   ATTACK !

          With the release of the very scary "Jaws" movie, it seemed only right that we should take advantage of its popularity and pit me against a Great White shark.  It would be shot on the backlot of Twentieth Century Fox in 

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Hollywood, in a man-made lake about five feet deep and hundreds of feet in diameter.  Many a seafaring movie scene had been shot on this huge expanse of water, depicting wartime ship convoys or old sea battles with galleons, etc., using model ships for the wide shots.  The shark was a mechanical masterpiece made by the same team that created the "Jaws" monster, albeit somewhat smaller, but plenty big enough for me.  The idea was that the shark, which was mounted on a type of catapult, was to be shot up at me from beneath the water and bite the table in half, sending me head over heels into freezing cold water.  Even though I knew the shark was mechanical, it still made me feel very eerie, looking into the water and seeing those cold menacing eyes staring back, ready to lunge and destroy me. I was assured that everything was safe and carefully planned out, except for one little hitch.  They warned me that when thrown into the water from the impact, I was to make absolutely sure to fall backwards.  Failure to do so would cause me to be caught up in the gears of our little fish friend's mechanism, which could prove to be a somewhat messy problem!

          For the shot of the actual delivery of the beer, we moved the shoot to the M.G.M. lot in Hollywood, which had a deep water tank, 40 feet, so the scene would give an illusion of greater danger enhanced by the depth of water.  After the shark had reeked its havoc, I would be inexplicably found seated on the table top which still remained afloat, then a young lady would appear from the depths to make the delivery of my chosen nectar.  'Ya, I know, improbable, but what the hell, it was television!  After several takes, the director said, "Okay, let's do the beauty shot."  The young lady who was quite new in the business, said she would need a little time to fix her makeup.  I whispered to her that although she was very attractive, the term 'beauty shot' meant a closeup of the product, Colt 45 Malt Liquor. 

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          Four identical dark blue suits were made for this shoot because we didn't want to waste time waiting for them to dry, in order to continue shooting.  No matter how many times you shoot a scene, when you finally get the desired take, you always do a back-up shot as protection.  We filmed it eight times because this particular scene had to coincide with several bits of action to make it flow.  Even with the four suits, we had a guy racing back and forth to the local drycleaner so there would be no delay.  Unlike a heated backyard pool, this water was probably the coldest water I had ever been in.  Even to this day when I see the commercial, I still feel like grabbing a hot coffee and a blanket.  With any luck, the next spot would be under a palm tree on a beach somewhere in the tropics, but wherever it was, I'd be there.

  FRONT  LOADER

          The object of this little effort was slightly different than the other spots we had filmed.  The message we were trying to convey was just how well the cans were protected and clean for immediate consumption.  What better way to show this than to have me seated at the table with a six-pack of my favourite beverage, fill a front loader cradle with dirt and dump the whole load on the table where the beer was sitting and of course, miss me entirely.  After this feat, I would just brush off the dirt and remove the can from its plastic protective coating, to show folks how the packaging really worked and how safe and clean the cans remained at all times.   We rehearsed it three or four times without the dirt so that Ted, the operator of the front loader would hit the critical mark and dump the earth in the desired place.

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          We're all human and prone to making mistakes, but unfortunately for me, it was Ted's turn!  As usual, the action was behind my back and obviously I could not see the impending danger approaching, as if that would have mattered.  Unfortunately the mark was missed and the complete load of dirt was dumped on me.  I can say unequivocally that being buried alive is  definitely not a comfortable feeling.  He only missed by inches, but it was enough to do the damage causing all hell to break loose and the ever-ready crew had me out of the unplanned burial mound in seconds.  So many times in my career, I have witnessed crew guys and girls respond to unforeseen emergencies without hesitation or concern for their own safety.  To me they will always be the unsung heroes of any shoot.

          The only problem from the accident was that some dirt got into my eyes and we had to stop taping before we could continue.  After many eye drops and much swabbing, it proved to no avail.  My eyes were so bloodshot it looked like I had been on a ten-day binge - unacceptable, because after all we were selling booze!  At this point, I yelled to the operator, "Hey Ted!  Was it something I said!" and we all ended the day with a good laugh.  After an eye cleansing at the hospital, we resumed shooting the next morning where Ted proved to be the epitome of perfection and we knocked the spot off in four takes.  Although my character was always depicted as a hero, on occasion he could be quite a down-to-earth guy, literally.

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BULLFIGHT  !

          Here we go again, this time to Mexico, specifically, to a ranch seventy miles outside of Mexico City where they raised fighting bulls.  The news that we were going to shoot the spot in Mexico did not fill me with joy and for a very good reason.  Years earlier, I had visited Mexico on holiday and became seriously ill for six months.  I never did learn exactly what I had, although doctors back home said that whatever it was, I probably picked it up from the food because I know I didn't drink the water.  I mentioned this incident to the brewery folks about the bad time I'd gone through and they very kindly offered to fly food in for me.  But I decided it was okay and I'd take my chances.  This was the true test for 'Mr. Unflappable' and fortunately it worked out great.  At the ranch where we were all quartered, I ate their home-cooked Mexican dishes, tortillas, black beans and all, and was never the worse for wear.  For me, it was really an interesting leap into a whole new world seeing this huge expanse of land with fighting bulls roaming freely, matadors matadoring, picadors picadoring, plus there was a private bullring for special events, which of course would serve as the setting for our little travelling Gringo show!

