Show Me a Hero and Other Media Notes

They never called me back for my star turn as an extra on Show Me a Hero, and now the six-part HBO movie will begin Sunday night without me (http://nyti.ms/1Pa4ITu).

You may recall I attended an open casting call for extras at Manhattanville College last summer. About two months later I was contacted to show up in Yonkers for what normally is a 10-12 hour shoot for the princely sum of $100. That would be for the whole day, not an hourly rate.

Trouble was the day conflicted with the first day of Succoth. I opted for cries of hosanna instead calls for “action,” confident the producers would reconnect with me for another day as they indicated they would if I could not make the first day’s production. They never called.

So as I sit at home tonight and watch the depiction of the tumultuous time in Yonkers when the city underwent court ordered housing desegregation I will wonder in which scenes would I have been cast, and would I possibly have garnered a speaking part, even if it were only to shout verbal abuse at the mayor who reversed his election campaign position attacking the court ordered mandate only to later push for integration.

Ah well, a lost opportunity.

Woodstock Nation: Here’s another lost opportunity, this time Gilda’s, not mine. This weekend marks the 46th anniversary of the Woodstock music festival in Bethel, NY. 

Gilda had tickets to attend but chose to spend the weekend in Brooklyn with her boyfriend, another one of my ultimately less-than-worthy predecessors. She gave her tickets to friends, but they, too, did not make it to Yasgur’s Farm as Route 17 did not live up to its nickname as the Quickway to the Catskills, but rather became an impassable parking lot.

By the time the film Woodstock came out in 1970 Gilda and I were dating. When she saw conditions at the festival, the mud from torrential storms and the mass of people, Gilda had no regrets she passed on the opportunity to be part of counter-culture history. 

By the way, if you haven’t seen Taking Woodstock, a memoir-based 2009 film by Ang Lee on how the festival came to Yasgur’s Farm, it’s worth viewing.

The Man Behind Sears: For many years I thought of Sears, Roebuck & Co. as the prototypical WASP, or at the very least Christian, company. Nary an executive had even the slightest Jewish-sounding name.

The truth, however, was much different during the early years of the enterprise, as I learned when editor of Chain Store Age. The company became successful after Julius Rosenwald joined as part-owner. Rosenwald’s success allowed him to set up a philanthropic fund in 1917 for “the well-being of mankind.” Chief among the beneficiaries of his charity were Afro-American communities. A new documentary, Rosenwald, provides a picture of his commitment to the less fortunate but equally deserving (http://nyti.ms/1IPG3jh).

My Wife Wants to Sleep with a TV Star

My wife wants to sleep with a TV star. 

Me.

Last week Gilda saw an article about an open casting call for extras for two television shows to be filmed in Westchester in the fall. After not acting like a stage mother with our daughter when Ellie was a teenager, despite Ellie clearly having more talent and stage presence than I, Gilda encouraged me to strut my stuff at the “auditions” that would be held August 26 at Manhattanville College in Purchase.

Now, I am very comfortable delivering speeches even to an audience of a thousand or more. But the last time I performed on stage was 1962, when I was 13 and cast as Rusty Charlie in a summer camp production of Guys and Dolls. I was one of a trio singing the opening "Fugue for Tinhorns." I didn’t have a single piece of spoken dialogue. But this open casting call was for extras, and extras rarely have speaking parts, so the idea of being on TV intrigued me.

The casting call was scheduled for 1 to 4 pm. As I had to be in Manhattan to pick up Gilda at work at 4, I arrived at the college around 12:15 to be part of the first wave of wannabes. The guard at the entrance gave me a sardonic smile when I asked where the auditions were being held. It was a smile you see in all those old Dick Powell-Ruby Keeler 1930s movies about stage door hopefuls trying to bluster their way past the guard onto a Broadway stage.

If my time at the auditions was typical, hundreds, make that thousands, of would-be stars showed up, most of them not yet possessed of a college degree. Which was okay, since the casting agents described not two but three shows they were seeking to populate. 

For CBS’s Members Only, they needed extras to play the staff and members of a private country club. HBO had them looking for background actors to be “working and middle class types of all ethnicities” in Show Me a Hero, a six-hour mini-series about the court-ordered construction of low income housing in Yonkers in the late 1980s. The cast includes Oscar Isaac, Winona Ryder, Alfred Molina and Catherine Keener. The third project is an Amazon pilot, Mozart in the Jungle, based on a memoir of the same name by Blair Tindall.

In groups of around 200, we were ushered into and seated in a large hall where we were told about the three shows, asked to fill out a one-page questionnaire, and had two digital pictures taken. They did not interview anyone. 

The form included some basic questions such as height and weight. Asked for my age within a five year range, I did what many actors do. I lied. I opted to shave three years off my 65. 

They wanted to know what type of car we drove and if we had any skills, such as playing golf and tennis. I wrote I was a slightly above average tennis player (which only my winter tennis buddies may dispute). They also wanted to know about our wardrobe at home, especially if we had any clothing typical of the 1980s. As most of the candidates were barely in their twenties it was doubtful any of them had such outfits, but I still have some suits from that era hanging in my closet. 

Most everyone in my group of 200 came dressed casually. It was, after all, in the mid 80s Tuesday. But one twenty-something girl stood out. Above her high heels, she wore a short, tight fitting, plunging neckline black dress enhanced by a severe push-up bra that revealed, depending on your point of view, either healthy genes or great plastic surgery. Either way, two middle-aged women sitting behind me couldn’t stop talking about her as she posed for her pictures.

“Oh, she’s bending over and they’re popping out,” said one, to which the other replied, “She’s actually pushing them out.”

To hear veteran extras talk about the work, it’s a day-long drag waiting around hours for a few minutes of being background scenery. We were told it’s a full day’s work, usually about 11 hours. And you won’t know if you’re needed until the day before shooting.

I left the “audition” at 1:35, time enough to easily get back to my temporary day job chauffering Gilda to and from work.