Another excerpt from my upcoming book, “Those Pesky Alien Implants.” Originally published on this blog a few years back..

At Hollywood & Highland we kept our dispatch log on a computer. I’d sit there in the surveillance room and talk to security officers on the radio while watching a large monitor in front of me that was fed by 82 cameras around the property. I had a switching console, so that I could call up any camera feed I wanted too, and a “camera officer” sat nearby at a similar monitor and switching console.

As I kept the dispatch log, I’d make entries like this..

0700 – Ofc Bollomy reports code 4 north restrooms level 3.

0715 – McCarthy Construction commenced work on grand stairway, informed dispatch that portions of stairway to be inaccessible to public through remainder of the work day.

April 25th of 2002 was a slow day, so I decided to keep myself entertained by typing the security log up a little differently. I called it..

If a dimestore novelist worked part-time as a security dispatcher.

The shift started at 0600. At 0615, I’d gotten out of briefing and settled into the dispatch chair. Thus our story begins..

0615 – Twenty one uniformed security officers and their pint-sized sergeant sat in hushed silence as Craig Delanoy strode into the room. The blue of their uniforms matched the blue mood that swept over them as Delanoy spoke swiftly yet eloquently of terrorist threats and the need for officers to be alert.

Tossing out a final warning as nonchalantly as one tosses a quarter to a grateful panhandler, Delanoy left the room, his words lingering in the air like so much air freshener that had been in the can too long.

0630 – Officer Gregg reluctantly surrendered the dispatch console to Corporal Rhodes. A bit of idle chit-chat provided a thin veil for the deeply passionate feelings Graham harbored when it came to the throne of electronic endeavor and his longing to return to that throne once night should fall again.

Officer Mitch Dakin took his station at the surveillance monitor, a sense of urgency buzzing around him like a cloud of angry mosquitoes, needling him to do better, do BETTER, and not let Delanoy down. Not again. Not ever.

Craig Delanoy’s words of exhortation during the morning briefing had made a deep impact on Dakin, who strove to be just like Delanoy someday and was even now reminiscent of him in his youth, a daring young man full of promise and not lacking when it comes to matters of the heart and soul.

0632 – Who would think that an entire golf cart could turn up missing? Yet the half-hour mark found Officer Ernie Valdez standing forlornly in the cavernous depths of the parking structure, calling on his radio in a hollow voice as he described to Rhodes how empty the space looked where once stood a a shiny, beautiful golf cart.

Rhodes was no fool, and he could sense the layer of fear wedged into Valdez’s thick, Hispanic dialect. Fear that the cart would never be found, and that he would be relegated to some far-flung boundary of the complex for the remainder of his watch to idly pass the time by counting passers-by and tossing inane greetings at them as one tosses baseballs at lead bottles with the hope of winning a stuffed panda at the county fair.

Corporal Rhodes acted swiftly, dispatching his full compliment of roving security officers in search of the wayward cart. Time dripped by like molasses to the forlorn Valdez, who was elated when he heard the happy voice of Officer Chessley Schmidt pierce the darkness and call out that the cart had been found in the valet area of the parking structure.

To Valdez, Schmidt had become a hero in one fleeting moment. Never mind that Schmidt was a hero already, beloved by all who call upon his services to witness how quickly he brings each task to fruition with a relish. To Valdez, Schmidt was now his personal hero, and no one else’s.

0647 – Escalators are mere machines. Soulless contraptions that don’t care one little bit whether you go up or down. Escalator #25 is no exception, and it sits in a funk.. A non-moving, gloomy little escalator funk. Fortunately, Corporal Hernandez is the funk remover, and is on his way with the de-funking key.

0652 – While on his way to cheer up Escalator #25, Corporal Hernandez noticed that Elevator #8 appeared to be in a funk also. But upon closer inspection it was revealed that some miscreant had maliciously engaged the fire-switch on poor old Elevator #8, causing it to sit just where it is, pondering whether or not it would ever slide its smooth walls up and down that silky shaft once again. This would be a job for Ted from Fujitech, a man known not only for his ragged sense of humor and wonderful wit, but also for his fanciful head full of elevator whimsy.

0654 – Corporal Hernandez flashed fondly back on that day in fifth grade when he had handed the report in to Mrs. White and she smiled like a Cheshire cat, praising him for the hard work he’d obviously poured into such a fascinating piece. Who knew that the Louisiana purchase could ever be made to seem so alive, so vibrant? It was just a boring old piece of American historicity in most minds, but not after Danny Hernandez had tackled it with his pen.

Mrs. White was not one known to graciously dole out grades that matter, but she slapped a triumphant A-PLUS on Danny’s paper that day, sealing in him a desire to perform above and beyond the call of the daily grind. As he inserted his key into the little slot at the base of Escalator #25 and it roared to life, he grinned like a very special breed of Cheshire cat, certain within himself that he’d earned yet another in a life-long string of A’s with the accomplishment of this task.

