Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption: Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption

Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption: Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption: Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption School is tough. Ask any kid and he or she will tell you. Homework, extra credit, trying your lu...

Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption

Teaching, Cheating, Lies & Redemption

School is tough. Ask any kid and he or she will tell you. Homework, extra credit, trying your luck at being the teacher’s pet project, it’s all excruciatingly painful to a child, and mind you childhood sticks like glue until you’re in your early twenties.

My father thought I would never amount to anything. He had no sense of humor and seemed angry every time I laughed or told a story about something I had seen or read. He was into business, wore blinders and raced through life like a true thoroughbred. He missed everything, my ballgames, school events, scholastic awards, and some holiday events. Yep, he was in a big hurry, and sadly; he missed it all.

My grandfather, on the other hand, was there for everything. He taught me how to listen, to share and give. He hated anyone who lied, even a trivial white lie was off limits, and he insisted I tell him a truth no matter how much it hurt. The funny thing was I seldom had to feel that pain because I told him the truth. Mind you, I may have skipped sharing some actualities with my parents who didn’t seem to care either way, but with Gramps, he had a way with words that reduced me to cinders after the little white ones came out, and I got caught. It was easier to tell the truth. He still yelled at me, even created a form of punishment that really hurt, like not taking me to an event or listening to me read out loud. Stuff I loved and he knew it. That was punishment for a mind constantly on the move. When all was said and done, Gramps would give me a hug. His hugs were the real deal along with a silent forgiveness I couldn’t get anywhere else.

When I was sent off to military school, my father wanted me out of the way, but Gramps looked at it differently. He told me going off wasn’t punishment as my father said it was, but rather a gift that would mold my nutty personality and allow me to find myself. I don’t know how he knew so much, but he had an interesting answer for everything, and his comments made sense to me.

I acted in plays, soared playing football, basketball and baseball and enjoyed everything I was supposed to hate. If fact, I enjoyed some things so much my last year, I needed extra credit to maintain my presence on the Presidents Honor Role. That was another moment my dad missed. Mom and dad were off traveling somewhere when I received the honor of first making the honor roll. It crushed me at first. Not one living soul was there to see me get the certificate, but when I talked to Gramps, he all but cried from the pride he enjoyed, so I felt proud of having made him happy.

One of my darkest moments came near the end of the year. We had this credo, “thou shall not lie, cheat or steal.” We all knew about the creed, and few gave it much thought, as we all trusted each other. My professor, the man who taught English and Journalism to greedy young minds, told me I had slipped lately and needed extra credit to bring my grade back to the top. I was among a few other classmates, who had also tumbled carelessly into the educational abyss. The professor suggested a few assignments, several unique book reports, an unusual term paper that would take us over the charts, and a few other ideas that easily formed a brain path.

We all had eight days. What we chose was totally up to us and thus would decide if we were honorable enough to warrant an improved grade. I searched the library for book titles. Nothing jumped off the shelf. I thought about the term paper and came up with multiple ideas but nothing with a spark. I needed a spark.

I woke from a sound sleep with a brilliant idea. It was like a lightning bolt struck a single nerve ending and fed my mind with untold glory. I went to work right then in the middle of the night and for the next six days I wrote around the clock. What I was writing became a passion that went beyond industrious. It would change my life. I decided the number twenty worked well, so I set out to write twenty book reports. I added a unique twist – the reports would be based on books I created in my head. They would all be original, fresh titles, different genres and classic storylines. I would build unforgettable characters everyone would like to model their life after, and make each one an irresistible page-turner. Each report would have a breakdown of the author, who he or she was and where they lived and so on. I created a list of other titles each author had written, and established a solid description for the main characters down to hair and eye color. Talk about a witty sensational idea. I was beyond myself.

On the seventh day, I turned in my work, all carefully bound and placed into a windowpane folder. I felt like my chest would burst when I handed it to my professor and saw the look on his face.

“Book reports?” He asked.

“Yes,” I beamed.

“It’s pretty thick Mr. Hillman, how many reports did you do?”

“Twenty,” I boasted and then tossed a look at my classmates as if to say ‘what did you do?’

“I’m very proud of you William. I can’t wait to read them.”

