IT ONLY TAKES ONE: It Only Takes One

IT ONLY TAKES ONE: It Only Takes One: It Only Takes One My grandfather told me it only took one mistake to mess up a whole day. A teacher in Military School said it onl...

It Only Takes One

It Only Takes One

My grandfather told me it only took one mistake to mess up a whole day.

A teacher in Military School said it only takes one lie to be removed from the school.

In Little League, my baseball coach said it only takes one hit to be a hero.

In high school the basketball coast said in only takes one great basket to win the game.

My professor said it only takes one second to listen, learn and comprehend.

When I first arrived in Hollywood, my agent told me “Bill, it only takes one role to jump-start an acting career.” I look back on that and realize most of that advice was pure hype to get me excited to try harder. My grandfather used the phrase often and more than once he was right on target. How smooth the day would flow without mistakes, and if only we could live mistake free. What he really meant was the deliberate mistake we make every day thinking a little short cut or another won’t matter. One little lie will never be discovered. One irrefutable moment in a relationship, that we know will cause heartbreak, is done in spite of the warnings. What difference does it make?  How many times we think it won’t matter, much. Then we discover it not only mattered; it caused a broken heart, or someone lost his or her trust or faith in you perhaps never to be forgiven.

Yes, it only takes one. Tony Curtis said it only takes one joke to loosen the cast and crew, and he was right. The joke was usually well received; we laughed and had a great production day.

Rock Hudson told me it only took one decision to change direction, a career or the attitude of someone looking forward to putting a negative thought in your head. Rock was a star and lived a quiet private life. Few knew his compassion or that he helped so many and never took credit for any of it. Rock understood what Pay Forward meant and exercised it frequently. As I have discussed and written many times, he found me on the back lot at MGM studios with four flat tires. Someone had cut them as a joke, but it wasn’t much of a joke to me. My wife was pregnant and at home alone and I had no way to call her. Rock was testing his new convertible and found me quite by accident. He laughed and told me it would only take one minute and drove off. It was a bit longer than a minute but a truck showed up with four new tires, installed them and said it was all taken care of. He even let me use his two-way radio to call my wife and tell her I was okay. When I tried to pay Rock back or thank him, he changed the subject and asked what I really wanted to do. He saw me stand behind the producers and talk with the editor and guessed I was as interested in working behind the camera as I was in front of it. He asked me, “If you only have one choice, which would you pick?” I wasn’t sure by then which way I wanted to go. Standing six feet five inches created problems for a career. A few like Rock, made it work, but many actors stood six feet or under, and, in most cases' way under. Actresses were considerably shorter, so a guy my height was like a fish out of water. Behind the scenes was quite appealing. Rock laughed saying, “It only takes one second to make that decision, Bill, just one.” He was right.

It only takes one.

In the real world, we are all faced with making split-second choices. Some are good, some not, but we make them. It is our pick, and most of the time we have options. At the end of the day we are the engines that drive the body, and it’s our body to drive. It’s easy to blame others, but it also takes just one preference, one dastardly error to mess it up. On the bright side, it only takes one great selection to reach success, to make it all go in the right direction.

My grandfather had more wisdom in his little finger than most people I’ve met have in their entire lifetime. He taught me to respect others and their property, to reason and understand predicaments I placed myself in, and to stop and think before taking steps to eradicate my foolishness. If he said, “It only takes one…” once or a thousand times, there was always a reason he said it.

There are few phrases in life that have the deep meaning this statement creates, completes, resolves, or opens the heart and mind to understand.

As a singer who became an actor/writer and then a filmmaker without much guidance or having the convenience of a mentor, I use these four little words frequently. They make me stop and think to consider the options and help make the right decision. In each of the many learning facilities I attended, the one given was to listen after all; it only takes one mind-drifting moment to miss the most important part of the lesson. The same goes for everything we do. In marriage, friendship, making a movie, writing a song, screenplay or novel it takes one great phrase, one beautiful sentence, one particularly rewarding statement or one fantastic scene in a film or television show that will be remembered by those who saw or read your work. It only takes one.

When I make a film, I like to choose the different genre and mix things up. I have made the action thrillers but in film, my favorite genre is family fare. Some of my most successful films were comedies like The Man From Clover Grove, The Adventures of Ragtime and Quigley. Each had kids and animals and lots of “it only takes one shot” to make scenes work better.