          The plan was for me to sit, in the bullring at my usual table, while Jose, a professional bullfighter, made certain crucial passes with the bull, working the animal ever closer to the cool calm me.  Finally, the matador would deliver the Colt 45 can and glass on a tray to my table, after which he would make one more pass, allowing the beast to leave through an exit.  Up to this point, I had never used a double for any of the previous stunts 

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and, perhaps foolishly, I said I would not need the double.  I offered to sit in as long as they placed the table near one of the little exits, which served as an escape route for the matadors in the ring when needed.  I simply figured I'd vamoose behind the nearby barrier if I saw the bull coming at me.  At this point, my boss Bill Costello of the National Brewing Co. in Baltimore said "There ain't no way you're sittin' in there!  We'll use the other guy (Juan).  Just lend him your suit."  Juan, who was himself a matador, was hired to perform as my double, should I choose to use him, but Costello was the boss and was so adamant that I decided to listen to his advice.  I will always be indebted to him for this decision and I might add, that before, during and after the shoot, Bill became one of my dearest friends and is to this day. 

          The suit we used for all of the Colt 45 spots was made of a special material which would catch the light and assist the camera man for the desired look.  On several occasions, Juan asked me if he could have the suit after we finished shooting the commercial, but each time, I regretfully had to tell him that I didn't have the authority to give the suit to him.  Although he was none too happy, he appreciated my position.

          The day of the shoot was very windy, so much so that the matador had to wet down the cape in order to maintain control of it, while working the bull close to the table.  In those early days, we always had a tablecloth on the Colt 45' standard table.  Neither the matador nor Juan nor anyone for that matter could have foreseen what was about to happen. 

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          Everything started out perfectly, with the passes working and the bull moving ever closer to the table.  Suddenly the bull veered off like he was on a mission and he was, hitting the table and Juan, sending him and everything crashing against the wall.  Ole Mackerel!  All hell broke loose!  Obviously the bull had not been given script approval and had now chosen to re-write a few things and give us all his version of how this commercial should be done.  Several aficionados who had been sitting on the wall observing the filming now sprung into action and jumped into the ring to divert the bull from doing any more harm to poor Juan.  In retrospect, there was some humor in all of this melee.  I am not lessening the seriousness of this situation, but when these guys leapt into the fray with diversion being their purpose, I was watching a Mexican version of the Keystone Cops, complete with prat falls and helter-skelter movement in a comical slapstick manner.  I thought of the famous running of the bulls in Spain, but this was more like the dodging of the bull in Mexico.  Later on, we figured that a gust of wind must have caused the tablecloth to flutter, therefore catching the bull's eye and making him do his thing.

          Fortunately, the table acted as a form of shield protecting Juan from serious injury and he was able to walk away uninjured.  I might add, he walked directly over to me and said, "Senior, I think I have earned the suit".  Without hesitation, I replied,  "It's yours',  man!"  He walked away happy, not realizing that the rear end of the pants had been torn out by El Toro!  With all of the aficionados present, the code of the matadors applied and Juan, in order to save his honor, had to do it again - thankfully this time without mishap.

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          I flew back to Toronto and there was a message waiting for me to fly directly to New York - somewhat puzzling, but off I went.  The powers that be at National Brewing had come up with a brainwave. We recreated the bullfight scene in a studio, with the table overturned, my suit dusted up, and me looking dishevelled.  On cue, I got up off the floor, set the table upright and a hand (which represented Jose our matador), came in and delivered the Colt 45 can and glass.  I poured my brew, took a sip and showed great satisfaction!  The scene cut in perfectly with the actual arena shots.  And that's no bull!

HOTEL

          Once again, we returned to the Twentieth Century Fox backlot to shoot the big hotel scene with Redd Foxx (Sanford and Son), who was to make a guest appearance on this spot.  The brewery had supplied a rented Cadillac to get me around while I was in Los Angeles taping the Hotel spot.  They called me the night before taping and asked a favor, if I would pick up Redd in the morning as it was on my way to the studio.  I agreed and phoned him to arrange where and when.  On picking our star up at 6:00 a.m., we exchanged the usual social amenities and he remarked that he had watched the commercials for years and how much he enjoyed them.  He was really hyped up about appearing in this new one and we got along famously.  As we drove along, I started to notice other cars pulling alongside, yelling and waving at my esteemed passenger.  At stop lights, the same scene was repeated with folks showing their adoration for this man - a guy who had worked hard, had taken the knocks and found success in a tough industry.  Redd was courteous in his acknowledgment of these 

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many accolades directed his way.  He would wave and respond with lines to the ladies, like, "Hey babe" and,  "What are you doin' with your fine self today?"  I was having the time of my life and was indeed playing chauffeur to a king in the eyes of his people. 