Well, this is where the reality check happens. Where that old creed slips in like an out-of-control cement truck and flattens you and your ego. I never gave it a thought you know the cheating and lying words. The whole idea just skipped entering my mind. Perhaps I deliberately avoided thinking about it. Two days later the professor called me into his office and handed me my grade paper. He had given me an A+. I was giddy with joy.

“I have a few questions.”

“Yes sir.”

“Who are all these authors? For that matter, where did you find these books?”

Have you ever felt your stomach flip, turn upside down and threaten to revolt? I knew I couldn’t lie to him, so I fudged and skirted the question.

“Obscure is a good word. Did you enjoy them?”

“Yes, each and every one. It must’ve taken you hours to read all those books and be so thorough in your reporting. I’m simply amazed. Where did you find these books?”

He had me. There was no way out. Why didn’t I think of this before I went through all the trouble? Heck, it would’ve been easier reading a good book and then report on it.

“Well, actually, sir, they don’t. I made the books up.”

“Was that part of my teaching lessons? Wasn’t I clear on the assignment?”

“Yes you were. I couldn’t find the right book, so I created some new ones.”

“So basically you cheated and then lied about it?”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Really, how would you describe writing twenty book reports on books that don’t exist by writers who have never taken a breath, and publishers who sound so interesting I want to pick up the phone and call them? Oh, and by the way, I tried to do just that.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t find another word. I just stood there and then the embarrassment set in. My grandfather would be so disappointed in me. I had spoiled everything.

To top off the moment, my professor reached out and took the paper from my hand and replaced it with another. The second one had a big fat F- in bright red. I hadn’t cried in years but sure felt like bawling my eyes out right there. I didn’t. I was busy thinking of what I’d say to Gramps. He was so proud of me. This would surely crush that opinion.

“What are you planning to do with your life, Mr. Hillman?”

“I want to write and accomplish some other things along the way.”

“Are you good at keeping promises?”

“Yes sir I am.”

“If I offer you redemption will you promise me something?”

“As long as it’s something within my power to do, yes I will.”

“I want you to promise me you’ll be a writer.”

“That’s one of my goals and one I plan to accomplish, yes sir.”

He took the failed graded paper from my hand and replaced it with a thick book, something about the history of Russia’s past leaders. It was one subject that was anything but dazzling but thankfully I had read the book a while back. He wanted a new book report the following day. I stayed up all night, reading and writing and when I gave him a freshly written report all I got back was a smile. It was as though he had talked to my grandfather who had the same smile. When I returned home, I told Gramps what I had done. He wrapped his frail arm around my shoulders and told me I was going to make a great writer. He blinked away tears, kissed my cheek and told me he loved me. Teachers teach. Some of them are very good at what they do and when a stranger touches your heart it’s the greatest gift in the world. Taking a shortcut isn’t the answer and in my case, it turned out to be a very long way around doing something, the right thing.

Poster May 2, 2012 (c) 2012 by William Byron Hillman

My Web Site: http://www.williamhillman.com

Author's Page: http://tinyurl.com/7yzsqm6

My latest novel: Veronique and Murray http://tinyurl.com/8xrmmu7 (a mystery filled romance)

TONY CURTIS, POODLES and ME

TONY CURTIS, POODLES AND ME

My grandfather said many times, NEVER GIVE UP. He insisted that when I started something I wanted to do, finish it. Complete it. And above all, do not step away from it until you are done. It’s a tough lesson for a kid to comprehend much less make part of your overall makeup.

Something I learned while growing up in a very dysfunctional family was to groom dogs. In the beginning it was a chore I got stuck with, but when I relocated to California and had the overpowering dream of becoming an actor, I quickly discovered you needed a job to survive. You just don’t move to California and become a star. Nothing happens overnight and if you don’t hone your talents the breaks won’t happen at all. To work at starting a career you need pictures, exposure, and experience. Yikes, no one told me about that stuff.

Little theatre and workshops were mostly available at night. Acting coaches actually had the audacity to ask for money for sharing their knowledge and teaching abilities. If you attended you had to pay. In order to pay you had to work at something outside of the “business,” so jobs like waiting tables, delivery services, part-time this and that helped but if you had a family those jobs didn’t pay the bills.

