The Day (Originally Published 6 Mar 2008)

Current mood:depressed

I finished up my entry on Lappy, making sure it was saved correctly both on the computer itself and the floppy disc.  I got off of my newly made bed, went out to the laundry room and moved my wet clothes from the washing machine into the dryer and, passing my psycho-mate in the kitchen ironing his shirt for work (thank the gods he'll be out of the flat), made my way out of the penthouse.  I first went out on the porch in order to check the weather.  Living on the island makes me skeptical of the weather reports, it's usually either much warmer or colder than whatever's reported.  It was chillier but I decided on a hoodie and a denim jacket, warm enough if I stay in the sun that is rising earlier and setting later recently, signaling the onset of spring although the winter wasn't really all that wintry.  The fact that I was on the boardwalk this past November, December and January in nothing more than a T-shirt many days throughout those months is testament to the mild winter season.  Just wearing a T-shirt was not for today, though and I grabbed my sunglasses and off I went down the steps and through the front door, feeling the slight chill in the wind blowing through the city. 

I made my way up my street, noticing the beautiful clouds in the sky and the bright sunshine that warmed my skin, and found my way to Brittany's Café to see Nina and talk to her about her "appearance" at the Westside and my Café.  It was busy when I got there, people at nearly every table and along the counter but my usual table was available and I sat, contemplating the menu.  Nina was gushing and told me to order anything off the menu, to "go wild", it was in her appreciation of the show on Friday.  She was also generous with the compliments, making me blush in front of the patrons, who were curiously trying to figure what we were taking about.  I ordered the pastrami Rueben off the "specials" menu and had my coffee and tomato juice, everything was delicious, and when I went to leave, she would not take my money, keeping true to her word. 

I left there after saying a heartfelt "thank you" and went down Ventnor Avenue to see Becky and say "hullo" to the staff in the flower shop. Becky wasn't there, she was at the Atlantic City Public Library teaching "the old ladies" as they put it.  I took the advantage and jumped on the computer to update my Café while Jack replaced the few missing tiles in the floor of the shop.  Becky came in, we talked a bit, and I decided to take my constitutional through the city to enjoy the day.  I made it to my "addiction centre" and purchased my fix of warm, fresh pretzels.  Gods, they are good.  I picked up some for me mates at the shop as well.  I figured that misery loves company, let them get addicted, too!  Or, think of it this way, my mother taught me to share, I'm only following her teaching.  It was colder than I liked and the wind was blowing in my direction and I decided to take the route through Caesars' casino and wait for a jitney bus.  I got off at Trenton Avenue and wandered up the street, looking to my right at the parking lot that's there now.  It used to be the Atlantic City High School and I was trying to remember what it looked like from this end, which was where the back entrances were.  I didn't spend too much time outside the school, I was almost always either in class, the library or, truth be told, hung over from being out in the Studio Six the evening before.  There were also those study hall periods that we did Quaaludes.  Hey, it was the (decade deleted to protect State Secret 327d: Mortimer's Age by order of the Velvet Mafia). Each decade had its drug of choice, Quaaludes were wonderful things back in the day.   

I got back to the flower shop and delivered the goods and then went home to rest, get some grub and then go to the gym. 

I got everything together for the gym, my head, primarily, to argue with them about my membership woes.  As I was making my way down the steps from the penthouse, I realized I forgot my bus fare and, since I was running late, it would take too long to go back upstairs, all the way back to my room and get the necessary change. So, I decided to nix the gym and I did a few things around the penthouse for "THE RETURN OF CHUNKIE!" on the 'morrow. 

The time came to go to work, I got myself together and walked down to the jitney stop and got off at Caesars walking through the shops along the edge of The Walk, the outdoor mall in the middle of the city.  It wasn't until I got to the Convention Center that I realized how windy it was, the maritime flags that line the building were blowing quite fiercely, snapping in the wind and creating a loud noise drowning out everything else.  I entered the building and looked up at the atrium glass five stories above my head, where I could see myself, small and insignificant, walking along the tiled floor to the parking garage entrance, where I have to traverse to get to Bacharach Boulevard and the Westside Lounge.  Actually, where I walk used to be Arkansas Avenue, which was co-opted by the Convention Center and is now part of the building itself.  There are many areas of the city where the casinos and other projects have taken the very streets underneath our feet to expand or build their monuments to capitalism, greed or commerce (take your pick). 

I got to the club, looked over to the other side of the bar and saw this vision…this sight…this apparition that caught my eye.  It was Miss Tene and her new hair-do!  I wandered over to better admire this mane of wonder.  It was a bleached blonde homohawk that was just too fierce for words!  She explained to me that she had stopped in the bar after spending nearly the entire day getting her hair done at her hairdresser's place, which is right in the neighborhood of the Westside Lounge.  I relieved the day bartender, Ed, Miss Tene left for home, exhausted by the day of beauty, and I talked with Ed as he filled the beer coolers, preordaining my night.  I told him that I was probably going to have all the freaks out that night, those certain customers that we all cringe to see through the mantrap at the front door.  Believe me, these people can be so annoying they really make you think twice about buzzing them through the door.  We joked about that and off he went, to his home and safety.  I, on the other hand, was left to the madness of the night and the denizens that the evening brings.  The names of those that slowly came through the door, one by one, over the shift of hell that I endured, will remain nameless.  They know who they are, as do some who read this tome, and I will leave it at that. 

It seemed like a full lunar event outside with the lunatics that were in the Westside on Monday night, although I think there was no moon in the sky that evening.  It didn't matter, moon madness was in full effect and I had to take the brunt of it.  First, I inherited one of them from Ed and he was drinking our Merlot and was already two sheets to the wind and well on his way to many more.  If I had to "high five", "fist to fist" or simply shake his hand one more bloody time, I was going to cut it off. Everything he said demanded a manual punctuation point and I was the one he needed to provide it.  Then there was "B".  She came in and sat with "High Five" and proceeded to talk to me about everyone when she wasn't scheming or plotting about who-knows-what!  Later in the night, "S" came in and then I knew my night was compleat.  She of the, "I just stopped in for one drink, I have to get up early in the morning and take my daughter…" …wherever and believe me, hearing this story every time you see her and knowing that you will be shutting the bar and throwing her out, you get a bit tired of hearing her explanation/lie.  Back at the Brass Rail, "S" would come in and, since it never shut, she would still be there through my shift and well into the next.  Then there's the running dialogue she maintains THE WHOLE TIME SHE'S THERE!  It's…maddening!  Luckily she scared "B" away.  That was the only luck of the night.  There were other attendees to my luna-party; the drag queen that hates me/loves me/really hates me, the former lovers of a co-worker and the two Spanish hustlers that I thought were going to rob the place. I really felt like I was back at the aforementioned Brass Rail. 