          On breaks, I would wander around this huge area and find myself in an absolute wonderland of memories.  Houses, buildings, sets and streets of television shows and movies I viewed in my youth were still there, albeit over-run with weeds and bleached from years of exposure under the constant California sun.  Being a movie and television buff, I recognized the house that was used for the TV series, "Father Knows Best", which I had watched faithfully.  On turning a corner, there was an old city street complete with buildings depicting New York's lower east side in the 30's, with fire escapes on tenement buildings, store fronts, etc.  One could almost imagine James Cagney as a gangster, shooting it out with the flatfoots of the day and biting the dust in his own way.  It was absolutely enchanting for me, but sad at the same time.  There before me were the sets and settings of adventures, laughs and scenes I had enjoyed, fading away with disinterest and lack of care.  They would all become history and disintegrate in time, except for the memories - they will always be mine.

          Upon arrival on the set, we were told that because of technical difficulties, everything would be delayed for several hours.  I cannot remember when it hasn't been the proverbial, "Hurry up and wait" in this business.  During our wait, I met one of the guys who was playing a non-speaking part in the filming, 

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referred to as silent-on-camera (SOC).  His  name was Larry Hovis who was a support player or second banana just like me, to Bob Crane in Hogan's Heroes.  The guy was also a writer of several successful television series and had an extremely quick wit as I was soon to find out.  He was merely doing this gig to pick up a few extra bucks as we all do when the opportunity prevails.  Absolutely nothing was accomplished that day, but the technical problems were corrected and we were released and told that we would start early the next day.

          In the morning, I didn't have to pick Redd up as the brewery had delivered a spanking new Mercedes (also rented) for his personal use.  When we all arrived on the backlot, there was no parking problem at all.  As these backlots were cities and towns unto themselves with houses, buildings and asphalt streets with cement curbs for various permanent sets in filming projects.  You could park anywhere and any time without the threat of their version of our own infamous 'Green Hornets' to tag and tow in their fiendish glee.

          On yet another break, Larry and I took a stroll through this wonderland of memories just yackin' and trading stories of various shows we had done.  As we turned a particular corner which was quite out of the way off the main Hotel set, we saw Redd's Mercedes parked on the street.  He was inside the car but definitely not alone.  Seated beside him was an absolutely gorgeous young lady I would estimate to be in her early twenties and we knew damn well it was not his daughter.  At this point, Larry decided to have a little fun at Redd's expense.  As we approached the car, Larry leaned down and tapped on the glass.  Foxx lowered the window and said, "What do ya want?" and Larry 

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replied, "I'm sorry buddy, but you're in a no-parking zone, you'll have to move the vehicle."  Upon hearing this, Redd Foxx reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a 45-revolver.  Pointing it right at Larry's face, he said, "What did you say boy?" and without a three-second lapse, Larry jumped right in with, "...and just how fast was that white son-of-a-bitch going when he backed into you."  We all shared a great laugh, and as come-back lines go, I've never witnessed Larry's equal.  Meanwhile back at the hotel.

          The idea here was for Redd Foxx to come outside from the hotel structure with a six-pack of Colt 45 in his hand, slam the front door of the hotel shut which would start the action in what turned out to be a very spectacular shot.  I was seated as usual, at my trusty table, outside the hotel, awaiting the inevitable mayhem to follow.  On the slamming of the door by Redd, the whole front of the building was to fall directly down on me.  The only way to survive the weight of a falling wall from crushing me, was by very precise positioning.  The table and chair had to be placed exactly on the spot where the top floor window would land, allowing enough space to clear me, but shattering all around my apprehensive self. 

          In so many of these commercials, my back was toward the action.  This always added to the tension of each scene for me, not being able to see what was happening, eliminating any chance to make a move if I saw a problem about to happen.  In 'Hotel', I will never forget the palpitations that enveloped me as soon as the director yelled, "Action" and Redd slammed the door!  For a fraction of a second, there was complete silence 

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and then came the creaking and groaning of a very large mass of building beginning to fall in my direction.  At that point, the floor started vibrating ever so slightly under my feet, prodding the mind to have a field day with foreboding thoughts.  What if the hinges on the bottom of the wall broke?  What if the alignment was wrong?  What if a gust of wind came along and caused the wall to veer off?  What the hell was I doing here?  I was about to think of a few more disasters when a loud bang accompanied by the floor shaking violently interrupted my worry mode.  The wall had landed.  The table was in tact, as was the chair, and more importantly, so was I.  Another commercial was in the can (no pun intended), with no one hurt only because of the planning and care that was taken on every shoot.  This was one of the few times when they didn't do a back-up shot.  They had three cameras rolling at all times so they were covered completely.  It was just fine with me because I had completely run out of palpitations!

UNDERWATER

          It was very interesting as to the variety of locations where you would find me trying to get my beer. For instance, I'd been found in a bullring, on an airport runway, a beach being attacked by soldiers, floating down rapids and now I would be completely immersed in ocean water.  Hey!  It's a living!

          To begin with, this commercial was never shot in the ocean per se, but through the art of editing great underwater shots of moray eels, manta rays and other assorted sea life, they managed to give the illusion of the briny deep.  It was basically shot in a very large, deep swimming pool on an estate outside

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 of  New York City.  In order to prepare for this particular scene, I had to spend a full day with scuba gear, just swimming around underwater trying to acclimatize myself to being completely immersed in water for long periods of time.  What wasn't revealed was that I wouldn't have the security of a scuba tank, but was instructed to hold my breath for as long as the lungs could hold out, allowing the camera man time to get his underwater shots.  At that moment, a professional diver, with his oxygen tanks in place, would swim quickly over to me, with a hose from a tank of oxygen which was sitting up on the poolside.  He would only come when I gave the signal that a replenishing of breath was sorely needed.  Instructions on how to get the oxygen hose into my mouth without swallowing water, came in mighty handy, but it still proved to be an unpleasant and tricky business.