What did I know? Not much until it dawned on me I could groom dogs. I opened a dog-grooming salon in the heart of Beverly Hills, gave it a fancy name and attracted poodles from the rich and famous. Movie stars brought their dogs in, film directors, writers and producers stopped by with their poodles. I thought it would lead to acting jobs, but what it did was bring in more poodles. I was good at this and some visitors said I was the best they’d ever seen. Word spread and all of a sudden I was grooming dogs belonging to Lucille Ball, Debbie Reynolds, Eartha Kitt, Liberace, Gig Young, Agnes Moorhead, Rory Calhoun, Ray Danton, Jack Benny, Beverly Garland, Peter Brown, Jack Ging and Henry Mancini. I owe that, of course, to grandpa. I never gave up and learned to perfect the trade. I was also fast and the dogs loved me. I guess my smile made them relax.

I also sold dog supplies and had sales to attract more visitors. At the end of the day, most owners came to collect their little friends and there was always a line. On one particular day this little guy stormed into the shop, cut in front of everyone and announced he needed to talk to me. I politely asked him to wait until I took care of everyone in the line and he got furious. I apologized to those in the line and this man got louder. When I told him he would have to wait he shouted, “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” I told him it didn’t matter. He fumed for a moment and then said even louder, “I am Tony Curtis.” I laughed and told him that was ridiculous. He mumbled something incoherent and I told him he was too short to be Tony Curtis. I watched Tony fight Kirk Douglas in Spartacus and Tony was a big tall muscular guy. Being I stood six feet five inches tall, I towered over this Tony Curtis imitator. I thought the guy was gonna have a heart attack right there on the spot. He stood dumbfounded, turned several shades of red and when he realized I was going to help everyone in line first he stormed out of the shop. That’s when I saw the long black limousine pull to the curb where a man got out and opened the door for this “guy.” They drove off, and some of my customers were all giddy with smiles – you know like they had just seen a movie star.

A what, a movie star? Then another customer who was a film director stepped to the counter smiling and shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone talk to Tony like that. You got some real guts.” I said nothing, but my chest felt the weight of a cement truck on it.

I wrapped up for the night and was about to close when the door opened and this jovial character walked in. He stood there and just looked at me for what seemed like hours. He introduced himself as Bob, the production manager on Tony Curtis’s new film “Monsieur Cognac, to be shot at Universal Studios. He grinned at me, shook his head in amazement and then proceeded to invite me to Universal Studios at the end of the week to meet with Tony Curtis, the film Director Michael Anderson, makeup artist Bob Westmore and animal trainer for the film Frank Weatherwax and discuss coloring a group of dogs. I didn’t know what to say and considering I usually had diarrhea of the mouth that was extraordinary.

When I came back to earth, I quickly said yes I would meet with them. He told me Tony was impressed that I cared for those in line instead of taking care of him because he was famous and offered an apology through the production manager. Bob went on to say Tony told him no one had ever stood up to him like I did and he loved it.

Over the years I had colored poodles for parades, birthday parties, anniversaries etc., so if that’s all they needed it was not an impossible task. Then I remembered all the dogs I had colored in the past where white and easy to tint. After Bob left I started doing research to make sure I wouldn’t hurt any animal. I wouldn’t give up until I was positive it could be done safely. It took me three days but once satisfied, I created a safe color mixture and tested it on my dogs. I designed it to last for only a few days at a time.  I easily rinsed it off my dogs and saw no skin irritation. It worked perfectly.

As an actor grooming dogs for a living, the visit to Universal Studios was unbelievably exciting. I was standing right next to major stars and hoped some of my talent would be enriched being next to them.  The director wanted to know if I could color a team of poodles to look identical. The makeup artist was rather famous and did basically all films produced at Universal Studios, but he had never colored a dog. Neither had the animal trainer, also world renown for his mastery of animals working in film. The studio didn’t know if it could be done safely and thus the reason for my invitation. I told them yes, it could be done but I would need all the dogs to be white or beige. We signed an agreement and it was a done deal. The next week they showed me the team of large standard poodle actors they had signed to work the film. They were all brown.

