MY LIFE IN LOW BUDGET FEATURES

A MEMOIR IN FRAGMENTS

EPISODE ONE

BY JOHN WELSH

My most colorful experiences took place while working for Charles B. Pierce Productions. Crew called him Charlie. The pictures were low budget, hard work, and fun.

Oregon, 1982. Sacred Ground Jack Elam, Tim McIntire, L.Q. Jones, Mindy Miller, Serene Hedin THE STORY: Mountain Man trapper builds dream cabin on Indian sacred ground and moves in with pregnant wife. Mom dies when while giving birth when Indians pull down cabin. Mountain Man steals wife of chief to wet nurse the kid. Pissed-off chief follows with war party. Mountain Man kills all the Indians with newly acquired Henry repeating rifle. Mountain Man, wet nurse and kid live happily ever after. MY JOB: Props.

One afternoon as we were about to lose the light, Charlie was leading a convoy of the entire film unit around southern Oregon look for a place to shoot. Suddenly he pulled over to the side of the road a ordered everyone out. The sun was going down behind Mt. Shasta and Charlie wanted a shot of our lead, the drunken, drug addled Tim McIntire, riding towards the setting sun. This was not a good time of day for Tim.

The wranglers got a horse saddled, and wardrobe managed to a least get a hat and coat on Tim. The camera would be behind him so his modern shirt, and befuddled expression would not matter. The camera was set, MOS. I handed Tim his rifle. Ready! Roll camera! ACTION!

Tim sets off at a canter, right towards Mt. Shasta. Suddenly, Tim lurches to the left, and then to the right. Charlie gets on the horn and shouts for Tim to get back on track. Tim waves the rifle in acknowledgment and gets back on track. Charlie offers me $500 to shoot him. I give it some thought.

Finally, magazine run-out. Beautiful shot. Five minutes of usable film, plenty for an end credit roll-up. Cut! Tim keeps on going. Charlie gets on the bullhorn; cut! Nothing. Tim is about three hundred yards away. I get a rifle out of the prop truck and fire three shots. The sun is going down behind the mountain. A wrangler saddles up and takes off after Tim.

Charlie asks me why I didn't just shoot Tim? I would have but I was afraid I might hit the horse.

When Tim got back to the horse trailer I walked over to get his rifle.

He looks down at me from horseback and asks, "Do you have any Scotch?"

Florida, 1978. The Norseman Lee Majors, Cornell Wilde, Jack Elam, Denny Miller, Deacon Jones, Mel Ferrer, Suzie Coellho, Chris Connelly. THE STORY:

Rescue party of Norseman sail to New World to find earlier party of Norseman captured, blinded, and enslaved by bad ol' Indians MY JOB: set construction and featured extra.

We were shooting the Norseman's landing on the New World on a beach at Green Key, just north of Tampa. Our sailing "expert" had run the Viking ship aground out in the surf. I hated that ship. It was a photo ship only, used in the "Eric" mini cigar TV commercial, did not have a keel, it was flat bottomed. As an extra I spent a lot of time on it and it sailed like a pig.

All the actors and extra's were on the beach as Charlie set-up the first shot. As the shot began I was supposed to be walking into camp after exploring the inland forests, a scene we were later to shoot in the woods outside Shreveport, La. Script in hand, Charlie starts the actors going through their lines. Lee, speaks, Corny says his line. Then Charlie says, Ok Olaf, you say your line. Silence. Olaf?

Charlie starts screaming for the AD. Dave, I told you to get all the actors out here! Olaf was on the call sheet!

"Charlie, " the AD said, "we don't have an Olaf. You never cast him."

Montana, 1975 The Winds of Autumn Jack Elam, Janette Nolan, Andrew Prine, Earl Smith, Charlie Pierce, Chuck Pierce, Jr. , Dub Taylor. THE STORY: Bad outlaw family led by Nolan (in real life Tim McIntire's mother) wipe out Quaker family except for the youngest son. Son steals shotgun from a family friend who happens to be gunslinger turned Quaker and sets out on Vengeance trail. Ex-gunslinger follows and sets things right. MY JOB: production coordinator and actor (a preacher).

It was going on Saturday night after wrap and me and Fast Freddie, the assistant cameraman, were in the hotel bar relaxing after a tough week. Our slide into knee walking, dirt belly drunk was interrupted by the Line Producer. The rest of the crew had scattered for the weekend and we were the only two he could find.

Dub Taylor played a snake oil salesman complete with wagon painted with the advertisements of the profession.("Rattler S. Gravelly, elixirs," etc.) We had just completed one days shooting with the wagon near a creek on a farm about half hour's drive from the hotel. We had two more days shooting with the wagon at the same location. The wagon was left on site.