I finally, mercifully shut the bar and didn't get out of there until well after four in the morning. 

Of course, that means I'll have no sleep for "THE RETURN OF CHUNKIE!" on the 'morrow!

As Steve Guttenberg said in that brilliant piece of celluloid, Police Academy: "Sleep is for fags!". 

Benefit To Work To Show (Originally Published 3 Mar 2008)

Current mood:depressed

I am going to a benefit tonight for an employee of Becky's from The Art of Flowers.  He has cancer and no insurance.  Unfortunately, I haven't a dime to my name and had to borrow a bit of coin for the ticket, from Becky herself, and she's the one heading the function.  Gods, I feel so ghetto!  I'll pay her tomorrow afternoon before I go to work, since after working tonight, I should have a bit of pocket change. 

I have to forgo the "gym problem" until Friday since I'll have no time to deal with it until then.  I did find a grand total of four receipts to help bolster my cause.  I remember deciding to just throw them away since, for the past two years, there had been no problem and I didn't think I'd need them cluttering up my room.  I hope they help.  I can't lose the gym right now, it's been my only solace in this bleak existence I have called a life for the last seven months.

Becky is going to E-file my taxes for me and did a quick calculation determining that I'll be getting a nice refund check from Uncle Sam. Combined with the "Economic Stimulus Check" that should be coming in May will make me Sam's bitch!  Whatever you want, Uncle baby, I'll do it for you!

The benefit was well attended and Becky raised a fair amount of much-needed money for John.  I ate two helpings of the buffet, I must admit, that was provided.  I couldn't help myself, the food was really good.  I rang the Westside Lounge and decided to go in a bit early so, I put on my denim jacket and fashionable brown overcoat and decided to walk straight there instead of going home to change, since I had put a T-shirt to wear in my shoulder bag.  The walk was a bit windy but the temperatures hadn't dropped that far yet so the trip wasn't too bad.  I got to the club and sat and chatted with Cathy, the day bartender who I love, and had a cocktail.  I got changed out of my white button-down shirt and polka-dot tie and set about to work for the evening, which was steady, if not all that profitable.

I couldn't sleep again and I was up early after shutting the club and going home just several hours before.  I did a few things around the penthouse and then went to get something to eat at Brittany's Café and talked to Nina, the waitress, about her coming to see me on Friday night for the Café.  After brunch, I went to see Becky again and give her the money I owed her for the ticket to the benefit.  I hung around the flower shop for a bit and then hopped on a jitney and went back to the club to open it up for the day.  It was slow, of course, because it's February and made even more so when the Karaoke was canceled.  Miss Patti came by and measured me for a new outfit, since my back is much bigger from working out and the material she was using for the floor-length jacket was rigid and would not stretch or give.  I went home to get some much-needed sleep since my insomnia had kept me up for days and days.

I managed to get in a full day's rest but only intermittently.  I got up and got everything together to open the Café on Friday but I had to rearrange my entire show because Patti didn't finish the jacket, which was integral to the show I had planned.  I decided the theme was now going to be "Jazz/Velvet" meaning all of my songs were in a jazz vein and my outfits were velvet or lush velour.  Most people don't realize that I almost always have a theme running through my show, sometimes it's major, like the music or outfits and sometimes it's subtle, like wearing a flower broach or a hat with each outfit.  Hey, it makes me happy so I do it.  I got to the club and began to get ready, gossiping with my guest performers and the fans that barge into the dressing room.  It was rather busy considering the weather was so miserable, with the threat of rain and snow, and the winds and chill in the air.  After spackling on the make-up, I went to begin dressing and went to put on my foundation garments realizing they were still hanging on my clothes rack in my "walk-in closet with a bed" I call my room.  Miss Patti was on her way so, I met her out in front and we dashed home, with the other drivers we went by looking at me rather curiously since I looked quite odd with a full face of drag make-up and boy clothes on.  Once back to the club, I quickly got finished getting ready and started the show, which I could tell right away was going to be a good one.  My first number was "Killer Blow" by Sade from the Absolute Beginners soundtrack.  Not really what I consider an opening number but it seemed to work and I got a great response from the crowd. 

I must confess something at this point: During the show, I do a toast for luck and drink an entire cock…tail down in one gulp.  It's a gimmick I stole from another performer of yesteryear but that's not what I am confessing.  Stealing each other's acts is a long-standing tradition in showbusiness.  Well, I noticed that I had spilled some of my drink on the dance floor as I was announcing my first guest but I thought little of it and went back to get ready for my next number.  Then it happened. Poor Alexia Love went out in a flurry of sequins and heels and WHOOSH hit the wet spot and went right down on her ass, wig flying and eyelashes shuttering!  I felt so bad, although secretly giggling because it's funny and I knew she recovered well, she is pro and it's something we all have faced at one time or another.  I didn't mention that it was my fault until now. 

Sorry Alexia, it wasn't sabotage!  Honest!

The rest of the show went off without a hitch and I finally went home when the club shut. 

The rest of the weekend was okay, not gang-busters but decent, I think everyone on the island is getting really antsy and wants this season to be done so we can get back to fleecing the shoobies and not each other.  I made an appearance at Maloney's Uptown and went home and slept all through Sunday.  That was a nice treat. 

Today: Fight with the gym and hopefully get a workout in and then work, Jose rang me up and asked me to cover his shift.  No problem.  I could use the extra shift pay.  Time to go out and about, it's a gorgeous day and I want to take advantage of it!

I just got back from Brittanys Cafe and it was so sweet, Nina took care of my check for me.  She so enjoyed what she saw of the show she just wanted to show her appreciation!  How sweet!

Can't Cut A Break (Originally Published 27 Feb 2008)

Current mood:depressed

 

I went to the gym twice yesterday.  As I have written ad infinitum in the Café, the gym has become my haven, my new obsession.  Not that I want to become one of those hulking steroid monsters you see in the WWE or in bodybuilding contests, I don't have the dedication (or madness) within me that produces that physique.  I do like that I have become a better built me, that I finally have the body I wanted to have when I was a kid (although it's still a work in progress).

