Chapter Thirty Three
My theater credits were building up and so were my commercial accounts.
I was even voicing commercials for political candidates one of whom was running for Mayor of Austin: Carol McClelland.
Her campaign advisor was none other than Democratic whiz kid Robert Beckel, who later ran Walter Mondale’s Presidential bid. He breezed into to town, asked who the top gun was and brought me in to be the voice of all her campaign spots.
He wrote interesting and thought provoking commercials that fit right into the lifestyle of, what one friend of mine called: “Austin: the dial-tone capital of the world”.
An apt observation, it isn't meant to invoke images of boredom but of controlled, sustained mellowness.
The old reliable dial tone is smooth and on-going, an unwavering vibration. It symbolizes the now and the here and the readiness to take action. It is never hurried, always available. A welcoming sound to the seeking soul. Security and permanence. There when you need it.
Lesson: Seek sound advice.
McClelland won the race easily and I felt a sense of accomplishment having been a subliminal part of that.
Beckel went on to work Jimmy Carter's campaign and I was slated to voice his spots as well; but, at the last minute, plans were changed and the spots were produced in Washington “to save money”.
I figured they’d found the FBI report of the “Case of the Stolen Barracuda” and put the kibosh on the idea.
This only proved to me that even the thought of having me involved in a campaign produced winning results.
I told that to the next waitress I saw and she asked me for 75 cents for the coffee anyway.
I got another interesting client: the National Security Agency.
The super-spooks. The ones with the systems that listen to phone calls and monitor broadcasts around the world.
As David Letterman says, “You know ‘em. You love ‘em”.
When they "hear" a certain word or phrase that may indicate illegal or terrorist activity their equipment makes a note of it and proper channels are accessed to investigate further, should the situation warrant.
I'll let you think up words and phrases they might like to latch onto and, if you like, you can try them out on your own phone line.
If you want faster service, say them during a call to a not so friendly nation. Or your mother in law.
I was called in to narrate a highly technical training film/slide show about code transmission security. Nothing secret was in the material that explained the system and its practices to the intended viewer/trainee.
It dealt with things like trans-oceanic broadcasts of encrypted codes that were so complicated and so long that it could take over a year to transmit an entire message.
Something like "Hold the anchovies" might take three months, at least.
The jargon was mumbo-jumbo to me but I could tell it made sense to someone in the radio transmission of codes and secret stuff business. My job was to make it sound like I dealt with this language on a daily basis. They liked my work.
Lesson: If you think they’re watching you...you’re right...even if you don’t!
By the end of '81 I was making an almost comfortable bachelor's living. I had given up window washing completely and was entirely immersed "in the pursuit of my career".
I was perusing a copy of Variety, the show business newspaper, at a new stand when I saw several casting notices for shows in The Big Apple, a regular feature.
Something went off in my head and told me it was time to move on. I'd spent four years in Austin theater: the equivalent of at least a bachelor's degree in college. It was time to spred my wings and see if I could fly in the big time.
I held an apartment sale and sold everything I could get rid of. What I didn't sell I left sitting there for any of my neighbors to salvage. There were a few pieces I would have loved to have kept: some paintings, some furniture, some coffee table books, some clothes and two wonderful little cats named Tuffy and Puppy.
They were brothers I'd raised from kittens for two years. Puppy was Tuffy's "puppy". They played together so cutely but it was always Tuffy who led the way.
I had a burlap palm tree in my apartment a friend and customer had given me. She'd had it as a decoration in her gift shop and, when the promotion she used it for was over, I took it home.
The cats loved to climb it and hover on its branches waiting, Snoopy like, for the other to stroll nonchalantly past. Then Pounce! And run and hide and go crazy. It was hilarious to watch them.
Tuffy loved to fetch a little foam ball and reacted every time I said "ball". I developed a routine to fit his actions when I said it, and used it to entertain when friends were over.
I'd tease him by telling him to go get his "Ball!" and his ears and whole being would perk up. I'd say it again and he'd get more agitated. Then I'd say, "No...I'm too tired. I don't think I want to play, today."
Tuffy would leap up and start pushing my head with his nose that made it look like he was trying to get me off my lazy ass to play with him.
"No. Too Tired. Wellll, maybe, if you give me a kiss.", and I'd turn my head so he'd "push" on my lips and it looked like he was kissing me. Then I'd acquiesce and get the ball and toss it across the room.
He'd prance after it and haul it back and plop it down right in front of me. I'd throw it again and he'd repeat his action.
The third or forth time I'd throw it he'd drop it just a little out of my reach and would increase the distance until he finally had me getting off my lazy ass and fetching the ball for him again. What a clown!
Puppy, on the other hand, was a snuggler. And he was deadly accurate with the sharpest claws I've ever seen on a cat. They were needle sharp and he'd use them with surgical precision skill. If you were holding something he wanted he'd take a swipe to grab it and invariably would come only mini-millimeters from your skin. If you teased him he'd give you the barest taste of honed spike. Never viciously, and not enough to draw blood, but enough of a touch to let you know he could, if he wanted to.
At night I'd whistle for him and he'd come and curl up under my chin to go to sleep. Actually, all my cats (I’ve had several over the years) have learned to come when I whistle so I don't think it's too much of a deal. It's nice when they do.
I couldn't take these guys to New York with we. I advertised and let everyone I knew know I was looking for a good home for them. Through friends I learned the humane society in Austin had been given a grant from a woman's estate that made it possible for them to keep animals without having to "put them down".
It broke my heart to leave them there, but I was assured they'd find wonderful, loving homes for them. I left letters to prospective owners detailing their abilities and likes and dislikes.
As long as I live I'll never forget the astonished looks on their faces when I dropped them off.
Lesson: Cats are a lot closer to us than we think.
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