I write novels the same way and mix up the genre frequently. It was fun writing my memoir The Hard Way as our early life was quite remarkable, and I got tired of hearing people say, “Why don’t you put that in a book?” So I did. As a screenwriter, like almost everyone I know who writes for the screen, we have many stories that didn’t make it to the big screen. Many have sold scripts; some multiple times only to have the rights revert back to you when the options run out. We have piles of stories, again some good, some not. The special ones find a place in our hearts and minds. When you open the filing cabinet it only takes one moment to find the next adventure. You pick some of your favorite stories. Veronique and Murray is one of those. I sold the script five or six times. I think I re-sold it to one company twice. Everyone loved it, said it would be a hit, but it never got the green light and missed the big screen by “this much.” Now it’s one of my favorites and best-selling novels.

My agent once told me I should create a hero series of films, and thus Rollie Kemp came to life. I modeled him after my buddy who just happened to be a former FBI/CIA and Secret Service Agent. He also started and ended his law enforcement career as a detective. He was the nicest man I ever met, the kindest and the most lethal rolled into one complex personality. One moment he would take off his shirt and offer it to you, or help an old lady across the street. Then, in a heartbeat, he could drop a guy twice his size and disarm him. I thought Rollie Kemp should have all of what John had. So I developed ‘Ghosts and Phantoms Part I The Beginning.’  Rollie became the epitome of “it only takes one and pays forward.” John saved lives and took some that didn’t belong, and I thought how cool would it be to create a character so complex he didn’t know what made him tick and yet could solve the damndest of mysteries. I wanted a guy, who would help children and the elderly right in the middle of saving the world. So I introduced Rollie Kemp in ‘Part I The Beginning,’ and made him as messed up as I could. To say he has baggage is putting it mildly.

Like my grandfather always pointed out, don’t spider-web, pick one. I had already written a mini version of my memoirs but hadn’t put the finishing touches on it. I was once again ahead of my own feet. So after drafting the second part of Ghosts and Phantoms, I put it aside and completed the memoir. As I had done everything in life the hard way, I got tired of people saying I should put that in a book. When you start at the bottom with the clothes on your back and rise to walk above it all, perhaps a few words will help someone else who is currently in the situation I found myself.

To paraphrase my grandfather, things happen quickly and there will be times you only have one right option to make out of multiple choices. Throughout life there will be a stumble or two, some of the judgment calls you make will be the wrong ones, but it won’t be the end of the world. When I completed Part II, I felt Rollie Kemp was together enough to survive in the real world.

I broke away from the serious thriller scene to write Veronique and Murray, another screenplay-turn-novel and one of my favorite stories. In this story Murray has multiple times where he must make one decision. The quirky theme, nutty fun characters are all based on individuals I have had the pleasure of meeting at one time or another. The plot is complex and full of right turns that take us in the huge circle. It was time to laugh, be intrigued and have fun reading the book. I guess that worked based on the reviews and emails I’ve received.

I had to come back to Rollie Kemp. In the third book, APRIL, I tested Rollie, put him in jeopardy, made it impossible to survive and still pulled him to safety at the right moment. I played with the character to understand how he should deal with a situation and get out alive. I confronted him with choices and gave him but one way to solve each situation. It was fun to build a man you can look up to, trust, like and wished you had a friend just like him. He’s like ten perfect men all rolled into one guy. Women like him, men identify with him and his enemy believes he’s vulnerable only to discover he always has a surprise up his sleeve. From here on, the Rollie Kemp adventures will be fun to create, but he will continue to make one decision at a time.

William Byron Hillman © 2012

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

Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/williamhillman

Book Links:

The Hard Way: http://tinyurl.com/86hgtz6

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

Rollie Kemp Books

Ghosts and Phantoms Part I: http://tinyurl.com/6wxef7g

Ghosts and Phantoms Part II: http://tinyurl.com/d7mtspu

APRIL: http://tinyurl.com/7gt9prd

FBI, CIA, Secret Service and Me

FBI, CIA, Secret Service and Me

A few years back I had this troublesome Mercedes the dealers just couldn’t get to run correctly because they said the brain box was fried. They also said it would cost fifteen hundred bucks to fix so I took my mailman’s advice and called his mechanic. The guy had this little garage on a side street, and it didn’t look like much. You know about first impressions, right? I reluctantly took my car in, told him the problem, and he said to take a seat. Twenty minutes later he drove around and parked. He said the car was ready to go. I said, “what about the problem?” He told me I had a torn sparkplug wire that was arching, shorting out two other plugs. He put a new wire on, replaced three plugs and charged me forty dollars. I had one of those moments we dread, so much for first impressions, and that we should never judge a book by its cover.

