Singing to a Bulldog Page 6

  Then late one afternoon, after visiting my parents in Burbank, I was driving past the backside of the Burbank airport. Waiting at a stoplight, I noticed a man working on an old twin-engine plane. Handing him tools was a young girl in a wheelchair. It suddenly hit me: What if a teenaged girl was constantly judged, never able to forget that she lived in a wheelchair, always made to look up? Then, what if the girl’s world became everything skyward, everything free in the sky, where wheelchairs didn’t exist? And what if she learned to fly, and actually looked down for the first time in her life? By the time I reached my house, the entire story about not judging and saluting the human spirit was a reality. The title: Skyward.

  That night, I quickly wrote up Skyward, and then showed it to Ron the next day. He loved it and set up a meeting at NBC to sell it. The following week, both of us were in front of Irv Wilson, the vice president of movies at NBC, pitching our hearts out. When you sell a project to the networks there are usually at least two steps: a script deal, and then a green light to go into production. Irv approved a script deal right there in the room. We were on our way, but we were still a long way from a green light.

  Our first step towards green was finding the perfect screenwriter. We decided on Nancy Sackett, who was collaborative and had written some excellent, character driven scripts. Working with a writer collaboratively is important, especially for a creative producer and director team. NBC gave her their approval, she got to work, and both Ron and I gave extensive rewrite notes on every draft. While the script was coming to life, Ron and I were convinced that an actress with a physical disability, someone confined to a wheelchair, had to be cast in the lead role or our whole project would be hypocritical. We found an amazing fifteen-year-old named Suzy Gilstrap. She had never acted before, but had natural ability and charisma. She had been crippled during a fourth-grade field trip to the Los Angeles Arboretum after a large tree branch had fallen on her back. We felt so strongly about her casting that Ron acted with Suzy in a screen test to show the network after we handed in the script.

  NBC loved the script, and I received my first green light to go into production.

  Well, almost a green light. A cast still needed to be approved.

  We set up a meeting with Brandon Tartikoff, the president of the network, to show him the screen test and plead our case for Suzy. He appreciated our passion and the cause, but reminded us that we were still in a business of ratings. He said that Melissa Sue Anderson from Little House on the Prairie was perfect for the part, and she guaranteed ratings. We persevered: His network could be the first in history to hire an actress with a physical disability to star in a movie! This would set an important precedent!

  He thought about this and compromised. The other starring role was a retired stunt pilot—a woman who still flew and owned a café at a small airport. If we could get a commitment from an actress as famous at Bette Davis for that role, then he would approve Suzy for the other. As soon as we were out of his office, Ron and I looked at each other. Why not ask us to cast the leader of the free world? It would probably be easier. Bette Davis was still a movie star, and she had done very little television. Casting Suzy was looking very bleak.

  As chance would have it, I happened to catch Bette Davis on The Johnny Carson Show a few nights later. She complained that all of the roles she was being offered were “old woman roles” and how she would love to do something that was against type and had some action. She also mentioned that she didn’t trust her agents and insisted on reading all scripts that were submitted for her. So the next morning we crossed our fingers and messengered a script to Bette Davis’s agent. What could have more action than a stunt pilot? A few days later the call came: Bette Davis loved the role and committed to the film. This was a huge coup for the network. Huge! A real event. Suzy was approved and we had a full green light.

  The rest of the casting went smoothly, as did pre-­production. We decided to film in Texas, and we designed the shooting schedule so that Bette Davis would finish halfway through the shoot. The week before principle photography was to begin, we received word that Davis wanted cartons of Marlboro Reds and a case of expensive scotch in her room upon arrival.

  That should have been our first warning sign.