At this point the watch commander walked into dispatch and looked over my shoulder.

“Rhodes, what are you doing?”

“I’m composing the dispatch log as if I were a dime-store novelist working here part-time.”

“You won’t be working here at all if you don’t knock it off.”

I printed a copy of what I had so far, then went back and rewrote the entries in the usual format.

Work. They just don’t let you have any fun.

Joss Whedon ~ photo by Gage Skidmore

SUNNYDALE, 2003

Between 2000 and 2004 I was living in Hollywood while working as an extra in film and TV.

This is really easy to do, more so than people would think. You pretty much just need to live in the area, have reliable transportation and be breathing. Gender, age, looks, talent (or lack of) and skill don’t matter. Just twenty-five bucks for the “photo-fee” at Central Casting and you’re in.

(NOTE – That’s what it was then. I have no idea what it is now, so check their website if you’re interested.)

As a Central Casting client you’d check the hotline whenever you want to work to see if there’s anything that fits you. They put all the calls on there and if there’s a bit you want to do, you call up the agent in charge. This is how the call sounded on the hotline on that day in mid-2003..

BEEP.. “Hey guys, this is Allan and we’re casting for townsfolk for the final episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer that will be shooting on Wednesday. I need every ethnicity from black to white, Asian and so on, plus a variety of types from long-haired to buzzed military looks. This is a big call guys, so ring me up at 6159 and book quickly,  this one’s going to go fast.”

I hung-up and dialed the line for agents, then hit 6-1-5-9. Then I did it again. Then again. The hard part about getting these gigs was getting through to the agent because they only put the call on the hotline for the time they’re going to book it, then they’d take it off as soon as they had filled up the slots. If one was serious about working as an extra and getting daily gigs, one had to sometimes check the hotline up to ten times a day and then try for an hour or more to get through to the agent for the gig they wanted.

If you managed that, it was a pretty sure bet you’d get it as long as you were responding to your type. The Buffy call that day was a no-brainer since he needed all types, but often it would be very specific and if you were calling on something that didn’t fit you, they’d just sort of laugh and hang-up. Not cool.

I got through to Allan and he booked me, then gave me the “info number” to call later for details. That’s right, a third phone call. At least at this stage you’ve got the gig and you’re going to work; you’re just calling to find out exactly when and where.

I arrived at a little studio lot in Santa Monica on Wednesday morning that I hadn’t been to in several years of doing these gigs and running all over town. It turned out that’s because they only shot Buffy there, and I hadn’t worked on that show before. I was lucky to get in on the last episode.

Allan had needed all of those types because we were going to be townsfolk fleeing Sunnydale before it implodes and gets sucked down into the hellmouth. Gosh, I hope I’m not spoiling this for anyone!

I followed the show at the time and had no idea that the entire town of Sunnydale was contained on a lot in Santa Monica, with bookstores, surf-shops and condos right across the street on the other side of the large green fence. I bet those people never knew they were next to Sunnydale that whole time, with its vampires and monsters running amok at all hours.

The production assistant in charge of extras got me set-up along with the hundred or so others and told me that when they started rolling I’d be casually strolling down the middle of the street while carrying my suitcase which had been given to me earlier by a prop master.

They mixed it up and gave a lot of people bedrolls, backpacks and bundles of household goods (I remember one girl who had a birdcage with fake parakeets in it) but I got a neatly packed suitcase. I guess I just looked orderly or something.

I’d been shown my “starting point” and told to wait there until they were rolling. It was about twenty feet from the director’s hutch, which is a temporary kiosk they always set-up on shoots that can be easily moved through the day, containing all the monitoring gear and a canopy overhead to keep the sun off. There were also a gaggle of actor’s and producer’s chairs, the canvas kind you see with the names on them.

Sarah Michelle Gellar, Anthony Head, Nicholas Brendon and Alyson Hannigan all had name chairs in the area and the actors themselves started showing up after awhile and cutting-up with each other and the crew. There was a palatable excitement with these people on that particular day that wasn’t normally present on TV shoots. They all knew it was the last day of a series they’d been working on for years, and for most of them it had defined their career.

Actors, crew and other extras milled all around me as I stood on that Sunnydale sidewalk and took it all in. I noticed that the guy standing next to me seemed to be feeling as I was.. he watched all of the commotion with a little grin on his face while looking very glad to be there.

“Nice day to be shooting outdoors, huh? Of course, not unusual for LA, haha!”

I was making small-talk. I’d made quite a few friends on sets in my three years of doing extra work and there were as many as ten people I knew well at this particular shoot, but they’d all been assigned to stand in different areas. This guy was the only one in talking distance and I’d never seen him before.

“Yeah, that’s LA for ya!” he said. “This weather makes it really nice for shooting almost any time of the year.”

So here we were talking about the weather, and now it was time to move on to talking about “the biz.” Like I said, small-talk. If you didn’t know someone on a set you’d usually talk about the weather, the entertainment business and your career.

“So, have you worked this show before?”

He looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.” His semi-smile mixed with a knowing glance was a giveaway that I wasn’t talking to another extra, which the director confirmed a moment later when he looked over in our direction.

“Hey Joss! We’re just about ready, good to see you!”

Joss Whedon turned to me and said, “Nice talking to you, uh..”

I forgot my name for a second. Oh yeah, I got it..

“Dave” I stammered.

“Dave, right.. well have fun today!”

“Thanks man, you too.”

I ended up in that final episode, but barely. A wistful-looking Buffy (Sarah-Michelle Gellar) walks against the crowd as they exodus and at one point I walk past her. That’s it. Just me and my neatly packed suitcase bidding Buffy adieu, for a split-second in time. Maybe a hundred frames of film at the most.

But I remember it well, and I remember Joss and his smile, both of which have since gone on to lots of other cool, magical things.

Me, I’m sitting here in a cheap hotel room in San Francisco, writing about it. Someday I’ll unpack that suitcase and make a life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DEAR RHODESTER,

The evacuation of Sunnydale because of the widening hellmouth takes place in episode #19 of the seventh season (Empty Places) and not the final episode, #22 (Chosen) as you’ve suggested. What do you have to say for yourself?

~ a Buffy fan

Dear Buffy fan,

I’ve forgotten what I had for breakfast this morning. I think it was pancakes. In my defense they frequently shoot things out of sequence and that may have very well been the final scene shot for that entire series (although I’m guessing), because I do remember that being mentioned.

I saw the exodus scene some time later but didn’t remember what episode it was in so I just assumed it was the final one.

Thanks for letting me know,  Sarah.

~ Rhodester

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ADDITIONAL NOTE ~ A little research goes a long way. I found the episode on HULU but you need to be a HULU PLUS subscriber to see it. Here is a screencap from my big moment with Sarah Michelle Gellar at 1:12 into the opening scene..

Rhodester and Sarah Michelle Gellar in Buffy The Vampire Slayer. For like, two seconds. Or less.

The Stanley Cup

CONGRATULATIONS to the Boston Bruins for their victory over the Canucks in the 2011 Stanley Cup Playoff.

As a tribute, we are reblogging this post from 2oo8 about the time Rhodester won the Stanley Cup.

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At times, I’ve been accused of name dropping on this blog.

To that I say, I don’t!  I just lay them down gently. Then it’s up to you to step through the minefield of celebrity and fame and if you trip over one or two in the process, well, who’s fault is that?  Can I help it that I used to schmooze with the rich and famous?

I’m wondering though, if it counts as name dropping if you talk about a famous pile of metal rather than a person.

You see, yesterday I was asking James at MEN WITH PENS how to give a first-person narrative with strong anchor phrases and keywords, but somehow got onto the subject of Hollywood.  That happens with me a lot, and that’s when I get accused of name-dropping.

James hasn’t accused me of it though, yet, but he should because I couldn’t help showing him up.  I always do that and it’s a bad, BAD habit.  If you saw Steven Spielberg in a mall, I hung out with him on the set of an Oscar nominated film.  If you saw Muhammed Ali fight way back when, I spent half the day with him on a security detail.  If you spotted Gwyneth Paltrow in Sardi’s during your trip to LA, I once tried to kill her.

It never ends.

What happened yesterday is that I’d just mentioned something about some celebrity – I can’t remember WHO, because there are just SO MANY – and James wrote back the following..

I do have an autograph of Denis Hamel on my fridge .. he’s a famous hockey player. Like, you’re supposed to know who he is. Comes from my town. Famous. I’m telling you. Denis. Yes?

Well, like I could leave THAT alone!  I could do better, so I replied..

A few years back I was booked as an extra on an HBO show called “Arli$$“, about a sports agent (or reporter, or something.. I’d never watched it.)

We shot some scenes on a sound stage and then broke for lunch – another sound stage that wasn’t being used for the show had been set up as a cafeteria, and I grabbed a tray of food and took a seat at an empty table.  I didn’t know anyone there, and didn’t really want to fraternize with the crew.

As I was eating, some guy came in with this big-ass trophy, and everyone cheered.  He asked, “Where do I put it?”  One of the crew guys pointed to my table and told him to set it there, so he did.  Then everyone just HAD to come over and flock around it for a nice close-up view and, since it had been set down about three feet away from me, I was suddenly surrounded by crew people, pushing and shoving for a closer view of it.

So, I had lunch with the most prestigious award in hockey and one of the most important awards in the world of sports, THE STANLEY CUP.  The REAL one, not a prop, because they do that sort of thing with it.

I later found out that it makes “appearances” all over the place, just like a celebrity.  It was on loan to be used in that particular episode of the show – I forgot to mention the armed guard who stayed within view of it the whole time.

So, yeah.. speaking of HOCKEY.  Sorry, I’ve never heard of Denis Hamel.

So now you see how annoying I can be.  But I’m still wondering if it counts when it’s a big-ass metal cup instead of a person.