The mechanic then introduced me to his cousin. He said the guy had a story, and since I was a screenwriter and filmmaker I should buy him a drink and listen to the story. Everybody has a story; everyone wants you to write about his or her life, and you get gun-shy or hardened about the whole process. Normally, I just thank them and say I’m busy, but this man; his name was John, had a personality who reminded me of my grandfather. He had this warmth and smile that were captivating, and so I took him out for a drink. Five hours later, after dinner and too much ice tea I came to the conclusion this man had truly lived an extraordinary life.

John started as a New York Trooper, transferred over to the FBI, went undercover for years, did a one-year Secret Service engagement and ended up working for the CIA. After he retired he moved to Florida, took over a corrupt police department and straightened it out. I made notes and spent the following day checking John’s background. He had references at the FBI and the CIA and provided me with phone numbers. I so enjoyed meeting government agents and found John’s story to be true. It was also interesting how they checked up on me. I flew to Washington DC, had multiple meetings, got to visit Quantico where most government agents are trained and forged some life-long relationships. I purchased John’s novel and screen rights and went to work on it.

My first thought was to write a screenplay, and that’s what I did. My agent said there was too much to his life to cram into one story, and the studios agreed. I next broke his story down for a TV series. He had endless stories to tell, but once again, they had a hard time choosing which part of his life worked best, as there were many sides to John and all of them were exciting.

John was an extraordinary man. He was a very good agent and served our country well. He made huge drug busts, was involved in cases like The French Connection, and other major crimes, but the real story about John didn’t make the newspaper or television news. John had a soft side, one full of human nature and emotional feelings. John told me he hardly ever met a young man or woman who, in his opinion, couldn’t be turned around. He spent thirty years proving he was right. He risked his life and cover to save and/or protect a young law-breaker. He believed in pay forward.

My grandfather spent untold hours with me, convincing me that a peaceful existence would always win out over an argumentative confrontation. Gramps taught me to smile and how much one little smile meant to a person in need. My family was dysfunctional in just about every way imaginable. My folks struggled to get through the day. We never went anywhere and at times had little money to buy food or clothes. Grandpa showed me how to build stability from the ground up. He said if I believed in myself and really wanted to cause a change, I had to do most of the work on my own. Grandpa told me there was always a helping hand if I looked in the right places, and he was so on target. There are those who really care and will help, and of course, there are others that won’t lift a finger. Those are the ones you need to avoid, if at all possible. Grandpa also taught me it was possible to make your own luck and build a good life but the desire had to start deep within. That’s all one needed.

John discovered the good in all the kids he met while investigating horrific crimes. Some kids had no choice and were forced into a life, while others only knew the life and accepted it as fate of a bad deck of cards being dealt to them. John didn’t believe that and was willing to risk his life or the cover of his case to help a child who never expected help from anyone.

John loved life and lived it as he believed. He did the deed, took the chance and paid forward in everything he did as a human being. His nephew thought he was nuts but the more I was around him the more I understood what made him tick. He was an awful lot like grandpa. I learned the true meaning of pay forward from grandpa early in life, and John put it in cement. If you live life by offering your hand, hope, peace and thoughts to others, it will indeed come around ten-fold when those you assisted give that same gift to someone else and watch them pay forward and feel so very good about doing it.

When John became ill, we first thought, it was mercury poisoning. I did research around the globe to reverse his symptoms, but it wasn’t mercury. He had Lou Gehrig’s Disease. I was not familiar with the disease, but it only took a day to discover it was fatal and there was no cure.

I was furious inside. I thought about all he had done for others, and this was how he was being paid back. John didn’t feel that way at all and begged me not to lose focus on life and with the strangers I had yet to meet. I had called many of his law enforcement friends and found they all cared and offered help, but no help could change his ultimate fate.

When John died, I wondered if anyone knew he was gone. Notice of his death was given out, but I was certain only a few had read it. The church service was small, immediate family, a few friends and agents from the past but on a hillside grave service several hundred people slowly materialized out of nowhere. Some had to walk miles to the grave site as parking was all but impossible. After the prayer service, few left and many stood over his grave and wept. I mingled among many and didn’t recognize anyone, but as I asked in my writer’s curiosity, I discovered most where kids John had paid forward with love and a helping hand to save. John died as financially broke as he was at birth, but rich in rewards for all the lives he had saved. I exchanged cards with my number and asked many to call me. I felt twenty-feet tall when the service ended as I witnessed first-hand the rewards that came from John’s oversized heart, and the pay-forward imprint he left behind.

John, like my grandfather, became my hero. I hope I do justice with his life story as I put it down on paper. Pay forward and reward two lives, the one helped and yours.

Posted June 6, 2012 © 2012 William Byron Hillman

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

Author’s Page: http://tinyurl.com/7ysqm6

My latest novel: Veronique and Murray http://tinyurl.com/8xrmmu7 

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