Now, it seems, there's a problem with my gym membership, just when I have found the dedication to physical exercise that suits me.  The second time I went, yesterday, the desk clerk told me that I haven't renewed my membership since two thousand and six.  That's two years ago, people!  Now, I told her that I have been paying the forty dollars plus taxes (I love that they now tax our memberships.  We are trying to maintain our physical health and we get penalized for it!) each month since I signed up but, evidently, I am beginning to understand, you are supposed to pay a full membership fee each year and then the forty plus each month.  Okay, fine, that's not a problem IF I KNEW THIS THE WHOLE TIME!  It's a bit of a problem when I have no money at the moment to be paying up a membership fee for the past two years.  In addition, I have at least been paying the forty plus dollars each month but do you think I kept the receipts?  OF COURSE NOT!  So, now I am going to have to go in there today and use every ounce of my persuasive powers to either convince them that I have been paying my monthly membership fees and hopefully allow me to continue using their facilities, or to figure out a payment schedule that I can afford and…continue to use their facilities. 

Just when things were getting better… 

Coming Out Day Speech (Text)

Opening thank you and acknowledgement of the crowd and notable faces in attendance.

Thank you Travis Love, Kamal Johnson and 2nd Level Productions and the South Jersey A.I.D.S. Alliance for asking me to speak at this event. 

I was asked to come here today and speak to you about acceptance. About living openly. About living in love and not fear.


I have always known that I was gay. As a small child, I knew that I liked boys, although at that age it wasn't in a sexual manner, I mean, boys were icky. Girls were physically different from me, but I liked playing with them and all the accoutrements that come along with being feminine.

Yes, I loved to dress up, even at an early age, my sister has a photo of me at 3 years old wearing a long red wig and working it! .... and I also enjoyed playing house with my girl friends and playing Barbies with my sister. But on the other hand, I was a boy, and I did enjoy doing what my male friends liked to do as well - rough-housing, football, mud fights. BUT I didn't really THINK like the boys.

Growing up, my friends and I never really questioned that I was so different. I had always been different, and when you're exposed to different things, it is considered normal and not out of the ordinary. During our childhood, we all used the derogatory terms kids have always used - YOU'RE SO GAY, YOU'RE SUCH A FAG, YOU QUEER and so forth. We knew that they weren't nice, but we had no clue what they really meant. It wasn't until much later, when we started to mature, that the slow realization hit us.

I was gay, 

I was a fag.

I was queer.

I was this horrible thing that we had so innocently said to each other all these years.

And yet, I was their friend and I wasn't horrible. I was just me, and it was the way I had always been. It was a confusing period for all of us. But before we could work it out, my parents divorced and I moved, radically changing my neighbourhood and school.

Being thrown into a group of people who never grew up with me, and with them being faced with someone like me who was, by then, unabashedly open about being gay, I suffered a lot of hate and anger and bullying by kids who, in retrospect, did not know any better. They were just unaccustomed to being around someone like me.

As I got older and started at Atlantic City high school, it only got worse. I began to get threatened on my way to classes, and a few of the teachers used me as an example behind my back, denigrating me to my fellow classmates just on the basis of my being gay. The harassment was almost unendurable. I must admit, I contemplated revenge. I wanted them to die. I wanted to get them back and make them stop. I was desperate and hurt and confused, and my life was bleak and lonely and cold. I wanted it to stop. I did nothing to these people. I couldn't help who I was. Why were they doing this to me? Why? 

It was a dark tunnel of despair and I couldn't see the end.

Then one day during Mr. Murphy's English class, I overheard some of the students warning not to get off the Jitney at New York Ave. That's where the fags are, you'll get molested. 

I got off the jitney at New York Ave. that very day!

It was a revelation. Back then, New York Ave and the surrounding blocks were a gay Mecca, rivalling the gaybourhood in Phila or the West Village in NYC. Just wandering a few yards down the street and I saw more gay people than I had my entire life up to that point. By the time I got halfway down the block, I saw drag queens in bikinis, blonde surfer boys in tight short-shorts, a lot of men in thong Speedos, it blew my mind! There were bars and restaurants and little coffee shops, rooming houses teeming with gay people, I couldn't believe my eyes. 

And everyone was living openly. It was amazing. Truly amazing to see.

Once I got my bearings of the neighbourhood, learning where everything was, I decided I was going to go out. Make my formal début, so to speak. So one night I walked into the Studio Six and never looked back. 

I was maybe 16, scared out of my wits and completely out of my element. I was a nerdy gay kid at Atlantic High, I had no clue what to do here in a gay nightclub. But I was lucky. After getting a drink (I think it was nickel night, actually) I braved the dance floor, dancing by myself because I was too scared to ask someone. And then, I turned around and saw some kids from school. Girls dancing with girls, boys dancing with boys. Oh my God! I was not alone! I was NOT the only one at school! My whole life changed in that instant, and I no longer cared what those brutes at school thought of me. I was not this monster they made me feel like I was. I was simply gay, and that meant nothing. Not. One. God. Damn. Thing.

The taunts and harassment never really stopped, but I now had the skills and self esteem to shrug it off and live my life to the fullest. I have never looked back.

Once I started working in the casinos, I began to meet all sorts of different people. And, after work we'd all go out to whatever local bar was in the neighbourhood, bonding over the job and the cocktails. Slowly but surely I'd develop strong friendships with people completely out of my usual circles of friends, who, invariably, would not realize I was gay. Now that always made me laugh, how the hell could you NOT know?

But they always would say the same thing, you don't act like those other gay people. 

Okay, they would say fags or something equally bigoted but I know what they meant. 

It took them some time to come to the realization that they had an openly gay friend. And I was always their first. For them, they had to shed a lifetime, up to that moment, of bigotry, of fear, of misinformation, of prejudice, it was like coming out of the closet, in a way. They would realize that gay people are cool, too. It was a great time, gay culture was being accepted, the film "Making Love" was a minor hit, the television show "Soap" had a gay character. Things were changing. 

And then, A.I.D.S. hit. And it hit the Atlantic City community hard. For a time we seemed to be a little oasis, the disease was only killing people in San Francisco, or New York, or Miami, not here. But we were not immune. And it was devastating. 

And that's when things changed. 

Suddenly it was not cool to be gay. All the progress we had made was lost. Now we were considered immoral, diseased, icky. 

But we survived by fighting back. Act Up began it's protests, we all wore Silence=Death T-shirts. We faced the fear with knowledge. And we did NOT go back into the closet.  

Much like those drag queens at the Stonewall who fought back against bigotry, we began the offensive here in Atlantic City. Starting the S.J.A.A. Starting the fund raisers and awareness seminars. Bingo. Everything we could to save ourselves, and save others. To educate the community of gay men and women, and the larger community of our straight brothers and sisters. We've lost some battles along the way, and the war is not over but we won some of the the toughest battles of our lifetimes but we will win this war. We WILL WIN!

