Dodge Trucks and the Teamsters
I grew up in a union household. My father was a member of OPW (Oil and Petroleum Workers) for thirty-six years. He worked as unskilled labor in an oil refinery. Dad literally wore blue work shirts. He also drove trucks once in a while for Texaco Oil, so might have been a Teamster at one point. Don’t remember.
Should anyone wish to pile on regarding my life as a management stooge, you’ll be mistaken in your point of view. Not only did dear old Dad adhere to the local union’s desire to negotiate, he also hewed to the national’s need to do the same. OPW rarely struck, but when they did, Dad put in his time on the picket line.
Also, I belonged to three unions from the time I graduated college. The Hotel and Restaurant Workers in Philadelphia and New York, and AFTRA.
But as intractable as I found the talent union, and as much power I thought the Hotel and Restaurant Workers union wielded, nothing compared to the Teamsters. God bless them, and God bless Jimmy Hoffa, wherever he is.
Towards the end of my first full year in the production industry, 1985 for those of you keeping score, Bianchi Films, a company for which I offered an exchange of services for money more than once, finally called. Location PA on a Dodge Trucks spot.
On the morning of the first day of scouting, I arrived at the offices of Bianchi Films. The wall of estrogen that hit me when I stepped off the freight elevator pushed me back into a corner. I managed to get to the office by doing my best Captain America. I scanned the, ahem, bullpen area in front of me. Every desk occupied was by a XX-chromosome carrier, including the executive producer.
Me: “Welcome to Themyscira!” I shouted to bursts of laughter. A burst of laughter anyway from the smallest woman in the room.
A masculine looking young female manned the front desk. She was everything that Irene Vlak was not.
Not Miss Netherlands: “Can I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I’m Steve Trevor.”
Another laugh from the comic book nerd in the back as Not Miss Netherlands picked up a clipboard and looked it over. Then she took way too long looking at me, and then another way too long look back at the clipboard.
Not Miss Netherlands: “I don’t see you on the list Steve.”
Me: “You’re the first person I’ve ever seen actually use a clipboard.”
Not Miss Netherlands: “Is that right? But I still don’t see Steve Trevor on the list. Who hired you?”
Me: “That is a darned good question. I’ve sent letters of inquiry to just about everyone who works here, staff or freelance. I’m almost positive one of them fell for it.”
Comic Book Nerd: “Maria! Themyscira is the island of Amazon women, and Steve Trevor is the only man to ever land there and survive the encounter.”
Not Miss Netherlands: “Van’s parked in front.”
She tossed me a set of car keys, then handed me a booklet bound in a plastic binder. The cover read “Creative Scout. Bianchi Films. Dodge Trucks.” I smiled, before getting down to reviewing the directions, timeline and crew list.
Me: “Can’t imagine what the actual production booklet entails. But I don’t see the director or DP on the pickup list. Are they here already?”
That statement brought on the laughter that I had hoped the Themyscira comment would. According to the Bible I held in my hands, director Eddie Bianchi and DP, Andrzej Bartkowiak were flying to the locations to scout and met at a series of inconveniently located corporate airports. Their itinerary laid out as follows:
Teterboro, NJ to Lancaster, PA
Lancaster, PA to Gloucester, NJ
Gloucester, NJ to Teterboro, NJ
Me (pointing out a flaw in the logic): “Given wait times, and travel to and from, and the unreliability of corporate jet travel, this will take longer than simply driving them.”
The room took on the air of a state funeral. Anticipating the arrival of the SS, which would disappear me, I hustled out the entrance and back into the freight elevator. It deposited me at the exit which led to Fifth Avenue and the waiting van.
TOMORROW . . . THE RETURN OF THE CHUBBY AGENCY!
Comentários