          The plan was for me to be seated on the (ocean) floor of the pool, in my business suit, awaiting the delivery of my treat.  In order to stay submerged, I had over forty pounds of weights distributed all over my body with two lead belts around my waist, which were supposed to drop off with one pull should the need arise.  Also, lead weights were placed in my pockets and shoes so that when entering the water, I sunk like the proverbial stone.  When seated at my underwater table, the camera man would swim by with his assistant guiding him toward me from the right.  As he passed by my face, the direction was for me to look down to my left, at which time I would be just about out of air and would then signal my soggy saviour with the oxygen hose to get to me fast.  It also served as the cue to stop filming.  Later on in the studio, they would edit in a shot of a moray eel looking very fiercely up at me, while I appeared cool, calm and collected.  On another pass, I would look up and the edit would be a

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Manta ray.  But on the third pass, I had run out of air and the camera man got tangled up with my life supply of oxygen!  Now the unflinchable me had only one thing prevalent on my mind -survival - for it was abundantly clear that the man with the survival kit of oxygen was not going to make it to me in time.  I immediately grabbed for the "foolproof" latch that would release the leaded belts.  Surprise!  It didn't work.  Desperately trying to reach the surface, the table and glass were kicked away, but the weights held me down.  I figured my time was up, but I didn't intend to go without every fibre of my being trying to make it.  I simply couldn't.  All of a sudden, two great arms were thrown around me, pulling me to the surface.  One of the crew saw the problem and as usual with crew people, he just dove in and grabbed me.  Fortunately, he was a big burly guy and had the strength to save the day and more importantly, me!  Needless to say, I'll always be indebted to this man who did what he felt he had to do.  After taking the rest of the day off, we resumed the shoot the next morning and got the final scenes without any further mishaps. 

COLT  45  LADIES

          In most of the commercials we filmed, the appearance of beautiful young ladies was a pleasant diversion from the ever mounting danger about to occur and placing my life in jeopardy!  But as Mr. Cool, the focus had to be on one thing only and that was getting that adult beverage, come hell or high water.  To date, I had survived unbelievable events of life-threatening proportions, which showed my unswerving devotion in getting that beer!  I thought I had 

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shown great intestinal fortitude in  ignoring horrendous pressures thrust upon me in an effort to dissuade me from acknowledging my lady guests.  (Possibly there was a temperance movement afoot.)  Ignoring these damsels, I was forced to muster up all of my reserves and call upon any and all acting abilities I possessed to appear unaffected by their charming presence.  To any man, this would be courage beyond the call of duty.  Acting can be hell sometimes.

          As a man, I can honestly say that I had never had the desire to be on the pages of "Playboy" magazine, but as the following picture will prove, I managed to do it.  Now that's a "completely unique experience" !

BEACH

          This little bit of daring-do was shot on a beach outside of New York City.  I firmly believe that the writers of these Colt commercials worked overtime on this one and it proved a winner "big time" in our industry.

          Seated at my favourite table, alone on a beach, a long camera shot was taken from a hundred yards off shore, establishing the secluded and tranquil scene.  Suddenly, inexplicably, bombs started exploding all around me, some as close as fifteen feet.  The obvious sounds of the explosions, orange flashes and black smoke did indeed give the impression that I had inadvertently chosen a section of the beach which, for whatever reason, was now under full military attack.  Obviously this was not the place to relax and enjoy a nice, quiet beer.  A military landing craft now appeared from the ocean,  loaded

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with about thirty Marines, fully armed and definitely on a mission.  As the amphibious craft hit the beach, the soldiers, in true Marine fashion, leapt into the water, rifles at the ready and proceeded to charge in my direction, with the bombs still doing their thing.  I've heard of invasion of privacy, but this was bloody ridiculous! 

          As usual, my Colt 45 character had to maintain his no blinking, cool guy self, no matter what. But there was an unforeseen side effect of the explosions that had to be dealt with in order to keep the unflappable appearance intact.  The bombs were actually gun powder charges placed under the sand and set off with an electronic device.  It was one thing to brace yourself for the sound without blinking, but the blasts threw sand everywhere, especially at my eyes.  But the director insisted on taking a close-up shot.  Get real!  I defy anyone to abstain from blinking when sand is thrown in your face.  A simple solution was found when I suggested he merely shoot the scene further away, where the blinking would not be noticed.  Who would notice?  I had become the focal point of a war and hadn't said a nasty word to anyone!

          Our small army was made up of college kids who had the time of their lives playing war games for two days and getting paid for it.  The beer was delivered in a very novel way to tag off the commercial by using a professional surfer dressed in a waiter's uniform, riding the crest of a wave onto the shore, with tray, can and glass in hand, to make delivery.  After two days and seemingly countless takes, we had a finished commercial.  When I mentioned "big time", I meant it.  At the American Television Commercial Festival in New York, our spot called "Beach" won a CLIO for the Best Wines & Beers Category.  In the field of television commercials, the CLIO Award is the equivalent of the movie industry's Oscar.  In this case, war wasn't hell.