I should phone up Spielberg and ask him.

Oscar Gets A Blow Job

It seems as though it was only a few years ago – nine, actually – that I stood on that stage myself and accepted the award for my performance as “best security guard to break into the Kodak Theater at three in the morning and stand on the stage holding a flashlight while goofing off award.”

In 2001 the Kodak was being built smack dab in the middle of the Hollywood & Highland complex, which was also being built. We lived behind it on Orchid, right where the soon-to-be Renaissance Hotel was located. It faces Highland, but the loading dock lets out onto Orchid, which is a tiny little street in the heart of Hollywood that doesn’t really go anywhere.

I could walk out the front door of our apartment complex and walk into the loading dock of the Renaissance, but I didn’t because, you know, who wants to go walking around in loading docks?

The Renaissance Hotel as seen from the air, with the rear of the Kodak Theater and our old apartment building, which was the 2nd building down from the Kodak on the right of the pic.

I worked at Universal Studios at the time as a ride operator on the ET Attraction, which was a facsimile of the bicycle ride ET took at the end of the movie, with the dog in the basket past the moon and all of that. It was a horrible job because I was already getting old then, and I worked for 19 year old shift leads, who can be a bit attitudinal when they have a guy like me who has to mop up vomit when they tell him too.

Fortunately there wasn’t a lot of vomit on the ET Attraction because it didn’t go over 5 miles per hour. But there were other things, like dropped snow cones and stuff.

In late 2001 there were these bad guys who flew airplanes into buildings out there in New York City and it scared the crap out of all of us, so security companies started hiring like crazy. I went to work for an outfit that had gotten the contract to provide security to the Hollywood & Highland complex, which was still a pile of construction materials at the time, so we were sent out to augment the security at Warner Brothers Studios for a few weeks.

We mainly searched cars lined up at the gates to come in, and my job was to ride a bicycle around to all of the gates and relieve our security people for breaks and lunch, so I’d search cars at gate nine for a while, and then head over to gate three, and then over to gate two, all day long.

We searched everyone, from the head of Warner Brothers Studios to the lady who flipped burgers at the commissary. Nobody was exempt because, darn it, bad guys had flown airplanes into buildings and we weren’t going to take it lying down.. so we were diligent about making sure Jennifer Aniston wasn’t taking pipe bombs into the set of “Friends.”

Sexy terrorist, Jennifer Aniston

When the Hollywood & Highland Complex approached an opening date, they sent us over there to start getting acclimated. It was still a construction site so we had to wear hard hats and boots as we walked around with flashlights, mace and handcuffs.

One night, Bob and I wandered over to the area of the Kodak Theater to have a look. We found an open door, so in we went. The interior was pristine and looked like it was ready for the first show.

They wouldn’t be hosting the Oscars for a few months yet, but we stood on the stage and speculated as to what it might be like to stand there with the place full of every major player in the entertainment business plus the eyes of a billion people watching you as you stammer through an acceptance speech.

It was a bit exhilarating.

Oddly enough, nobody was around. Lights had been left on and a door unlocked but not a soul was in the place except for Bob and I, making it one of those times I’ll never forget, like when coffeesister and I hung out at the top of the Eiffel Tower for about 25 minutes and watched the sunset over Paris with nobody else around.

I think every now and then God gives me little gifts like this, and I’m supposed to hold onto them and call them up during bad times.

I went to a few shows at the Kodak after it opened, but nothing beat standing on that stage that night long ago. I was a security supervisor at the complex, so I got to be on the red carpet during all kinds of award shows, and there weren’t any 19 year olds who bossed me around. They called me “sir” instead – at least at first, until I told them to knock it off because I’m not like that.

So, coffeesister and I are going to be watching the Oscars Sunday night and I don’t care who wins what, so if you thought this was going to be a typical Oscar post including “RhodesTer’s picks,” then I’m sorry to disappoint – I just don’t see many movies these days. I watch it for the fun of it and to reminisce about my glory days in Hollywood, searching Jennifer Aniston’s Jag for pipe bombs.

True story - shortly after Hollywood & Highland opened, we had a security detail down at the entrance to the parking garage doing the car search thing, just like we’d done out at Warner Brothers, but this time I was in the dispatch center.

They weren’t searching every vehicle coming in because it would have caused traffic to back up onto Highland Avenue, so they were instructed to search every sixth car.

A young security officer called up and asked, “Hey dispatch, I have a sixth car stopped but do I have to search this lady? It’s Gwyneth Paltrow.”

I looked on the security camera and, sure enough, it was her.

“Of course you have to search her,” I said. “Haven’t you seen View From The Top?”

I saw myself on TV again last night.

It’s been years.

I once worked as an extra in the film and television industry, when we lived down in LA. I was registered with an outfit called Central Casting, which has been around almost as long as movies have, and supplies something like eighty percent of the extras used in movies and TV shows when they shoot in southern California.

