They Hired a Linebacker to Take Me Out

Adventures in saying "Yes"

I was twenty-six and living paycheck to paycheck, though in those days I didn’t actually get a pay stub because I was self-employed, paid in coins and wadded up bills directly into my hat as a street performer.

When the alarm went off before sunrise on a Sunday morning in July, I imagined the crowds of tourists that would soon descend on the public market and the money I’d make on the highly-trafficked summer day.

Viable shows wouldn’t begin until 11 am, but there were a few dozen buskers who’d queue up on a first-come, first-served basis to enthrall audiences and entice them to donate their loose change and cash.

The arrival time of entertainers who wanted an early spot in line had competitively crept up over the years. I wanted to be in front of the group, which meant foregoing the comfort of bed and making the trip to the market in the pre-dawn hours.

I had a motivational mantra for myself back then that I’d use when facing a difficult choice, like getting out of bed at 4 am to sit with pigeons in a public market until the sun came up.

The mantra was, just say yes.

It had been proven to me over the years that the upsides, adventures and opportunities that came from defaulting to “yes” far outweighed the benefits of extra time in bed, emotional safety, or a level income.

So, I headed to the market and parked next to the bakery adjacent to the outdoor stage area. Waiting was torture, not because of the time, but because of the insane mix of aromas that wafted out of the hot kitchen doors at that hour. Metal cooling racks of fresh made croissants, biscuits, caramelized sourdough, shortcrust pastries, savory tarts, and quiche were lined up by the backdoor before sunrise. The shop wouldn’t officially open for hours, however, and you had to deal with being hungry enough to eat a brick until then.

But on this day I was happy, because I was first.

As the sun came up, the market clamored to life. Gates were raised, awnings unfurled, fruit carts clattered, and espresso orders steamed. The cloudless pacific northwest morning brought in more tourists, locals, and performers than usual. Ordinarily the first performer would wait until there was enough foot traffic in the market to draw a good-sized crowd. But someone came along who changed the course of my day, and in fact, my summer.

“Hey, are you actually going to ride that contraption?”

A fit dude in a T-shirt, new red Keds, and a Dodgers baseball cap walked over to where I was sitting on a wooden bench eating a finally procured chocolate croissant and pointed at my 12-foot unicycle laying on the ground.

“That’s the plan,” I said. “If you come back in about an hour you can watch me mount the thing.”

“Oh, darn. I’ll be gone by then,” he said. “I have to be on set.”

My ears perked up at the words, “on set.” He meant a film set, and as Vancouver was a hotspot for movie production in the 90’s there were plenty of interesting people in the entertainment industry milling about. I’d seen the likes of Emilio Estevez, Paula Abdul, Rutger Hauer, Hal Holbrook, and Donny Osmond show up in my audiences.

I didn’t recognize this person as a celebrity, but as he showed interest in my unicycle stunt I thought it might be worth starting early to be seen by someone in the business. I decided then and there to pull out my props and launch my first show.

Just say yes.

It wasn’t the best money I’d ever made from a street show, but following my instinct paid off. After the show, the Dodger’s fan who’d goaded me into starting came up, threw his card into my hat, and disappeared into the crowd. It wasn’t cash, but now I was super intrigued by who he was.

After I finished collecting donations I fished the card out of the cash, only to be disappointed. He was a “production assistant,” which in movie parlance basically means “I get coffee, clean bathrooms, or anything else no one else wants do to.” But on the back of the card he just wrote the words, “give me a call.” This was before my first cell phone. When I caught up with him later in the day from home, he sounded excited to hear from me.

“Man, your show was fantastic. Listen . . .” he said “. . . we’re in town right now filming Ernest Goes to School and we’re in need of some acrobatic stunts for a few scenes that we’re shooting next week. I was wondering if you might be interested and available.”

The Ernest movies were goofy comedies starring Jim Varney that started in the 80s and had about a 12-year run, so they were well-known to me at the time. I was excited about the chance to work on a film, though not sure what the assistant meant by “stunts”—but decided to . . . just say yes.

Most of the stunts turned out to be easy. Simple acrobatics, like tumbling across a football field and a front flip off a podium that were beyond Varney’s skills, but easy enough for me. On my first day on set, however, they escorted me into the gymnasium of the public school they’d rented as the location and showed me the “bass drum.”

The drum was a prop marching band drum about three and half feet in diameter that stood on its side on top of a long row of gym mats.

“There’s a scene,” the assistant explained, “where Ernest is running down the football field carrying the ball, and he suddenly jumps on top of this bass drum and rolls along on top of it into the end zone.”

I stared a little slack-jawed at him, thinking he might be kidding, but saw that he was serious.

“We need somebody who can figure out how to do that.”

If you’ve seen any of the Ernest movies it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that there was a whole team of professional stuntmen on set to execute all manner of cartoonish prat falls, vehicle stunts, airborne trajectories, and painful crashes. But none of them had been able to master the rolling drum bit.

“How much time do I have?” I asked.

“We film on Tuesday.”

“Can I practice here until then?”

“No problem,” he said.

So, I spent two days learning how to run on top of a prop bass drum in preparation for the scene. When the day arrived, there were a few more surprises. Namely, an opposing football team.

Ernest would be attempting to run down field against the oncoming traffic of defensive linebackers and tackles who were instructed to make it look like they were doing their best to take Ernest out.

Not only did I need to carry a football, stay on the drum on an uneven grassy surface, but I’d also have to avoid being distracted by athlete-actors in full football gear lunging at my progress, and in one instance, diving directly at my feet while running on the drum.

Just say yes.

When we finally shot the scene I was pleased to nail my first execution of the stunt, thinking we were done. But in the movie business, there are a ton of moving parts and things that have to go right, so we had to reshoot the sequence over and over to get all the angles, actors, choreography, and timing just right. By the tenth take I was getting worried that I wouldn’t have the energy to jump onto the drum anymore, but we got the last shot just as I was nearing my limit.

Here’s a pre-cut of the scene.

The wide shots and foot close-ups are me, while the face close-ups are obviously Varney.

Saying “yes” over the years has resulted in a significant acquisition of skills that I wouldn’t have obtained otherwise, though I didn’t get too many requests after that to run down a football field on a bass drum.

But one of the biggest upsides of saying yes is having good stories to tell.

Often when I share stories like this, people I’m coaching will insist that they don’t have any stories to tell. Each and every time someone just says yes to being coached anyway, I watch their eyes go wide with astonishment as they stumble on memories they haven’t recalled in years, and see the rapt expressions on the faces of other workshop members who are awed by the uniqueness and captivating nature of their tales.

Just recently a new member of our story sharing group casually mentioned that her father was a missionary who moved her family, which included her and a younger brother, to an active military zone during the Vietnam war. Obviously we wanted to hear about her experience of that, but she seemed surprised this would qualify as a story.

I guarantee you have stories to tell that seem ordinary to you, because you’ve lived them. But many of your stories would generate fascination for the rest of us.

I have two invitations for you at the start of this new year.

When you’re faced with a dilemma or decision to make, and the pros and cons seem to be fairly evenly balanced and not hazardous to you or anyone else—just say yes.

Second, when a notable life experiences pop into your mind, start a list and make a note of it. In the coming weeks, I’ll provide some support on what you can do with them.

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This issue marks 150 weeks in a row that I’ve shared a story and I plan on keeping the streak going in an attempt to record 300 stories before I’m done.

Thank you for your comments, likes, shares and your support in the art of storytelling.