More on stories that influence my writing.
Law enforcement presented many different kinds of opportunities for fodder to fill out my novel storylines and not just the cop stuff.
I rarely worked extra duty assignments called, “ot details.” I loved working patrol too much. I once had the unique opportunity to work the 84 Olympics. Everyone on the department was ordered to go on twelve-hour shifts. They gave us a choice, work site security, crowd control, traffic control or work the station on overtime to cover for the deputies who did work offsite. I chose the station.
When budgetary restrictions caused overtime to dry up on patrol I was forced outside my comfort zone. I took an overtime slot in Hollywood working security at a movie shoot. I was far from star-struck…well at least I thought I wasn’t.
I wore my Los Angeles County Sheriff’s uniform and arrived at the movie site in Hollywood (I don’t remember the street name) in my own truck, a blue Ford Ranger. There was a Mexican food place right off the sidewalk with a healthy clientele where everyone in the movie stood in the side street. I waited away from everyone waiting for my orders.
Soon Jane Fonda arrived already in make-up dressed as a homeless person; wig, dirt make-up and ratty clothes. Martin Sheen was the director. I was told by the staff this was an afterschool special. That same staff member, probably some kind of assistant to the director asked if I would help with the traffic for one particular shot.
I was supposed to stop traffic when a bus came south at a T-intersection just west of the Mexican food place. I was to stop the traffic, let the bus make the turn, and let a few cars go by for background space them out. The bus would pull to the curb in front of the Mexican restaurant and the homeless woman, Jane Fonda would get on the bus. Seemed simple enough.
The first take, Martin Sheen yelled, “Action,” the bus came down the perpendicular street. I was supposed to stop the eastbound car traffic but let one slip through. The bus had to slam on the brakes to keep from crashing. My mistake. Almost a huge one.
Martin Sheen yelled, “Cut,” and walked out into the street right toward me. Yikes.
He wore a gray velour sweat suit, and had one hand on his forehead, destressed. He came up and put his hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. “Son, you have to pay attention.”
I promised to do better, and he got the shot on the next go round.
I tell friends who are not yet tired of hearing my stories that I once helped Martin Sheen direct a movie.
I rarely worked extra duty assignments called, “ot details.” I loved working patrol too much. I once had the unique opportunity to work the 84 Olympics. Everyone on the department was ordered to go on twelve-hour shifts. They gave us a choice, work site security, crowd control, traffic control or work the station on overtime to cover for the deputies who did work offsite. I chose the station.
When budgetary restrictions caused overtime to dry up on patrol I was forced outside my comfort zone. I took an overtime slot in Hollywood working security at a movie shoot. I was far from star-struck…well at least I thought I wasn’t.
I wore my Los Angeles County Sheriff’s uniform and arrived at the movie site in Hollywood (I don’t remember the street name) in my own truck, a blue Ford Ranger. There was a Mexican food place right off the sidewalk with a healthy clientele where everyone in the movie stood in the side street. I waited away from everyone waiting for my orders.
Soon Jane Fonda arrived already in make-up dressed as a homeless person; wig, dirt make-up and ratty clothes. Martin Sheen was the director. I was told by the staff this was an afterschool special. That same staff member, probably some kind of assistant to the director asked if I would help with the traffic for one particular shot.
I was supposed to stop traffic when a bus came south at a T-intersection just west of the Mexican food place. I was to stop the traffic, let the bus make the turn, and let a few cars go by for background space them out. The bus would pull to the curb in front of the Mexican restaurant and the homeless woman, Jane Fonda would get on the bus. Seemed simple enough.
The first take, Martin Sheen yelled, “Action,” the bus came down the perpendicular street. I was supposed to stop the eastbound car traffic but let one slip through. The bus had to slam on the brakes to keep from crashing. My mistake. Almost a huge one.
Martin Sheen yelled, “Cut,” and walked out into the street right toward me. Yikes.
He wore a gray velour sweat suit, and had one hand on his forehead, destressed. He came up and put his hand on my shoulder and looked me right in the eye. “Son, you have to pay attention.”
I promised to do better, and he got the shot on the next go round.
I tell friends who are not yet tired of hearing my stories that I once helped Martin Sheen direct a movie.
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