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LOG   JAM

          This commercial took the longest time to shoot as we spent nine days at a logging camp in Oregon amidst some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.  The shoot was lengthy because of the technical planning involved in the filming and I would need even more nerves of steel to get through this one.

          The premise was for me to be found on a raft caught in a log jam.  In order to free me from this obstacle, I would have to be blasted loose by the use of dynamite.  After that not-too-encouraging deed was done, the raft would be free to float away, travelling through treacherous rapids and come to an abrupt stop at the top of a 125' waterfall where the beer would be delivered.  Now one might wonder, is this guy nuts and having pondered this question time and time again over the years, an obvious conclusion has been realized - yes, I probably was!

          A dummy (no jokes please) representing me, was placed on the raft amidst a number of logs.  Now the explosives expert showed his expertise by placing the dynamite charges in such a way that when the blast occurred, logs and debris flew 100' in the air, but my dummy double hardly moved.  Naturally the scene was shot a safe distance away and you couldn't tell that it wasn't me.  It was absolutely sensational to witness and it worked.  Now it was my turn.

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          The whole set was built again and placed in the water just a short distance from where the rapids began.  A dynamite blast was to go off 75 yards behind me, adding to the spectacle of danger.  Taking my place on the raft, the director informed me that the shot would be a medium close-up, which meant that if blinking occurred, it would be detected.  With the smoke and debris flying all around me, it would look as if I was actually right in the middle of the explosion.  In order to prepare me for the noise, (hence no blinking), they placed a charge of four sticks of dynamite, and, with a countdown, set off the charge so that I could gear myself for the noise.  We did this a couple of times and finally I said, "Okay, let's go for it."   Everything was set, the countdown began and here's where the director played a bit of a dirty trick.  Unbeknownst to me, he had the explosives expert make a much larger charge, to increase the drama for our adventure.  After the blast, branches started falling all around me.  At this stage, I started wondering, did any big logs get thrown my way and would one find its mark - me!   At the end of the scene, the director and I exchanged a few "pleasantries", if you get my meaning.

          Now it was time for the raft to float free with the current, heading for the rapids with me aboard.  This was accomplished by tying a rope to the raft with 15 feet of slack which would stop me just before hitting the rapids and a stunt man would sit in for me and ride the rapids.  I could only hope that whoever tied the knot had some Boy Scout training in tying knots and was doing his good deed for the day.   When the raft was halted, I would get off and a stunt man would get on.  The stunt man used to ride the rapids, wore an inflatable life jacket hidden under his duplicate Colt 45 suit, just in case and I'm happy to say that the life jacket was not needed and remained deflated.

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          Now the coup de grace of the spot.  The raft had lodged on rocks at the very top of the falls while another stunt man wearing a waiter's outfit, walked a tightrope which was stretched across the river, right over my head.  With tray in hand, holding the can and a glass, he inched his way toward me to make the delivery, but halfway across, he stopped dead in his tracks and started to waiver on the rope.  My heart leapt to my throat for it became frighteningly clear that this guy was going to fall and be swept away, plunging 125' to the bottom of the falls and sure death.  He let the tray go and nimbly grabbed the tightrope, making sure that his legs and feet were kept high enough so that the fast current of the river didn't suck him into the rapids and over the falls.  All of his years of training and experience came to the fore and saved his life.  I was the fearless Colt 45 guy, but that day, he was the unflappable Mr. Cool.  As real pros do, he did it again, flawlessly and we had ourselves yet another exciting commercial. 

 MOON   LANDING

          The Moon Landing commercial presented another quite unforeseen dilemma because it was shot somewhere in New York State.  There is a purpose as to why I am being so vague about the exact location, which will be explained as the story unfolds.

          The chosen place turned out to be a very restricted military area where they were testing moon vehicles. These vehicles would eventually be used when the Buck Rogers Bunch would indeed find out if all those stories about

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the moon being nothing but a huge ball of green cheese were true or not -- in other words, the soon to be attempted "Moon Mission."   The ready-made set was created for these machines to be tested as to their manoeuvrability over the man-made moonscape.  On arrival, the authorities stopped me cold in my tracks because being a Canadian, I was considered an alien.  They were actually very nice, but extremely adamant about me not being allowed to see their "secret place".  Even at this telling, I am cautious about pinpointing the exact location just in case I'm on a 'watch him'  list somewhere.  After many, many phone calls, faxes, interrogations, suspicious glares and just plain negotiations, I was finally allowed to enter the sacred ground, but with more than just a couple of Dudley-Do-Rights watching my every move.  In all fairness, they were just doing their job because world tensions were on the rise.