There was a time I’d see myself pop-up fairly often. One night I was on all three major networks – ABC, NBC and CBS – in the same evening. This wasn’t really a big deal, since I was never an actor. When you’re an extra, you’re just standing around in a scene or walking by – usually you’re seen for anywhere from ten seconds to a couple of minutes if you’re lucky, and you never, EVER get to talk.

There’s absolutely no creativity involved in this gig, so I didn’t continue with it beyond a couple of years. They tell you where to stand, what to do and what to wear, and you can’t deviate or add anything to what you’re doing. You can’t be expressive and draw any focus away from the main actors in a scene or you get into trouble. You’re basically human furniture. Personally, I liked to visualize myself as a coffee table.

At least actors get to do a character, and they bring their own interpretation to it. They may have to do it a certain way and wear the clothes that are dictated by the scene, but no two actors will do any character exactly the same way, whereas extras are interchangeable and expendable. You want a 30-40 year old clean-cut white guy to wear a suit, carry a briefcase and look like a lawyer? There are a thousand plus to choose from.

I said I was on TV last night, but that’s not really the case. I was on MACBOOK, because coffeesister and I don’t have a TV at the moment and have been catching up on DVD shows and movies using her trusty computer. Carnivàle is an HBO series that I got to be a part of in the first season, but never got to see the episode because we didn’t have HBO.

It shot in either late 2002 or early ‘o3, I really can’t remember. We were all at a tent revival meeting and then later at the set of a dilapidated old town.

Coffeesister and I checked-out the series on DVD after finding it at the library, and I had no idea where I’d show up or IF I’d show up at all. Last night we got to episode three in the first season, which had an old-fashioned tent revival scene, and there I was, standing near the entrance looking like a dustbowl farmer from a small town who was mesmerized by the events taking place.

Memories flooded back.. I’d spent half a day with the cast, crew and other extras when they filmed it back then but I’d forgotten what happened in the scene. As it unfolded I started to think, “Oh, this is where HE comes in, and then the faith-healer does THIS!” and so on. I found myself predicting what was going to happen about five seconds before it actually did.

It was weird seeing myself eight years younger and looking so dusty, disheveled and downtrodden. As I look in the mirror now, I’m still downtrodden but look at least ten years older.

I occasionally miss those couple of years of hanging out on sets, schmoozing around with famous actors and later seeing myself in something, even if it’s just for a few seconds.

But I don’t miss being a coffee table.

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Carnivale: The Complete
First Two Seasons at AMAZON.

Yesterday was a Bob Newhart kind of day around here.

Which was actually a little more exciting than it sounds.

This is because Bob complimented my dog one day a few years ago, and I was reminded of it yesterday when they had a “Newhart” marathon playing on one of the cable channels. I kept it on while I worked, but it was very distracting because of those lovable woodsmen Larry, Darrel and Darrel, and those precocious scamps Michael and Stephanie.

I thought it was the funniest show on television back in ’85. I remember the first show too, from the seventies, which my dad loved. He never missed an episode.

There was an attempt at a show in the early nineties which fell flat, but we watched it, that coffeesister and I. We were married by then and she knew I was a Bob Newhart fan, so she supported me in that effort.

So, I went through about five episodes of the old Newhart show yesterday and then Bob showed up for an interview on a late-night talk show. He looked good for being almost eighty, and although he’s slowed down a bit he was still funny. He was asked if he ever gets mistaken for someone else (jokingly, because WHO looks like that, huh?) and I thought he was going to tell about meeting my dog.

He didn’t. Oh well.

Rufus was a solid black Keeshond with a curly rooster tail. He stood about yay high, and he was a sweetheart. Everybody loved him because he didn’t have a mean bone in his little body. I’d never seen him snap or snarl at anyone – he was always ready for a little love when he could get it, and otherwise he’d just mind his own business.

He’d been a Christmas gift to my mom from us, and she kept him for the first four years of his life until she had to leave everything behind one day all of a sudden, so we took Rufus in. He stayed with us for about the next ten years.

During my Hollywood period, when I was doing work in TV and film as an extra, I got booked on Reese Witherspoon’s “Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde,” which wasn’t the greatest movie ever made but it’s the only one that has Rufus in it because he got booked too. He’s not actually in it, because it turns out that photography directors in movies don’t like solid black dogs, clothes or cars because they sort of disappear into a void on film, so they didn’t really put ol’ Rufus in any good shots but he ended up on the DVD in a “making of” segment.

From the “making of” segment on the “Legally Blonde 2:
Red, White and Blonde” DVD- Rufus is in the blue cap

Bob Newhart is in the movie too, and we were all out at Exposition Park in Los Angeles that day filming a scene depicting a “million dog march” on Washington. There were hundreds of dogs and their owners milling around, including Chuck and Grace, who I’d met on a previous gig. They had their two huskies and we were hanging out near a catering truck while the crew set up the next big scene they were going to shoot.

We all marched on Washington that day, which was actually
Exposition Park in Los Angeles. Bob Newhart is shown in
front with Reese Witherspoon, while Rufus and I were
somewhere way in the back, unseen as usual.