By now, the fabric of our gay community had changed considerably. We had lost so many, the businesses changed, more casinos came to town, changing social mores. By then one of the biggest clubs in town was the Studio Six, and it was no longer the little gay disco of the 80's, it was a giant mega-club with a hotel attached and buses coming down from NYC on the weekends to bring people to Club Tru. It was a complete mesh of gay and straight, simply everyone was there. 

I've learned so much working there, alongside so many wonderful people, with such a great and diverse clientèle of rowdy straight and gay nightlife people. I have always advocated celebrating the differences within our community, and watching drag queens dancing on the blocks and big straight muscle boys dancing with them all under the same roof, gay couples and straight ravers all sitting together and having fun is proof that familiarity breaks down all prejudices and brings us together.

Which is my point. Living your life out and proud does far more than you realize. By living my life openly AND PROUDLY, I have changed minds of people who I now claim as some of my best friends, people who would have NEVER thought they would have a gay friend but who now are the first to jump to my defence if needed. Living my life openly and proudly has helped to educate people that we are not the stereotypes, the fags, the queers, the gays that people think we are. Then they go to educate other people, stopping the cycle of bigotry and prejudice. Living my life openly and proudly gives hope to young gay kids who see someone like me, confidently living my life with purpose and without fear. It shows them that you are NOT alone in this world. That you can be gay and it's NOT WRONG. Living my life openly and proudly has opened doors that would I never knew existed! I have met so many wonderful people, been on the stage, travelled the country, shook the hands of governors and mayors and celebrities it has truly been a wonderful life. Living my life openly and proudly has made this world a better place for everyone. Because each of us must make the decision to NEVER deny who we are. Because WHO we are is what makes this world a better place. 

Many years ago, during the height of the A.I.D.S. crisis, the media in New York did a "Day Without Art", attempting to show the world what life would be like without the creative arts, an area of life that is predominately gay . Magazines published nearly blank issues, newspapers ran articles without photos or artwork, museums shut or covered their paintings, the world, for a day, became a bleak and dark place. 

We can never go back to that.

We must always live openly and proudly. We must always live without fear and IN love. Love of life. Love of friendships. Love of community. Love of self. 

Thanks to talkshow host Ellen DeGeneris, singer Lance Bass, CNN's Anderson Cooper and Don Lemon, weatherman Sam Champion, Governor Jim McGreevy and recently boxer Orlando Cruz, among a growing legion of gay men and women who are coming out and are very public and very diverse. They stand as a testament to all young gay kids out there who are walking to class and hearing the taunts and insults who can now stand tall and say they are gay. 

And they are proud.

Thank you very much for your time. 

Thanks again to Travis and all of you for giving me this opportunity to speak. 

Letter To The Editor from 2005

ONCE AGAIN, A VICTIM OF BULLYING SOUGHT REVENGE

By   MORTIMER SPRENG

Published: March 25, 2005

Page in newspaper: A11

"Relatives told the St. Paul Pioneer Press that Weise was a loner who usually wore black and ." - The Associated Press

I expected to read this the day after the school shootings in Minnesota. It is yet another case of bullies who, like lions on the African plain, identify a weak prey and work together to constantly harass and attack it. But unlike the prey of lions, 16-year-old Jeff Weise had weapons of his own and fought back.

In no way do I condone what this boy did to those students and his grandparents. I do not believe his wanton killing was justifiable, and I am not offering his being picked on as an excuse to allow such extreme retaliation. I merely am saying that I can understand what drove this poor boy to take the course of action he did. I have always known that I was gay. As a small child, I knew that I liked boys, although at that age it wasn't in a sexual manner. Girls were physically different from me, but I liked their manner of play and the accouterments that come along with being feminine.

No, I didn't like to wear dresses and makeup, but I did enjoy playing house and with Barbies. On the other hand, I was a boy, and I did enjoy doing what my male friends liked to do as well - roughhousing, football, mud fights. But I didn't really think like the boys.

Growing up, my friends and I never really questioned that I was so different. I had always been different, and when one is exposed to different things, it is considered the norm and not out of the ordinary. During our childhood, we used with each other all the derogatory terms kids use - "You're so gay," "That's faggy" and so forth. We knew that they weren't nice, but we had no clue what they really meant. It wasn't until much later, when we started to mature, that the slow realization hit us. I was gay, I was a fag. I was this horrible thing that we had so innocently said to each other all these years.

And yet, I was their friend and I wasn't hateful. I was me, and it was the way I had always been. It was a confusing period for all of us. But before we could work it out, my parents divorced and I moved, changing my neighborhood and school.

Being thrown into a group of people who never grew up with me, and with them being faced with someone like me who was by then unabashedly open about being gay, I suffered a lot of hate and anger and bullying by kids who, in retrospect, did not know any better. They were just unaccustomed to being around someone like me.

As I got older and started high school, it only got worse. I began to get threatened on my way to classes, and a few of the teachers used me as an example behind my back, denigrating me to my fellow classmates just on the basis of my being gay. The harassment was almost unendurable. I must admit, I contemplated revenge. I wanted them to die. I wanted to get them back and make them stop. I was desperate and hurt and confused, and my life was bleak and lonely and cold. I wanted it to stop. I did nothing to these people. I couldn't help who I was. Why were they doing this to me? Why? Why?

I was lucky. I got into the club one night, I was almost 16. I turned around and saw some kids from my school. Girls dancing with girls, boys dancing with boys. Oh my God! I was not alone! I was not the only one. My whole life changed in that instant, and I no longer cared what those brutes thought of me. I was not this monster they made me feel like I was. I was simply gay, and that meant nothing. Not. One. God. Damn. Thing.

The taunts and harassment never really stopped, but I now had the skills and self esteem to shrug it off and live my life to the fullest. I have never looked back.

So I cry for the boys who killed their classmates at Columbine and I cry for this boy in Minnesota even though they did such a horrible and inexcusable crime. I know what such relentless bullying can do to your psyche, and I am pained that they had no way out of their misery. No way but revenge and then, finally, death.

I mourn for the parents who now have to bury their children, children who were most likely innocent. But in the rage and pain this boy was in, he did not care whom he hurt. He wanted people to hurt as bad as he did.

And I mourn because it will happen again. And again.

(Mortimer Spreng lives in Atlantic City.)