          On every one of our commercials, I had to wear the standard Colt 45 suit because that was my image for the product.  But on this shoot, it proved to be completely inadequate in terms of protection from the elements.  It was bitterly cold on this landscape and it was being shot in the very early morning hours,  before sunrise.  All the stores were closed, so thermal underwear was unattainable.  It was one of those unfortunate oversights that can happen on occasion.  But what the hell, that shouldn't have any effect on Mr. Macho, who braves all discomforts.  I can't believe I just said that because it's a crock of you-know-what.  I was freezing my buns off!  The problem was a visual one as well, because I had to sit there until that magic can of beer arrived by means of our Star Wars Beermobile.  When it did arrive, I would show the inevitable smile of 

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smile of satisfaction, fill the glass and take a sip, but with the temperature hovering at 15 degrees Fahrenheit, the vapor from my breathing showed which would obviously upstage the product.  The director had a simple solution and suggested that I just hold my breath and not breathe.  It would be reminiscent of my ordeal with the  "Underwater"  spot.  It was easy for him to say in the comfort of a giant igloo-size Parka.  Actually, it was the only solution and I did just that, desperately struggling to look calm and relaxed, despite my location and surroundings, with my fingers feeling like popsicles.  It seemed forever for their test moon vehicle to arrive with my beer and we finished this spot.  I remember thinking, why don't you guys put some after-burners on that moon-travelling sucker and really make it move.  I was a very happy and extremely cold fella when I finally did hear those overdue words - "that's a wrap."

          The timing couldn't have been better for our Moon commercial.  It was released one month before Neil Armstrong was able to say those famous words  ... "That's one small step for man.  One giant leap for mankind."  I would add, one sensational coup for Colt 45 Malt Liquor.

TIMBER

          Timberrrrrrr !   A fitting word for our next little foray into adventure via  "Coltdom Land".  Now we found ourselves in the pinewood forests of Camden, South Carolina, on a reforestation conservation area of seemingly countless acreage.  The premise on this one would be for fearless me to retain my expected cool while a huge pine tree was felled, crashing down and just missing me.  There would be three trees felled in order to obtain 

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some very dramatic footage of the event.  Being a camper and tree lover from way back, I was very saddened that three of these magnificent trees were about to be relegated to the big forest in the sky merely for a commercial.  Happily, I was informed that the three trees chosen were nature doomed and were going to be timberized because of some insect blight.  Good news for me and now all that had to be done was 'duck 'em.  The accuracy of the foresters was uncanny.  By using their measuring devices and expertise, they were able to determine within three feet as to where the huge tree would land, once cut.  Three feet is very good, but not good enough for our meticulous director.  In order to get the full effect of the danger involved, the tree would have to miss me by no more than one foot!  To accomplish this feat, a thirty-foot section was cut from the top down and using a crane, lifted fifteen feet in the air.  The director was quite happy to shoot the scene immediately, but my desire for survival prevailed and I requested that I witness the drop from a safe distance.  The table and chair were in place, minus yours truly as I watched the crane operator drop the log three times successfully and figured it was as safe as I could hope for.  I told the crane operator that if the drop was right, (with me in there), I would buy him a six-pack of our product.  This was probably the best negotiating of my life - literally.  The man knew his business and we eventually got our shot in four takes.

          The delivery of the beer and the opening of the can turned out to be quite novel.  At this point, we borrowed a page of history with a pinch of Disneyland thrown in.  The beer and glass were delivered by a huge fellow, a local football lineman, dressed in a costume right out of Sherwood Forest. 

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      On delivery, he pulled up the little tab on the can, but didn't completely remove it, then stood aside.   At this point, a fellow appeared from behind a lofty pine, armed with bow and arrow at the ready.  Lo' and behold, it was the leader of all the Merry Men himself, Robin Hood, or at least a reasonable facsimile.  He quickly released the arrow which flew straight and true to lift the tab right off the can, allowing me the freedom to pour the beer into the glass and enjoy my reward and a page of history was relived, however far-fetched.

HAUNTED   HOUSE

          Spooky time in Colt-land!  We found ourselves just outside London, England, somewhere on the Thames River.  An old mansion had been found, which was a perfect setting for what was to follow.  The scene began with me arriving at the estate, complete with man-made fog surrounding the area.  Driving my Astin-Martin, (rented dammit!), I asked a constable  (Bobby)  for directions to my destination.  He pointed to a road and obviously scared out of his wits, ran off.  He must have known something that I didn't.  Now the fun began, so join me on my stroll.

          As I approached the massive doors of this mansion, I reached for the door handle, but just before touching it, the door opened on its own, which served as a foreboding invitation to enter.  The first adversary to be faced was a medieval suit of armour, complete with a poised battle axe.  Strolling along, I was directed to stop on a pre-marked spot whereby the axe would suddenly fall, just missing me.  By overshooting my mark fractionally on the first take, the falling axe took the button off my jacket.  That little mistake would not be 

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repeated, because after all, we didn't have a replacement for me and even more importantly, there was just one suit!   After a fast repair job, I continued to proceed into the dining room where there was a confrontation with a dazzling damsel shown in a translucent manner to give her a ghostly appearance.  She was giving me the 'come hither' look, but to no avail because my sole mission was obtaining my brew of brews.  Continuing my intrusion of the mansion, I noticed the heavy accumulation of dust and cobwebs to substantiate the message of, "There ain't nobody home but us ghosts."

          Finally I found myself at a table seated beside a portrait of a medieval character  complete with wig and in the costume of that era.  Suddenly the portrait moved, revealing a hidden space where a hand came out and delivered the beer.  The portrait then returned to its original position and the character came alive and shared with me that wonderful and required smile of mission accomplished. On looking back after my visit to the haunted house, I realized that our beer wasn't the only thing that contained spirits !