Grace asked if she could get us anything because she was going to walk over to the catering truck, so we placed our orders. She returned about ten minutes later, shaking her head and kind of embarrassed. “OH MY GOD,” she said. “I think I’ve just insulted Bob Newhart!”

She told of walking up to the truck but not seeing any bananas. This was crazy, because they ALWAYS have bananas at these trucks, and she really wanted one. So she asked the older gentleman standing next to her if he had any bananas today and he stammered, “I, uh.. I.. don’t, uh.. I don’t.. well.. work here. I’m actually, uh.. I’m IN the movie.”

It was Bob Newhart, who was also there to get a banana. He was wearing some kind of uniform which led her to believe he was a caterer, when actually he was in costume for his character.

She profusely apologized and he accepted, telling her it was okay because it “happens all the time” to him, so she grabbed a few items and rejoined us. She was telling us the story when he came up behind her, eating a banana.

“Hey, uh.. they.. they have bananas.. they were hiding behind the cereal boxes. I brought you one.”

Yes, he stammers like that in real life.. it’s not just an act after all!

He handed Grace a banana and then gave our dogs a look. “Nice dogs,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye and a slight grin. He’d overheard Grace telling us about meeting him and I’m sure he thought it was pretty amusing. We thanked him and he went on his way to get ready for whatever it was he had to do.

I remember that whenever I see him, and I saw him a lot yesterday, so today I thought I’d write about it. Rufus is long gone, and although it’s not a big story or a hysterical one, to me it’s just one of those weird times when worlds collide because I think of my beloved little pal Rufus every time I see Bob Newhart, because Bob said he was “a nice dog.”

He was, Bob. He was the best.

Rufus enjoys retirement after a long, stellar film career

Hollywood & Highland - photo by Trey Ratcliff on FlickrOn April 25th of 2002, I was working as a security dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland complex. I know I worked the morning of that exact date, because yesterday coffeesister was going through a box of old papers and unearthed a document I'd saved but forgotten about.

We kept our dispatch log on a computer. I’d sit there in the surveillance room and talk to security officers on the radio while watching a large monitor in front of me that was fed by 82 cameras around the property. I had a switching console, so that I could call up any camera feed I wanted to, and a “camera officer” sat nearby at a similar monitor and switching console.

His sole responsibility was to watch the video from all around the property – he didn’t have the radio or dispatch log duties to distract him. If he saw something suspicious, he’d just tell me what camera it was on and I’d bring it up on my monitor, then send security via radio if needed.

As I kept the dispatch log, I’d make entries like this..

0700- Ofc Bollozos reports code 4 north restrooms level 3.

0715 – McCarthy Construction commenced work on grand stairway – informed dispatch that portions of stairway to be inaccessible to public through remainder of the work day.

April 25th of 2002 was a slow day. It must have been, because I decided to keep myself entertained by typing the security log up a little differently.

I called it..

“If a dime-store novelist worked part-time as a security dispatcher.”

The shift started at 0600. At 0615, I’d gotten out of briefing and settled into the dispatch chair. Thus our story begins..

0615 – Twenty one uniformed security officers and their pint-sized sergeant sat in hushed silence as Karl DeleGuerra strode into the room.

The blue of their uniforms matched the blue mood that swept over them as Karl spoke swiftly yet eloquently of terrorist threats and the need for officers to be alert. Tossing out a final warning as nonchalantly as one tosses a quarter to a grateful panhandler, Karl left the room, his words lingering in the air like so much air freshener that’d been in the can too long.

0630 – Officer Graham reluctantly surrendered the dispatch console to Corporal Rhodes. A bit of idle chit-chat provided a thin veil for the deeply passionate feelings Graham harbored when it came to the throne of electronic endeavor and his longing to return to that throne once night should fall again.

Officer Matt Desotell took his station at the surveillance monitor, a sense of urgency buzzing around him like a cloud of angry mosquitoes, needling him to do better – do BETTER – and not let Karl down. Not again.

Not ever.

Karl’s words of exhortation during the morning briefing had made a deep impact on Desotell, who strove to be just like Karl someday and was even now reminiscent of Karl in his youth, a daring young man full of promise and not lacking when it comes to matters of the heart and soul.

0632 – Who would think that an entire golf cart could turn up missing? Yet here was Officer Erazo, standing forlornly in the cavernous depths of the parking structure, calling on his radio in a hollow voice as he described to Rhodes how empty the space looks where once stood a a shiny, beautiful golf cart.

Rhodes was no fool, and he could sense the layer of fear wedged into Erazo’s thick, Hispanic dialect – fear that the cart would never be found, and that he would be relegated to some far-flung boundary for the remainder of his watch to idly pass the time by counting passers-by and tossing inane greetings at them as one tosses baseballs at lead bottles with the hope of winning a stuffed panda at the county fair.