Copyright, 2005, South Jersey Publishing Company t/a The Press of Atlantic City

Wild Thing

I must have been in first grade at Bellmawr Park Elementary when I first found "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak. My memories are a bit fuzzy but I can see the book on the shelf in the school's library and I can see me taking it off the shelf and taking it to the librarian to check it out. I guess this memory is so ingrained in me because I checked the book out nearly each and every week, reading it often in my wood-panelled room, wishing I was on that boat with Max and sailing to where the wild things lived. I remember my mother telling me frequently to return the book so other kids could read it. I also remember being very, very angry that I had to let it go. Something about it spoke to my six year old self and spoke to me so deeply that  to this day, I consider "Where the Wild Things Are" to be my favourite book of all time. 


That book meant a lot more to me in my life since that first grade reading. Most importantly, it gave me the spark to read. The story was so simple and so powerful in portraying the incredible imagination of the human mind, even the tender brain of a young boy much like myself, that can create a whole world in his head was awe inspiring. To realise that you can find many strange new worlds between the dust jackets of all those other books sitting on the library shelves enthralled me. I quickly jumped, over the next few years, from reading at my grade level to tackling headier topics, diving into the stacks set aside for fourth and fifth graders, with science fiction and fantasy eventually captivating me to this day. 


I then spent hours in the Carnegie Library on the corner of Illinois and Pacific Avenues once I moved to Atlantic City, combing through the stacks for new adventures and ideas, taking me on journeys far and beyond the land of the wild things. 


But I always came back. Once in a while, I'd see the book in a store or when passing the children's section at the library and I would take it from the shelf and a sense of ownership would take hold as I opened the book and began to read. I felt that every copy of this book was my copy. Each time it was so familiar, so vivid, the illustrations always captivated me, it was as if it was the first time I read it. It was as if the thousandth time I read it. And I would laugh at little Max, gnashing his teeth and jumping about in his wolf suit, being so bad. I feel his sting as he was sent to his room by his mother, that fear of rejection. That moment when you doubt your mother's love. I lived his fear at meeting the Wild Things, these new and strange friends and his utter joy when he proclaimed, as their eventual king, to "LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!" 


When I woke yesterday and saw the news that Maurice Sendak died, I sat facing the computer and cried. I cried and cried as if I had lost a close friend. I have never cried over someone I've never met before, not in this way, and not over an author but I sobbed like a baby at this great loss. I'll leave the whys to those who care about such things. I know why I cried and it felt good to mourn his loss. I will be in mourning for a little while and hearing his name or seeing the book will probably bring tears to my eyes. 


Mr. Sendak, you have given me the most important gift one human could give another. You opened my mind. You showed me that the world is scary and strange and new and wondrous and that it can be whatever you make it. You have given me the strength to face that world as a brave little boy. As a young man. As a man. 


And you also showed that love is unconditional. And it's there. And it's waiting for you. 


"...and it was still hot."  

This STILL Gives Me A Thrill!

"Here is your information for Boardwalk Empire for Monday (May 7). Please read this entire message, and reply to this email to confirm!" 

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part VII

Continuing my account of my second day of filming on "Boardwalk Empire": 


I walked over the threshold and into another world. It was a bar, circa nineteen twenty. It was dark, with lighting rigs positioned outside the windows to control the light levels. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Once I got my bearings, I could see to my left against the wall was a smaller bar with three or four stools up against it, to my right was a longer bar nearly the length of the room. Behind it was an ornately carved area for the liquor bottle shelves with mirrors between each section. The wood went up to the ceiling. Along the back wall was a three-quarter height wooden partition, with a miniature bannister running along the top, that ran the length of the room sectioning it off from the back offices and bathroom area. In the middle of the space were tables and chairs, with taller round tables along the left side wall and and the far end of the room, where the principal actors would perform most of the beginning of the scene. Strewn about were the lighting rigs and other filming equipment with the crew adjusting things everywhere at once. I was given the larger bar to run and I found my way in and made myself comfortable. At least this time, I had a better handle on what I was doing, I have spent most of my adult life behind a bar. The director was busy doling out the mini-roles to the rest of the background cast and positioning them around the room and I made myself busy looking around and watching the action. I realized that behind the bar, amid the cables and boxes stored there from the film crew, were working sinks and beer refrigerators, drawers and cabinets full of items and modern-day bar equipment. This was an actual working bar the production rented out and redressed for the series.  Although everything above the bar that could be seen on camera was period era, below it was all modern. There were only four sorts of glasses stacked behind me along the wall, rocks glasses, high-ball glasses, small Martini glasses and brandy snifters. All were very plain. The liquor bottles were lining the bar against the wall and they all had vintage labels, almost all of them were whiskey of some sort with an occasional gin bottle here and there. There were two prop guys behind the bar with me, furiously running by me back and forth getting everything ready for filming. There were vintage lamps on the bar at each end with dainty lampshades adding to the atmosphere. 
I noticed in one of the sinks there was an alchemist's collection of jugs and funnels and droppers and vials. It was the one prop guy's tools for making our "drinks". He had pre-set a few of them, gallon water jugs containing spring water coloured with brown food dye. Precisely fourteen drops in each to make it look like scotch. He finally seemed to notice me and instructed me on which bottle to use, a few of them were considered the "hero" bottles, they had better labels and were in pristine condition, and he wanted me to make sure I give the "hero" glasses (slightly larger and in perfect condition) to the principal actors. The rest were for the background actors chosen to receive drinks during the scene. I waited for the director to finally come over and give me my instructions, I was to slide over three drinks to one of the principals then go down the line, giving out Martinis (clear spring water with an olive on a large wooden stir-stick) and Manhattans (the fake scotch with a little ginger ale) and the regular whiskey drinks to various "patrons" at the bars. Each action was to be done at a particular time during the scene so I had to keep aware of what was going on during the scene to hit my marks at the right times. 
There were stand-ins taking the principal actor's places during some quick rehearsals and then, before I knew it, they called for play-back (the recording of music from the era), the principal actors were on set and we began filming the scene! 


Michael Shannon plays Agent Nelson Van Alden on the show. He was in this scene and I was very surprised when he walked on set. He is extremely tall, much taller than I am and I'm six foot one inch tall. He's very imposing physically and emotionally. He seems to remain in character and I didn't see him chatting with the background actors like I saw Jack Huston (Richard Harrow, the masked sharpshooter) do when we filmed the carnival scene. I watched him from the safety of my bar and was impressed at the presence he made in the room. Very intense. Very focussed.  


Believe me, I was doubly glad I was behind the bar because they had packed the place with extras doing all sorts of things. People coming in the door (which had a little peek-a-boo door in the middle for the password to get in), coming up for drinks, dancing, sitting at the tables, milling about, it was just like the Studio Six used to be on a Saturday night (minus the drugs and drag queens and the drug using drag queens).  I got into a rhythm behind the bar and redid the scene over and over every time they called for a re-set. The fake smoke combined with the real cigarettes, non-filtered since they didn't become popular until the nineteen fifties, made me think of the days before they banned smoking and I was glad that I didn't have to work in that environment on a daily basis any longer. 
We did the scene over and over to make sure it was right and then took a short break while they re-set the camera angles. 


