Those self same people also know that I have a gentle demeanor and wish nothing but the best for most anyone- only the most heinous of our society/planet get the full brunt/gift of my incredibly powerful wrath.
So, it's not surprising that I'll often develop hoof-n-mouth disease at the most inopportune times and most likely under some very funny situations. A case in point on this "insert foot here" prose stands before you for both your amusement and benefit...
I began working at Walt Disney World, Florida back around January 1991. For a fresh upstart that had already followed paths of both enlightenment as well as destruction, this was to be probably my most unique "first" job:
Working for a mouse...
I was assigned to the Disney-MGM Studios much to my glee as I was [still am] prepared to make my movie way to Hollywood via Florida! It's been a long story and a long 15 years ago, and a story for another time; suffice it to say I think I was headed the long way to Hollywood via the Atlantic- well, such is my bravado...
During all of 1991, Disney World was enjoying the anniversary of its theme park opening with a lavish production and full tilt use of their Florida Studios. I was slated to work at Star Tours, where I happily wore my "prison oranges" [I actually liked the outfit- it reminded me of the fighter pilot outfits from the original Star Wars films!] and conducted flights to Endor roughly every 6 minutes.
I can't recall the exact date- but the gala work for the television special fell around the summer months in order to have the raw footage edited and ready. I was lucky enough to work with one of the parade crews that day and set about the fairly ritualistically work needed to keep guests flowing or standing in relative safety to the parade.
Once the daily parade was over, and all the paraphenallia was stowed, I happened to notice a fellow in a white suit- he almost looked like one of the white-on-white tie types you'd see in The Godfather- but he had the most unmenacing look of worry and confusion on his face.
Being ever so "Disney" I trundled up to him and asked if he was lost and/or needed help.
"Sure do- I was supposed to meet my talent and his guys here, but they're just getting on property and I have no idea how to get to Soundstage One... Can you take me there?"
Firstly- if memory serves me well, I had only been working at The Studios for a grand total of about 6 months; which means most if not all of my time was spent onboard a Starspeeder making sure people were buckled in and that nobody 'yakked' in the spaceships. I spent little or no tour time of the rest of the 'job site' since most of that was spent off hours elsewhere while I was young and hormonal...
"SURE DO! Let's Go!" I faked.
The good news was I took him a route that would lead to the next claim from my White Linen businessman.
"Mr. Brooks is in a white limousine and he's coming around from the guardshack as we speak..!"
Just at that moment, I spotted a white stretch limo peaking from around what was the air-conditioning plant for the park. Not wanting to lose it- I blurted out a commanding "Wait Here!" and shot off in the direction of the limo.
I was in MUCH better shape then, than I am now- but for me to run up to the limo, moving at 10 to 15 mph- it wasn't too difficult.
wheezing only slightly I convinced the driver to follow me and I jogged back with the limo to where I had left our planted and dutiful businessman waiting. As I approached with the limo, he had a look of relief and mild astonishment- at first I couldn't understand why. As I approached him, he held out his hand to shake mine...
"That was incredible! I've not seen somebody move like that except maybe football! Do you jog or something?"
I gulped a breath or two and replied, "Nah- my last job was getting shot at."
He guffawed and then pointed to the limo, "I want you to meet Garth Brooks- it's your turn to wait okay?"
There was that name again- Brooks.
Brooks, Brooks, Brooks... Where had I heard that name before? Remember gang, this was 1991- he'd only made a name for himself by the end of 1989 and was on his way to skyrocketting by the end of '91- so for a few people out there, the name and the face just didn't match up yet- my sorry thick head being one of the more "denser" to penetrate.
Brooks... Brooks. Ah! I know! Mel Brooks' son! This guy I have got to meet!
Well- the limo door pops open and out steps a tall fellow, slightly unshaven, but has that MidWestern look all us rugged handsome men have...
"Mr. Brooks- so glad to meet you!" I exclaim- the possibility of a business card in the future.
The blonde, curly haired fellow smiles and points his thumb to the limo and the person still inside...
"Naw, Man- sorry. I ain't Garth- he's still in the car.
Undaunted, I smile and wait for this important star to pop his head out of the vehicle and I'm not disappointed. Black cowboy hat, styled shirt and simple jeans- well, if Mel's kid likes country/Western- hell, I like Country/Western!
"Mr Brooks! Finally! I'm sure I've heard good things about you!"
The fully bearded man hiccups a laugh and holds his hands up like I were about to lift his wallet.
"Woa- sorry Chief, I'm not Garth, we've still got 'em in the car here!"
Now I feel like an ass.
This time I peer into the limo from my vantage point and only notice two other men- so I've now boiled my chances of identifying Mr Brooks to 50/50 and so far I've managed to flub the first 50%!
A fellow steps out of the limo, again, definitely the MidWestern kind of fellow but he's sporting very little that would identify him with the Country/Western scene. Ahhh, he might be incognito! Got it! Still, now I'm gun shy, I don't want to blow the introduction for a third time...
"Um- Mr Brooks?"
If he'd been a hand grenade I'd have been the idiot that pulled his pin.
"Naw," the gruff, mild mannered fellow says, "I ain't Garth- sure would like to be his banker though..."
So now I've managed to prove to what would be a major [if not THE major player] in Country music just what a Dork I was.
Out from the limo comes a wide brimmed hat, and the facial curves of a man well known in the record industry today. The brightest, sincerest smile I've yet to see on too many a star's face. I reach out with my paw like a well healed dog...
"Hi, my name is Russell- but you can call me Mudd. You must be Mr. Brooks?"
He slapped his hand into mine and with all congeniality said; "Glad to meet you Russ, you can call me Garth!"
"Oh thank God" I thought to myself.
Since this story has become an epic- suffice it to say I was lucky enough to be part of his entourage for the rest of his stay at The Studios, I was their eyes and ears to getting where they needed to go and on time.
What people say to the positive of Mr Brooks is exactly as you see it. There is no pretense. He is original. Even though I am not one for Country music- his was a brand of music that nurtured me into listening- as his music was [and still is] inclusary- it's not just for the C/W fans- it's for everyone.
Even a Bozo like me.
I hope he comes to visit again- I'll be honored to call him Mr Brooks once more.
Before, during and after then, I'll continue to be-
Russ
No comments:
Post a Comment