Thank God For Charlie Pickell
A dumb statement at this time would be “Every business has a Charlie Pickell, that person who can get you anything no matter how daunting the ask.” That would not be true. Very few industries are fortunate enough to attract clever and inventive individuals such as Charlie. The film industry is one of them.
The converse of this is that there are very few industries for which Charlie and Yours truly could actually work and make money. The film industry might be the only one.
And a better reason to buy a lottery ticket was Charlie’s proximity. He worked in San Francisco. For Panavision. And had a direct pipeline to Mole-Richardson, where we would buy our lighting and grip.
Inches from the ping-pong table, and the comforting exit of the studio’s front door, I spun around. I zipped past one of the cameramen in clown make-up, before realizing that’s what he looked like all the time.
Me: “Eric. How are you?”
Eric: “You know I can beat you up.”
Me: “Didn’t know that. Your wig is slipping.”
Before Psycho the Clown could adjust his hairpiece, I dashed back into my office and picked up the phone and made a butt-saving call.
Charlie: “Panavision. Charlie speaking.”
Me: “Charlie. It’s George Young. I need you to find some camera gear for me.”
Charlie: “Did I not mention Panavision when I answered?”
Me: “Sorry. I need to buy some camera gear.”
Charlie: “Oh baby.”
I swear I heard a cash register “ding.”
Me: “I also need some grip and electric.”
Charlie: “Mole-Richardson?”
Me: “Yes.”
Charlie: “Much as I’d love to take your dough, it’d be cheaper if you called Mole directly or went through Mason Studio Services here.”
Perhaps you’re catching on as to why Charlie had my respect and admiration.
Charlie: “What’s the camera gear?”
Me: “I’ll fax you the list.”
Charlie called me back about a half an hour later.
Charlie: “Did you contact the Knights Templar?”
Me: “Funny. I tried that line on the DP. He didn’t even flinch.”
Charlie: “Too bad. Here’s what I think this is. I know of a couple
vendors in North Carolina who recently purchased a storage container of old Mitchell gear. I’m sure there are tripods and some camera equipment in there. Also, I know where I can get my hands on a couple of used Worrall heads that need repair, but even I know how to do that. The Nikon lenses? I’ll send you a number. Again, cheaper if you go through them.”
Me: “Uh.”
Charlie: “Should have everything sourced by end of next week. To you, week after. I’ll need an advance, and I might have to buy some of the stuff through Panavision, but they won’t mind as long as they make some money.”
Me: “Uh.”
****
And two weeks later, I stood in the loading dock surrounded by several large containers all marked ‘Fragile.’ From their outward appearances, they had been handled gingerly by a Samoan rugby team. Charlie stood just outside the perimeter.
Charlie: “I got everything except the sixth Worrall head.”
He reached over and grabbed a box not quite the size of a Samoan.
Charlie: “I did find you a mini-Worrall Head if that might be a proper substitute. If it won’t suffice, I’ll repair it and see if I can find another buyer.”
The black duvetyne flaps to four of the closest stages flew open and the cameramen from their respective sets charged out.
Asocial Cameraman #1: “Mini-Worrall! Give it here!”
Asocial Cameraman #2: “Mini-Worrall! It’s mine, I tell you! Mine!”
Asocial Cameraman #3: “Dibs on the Mini-Worrall!”
Asocial Cameraman #4: “I lay claim to the Mini-Worrall. It is my birthright!”
All four made a bee-line for Charlie, who relinquished his grip on the box. A fistfight broke out between four guys who would be the top finishers for Science Nerd of the Year. After this propeller head version of slap and tickle finished, Asocial Cameraman #3 declared himself the winner when the three other cameramen noticed one of the G7 cameras happened to be painted with zebra stripes and still had the original turret mount on it. They all said “Ooooooooh” at the exact same time and ran to it like Eloi after hearing the Morlock dinner bell.
Me: “We’ll take the Mini, Charlie.”
Charlie departed. I loaded five of the Mitchell G model cameras into my car and prayed the Nikon Lens Retro Mount Expert hadn’t vacated his opulent basement apartment. I looked at my watch.
Me: “5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”
12:30pm!
Lunchtime!
Asocial Cameraman #3 dropped the Mini-Worrall adding further to its lengthy repair list, and the three losers of the geared head lottery did the same to the object of their affection, the zebra striped G7. I anticipated that move, and caught it before it smashed itself on the concrete floor.
Adding it to the other five cameras in my trunk, I opened my car door, but did not immediately get in. I watched as all 100 members of the IA filed out of 7th and Harrison for their one hour lunch break. I asked Phil if Skellington Productions would pipe the Quitting Time soundtrack from The Flintstones in through the public address system at the studio at 6:00pm, because I bet him that all 100 IATSE members would say “Yabba-Dabba-Do!” in synch. Every day. Every time.
He said no.
TOMORROW: MORE FUN & GAMES WITH GEAR!
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