Back to the drawing board I went for further testing, new mixtures and additional experiments. Eventually I found the solution, the right mix and it held. Then they called to ask if I could also make a matching toupee. I asked why, and was told their groomer made a mistake on the lead dog and trimmed his head too short. So I made my first and only Standard Poodle toupee.

On the set I told Tony Curtis to make a big deal out of the change when he saw the dogs so they’d believe how special they were, and it worked perfectly. The whole cast along with the stars, Tony, Christine Kaufmann, Larry Storch and Marty Ingels clapped and hooted when I brought the dogs to the set. They had a dog who jumped, one doing tricks, one to walk at their side and several that were duplicates just in case something happened to any of them.

Once principal photography began Tony and the other cast members started having fun with the dogs. Tony had Frank teach one of them to paw at plates of food. One day the dog pawed at a bowl of soup and it flew all over the set and into everyone’s face. Even the dog enjoyed his little trick and started doing them on his own.  To keep the dogs involved Tony messed with other tricks and amused everyone. The movie title, “Monsieur Cognac” was later changed to “Wild and Wonderful” and the film was released all over the world.

By not giving up I learned another valuable lesson. Regardless of the obstacles in your path, if you believe in yourself you can overcome just about anything. Working on this film not only gave me a chance to see how films are made behind the scenes, it also created a desire that would surface a few years later when I was cast to work on Ice Station Zebra, and ended up working both in front of and behind the camera.  Writing assignments soon followed and then my screenplays started selling. That film was the ultimate test of my motto to “never give up.” I also realized how much fun it was to be behind the scenes instead of in front of the camera. I suddenly had the best of both worlds. One year after Ice Station Zebra I wrote, produced and directed my first feature film The Man From Clover Grove.

My novel “Zebra’s Rock and Me” is currently the number one Kindle download in the UK, available everywhere for only $.99. 

Please visit http://amazon.com/dp/B004PLO8LM

Posted April 3, 2012 by William Byron Hillman

My web site: http://williamhillman.com  

My Amazon author’s page: http;//tinyurl.com/7yzsqm6

My latest novel is Veronique and Murray (a romantic mystery)

http://tinyurl.com/8xrmmu7

HEART ATTACK - Saving a Life with CCR

HEART ATTACK

Saving a life with CCR (Continuous Chest Compression)

A healthy life is and will continue to remain a medical mystery. Some live while others die from a similar incident without rhyme or reason and it can’t be explained in simple terms.

No one in my family had ever had a heart condition and to have one was a distant thought at best. Growing into the entertainment industry all of my adult life brought many friends and fan from all over the world. As an actor, filmmaker and author I receive several hundred emails daily. Most I scan over quickly and delete or I would do nothing all day but read emails.

Two weeks before the incident occurred, an unknown friend had emailed me a medical report stating that chest compressions were better than CPR and that the survival rate was greatly improved because chest compressions not only massaged the heart but sent blood into the brain, thus preventing brain damage.

To this day I have no idea why I read this particular email, but I did. Perhaps it was my writer brain working overtime to create a medical plot for one of my stories, and then again maybe not.

Our day was one of those glorious normal events where everything goes smoothly, you laugh, share some nice moments and retire.

At precisely 4:05 a.m. on October 29, 2009, I heard my wife Dianne say, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

I opened my eyes, glanced at the clock, and then saw her standing in the bathroom doorway. She grabbed her chest, took one step and collapsed on the bed.

It only took seconds for the blood to drain from my wife’s face. I watched her turn gray and saw her eyes roll up when she stopped breathing. There was no way I was going to let her go without a fight. That’s when I remembered reading that article about the heart.

Calmly I started chest compressions, rapid and continual. I continued for a minute, although it felt like an hour, until she started breathing again. I sat her up, placed an aspirin beneath her tongue and called 911. The commotion woke our adult son from the other side of the house and he came to assist.

When the paramedics arrived, Dianne's blood pressure was 56/31 and fading. They transported her to the hospital, where I was told her chance of survival was less than 20%.