NAIROBI   TRIO

          This particular commercial was certainly the least dangerous of any of our previous efforts.  Years ago, the great comic Ernie Kovacs created a comedic three-member gorilla band, using as their signature song an obscure George Gershwin tune entitled "Solfaggio".  The rights to use this music were purchased by Kovacs, who at that time was married to a talented young lady by the name of Edie Adams.  Sadly, he was killed in a car crash on one of the Los Angeles freeways.

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          A number of years after Ernie's death, one of the writers connected with the brewery thought that "Solfaggio" would be a great theme song for our commercials.  It proved to be a perfect choice and definitely scored with the public. Our spots became a very popular series of commercials, but a little problem arose which had to be addressed for it seemed that no one had bothered to get the musical rights cleared.

        
        Edie was of course in charge of Ernie's estate and in fairness, a settlement had to be made in order to continue using the music.  An agreement was reached and at Edie's request, a promise from the client to resurrect the "Nairobi Trio" for one spot in memory of Ernie, in which she would play his part in the band, at the piano.  She wore the gorilla outfit and the end result was a very successful commercial and all were happy campers!  I would like to think that maybe Mr. Kovacs was smilin' too, somewhere.

HOCKEY

          Originally, this spot was supposed to be called "Ski Chute."  Our whole team of people were flown out to Whistler's Mountain in British Columbia.  The plot was for a stunt skier to ski down a mountain and deliberately sail off a cliff into mid-air, linger for a moment or two, then pull the ripcord of his parachute and gently float down to earth to make his delivery of my elixir of the gods.  It would have been a spectacular sight, but alas the gods of the elements had a different idea.  We spent three days being transported up and down the mountain, but to no avail because the pea soup fog simply would not let up and a terrific idea had to be scrapped.

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          Now you'll have to remember that we were brewery guys and did not discourage easily, in order to maintain our B.S. macho image.  We came to shoot a commercial and by Billy-be-doggone bantry, that's all there was to it.  And why shouldn't we?  We had the suit, we had me, and we were in Canada.  What better place to have a hockey game.  Arrangements were made to hire two local amateur hockey teams and we were on our way to salvaging the gig. The teams consisted of guys who just loved getting together, perhaps to relive their youth or for whatever reason.  There was a doctor, a few real estate guys, insurance guys and generally a mishmash of different vocations who made up the players.  All of these fellas played as if the Stanley Cup was on the line and we got some wonderful closeups of fights, bumps, body checks and just plain rough shod hockey.  As they went through their various collisions, they kept yelling to each other, "Watch the timber boys" meaning this is fun, but nobody gets hurt.  It was great.  Here I was watching a fight when a hockey game broke out!  After the taping, they all refused to take money for their efforts, but requested to try our product to their hearts' content at the wrap party.  We still have not ascertained which form of payment would have been cheaper!

          Some of the better shooters were asked to blast a few pucks in my direction, being sure to miss this wacky guy (me), who just happened to be sitting in the goal crease awaiting you know what.  I got a pretty good feeling of how a goalie must feel when he sees a hard rubber sphere whizzing at him at ninety miles an hour.  Whenever the puck was meant 

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to make a very near miss past my nose, someone would merely stand off-camera and toss it by me.  With ingenuity and a lot of determination, we ended up with yet another entertaining commercial.

ELEPHANT

          It seems only fitting that the animal kingdom should not be excluded from all of our silly shenanigans.  I presume that some of the animals knew that the guy sitting at the table was probably friendly and a few decided to say hello to break his boredom of waiting for the brew's arrival.

          The first visitor was a dove, trained to land on my shoulder, from off-camera, seemingly to ask directions to wherever, whereby I produced a compass to assist the bird in reaching its destination.  In appreciation of my kindness, the dove promptly relieved itself on my shoulder, which to my knowledge was not in the script!  The crew thought this was the funniest thing they had seen since Laurel and Hardy did their thing.  Even I had to break character and join in the laughter.  After a fast cleaning job, we shot the scene again, knowing that on take two we were relatively safe from an encore performance from the dove, which was a 'relief' for me as well as the bird, if you get my meaning.

          Next, a very large sheep dog put his front paws on the table.  I assumed he wanted to know what time it was.  No problem, I merely showed him my watch and he trotted off to do whatever dogs do after a trot off.  Now I ask you, what commercial featuring animals could possibly forget the lovable lumbering elephant.  I can attest to the fact that he most assuredly made his presence known.

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          On this shoot, we had a director who was suffering from an acute attack of Cecil B. DeMille illusions of grandeur.  The fact that we were filming at an outdoor cafe quite naturally drew an audience of passers-by who were curious as to what great epic was being filmed.  A number of directors I have worked with were former actors who could not quite hack it and as they ventured into the field of directing, they most certainly took their egos with them.  This guy was a classic example of egomania.  He wallowed in the attention of the audience and with great gusto, he was shouting commands to let everyone know that he indeed was in charge, all the while savouring his delicious directorial dynasty.