Once back, we continued to shoot the scene over and over. The prop guys had to refill my bottles a few times and I went through a lot of glasses, the more I was there, the more I felt like I was working at Studio Six again (although I would have had half a bottle of Ketel One by now!). After another short break, they re-set the camera for an overhead shot. By now in the scene, we were getting raided by the prohibition agents, who come busting through the door and rough everyone up. They gave each of us our different reactions and we rehearsed the scene a few times. Then they brought in the prop department who made the door jamb breakaway so it had more impact when the agents bust in. Surprisingly, it only took a few minutes and we were back to filming. Stunt guys were brought in and we continued the scene, once again the word "reset" was used over and over, back to the first mark, do the actions and then all over again. We finally broke for dinner so we could film the next scene. 


The craft service was excellent as usual, they feed us so well I went back for seconds and dessert. It's amazing, they actually have a carving station, several different salads with all the fixings, various sides, everything was delicious. All of this in a YMCA in the middle of Brooklyn. There was a door to the rest of the building with a little window and the kids from the other side were constantly peeking in on us all in costume, it must have been as exciting for them to see us as it was for me to be doing this. 


The break was over and we had to return to the set for the next scene. This time, the agents had arrested half the people and one of them recognizes Agent Van Alden, the other bartender and I are being interrogated by a prohibition agent at one of the tables. They were packing up all the liquor bottles and carting everything away. Here, the other actor playing the bartender and I began to talk. It was funny, he's done all three seasons and played a bartender in the third episode of each season. His name was Jack (I think, it's been a while) and he was very funny. During the scene, we had to mime an intense conversation but he kept saying funny things trying to crack me up and he nearly succeeded a few times. I would have killed him if he made me ruin the shot by laughing! Then, later in the scene, the agent does a cross of the bar to us and begins the interrogation. He was a veteran background actor and was interesting to talk to, giving me some very good advice. He had a lot of fun stories and it was great to hear, taking our minds off the the fact that it had been such a long day. 


We did a few more camera angles, replaying the same movements and waiting outside in the cold while they moved things around and then, after letting nearly everyone else go, told us we were done and could go to wardrobe to change. 


I had to pee so badly, I ran the few blocks to the church where wardrobe was and made a beeline to the men's room, relieving myself with a heavy sigh. That's when I heard the outer door to the church slam open, heavy footsteps running by the bathroom and then an excited voice saying, "Where are the bartenders!!!" I immediately knew what it was. They needed us for another shot. I zipped up and found the PA and we grabbed Jack on the way back to the location set. Evidently the last camera angle faced a mirror the reflected the table where we were being interrogated and now we were missing. We needed to be sitting there for continuity. Ugh!!! We did a few more takes, blessedly, and then they finally struck the scene and we were free to go. 


I quickly changed, said my good-byes to everyone and made my way across Brooklyn and then Manhattan in order to get to Port Authority. My mobile was dead and I was so exhausted I thought I would die, too. I realized we just worked 14 hours on set. I get to the bus station and all the doors are locked but one, with a guard there checking for bus tickets. I found mine, showed it to him and then ran down to the gate where the Atlantic City buses are.  Nothing. 


Nothing. I look at the schedule and see that I missed the bus by twenty minutes. 


The LAST bus. 


The next one didn't leave until seven thirty in the morning, five bloody hours away! I had no mobile, no money and it was freezing. All of the seats in the waiting area were full so I sat on the concrete floor, dozing off now and again. About a half-hour before the bus arrived, I had found an outlet and got a little charge going on the phone. I boarded the bus, sat down in a heap and promptly passed out as the bus whisked me from the island of Manhattan to the island of love. 

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part VI

I received another email from the casting agency informing me that I was needed once again for "Boardwalk Empire" and I was ecstatic! I didn't expect to get a call back so quickly and I readily accepted the offer and made my plans to travel back to Brooklyn. 

I had to check in at ten at night to get my call times for the next day's shoot and I patiently waited all day, finally making the call and getting a recorded message instructing me to call back in a half hour. This went on hour after hour, I reset my alarm waking up each time to call, finally getting the message around one thirty in the morning with my call times and other pertinent information I'd need for the day. Luckily it was a later call time then my last appearance but I still had to leave Atlantic City rather early to get to Brooklyn and find the set. 


It was a beautiful day and I had mapped out my route to the location set, not really sure what I was going to do, exactly. Supposedly the scene was taking place in a Chicago speakeasy which seemed exciting and full of promise. This part of Brooklyn was rather charming, full of little cafes and eclectic bars and my map was surprisingly accurate, taking me right to the YMCA that was rented to act as our holding area. I followed the signs upstairs and met with the PA, filled out my time sheet and then got directions to the church that was going to be our wardrobe area. On the way over, I met a nice young guy who was also on the show. It was his first time so I, being a veteran now, gave him a little advice and we talked a bit about the show. The church was a few blocks from the set and the YMCA and out front, craft services had set up a light breakfast right in the street, which garnered a few questions from the neighbours passing by. I walked through the little courtyard and through the doors. Through the small vestibule on the left were the bathrooms and to the right was another small room that led into the larger church basement area which now served as our hair/make-up and wardrobe. I went in the men's side and I looked at the walls and windows, over-painted and peeling, the linoleum faded and missing here and there and found a spot to get changed. I got into my costume, listening to the bustle of action around me. Once again it was controlled chaos, with the PA's herding us through the process and making sure things were running as smooth as possible. They were constantly talking into their radios coordinating the millions of minutiae that concerns the filming a television show. I stood in line and waited my turn for hair and make-up making small talk with everyone around me, smiling to myself, again, that this was happening to me!
One of the women there grabbed me, directing me to her chair to fashion my hair into something more era appropriate. As she started, she said, "So, you're a bartender." and I was shocked. How did she know what I do? So I asked her, "How did you know?" and she said, "No. It says it here on the call sheet.". 


Ahh!!! 