  Early evening, a few days before the first day of shooting, Davis arrived. We had her picked up in a limo and planned to meet in her hotel suite that night. Ron could only stay a short time because of prior commitments related to the project. When she met us at the door, Marlboro in hand, her first words were, “Babies! You’re both babies!” She then rambled on about how much we didn’t know, that now she was nervous about making this film . . . yada, yada, yada. It was clear to me that she had already dipped into the scotch. Ron excused himself and now it was me, alone with the legend, for the duration. She insisted that I have a drink with her, which turned into several. I learned that she could hold her liquor, and I realized that she was trying to get me blasted.

  Filming got under way, and Ron did a great job directing her, but he was limited because of her acting style. Not a word of dialogue could be changed for her or anybody else in the scene. Everything had to be exactly as rehearsed; there was absolutely no room for a spontaneous moment. Her drinking also made her unpredictable and Ron and I were always on edge, waiting for Bette Davis’s Next Meltdown. At the end of one shooting day, she dropped her guard a bit and confided in me that she was selfish, a terrible mother, and that she would die alone at the top of a hill. From my standpoint, I wasn’t about to disagree.

  Davis had a day off before her last day on the set. For almost two weeks of shooting, this was the first day that she wasn’t working and it was wonderful. Everybody was having a grand time in her absence, despite the fact that Texas was suffering through a record-setting heat wave. We were shooting at a small airport in the city of Rockwall, and late in the afternoon I was told there was a call for me. I took it in the small, one-man office we had. “Hello?” I said.

  “I’m not dying for you sons of bitches!” screamed a voice across the line.

  “What?” I responded. It was Bette Davis.

  “I’m not dying for you sons of bitches! Have you seen the paper?!”

  I quickly found that day’s paper on the office desk. The headline read something like “Seven Elderly Dead From Heat Wave.”

  Davis continued, “Tomorrow, I want the entire airport tarped! I will be bringing a thermometer. The minute it hits 100 degrees, I am walking!”

  Then she hung up.

  Stunned, I ran back across the airport where Ron was shooting to tell him the news. We didn’t have the time or money to tarp an airport, so we quickly decide to hire an extra camera and crew the next day so we could finish her work as early as possible. Ron redesigned and simplified his shots in order to pull it off. The entire climax of the movie would be compromised, but there was nothing that we could do.

  The next day the temperature soared. At 8 in the morning, true to her word, Davis walked on set, theatrically placed a thermometer on the camera dolly, and then said, “Time to rehearse.”

  We put a tarp above her head but it was obvious that before we had our first shot in the can it was already over 100 degrees. Unexpectedly, Davis said nothing and Ron was able to get her done in a few hours. We brought her flowers, thanked her, and—truth be told—couldn’t get her off the set fast enough. But she had one more manipulative, self-serving game to play. She turned to the cast and crew and said, “Oh no, I can’t go! I must stay here to speak my off-camera lines for my fellow actors.”

  No one present for these scenes knew of the problems we’d been having with her, so everyone thought that she was amazing, working in the heat to help her fellow thespians, a real pro. They didn’t realize that she had bastardized the climax of the film and made Ron’s and my life pure hell. Sure enough, she stayed until the very last shot, blowing kisses to the crew as she departed, heading off to torture new
victims. Watching her ride away, I felt an overwhelming sadness.

  “Dat’s a sad man. He don’t know who he is. He run from hisself.”

  She will die on a mountaintop, alone, I thought. She will never know who she was. She never had the courage to find out. She is a made-up illusion, forever running away, never stopping to face her true self.

  Please Come With Me, Sir

  “He make me feel dat I important.”

  It was Friday after school, and I was late for work. Racing into the janitorial room, there was Willie, grease-stained cigarette between his lips, talking with the mayor of Burbank, George Haven. Both were sitting on the dust-ridden oil drum cans. It turned out that years before, Willie had saved George from a couple of thugs in the store’s parking lot, and they’d been friends ever since.

  “George, dis ’ere’s Anson,” Willie introduced me.

  “Anson dis ’ere’s George, who be yer mayor.”