          When it came time for the elephant to enter the scene and amble through the set on the cue of our director, the animal, despite the proddings of his trainer, refused to budge.  Three times our director gave the action command and three times, the elephant refused.  I don't know what possessed me, but I walked up to the beast and said in a loud voice "UMGOWA-CANALAHKA-GOOMBA".  I remembered these words from an old Tarzan movie starring Johnny Weissmuller when I was a kid because when he said it, things happened!  It simply stuck in my brain and I figured, what the hell, what have we got to lose!  As soon as I bellowed these words, the animal relieved himself with a vengeance, and this definitely could not be confused with chihuahua droppings. The watching audience and the crew immediately broke into gales 

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of  laughter, much to the chagrin of our director.  After that, there were no more problems moving the elephant, forgive the expression!  However, we had not heard the last of our not-so-little friend!

          It is common knowledge that elephants love peanuts and our ponderous pachyderm was no exception.  He entered the scene and sauntered up to the table, ala the script, obviously asking "Where the hell are the peanuts?"  Knowing this, I merely pointed in the direction of a peanut dispenser, which magically happened to be close by.  I reckoned he deserved his treat, along with me, for the huge contribution he had made during our last scene.  Elephants being elephants usually do what they want to do when their mind is set on munchies.  Despite the request of the director, Jumbo headed for the goodies machine, completely ignoring the table, chair and especially me!  Everything went helter skelter since nothing was going to stand in the way of his treat trek, much to the further delight of the crew.  If nothing else, the guys put in a full day of laughs and in retrospect, so did I.  Unfortunately, our Cecil B. DeMille was not laughing, but he deserves credit for one thing.  If you're going to allow yourself to be upstaged by something, make it a big something!

RUBE  GOLDBERG

          The term  "Rube Goldberg"  refers to a man who, at the turn of the century, was famous as a creator of extremely intricate diagrams of contraptions, designed to effect relatively simple results, so says the American Heritage Dictionary.  This spot would fall well into that description.  Although there was no danger involved in this shoot, it was still a fascinating combination of little things making bigger things all 

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move with a domino effect, to attain our principal result, that being the not so simple delivery of that wonderful beverage so important to 
Mr. Colt 45.

          We must have done something right because a copy of this commercial is now in the Smithsonian Institute in New York.  Fortunately for us, the Smithsonian found it to be  "a completely unique experience".

SKI   JUMP

          Sad to say that  "Ski Jump"  was the last Colt 45 commercial shot using the same premise.  It was also the second time that Redd Foxx and I worked together and what better company to tag it off.

          The location was Squaw Valley and the plot was for me to be seated at the table, at the bottom of a ski jump, which was the landing area for the jumpers. They had this great idea of having a car come down the ski jump, supposedly with Redd in the driver's seat, bringing me my brew.  It of course would not be Mr. Foxx driving the car, but a Hollywood stunt man doing the honors.  He had already negotiated his fee for the jump, but at the last minute, he backed off and quit.  I never did find out why, but would guess that the stunt was too dangerous and who could blame him.  Well, what do we do now?  We had the car, the cast and one great big ski jump with no driver.   But we were not men who were easily discouraged.  It was time for drastic action and out of desperation, that's exactly what we did -- putting a dummy behind the wheel of the car and sending it down the ski jump driverless, we were going for broke 

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because obviously we had  no choice.  Three cameras were set up to cover all angles because this was going to be a one-take gamble.  Miraculously, the car stayed on the ski jump all the way down to the take-off point and became airborne.  It soared beautifully and I'll be damned if the thing didn't make a perfect four point landing on the hill and stayed upright!  Unbelievably our goosebump gamble paid off and we were well on our way to a sensational commercial. After retrieving our victorious vehicle, Redd got in and drove it up to my table for the beer delivery. I'm sure they're still talking about that one!

          One of the other scenes to be shot was the inevitable appearance of a beautiful young lady, who was supposed to ski up to my table, give me an inviting look, which of course, would be ignored, then she was to continue skiing down the hill out of camera shot.  A number of very attractive ladies had auditioned in Los Angeles for this part and this gal was chosen for her beauty and skiing ability.  But another little setback was about to burst our bubble.  Upon arrival at Squaw Valley, this lady announced that she had never been on skis in her life, which opened up more than a can of beer!  She was quickly informed that this kind of no-no was frowned upon and she would be ill-advised to stick around. In other words, she was told to bugger off by the director in language that left no doubt that she was in disfavor.  A lesson I learned early in my career was, don't ever say you can do something that you can't.  This little setback turned out to be just that - little - because one of the waitresses in the lodge was a ski whiz and it didn't hurt that she was one fine looking lady.  She was hired on the spot and we finished the last beer commercial of that wonderful series.   All performers love to hear the term  "Okay, that's a wrap" at the end of a shoot.  This time, it had a sad finality about it.

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          Because Redd Foxx was in our entourage, we were afforded the real VIP treatment when pre-boarding the plane for the flight back to Los Angeles.  As we sat there in our very posh first-class surroundings, they finally started to board the economy passengers.  As they entered the plane, on their way to the economy seating, they had to pass by us.  Now it was time for Redd to have some fun at their expense.  Everyone who boarded the plane seemed to be Caucasian and Foxx, in that raspy wonderful voice kept saying, loud and clear, "Okay, my turn, back of the bus, keep movin', back of the bus."  He was enjoying himself immensely!