Five hours later, after the doctors placed two stents in her blocked arteries and put her on blood thinners, she started bleeding. There was so much blood they couldn’t find the bleeders and I was told she was bleeding out. I begged the doctors not to give up and as exhausted as they were they refused to quit. By morning they not only found the bleeders, they were successful in stopping them.

That night, one of the doctors came in to visit. He said my wife was proof that miracles happen, as she hadn't been expected to make it this far. He told us to hold her hand and tell her how much we loved her and that we wanted her to come home.

They moved Dianne from the Emergency Heart Unit to the ICU, where she remained for the next seven days.

The first two days, she teetered between life and death as her blood pressure slowly regained some strength. On the third day, her pressure rose and the doctor told me she had a 60% chance of survival. He also told me I had saved her life with the chest compressions.

On the fifth day she opened her eyes. Her blood pressure was up to 65/45. They removed the external pacemaker and the heart pump. She was on her own and all we could do was watch and pray. On the sixth day, they removed the ventilator and she started talking.

I met with all of the doctors who had worked on Dianne. Each one had saved her life, and each one told me that without the initial chest compressions, she wouldn't have made it.

On the eighth day they moved her to the heart ward. She was awake and speaking clearly, yet she had trouble with her motor skills. The doctor refused to release her until she regained enough strength and had better motor skills. After a two-week hospital stay, Dianne came home.

The doctors were amazed. She had no major heart damage, and absolutely no brain damage thanks to the chest compressions.

Once home, Dianne continued to receive therapy for the next six weeks. With constant work, she has regained her strength and all of her motor skills. Now she uses a hand-held breathing machine and works out with limited weights. We celebrated Thanksgiving together, and our Christmas took on a whole new meaning of how precious life is.

We have Dr. Gordon Ewy, director of the Sarver Heart Center at the University of Arizona in Tucson, to thank. He's the cardiologist who spearheaded the early trials of continuous chest compression - or CCR, as he calls it - more than 15 years ago. He now teaches firefighters and paramedics the technique. Dr. Ewy says their survival rate has increased by 300% since beginning the new training. In 2000, the American Heart Assn. named him a "CPR Giant" in recognition of his work. Today many firefighters and paramedics use CCR on many cases depending on what caused the person to stop breathing in the first place.

I have Dianne back, and I continue to adore each and every day we share together. We've been together since we were 16 years old, and last year we celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary. We hope by sharing our story it might save someone else's life or prevent another survivor from having brain damage.

Originally I wrote this article for the Los Angeles Times and all of their other newspaper syndications.

I have spent my entire life writing articles, novels and short stories about various subject matters ranging from crime and detective, action, true, children and family stories. My motion pictures have also covered a lot of ground in various genres.

When my wife survived her heart attack I realized we have lived a rather unconventional life with so many twists and turns it was hard to share or explain so I wrote a mini biography The Hard Way – http://tinyurl.com/86hgtz4

Posted March 1, 2012 by William Byron Hillman

My web site: http://williamhillman.com  

My Amazon author’s page: http;//tinyurl.com/7yzsqm6

My latest novel is Veronique and Murray (a romantic mystery)

http://tinyurl.com/8xrmmu7

I Loved Ronald Reagan and my Grandfather

I loved Ronald Reagan and my Grandfather

Posted January 29, 2012 by William Byron Hillman

The two men didn’t know each other. Fact is, they never met but they would’ve liked one another because of who they were and what they believed. They were both men of few words.

I met Ron (no disrespect intended) when he was still an actor and I was a kid just getting started. He was a client at the MCA agency at the time. Months after we met, I wrote him a note asking for an introduction to an agent. He wrote me back with the nicest letter I had ever received. It was a hand written note, which I still have today. His letter was simple and to the point. He introduced me to his agent Arthur Park, gave me his direct line, and told me to call him. Mr. Park was a partner in The Chasin-Park-Citron Agency. MCA had shuttered and three of their prominent agents had formed the new agency. I called Art. He was expecting my call and I became a client of the agency.