So I had a role (of sorts)!!! The rush of emotions nearly overwhelmed me, I wasn't expecting anything like this. I was happy, scared, nervous, terrified, excited, each feeling competing for attention but I didn't let any of that show. I just sat there as she finished her work and I got back in line for final wardrobe approval and then back to the holding area. When they asked my number for the day, ninety-four, I told them and that set off a frenzy of action. I was not in a bartender's costume, I was in my original wardrobe! Suddenly they removed my jacket and vest, found a different tie, suspenders and an apron so I would look the part. My trousers were also wrong, too long and creating a crease and that had to be adjusted by hiking them up very high, tightening the suspenders to their very limits. Evidently, men in the twenties did not have that little crease at the bottom of their pants. I found the attention to detail to be admirable, the camera wouldn't focus on our legs but they made sure we were still appropriate for the time period. I was also missing a button that needed replacement and they sewed it on while I was still in them. 


After a few more adjustments, there was another "bartender" as well, to make sure we were similar but not the exact same (yes, they argued over the tying of the aprons and how they should sit on our bodies), we were approved and released to have breakfast. By now, most of us were in costume and it was later in the morning, the neighbourhood was busy with people going about their business but it's not every day you wander down your street and see dozens of people dressed in clothing from another era. The camera phones came out and pictures were snapped by almost everyone walking by us. We milled about talking and passing the time before we were told to go to holding and wait for the set-up. 


This is when I noticed the set, or where the set was to be more precise. We had passed it before but I wasn't really aware of what was going on. Yes, they had equipment everywhere around the building, huge black-tarp tents covering the entrance of the building and generator trucks, trailers and other on-set items all over the street out front. You may wonder how I could have missed it but I did. I guess I was just focussed on finding out where I was supposed to be and getting ready than I was on where I was going to end up for the rest of the day.  It's amazing how the mind works. I made a few phone calls, updated my Facebook status and wasted time. They finally gathered us together to take us over to the set, explaining what we were about to do. It was indeed a Chicago speakeasy, where we would see the character of Agent Van Alden enjoying himself when we would get raided by Prohibition agents who later recognize him as one of their own. 


This was going to be fun! 


We filed out of the YMCA and across the street to the location set, now the streets in the neighbourhood were teeming with people and traffic, all gawking to get a look at all of us in costume. The director and crew grabbed us according to our characters to be placed on the set. I walked through all the equipment carts, full of every sort of item you could think of, props, lenses, extension rods, clamps, simply everything you'd need to make a film and I made my way through the tarp, over the snaking cables and wires, into a little area set up with the playback equipment, monitors and electrical boards of every sort. To my right was a door and we went through it and back in time! 

"Empire" Update

I'm currently writing my next "Boardwalk Empire" instalment detailing my role as a speakeasy bartender. Watch this space!

From Boardwalk-To-Boardwalk, Part V

Continuing my account of my first day of filming on "Empire": 


The PA's escorted us out of the holding area trailers and led us over to the set, passing along the bank of the Hudson River where the early dawn sun lit up the Manhattan sky-line perfectly. I walked near the front of the group and as we passed the shipping containers and I could see the "beach" and a quick glimpse of the boardwalk set, flanked by huge blue-screen panels where they add the ocean and extend the view with computer generated effects. My heart leapt a bit and I followed along through the back of the set to this little alleyway that ran the length of the boardwalk set but behind it. Suddenly, I was at a carnival, circa 1923, walking over planks and passing carny booths and games of chance. At the far end they had set up the cameras and the lighting, silver screens were positioned to direct the lights and parts of the set were removed to make room for the camera. The director was there with a contingent of assistants and the two stand-ins were on the marks, with masking tape on their jacket fronts denoting who they are standing in for. One was a little person perched on a box. He was the stand-in for the actor who plays Tommy Darmody, the son of Jimmy and Angela, both of whom died in the previous season. The other one was standing in for Jack Huston, who plays Richard Harrow, the guy with the mask. The crew were furiously running around, setting things up and talking into their walkie-talkies about everything at once. Construction was still going on here and there, painting and rigging. It was controlled chaos. There was a chilly and steady breeze whipping through the set but, with my excitement and nerves, I didn't feel a thing.

There was another discussion between the director and the PA's and suddenly they were parsing out our roles at the carnival, the director was grabbing us and positioning us around the set and giving us mini directions as to who we were in the scene and what we should be doing. There was a call for the "floozies", the "fat lady and tall man" and some of the other speciality roles and they set them up in their predetermined areas. Before I knew it, the director looked right at me and told me to stand right behind the stand-ins and then positioned one of the women to be my on-set wife and then called for two girls to be my on-set children. The one little girl was absolutely adorable dressed in her 1920's wardrobe, she looked like a little doll. I was instructed to hold her in my arms, so she could be seen in the shot. All of this happened so fast, I barely had time to register the fact that I was going to be DIRECTLY in the camera shot! Since we are shooting outside, there is a need for speed and the director quickly finished setting up the background actors that would be seen in the shot (several more were positioned around me) and we were told what the scene was and how to react.

I had no clue what I was doing. Honestly, I hadn't a clue what I was doing and a brief moment of panic set in.

We did a small rehearsal and they refined the placement of the actors and props, moving me over a bit so I was directly in the camera shot (yikes!) and they decided to switch my family, giving me a new wife and a young son. They reasoned that little girls wouldn't be interested in a shooting range as much as young boys would. We did a few more quick run-throughs and before I knew it, the principal actors took their marks, they handed him a loaded cap-gun rifle and I hear "Gun Hot", "Set", "Background" and then "Action" and we were shooting my very first scene for "Boardwalk Empire"!!!

I STILL had no clue what I was doing!

My nerves received an additional shock when the gun went off, over and over. Although he was shooting blanks, the report was extremely loud, especially since we were so close, and after the director yelled cut we were told to try and stifle our reactions. We were all jumping a little with every bang.

The refined the scene some more, there were discussions between "Richard" and the director as to where he should point the gun, how frequently he timed his shots, and a lot of other details and we continued to do our reactions over and over with each take. I did what everyone else was doing, trying not to over-sell my expressions and the director was pleased, asking my name at one point and telling me to make sure I stay on my mark so I could be seen behind the actors. I was loving every minute of this and in minor shock, I couldn't believe that I was actually going to be right on camera my very first day of filming!

Before I knew it, we were done and told to take a short break up on the boardwalk set while they reset the cameras and lighting rigs.

I walked over to the steps (which I would later rue but I'll get to that) and ascended them, looking around me at the detail of this entire operation. This was no plywood-front, Hollywood back-lot set, this was an actual boardwalk and shops, even from behind there were back doors to the little shops and alleyways built in off the boards. I went through the tarps they had stretched over the area and walked out into the direct sunlight and the actual set and it was a marvel to behold!

Where the beach and ocean would be, there was a two-story high blue wall (for the CGI effects). The railing and light poles were authentic and I turned around once I got to the railing to get the full affect of the set all at once. It was magnificent!