The refugee hippies the LP had hired for the art department as a cost saving measure had been instructed to paint the wagon with oil based paint. They had used poster paint instead. It was about to rain. The wagon would be ruined. Continuity shot. We were instructed to take a roll of plastic sheeting and gaffer's tape out to the farm and cover the wagon, nice and dry, to keep out the rain.

That day the farmer had told me there was grizzly bear in the neighborhood after his milk cows. If we returned at night, for any reason, he cautioned, we had better be packin'.

We went to see Lil' Joe, the key grip. Joe always had plenty of guns and would be sure to see we were protected. Joe gave me a .45 automatic and Freddie a .357 magnum. Before we left admonished he us not to drink while we were armed, booze and gunpowder don't mix. We agreed and were on our way.

As soon as we were in Freddie's Land Cruiser he produced a bottle of JW Dant. 100 proof bourbon whisky and we toasted Lil' Joe for being the good egg he was. We toasted him the entire drive out to the farm. We were in fine metal after we had hiked down from the road to the wagon. Lets get this god damn thing covered a get out of here.

After a while we got it covered and wrapped with 30 yards of gaffer's tape, just as it started to rain. Lets wait in the wagon until it lets up. Good, we had old JW to keep us warm. We had passed the bottle back and forth a few times when: Did you here that? What? That sound through the rain. Grrrrrrr We jumped down from the wagon. Grrrrrrrrrr! It's the fucking bear! GRRRRR. Before I knew what I was doing I pulled the .45! Blam! Blam Blam! Into the darkness We started to run. I fired again. BlamBlamBlamBlamBlam. The slide locked back! My gun was empty! Freddie hadn't fired. Give me your gun, I screamed. GRRRRRRRR! Just as he pulled the .357 from his waistband he slipped in the wet grass and the gun went off. I felt something whip past my calf and looked down to see a .357 size hole in the leg of my jeans. I grabbed the .357 and fired the five remaining shots at the 700 pounds of hell I knew was after us! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Just as Fast scrambled up from the grass the door to the farm house opened with a bang and the farmer shouted, you son of a bitch, and fired two shot gun blasts, BLAM, BLAM! The farmer'll kill it, shouted Freddie and we made a bee line for the Land Cruiser.

We laughed ourselves sick on the way back to the hotel. I ‘bout soiled myself, admitted Freddie. We spent the rest of the weekend as drunk as dancing pigs.

Come Monday morning we were back at the wagon. About midday the farmer walked over and asked me if I had heard about the commotion on Saturday night. I was about to thank him for saving our bacon when he said:

"Some son of a bitch tried to shoot my cow!"

Interlude

Sante Fe, 1986. Independence, a TV pilot for MTM MY JOB: PROPS.

An illustration of why I failed in Hollywood.

One day while shooting in a western town set the director was surrounded by crew members awaiting instructions. He let out a long sigh and said, I think most of a director's job is answering questions. I said:

"I thought so too when Truffaut said it in Day for Night."

Colorado, 1974 Winterhawk Michael Dante, Leif Erickson, Woody Strode, Denver Pyle, Elisha Cook, LQ Jones, Arthur Hunnicutt, Dawn Wells, Sacheen Littlefeather, THE STORY: A rip-off of John Ford's The Searchers. MY JOB: Production Assistant

We had already shot most of the picture in the Flathead Valley in Montana. Nine weeks worth. The last three weeks shooting required snow. As Montana was having a Indian Summer no snow was on the ground. We even tried a snow making machine. The only snow in the lower 48 was to be found in the mountains around Durango, Colorado. We had packed-up the entire film unit and caravanned down to a resort in the mountains 20 miles outside Durango called Purgatory. There we found more than enough snow. I had my own condo.

The resort was nice but lacked restaurants. It was not uncommon for crew to make the drive down the mountain to town for a good meal and maybe some shopping. One night Fast Freddie and me made the trek into Durango in his Land Cruiser. Good food, no booze. About nine PM we headed back. We were high up into the snow country, about five miles from Purgatory when:

Charlie's limo was parked in a turnout with the lights off. As we pulled up behind the limo Charlie and his latest squeeze jumped out and ran back to the Land Cruiser. Seems Charlie and Bimbo had been driving back from town when the limo ran out of gas. (Charlie ran out of gas at least once a week). He ordered me and Freddie to stay with the limo and he and the Bimbo world take the Land Cruiser back to Purgatory and send Lil' Joe back with gas. We climbed into the limo to keep warm as the Land Cruiser drove off. It was cold inside. A half hour passed in silence.