  We said our hellos and George had to run, but not before he said to me, “You listen to our man, Willie, here. He’s very special to all of us.”

  The mayor left and Willie got out his dented flask. “The mayor’s a nice guy,” I said.

  “He know how to lead,” Willie said, putting his flask down. “He make me feel dat I important.”

  I didn’t know yet, but Willie had just described the truest purpose of a real leader.

  * * *

  I received a call from the National Association of Student Leaders (NASL) soon after Skyward premiered. Despite the difficulties with Bette Davis, it was a critical and ratings success. It also broke open opportunities for actors with disabilities, and the NASL felt that Skyward represented unsung, selfless leaders who inspired others and gave them the strength to overcome adversity. Every year the association holds a national convention that includes the top student leaders from across America—student body presidents, heads of student councils, the cream of the crop. They invited me to give the keynote speech that year at Shawnee Mission High School, in Shawnee Mission, Kansas. Having never been elected to anything, I was humbled and honored.

  Writing the speech, I thought back to the things Willie taught me about leadership in the “Dey Talk Room,” and I realized it was important to me to share Willie’s wisdom, to instill it in the hearts of these young leaders. I felt that they could be more, inspire more, and give more, if they, like me, were motivated by the lessons of Willie Turner.

  A few days before the event, I received a phone call from one of the committee members asking me for my Social Security number and other personal information. It turned out that the President of the United States, Ronald Reagan, was using the event to give his speech on education, and the White House needed to clear all of the major participants. I said that I was not comfortable being part of a political event, but they assured me that I would be delivering my keynote to the students in the auditorium an hour before the President would appear in the school’s large gymnasium to deliver his speech, so in fact it was a completely different event.

  I flew to Kansas the night before my speech, so I was able to spend quality time with many of the student leaders. To say that I was impressed was an understatement. The young men and women were smart, worldly, and gifted, and, most importantly, they all wanted to better people’s lives.

  The keynote went well. During the question-and-answer session, numerous questions were asked about Willie, and it was clear to me that his insights hit a major chord with the entire room.

  Afterwards, the committee chairman asked if I’d like to hear the President’s speech. “Sure,” I said. We walked over to the massive gymnasium, and went through a quick security check. We were then seated close to the stage.

  The gym was packed with an eclectic group and the national press was there. You could feel the anticipation in that gym, and when President Reagan stepped onto the stage the place exploded in cheers and applause. His charisma electrified the room. He began speaking, and during an applause interruption, he glanced over at me and smiled. Startled, I think that I gave him a geeky wave.

  At the end of his speech, which was terrific, the room went wild. As the crowd was clearing out, I was asked if I’d like to be in the receiving line to shake hands with the President. Excited, I said yes. I was escorted to a line of about forty people. After waiting a few minutes, a Secret Service agent walked up to me. “Please come with me, sir.”

  I immediately thought that I was marked as a security risk or something. Walking with him down a typical high school hallway, with lockers and classrooms on each side of us, I nervously asked, “Where we going?”

  He replied, “The President would like to meet you.”

  I instantly lost my breath. I was going to meet the leader of the free world! We stopped outside a nondescript classroom. The agent opened the door, and there was President Reagan, speaking on a briefcase phone. He noticed me, smiled, and then held up his hand to indicate we should hold on for a minute. The agent closed the door. The next few moments seemed like forever. It was all I could do not to hyperventilate, and I could hardly speak when I was finally escorted into the normal, class-sized room. Through a wall of windows opposite me, I could see the Presidential motorcade parked on the street, flags rippling in the wind. Then President Reagan walked up to me. “I can’t thank you enough, Anson, for meeting with me,” he said, as he shook my hand and warmly held my arm with his other.

  In ten seconds, the President had made me feel “dat I important.” He told me how much he liked Happy Days, the songs I sang, and the memories it brought back to him.

  Oh my God! I thought. The President actually watches the show.