We all milled about and although we weren't filming here, it was cool to see everyone in costume wandering along the boards. I walked over to some of the shops and was once again blown away at how authentic it was. The shops were real, the restaurants had tables set with plates and glasses, the Fralinger's had a counter and displays of salt-water taffy, it was all so surreal, being from Atlantic City and seeing all the comforts of home up here in Brooklyn. The entrance to The Ritz was blocked off, though, so I couldn't go in there but the French dress shop next door, where Mary worked, was visible and it was a real working shop. It was amazing.

They called us to attention once again and we had to line up in the middle of the boardwalk and the wardrobe department went down the line giving us the once over, making sure the hats sat on our heads correctly, the make-up was touched up, all the little attention to details that makes the production even more special. We were admonished a few times to refrain from taking photos and I was only able to sneak one before we were called back to set.


Once back, they had changed the camera angle to a long shot, moving it behind the targets that "Richard" was shooting at and we went though the motions over and over, repeating our reactions and trying not to jump with each shot. There were more discussions as to when he should shoot and they seemed to get the timing wrong so it was a tedious process of repetition until the director was satisfied with the shot and we finally broke for lunch. 


Evidently there's a pecking order and, since I was there to learn, observe and keep quiet, I quickly realized this and sat down waiting for the crew and the principles to get their food first. I didn't think it was rude, not by any means, it was simply prudent to get them fed and out of there to get the next shot set up. But a hundred and fifty background actors were waiting and the food smelled delicious. I took the opportunity to take a quick bathroom break and the small trailer set up as our facilities was overwhelmed by all of us and I had to wait a bit in the cold before I could get in there. 


By the time I got back, we were being served and I went up to get something to eat, my eyes popping out of my head with all the choices and the quality of the food set out on the buffet tables. I stayed away from the messier fare, since I was in my wardrobe I didn't want to be the one to get food all over it and have to have it cleaned. I don't remember what I had, exactly, but I do know that it was really good and I went back for seconds and thirds, getting dessert (the cakes, pies, cookies, and treats were awesome) not worrying about my waistline since we were filming out in the cold, I figured I would shiver off the extra calories. 
After eating, we were all lined up again and the wardrobe mistress came along with her team and a film crew and they went down the line, again, making minor adjustments and reapplying make-ups and fixing an errant curl or two. I later found out that this was for the mayor of New York's employment initiative documentary and I had to sign a release for my image to be used. I happily obliged. 


We milled about when we were done and then the announcement came that the elephant would be on-set and the famous line, "Do not walk behind the elephant" was made, good advice whether you are filming with an elephant or just advice for life in general. We were all a little excited to see the beast, cracking jokes and we filed back to the set to resume filming. They were setting the elephant up about halfway down the set, a good distance from where my mark was but I could still see her doing her thing. 


I swear the weather changed, it seemed a bit colder even though it was now afternoon and the sun was directly overhead, although the elephant was not allowed to film if the temperatures were too cold so I guess it was just me. I noticed they had changed a lot of the area where I was previously filming, the shooting gallery set was complete (the movable walls were all back in order) and the camera was now going to be behind me and to the left, they were going to do a tracking shot from where we were through the entire faux carnival, passing all the other booths, the barkers and the elephant as well as all the other background extras milling about.  Now, when the principals walk away, I was to encourage my "son" to step up to the booth and then we were to decide not to play and cross over and up the steps. Only this time, they had wet down the set and we were now standing in mud. In the cold. With a chilly wind. 
We got through the shot after only a dozen or so re-sets (a term I learned to loathe later in the afternoon). We were given another quick break up on the boardwalk and, once again, the wardrobe department came along to work their magic. It was a testament to the quality of the show that they continually made sure we all looked our best. 


They had moved the camera down even further we did a few walk-throughs mostly for the benefit of those actors that were now going to be in camera, we'd now be in the far background but had to continually make the same pass across the set and then up the steps. 
I had noticed, at one point, that we were just standing around for a lot longer than normal. The crew is very good at their job so when I noticed that they were just standing around I knew it wasn't a problem with the shot. Then, from my vantage point, I could hear some muffled arguing and then the voices became clearer and the problem was revealed. We had been standing there for the last 30 minutes because the child actor that plays "Tommy" didn't want to put on Chapstick and they were trying to convince him to do so. He stood his ground and no amount of reasoning was going to make him put it on and here, and entire film crew and a hundred and fifty actors were standing around in the mud (with very uncomfortable period shoes that had no lining nor protection) and cold all because of a minor temper-tantrum. I giggled to myself about the situation and mumbled to my "wife" that if I was that kid, my parents would have grabbed my face and covered me in Chapstick and told me to get back to work! In the child's defence, it was turning out to be a long day and he was tired and cold and cranky and had a lot of pressure riding on his little shoulders. He finally put it on and we started filming again only this time, it took so many takes I lost count. I can't tell you how many times we had to re-set and then climb back up the steps, over and over again. It also didn't help that Riley, the boy who was my on-set son, was a rambunctious little rascal and I had to continually corral him for the shot. He was enamoured with the elephant and I had to run through the set and grab him to drag him back to our mark. This is where the filming process can get extremely tedious and it was becoming an effort to continuously mime the same motions over and over with a smile on our faces. 
I felt most sorry for the girl who was playing the "fat lady", she was standing directly in the cross-breeze and was wearing a very skimpy dress. The poor thing had to be wrapped in a blanket between each "Cut" and "Re-set". 


The fading light meant we needed to get this shot and get it as soon as possible, they didn't want to waste yet another day of filming this scene and we mercifully were given the words "you're done" after a few more takes. We made a beeline back to wardrobe to take everything off. 


Although, when crossing over the boardwalk set, I stopped a moment and looked around, it was now dusk and they had turned on all the lights. It was magical to be there at that moment and I stifled yet another smile. 


Dismantling was quick and I changed into my street clothes, getting one of the assistants to sign-off on my sheet and I then went over to holding to have my pay sheet officially signed. I remembered to tell them I had been shaved and they added the extra pay and I went out to wait for the shuttle bus that would take us back to Manhattan. This took a little while, the women took far longer to get changed and we made chit-chat as each person boarded. 
Before I knew it, we were off, making our way through mid-town traffic and the bus actually dropped me off a few blocks closer to Port Authority. I barrelled through the crowds, marvelling at the mass of humanity that does this every day of the week, and finally got to Port Authority and my bus, which was waiting there and leaving shortly.


I settled in and promptly fell asleep. 


With a huge smile on my face.