Lets see, Freddie, a half hour for Charlie to drive back, another half hour for him to have a drink and find Lil' Joe, half hour for Joe to drive back here. Right, I said.

Joe will be here in half hour. An hour later...Christ, it's cold. When is Joe going to get here? It is really cold.

We opened the trunk and found a couple of blankets. Three hours. When that little fucker Joe gets here I'm going to frost the snow bank with his brains. Sleep...

Lil'Joe was pounding on the door. What the fuck are you doing here? he asked. I looked at my watch, 6 am. Where the fuck have you been?

I was going into town to pick-up an early shipment from the airport and saw the limo, he said. Didn't Charlie tell you to come and get us, Freddie asked?

"I spent two hours drinking with him last night, he never mentioned you.

That's .Charlie"!

Montana, 1974 Winterhawk Elisha Cook was the most experienced of all the actors in the cast. The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, and Shane, were but a few of his credits. In the three months I was on location with him I never saw him draw a sober breath. He would report for make-up call at 7am, drunk but under control. After a few weeks of an erratic shooting schedule, during which the Unit Production Manager and the Assistant Director quit, Cookie and the other actors had ‘bout had it.

I stumbled onto the hotel restaurant one night around 10pm for a late dinner and saw Cookie seated at a table next to Michael Dante. Leaning on a chair next to him was a pair of crutches. Cookie's left leg was in a cast from above the knee to the ankle. He was fried to the gills and crying like a baby. Michael was grinning like a possum.

"How could I do this to Charlie?" He wailed.

Michael filled me in: Cookie's biggest scene in the show was to be shot the next day. He went for a swim in the hotel pool and slipped. His leg was broken in three places.

I took a look at the cast. Fake. Pull the other one, I said, it's got bells on it.

"Don't tell Charlie," Cookie whispered.

Charlie floated into the room from the downstairs meeting room where we screened dailies and raised hell ‘till all hours.

"I"m fucked," he said. "My backers'll pull the plug if we are delayed anymore . This is my ort! Damnit!"

Booger, Charlie's brother in law and "associate producer", and the Stunt Man arrived and announced they were about to down flaming drinks. On cue a waiter arrived with some ugly liquid in two martini glasses. The Stunt Man flicked his Bic and set the liquor aflame. Booger saluted us all, put the glass to his lips, burned same, spilled the flaming drink, setting his coat sleeve on fire along with the table cloth on Cookie's table. Cookie jumped up and, well, the cat was out of the bag.

Oh, somebody threw a pincher of beer on Booger. It wasn't me. I'd left by then.

Northern Louisiana/East Texas, 1978 The Evictors. Vic Morrow, Jessica Harper, Michael Parks, Harry Thomason. I never did understand the story on this one. Something about a house being sold over and over with each new tenet being murdered. MY JOB: assistant camera.

We had been shooting this turkey for eight weeks with 18 days left.

Charlie had finally managed to cast the last major character, Vic Morrow had the job. He had arrived on a Saturday. The PA who had picked him up at the airport reported he was drunk on burgundy and coca cola. Us lucky crew members were to meet him that night after shooting.

Charlie owned a nightclub in Shreveport, Jeremy's. It was a great place to party and packed every night. Crew went there often as possible.

I arrived with Jessica Harper about 11pm after a pleasant dinner. The place was hoppin. Jessica went off to talk to someone and I sat down on the bleacher like seats against the wall. I was minding my own business, watching the dancers, when...

Vic Morrow appeared in front of me. Sgt. Saunders of Combat! He was short, and drunk. I am 6'6'' and was tipping the scales at about 280 in those days.

Vic regarded me with his beady eyes.

"Are you a nark?" he asked.

"What?"

This seemed to piss him off.

"Are you a nark? Going to bust everybody?"

"Perhaps," I was feeling none too cooperative with drunken has-beens.

"How ‘bout I bust you?"

"We'll see." Threats from this jerk?

Vic grabbed a passing crew member he seemed to know.

‘Hey, who is this fuckin' guy?"

‘That's Big John, he's the AC."

Vic thought about this for a moment.

"How ‘bout you and me forget about the fuckin' movie, go outside and settle this," he said.

Several thoughts occurred to me at once. #1 What the hell is he talking about? #2 If I beat the shit out of him we can't shoot on Monday, we'll be delayed for days if not weeks, and I will not get home for Christmas. So I said:

"You were great in Blackboard Jungle".

"Ah, what? Oh, thanks."

"I never missed Combat!"

He shook his head.

"Good, good. I need a drink". And he walked off.

Jessica appeared at my side.

"Who's that you were talking to?"

"Just some drunk".

As Chief Broom would say, the fog rolled in. When the mists of memory clear there'll be a Episode Two.