Corporal Rhodes acted swiftly, dispatching his full compliment of roving security officers in search of the wayward cart. Time dripped by like molasses for poor Erazo, who was elated when he heard the happy voice of Officer Walter Bollozos pierce the darkness and call out that the cart had been found in the valet area of the parking structure.

To Erazo, Bollozos had become a hero in one fleeting moment. Never mind that Bollozos was a hero already, beloved by all who call upon his services to witness how quickly he brings each task to fruition with a relish. To Erazo, Bollozos was now his personal hero. And no one else’s.

0647 – Escalators are mere machines. Soulless contraptions that don’t care one little bit whether you go up or down. Escalator #25 is no exception, and it sits in a funk. A non-moving, gloomy little escalator funk.  Fortunately, Corporal Guerrero is the funk remover, and is on his way with the de-funking key.

0652 – While on his way to cheer up Escalator #25, Corporal Cuerrero noticed that Elevator #8 appeared to be in a funk also. But upon closer inspection it was revealed that some miscreant had maliciously engaged the fire-switch on poor old Elevator #8, causing it to sit just where it is, pondering whether or not it would ever slide its smooth walls up and down that silky shaft once again.

This would be a job for Jim from Fujitech, a man known not only for his ragged sense of humor and wonderful wit, but also for his fanciful head full of elevator whimsy.

0654 – Corporal Guerrero flashed fondly back on that day in fifth grade when he had handed the report in to Mrs. White and she smiled like a Cheshire cat, praising him for the hard work he’d obviously poured into such a fascinating piece. Who knew that the Louisiana purchase could ever be made to seem so alive, so vibrant? It was just a boring old piece of American historicity in most minds, but not after Danny Guerrero had tackled it with his pen.

Mrs. White was not one known to graciously dole out grades that matter, but she slapped a triumphant A-PLUS on Danny’s paper that day, sealing in him a desire to perform above and beyond the call of the daily grind.

As he inserted his key into the little slot at the base of Escalator #25 and it roared to life, he grinned like a very special breed of Cheshire cat, certain within himself that he’d earned yet another in a life-long string of A’s with the accomplishment of this task.

At this point the watch commander walked into dispatch and looked over my shoulder.

“Rhodes, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m composing the dispatch log as if I were a dime-store novelist working here part-time.”

“You won’t be working here at all if you don’t knock it off.”

I printed a copy of what I had so far, then went back and rewrote the entries in the usual format.

Work. They just don’t let you have any fun.

The lovely and still-living Gwyneth Paltrow

I used to work as a dispatcher at the Hollywood & Highland complex in Hollywood, which meant I was the guy (one of several, actually) who sat in the camera surveillance room all day and watched people on video monitors.

When someone would do something bad, like shoot someone else or steal a pen, I’d call the police or send a security officer to deal with it, depending on the severity of the crime.

While on a break one day, I walked by the boss’s office and he called me in. His name was Jim Chaffee, and he’s still one of the best bosses I’ve ever had. His shock of red hair set over a freckled face is a bit impish, in a Howdy Doody sort of way. I’m pretty sure Jim would shoot me if he knew I called him Howdy Doody on this blog, so I hope he doesn’t read this.

He got that a lot.

Jim Chaffee, NOT Howdy Doody

Howdy Doody, NOT Jim Chaffee

But I had great respect for him, mainly because when he introduced himself to us while the security team was first being assembled, he confessed that he used to be the head of Disney security but had to step down due to a nervous breakdown of some sort.

I don’t mean Disneyland, or Disney World, or Disney Studios.  I mean he was the head of security for the entire Disney corporation.. and Mickey Mouse drove him insane.

So here he was, candidly telling us about it, explaining why he used to be the head of security for a huge corporation like Disney but was now the head of security for what is basically a glorified mall, and I liked him instantly.

He liked me too, I think, because he always gave me cool gigs. We did a lot of overtime, working at private parties and events that were held on the property, and I was often asked to show up in the evening so I could stand around in a suit and look like a secret service agent while celebs walked the red carpet and schmoozed at the parties. You always see those guys in the background when event photos are snapped for People Magazine, Entertainment Weekly, US, etc.. and I was in all of those at one time or another.

After calling me into his office on this particular day, Jim asked if I’d like a special assignment on Wednesday, which was two days away. I said maybe. He said it was driving Gwyneth Paltrow around in a security cart and doing whatever she asked.

I said hell yeah.

He didn’t give me any specifics because he didn’t have any, beyond the fact that some production company was taping a TV show and Gwyneth was a guest and I’d be her on-camera escort.

Jim had asked me to do this on Monday, so Tuesday took about a week to go by. On Wednesday morning I arrived on time at the appointed place and, sure enough, there was Gwyneth Paltrow, getting her picture taken.

I’d arrived in uniform and an observant assistant figured out that I was probably the security guy who’d been assigned to her so he approached me, asking, “Are you the security guy assigned to her?” He pointed at Gwyneth.

“Yes I am,” I said, and then I pointed at Gwyneth.