You might say I couldn’t make up my mind what it was I wanted to do until I got a running start at things. I started as a singer/actor. I gave up the singing, joined the cast of Days of our Lives when it first went on the air, and then worked on Ice Station Zebra with Rock Hudson, Ernie Borgnine, Patrick McGoohan, director John Sturges, producers Martin Ransohoff and John Calley, screenwriter Douglas Heyes and film editor Ferris Webster. This film gave my career the legs it needed.

My grandfather taught me many things, but first and foremost was to always believe in my abilities and never give up on my dreams. He also told me to glance in the mirror first thing in the morning and smile at the image. He said a frown would spoil the day, but a smile increased my chances of having a great day one hundred percent. I’ve never forgotten that advice and smile daily at that guy looking back at me in the mirror.

Ronald Reagan told me to believe in myself because if I didn’t, no one else would either. We weren’t friends by any measure, but whenever I saw him he always took the time to stop and ask how I was. On one occasion he told me if I ever needed his help, to not hesitate to call him. I stored that away and promised not to abuse the offer. He was, after all, a man of his word like my grandfather.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Had it not been for my grandfather, the path I chose to follow would have been altered quite drastically. Grandpa had rules and if I disobeyed them his punishment came in the form of silence. He never yelled or cursed at me. There was no humiliation or belittling, he just stopped talking to me. A beating would have been better. Every time he did this I was crushed and soon learned if I behaved his reward came in the form of attention, love and kind words. The rebel inside me died a slow death, but once gone, I was freed from argumentative behavior. He always said if I needed him, ask for help and be outspoken. Like Ronald Reagan, he too meant it.

My parents always told me I was wasting my time writing. My grandpa encouraged me and so did Ron. My mother said I was a freak and too tall to accomplish anything. My grandfather took me to a tall-man convention where I was the shortest guy in the building. Suddenly I wasn’t a freak anymore.

Years later I was directing one of my first films, a low-budget project entitled, “The Man From Clover Grove.” Ronald Reagan was governor at the time and vowed to help filmmakers who shot their films in California. Our film was an impossible dream with a budget of $50,000. I chose to shoot the film as an all-union production. During principal photography the Fire Marshall came along and shut us down. He said we didn’t have enough water trucks and were a fire hazard. I told him I would call the governor and he laughed and said go ahead. He followed me into the production office where I placed a call to the governor’s office. I didn’t hesitate when the secretary answered and told her I needed to talk to Ron. She was stunned I referred to the governor as Ron and assumed I had to be a close friend. She put the call right through. I reminded Ron of who I was and told him my production had been shut down. He asked me to put the Fire Marshall on the phone. I heard the man say; “Yes, sir, okay sir, yes Governor I’ll do that. Thank you sir.” He handed the phone back and I heard Ron tell me to go make a great movie. The Fire Marshall posted men and water trucks around the parameter of our movie site for the duration of our shoot and they did it without costing us a dime. Ronald Reagan, like my grandfather, was a man of his word. He said what he meant and meant what he said. I got the help he promised and we finished the film on time, budget and schedule.

My agent told me to write in a variety of genres rather than stick to just one and said my chances to succeed would double. I’ve done that in screenwriting, in my film projects and now in novels. I wrote about my filmmaking beginning in “Zebra’s Rock and Me.” I used zany characters to create a detective team in the Rollie Kemp novels “Ghosts and Phantoms Part I – The Beginning” and “Ghosts and Phantoms Part II – The Conclusion” and in the third and up-coming book “Bad Rap.” I wrote my biography in “The Hard Way” because I’ve been told my life has been so bizarre no one would believe it, and then I turned back to one of my favorite screenplays “Veronique and Murray.” The script was sold five times to various independent companies and re-written on each occasion and yet it never got produced. I retained the rights and decided to write the novel. Veronique and Murray are unique characters like many we’ve all met in our lifetime.

Few have had the pleasure of meeting and befriending a man like Ronald Reagan just like few are blessed to have had a wonderful grandfather like the one I had. They were two great men who in simple terms and understanding knew how to guide and help build character and offer encouragement to a free spirit. If we had more men like Ronald Reagan and my grandfather, our world would be a better place all around.

Web page: http://www.williamhillman.com

Amazon Author Page: http://tinyurl.com/7yzsqm6

Veronique and Murray Amazon Page: http://tinyurl.com/8xrmmu7