Agent

  When I moved back to South Carolina from Texas, people told me I needed an agent to get more acting parts in movies and television.  I couldn't just do it on my own.  The agent would have connections with all of the studios to get auditions for me, and I could make more money.  At the time, I had just left my federal government job after being "phased out", so I needed work.  I saw an ad in the newspaper for a woman, who said she was an agent, and was looking for clients.

 I answered the ad and went to her house over in the Shandon area of Columbia.  She lived in an area known for rich people.  Her house was next door to the Shandon Presbyterian Church. There were other people who had answered her ad, and we all sat in her living room as she explained what an agent does.  She said that we all needed 8x10 pictures of ourselves known as "head shots" for the casting directors to see.  She knew a photographer that we could use, but I knew a guy at church who could do mine for free.  It turned out she got a commission for every person she recommended to her photographer.  She also told us that she would take 15% of our income from acting work for representing us.  That sounded like a lot, but I could get work which was all that mattered to me.

 Each week, I would call her to ask if she had any roles for me, and she would say no.  I asked a couple of others she was representing to find out if they had gotten any parts, and they said no.  Things were seeming a little fishy. We had all paid her an upfront fee to represent us, but nothing was happening.  One day, I called her and found that her phone had been disconnected.  She had skipped town with our money and moved to Atlanta.  She hadn't told anyone.  We discovered that she was a con artist and had no interest in being an agent.  We contacted the police, but they told us that they couldn't do anything.  

 A year or two later, the church next door bought the land that her house sat on.  They bulldozed the house and used the land for parking.  I guess it was a fitting end to that woman in Columbia for taking our money.  I got an agent a little later on who was more reputable.  That is until I had a chance to play a role in "Forrest Gump", but I took a part in "The Program" instead.  That's another story.

Fonda

  I am naturally a very shy person. For those who have seen me on the stage or in a public forum, you might think differently, but I know how to put on a front. In unfamiliar social situations, I would rather go sit in a corner and be alone. 

 I have also met some very famous people. Actors, musicians, politicians, religious leaders, and more. From a young age, I saw these people as just people. Just because they might be well-known doesn't mean they aren't people just like you or me. 

 There was a bookstore in Columbia called The Happy Bookseller. They would bring in famous people who had written books to be signed for the public. That's where I met Jack Palance, and we laughed about if Burt Lancaster knew how to dance. 

 One person who came to the store was Jane Fonda. She had written an exercise book. I got to the store before the line formed to meet her, but I couldn't bring myself to go up and introduce myself to her. Instead, I hid in the shelves and looked at her from afar. My shyness took over. Maybe it was because I had seen her naked in films. Maybe it was because of her larger than life family. I don't know, but I regret not at least saying hello. Whatever you may think of her as a person, she is someone that triggered my shyness. I wish it wasn't so.

Lights

  I was up in Charlotte for a Belk meeting and stayed overnight.  They usually gave us a company car to drive, when we went up there.  I didn't have anything to do that night, so I took the car to an adult bookstore to see what I could see.  

 I didn't buy anything, and I headed back to the motel.  The streetlights were very bright along the way.  There were cars flashing their headlights at me, so I thought they were thinking that I was blinding them by my headlights.  I just ignored them.  When I got back to the motel, I found that I hadn't turned on my headlights all the way back from the bookstore.  The street was so bright that I hadn't noticed.  I felt kind of stupid and relieved that a policeman didn't see my faux pas.  I blamed it on two things, because I could never blame myself.

 First, that the streetlights were very bright.  Second, that I was driving an unfamiliar car.  Maybe this is sacrilegious after visiting an adult bookstore, but I thanked God for protecting me that night.  It could have been a lot worse.