  He then told me the reason he wanted to meet. He was frustrated because his schedule and security wouldn’t allow him to spend time with the young leaders who were attending the conference. He said that these kids are our future and it was important for him to hear their voices and maybe learn a thing or two. He had recognized me during his speech, and when he found out that I gave the keynote address and had spent time with the students he asked to speak with me. He wanted me to brief him on the event, the student leaders, and their visions for the future of America.

  For twenty minutes, I told him about the amazing young men and women, their courageous stories, their impressive accomplishments, and their selfless desire to genuinely help people. One particular story actually brought tears to his eyes. A seventeen-year-old Hispanic girl, Lucia, from New Mexico, was student body president and a top honor student. She also worked thirty hours a week, after school and weekends, as a motel maid to help support her single mom and a younger brother. Her mom had beaten heroin, but had sustained life-threatening damage to her health as a result. She worked at the same motel. Together, they made enough money to rent a small house and put food on the table. In her limited spare time, Lucia made sure to tutor her twelve-year-old brother, who was also a straight ‘A’ student. The President took a pen and small paper out from his coat and wrote down “Lucia/New Mexico.”

  “We have programs for special individuals like her and her family. She’s been a maid long enough.”

  At this point, one of the agents was signaling the President that they had to go. This time, instead of shaking my hand, President Reagan gave me a hug, and thanked me again for taking the time to meet.

  Walking back down that high school hallway, I thought about Willie and the President of the United States. I thought about Lucia, and how wonderful it was that her life and her family’s life was going to change, and how lucky we were to have a President in office who was selfless, and who honestly cared about us and our country’s future.

  “He know how to lead. He make me feel dat I important.”

  One Funky-Looking, Small Plaque

  “Dose words can save everythin’.”

  Willie was illiterate, but he kept an old Irish saying, written on a yellowed, worn piece of paper, tap
ed on his “Talk Room” wall. He explained it to me: Years earlier he was delivering a refrigerator, and part of his job was to take away the old one to dispose of it. When he got the old fridge in the truck, he spotted a note that had fallen down and gotten stuck in the door. Something moved him to keep it, and back at the store a cashier on lunch break read it to him: “There is no limit to what a man can do or where he can go if he does not mind who gets the credit.” Then he said to me, “Boy, dose words can save everythin’. No mo’ wars, no one hungry, all people’s happy.”

  * * *

  Quite a few years after I met with President Reagan, he was still in office. Happy Days was going strong, and I’d been fortunate in producing and writing more television. One day, while waiting at a car wash, I was looking through the books in the store area of the service station. I happened upon a paper­back titled First Lady’s Lady, by Sheila Weidenfeld. Sheila was Betty Ford’s press secretary, and her book was about living in two worlds: working with the most powerful couple in the world, then rushing home to supervise her kids’ homework and dinner. It was fun and relatable, and reminded me of a Mary Tyler Moore-type show. I showed it to Ron, and we both agreed that it could be a great movie of the week, and then a weekly comedy series.

  We contacted Sheila and optioned the book. We then met with NBC and they made a script deal with us. A gifted writer, Michael Bortman, was hired to do the screenplay, and he asked us if it was possible to visit the East Wing of the White House to get a better feel for Sheila’s world. We spoke with Sheila, and not only did she get us approval to tour the East Wing, she also set up a meeting for us with a second Sheila—Sheila Tate, who was Nancy Reagan’s press secretary at that time.

  Growing up, the only politician I’d met was the mayor of Burbank. I was fifteen and I thought he was the only one I’d ever meet. In fact, he was the only one that I needed to meet, because that encounter resulted in Willie teaching me the definition of real leadership. It’s been startling over the years to realize how many powerful politicians are definitely not leaders—I’ve met presidents, senators, and congressmen who are only out for themselves, golden calves who will tell any story to stay in power. Truthfully, the only politician I have ever met (on a national level) who was a real leader was President Reagan.