“Good,” he said, “Go down into the fifth level of the parking garage and get one of your security carts.. when we finish this segment, we’ll all be down there to meet you.”

He actually pointed at the elevator door, like I didn’t know where it was, just like he’d pointed at Gwyneth Paltrow as if I didn’t know who SHE was.. real high opinion of security people, this guy.

Alan Cumming, in need of a comb

I got one of our carts and fired it up, which sounds more impressive than it really is, since it was an electric golf cart. About ten minutes later the elevator doors whooshed open and the whole crew came in, including Gwyneth and a particular British actor who I didn’t know would be a part of this whole thing, Alan Cumming.

The Director of the TV show came over to me and asked, “Are you the guy who’ll be taking Gwyneth and Alan around the parking garage?”

Well, I didn’t know until that moment that it’d be Gwyneth and Alan, and I didn’t know we’d be staying in the parking garage, but yeah.. I was the guy.

The Director took all of three seconds to give me my directions.. “Just take them around like they can’t find their car. They’ll tell you where to go. Got it?”

Gwyneth jumped in beside me and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Gwyneth,” she said. I think it’s cool when well-known celebrities do that when they know perfectly well that you know who they are. It’s courteous, and trust me, not all of them are like that.  Martin Sheen is just about the nicest guy in the biz.. he does it, and then he pays your utility bills for you.

Martin Sheen, looking kind and gentle

Alan jumped on the back of the cart while the Director got onto another cart with a driver and cameraman and away we went, off to look for Gwyneth and Alan’s alleged lost vehicle.

The Director’s cart paced us while the camera stayed on us as we zoomed through the parking garage, up and down levels, left and right, cutting through rows of vehicles while the two of them shouted at me, “This way! Now here! Turn LEFT! Turn RIGHT!”

It was thoroughly zany.

At one point I must have gotten too excited or something, because I took a ramp a little too fast and put the cart up on the two right wheels, which almost pitched Gwyneth out onto her butt. Alan and I grabbed her and pulled her back in, all the while with the camera rolling. This is where I almost killed her. It wasn’t much really, but it makes for a good post headline, does it not?

Shortly thereafter I had to stop for a car backing out of a stall, so Gwyneth looked over at the lady driver and said, “We’ve lost our car.. we’re so retarded!” I could tell that the lady recognized her, but it was unclear as to whether or not she approved of the use of such a non-politically correct phrase being uttered by one of America’s sweethearts.

We eventually found the car and, of course, it was a black Range Rover, which I suspected they knew the location of all along. We said our goodbyes and, as they got into it and drove away, Gwyneth turned and blew me a kiss.

While on a break the next day and passing by Jim’s office, he called me in (he did that a lot) and asked what the Gwyneth Paltrow gig was all about. I told him everything except for the part about almost killing her, because he liked me and I wanted to keep it that way.

He asked if I’d found out what they were taping. I hadn’t, so he gave me the number of the production company, which I called, and a nice man on the phone explained that it was for a talk show that Alan Cumming would be hosting on the Oxygen channel and that Gwyneth was his first guest in the pilot episode.

Sadly, it never aired.

Gwyneth Paltrow, still alive today because of me

Paul Hogan as Crocodile Dundee

I once told a kid that he had to stop skateboarding in our loading dock, so he asked me if there was a skate park he could go to instead.

I told him to walk through the complex out onto Hollywood Boulevard, turn right and proceed about 100 feet to the front of the Chinese Theater, where he’d see Crocodile Dundee, whom he should ask because if anyone would know it would be him.

This was because Crocodile Dundee wasn’t the real Crocodile Dundee, as in actor Paul Hogan, but rather he was a guy named Don (something.. I can’t remember his last name) who’d been a professional skateboarder.

He’d given up the sport after a knee injury and then started hustling tourists for tips on Hollywood Boulevard because Superman said that he looked like Crocodile Dundee and that he’d make a killing out there.

I was a security guy in the Hollywood & Highland complex, and I knew Superman because he was our neighbor.  I knew Don (something) because Superman had introduced us and it was he who told me that Don (something) had been a pro skateboarder.

On that day, I’d been making rounds earlier and I saw the whole gang – Superman, Batman, Elmo, Wonder Woman AND Crocodile Dundee out there hustling for tips, so when I went back to the loading dock and found the skateboarding kid, it was Don (something) – aka Crocodile Dundee – who I thought of when the kid asked for a skate park.

The kid looked at me like I’d just suggested that he put on a dress, rent a donkey and go for a ride down the boulevard, but I guess he went and found Don (something) because I saw him coming through the complex several hours later, and when I asked him if he’d found him okay, the kid excitedly replied..

“Dude, that was DON (SOMETHING), and he used to skate, man!  I totally knew him!  He autographed my board, dude!  And yeah, he directed me to a rippin’ skatepark!  Thanks, man!

I was pleased as punch that it had all worked out.

Later, a guy asked me if I knew where he could buy some good weed.

I directed him to Superman (something).