The Day I Had To Turn Down Willie Mays

There's a great HBO documentary playing now on Willie Mays, and it got me thinking...

Working in the arts often means you’re a freelancer or a contractor. Being a creative on staff is not the norm. So, I was quite grateful when I had a five-year stint at a company writing copy, scripts, starting up their voiceover department, and performing voiceovers for numerous characters that me and my colleagues created. The work was key to generating millions in revenue. How great it would be if I collected residuals, but much like a scientist or engineer who creates a product for a company, they’re a paid employee.

As much as we hate to admit it, the contractor/freelance life can slow to a crawl. The trouble with that of course is responsibilities are still there - bills and rent are constantly due. So, sometimes we have to take jobs that are totally out of sync to keep things going until the next, often much better-paying gig comes along – that we’ve hustled to make happen.

I was driving a limo during an unusually long stretch of no work when a job came in to write an hour-long script for Heineken that promoted the brand for package store (beverage/beer store) owners giving them tips on how to leverage Heineken for more profit. In biz lingo, it’s known as an industrial, a film created for a targeted non-public audience, usually exclusively for a company. One of the first jobs I had as a production assistant was a multimedia extravaganza for the 25 Anniversary of MacDonalds. Original music! Professional dancers! Superb singers! Giant grids of slides on a Broadway-sized stage! Celebrating… hamburgers!

The Heineken gig was a tough assignment as the client wanted the script to be funny, cute, an hour-long, all original material… and written in seven freakin’ days! I’m not a big drinker and my knowledge of beer is limited, but this is what the business of writing is when you’re a hired hand. You dive into your research, gather copious materials, then magically turn it all into something that makes sense and is easily digestible.

On Friday I tell the limo company I’m not available for the next week as I have a scriptwriting assignment. They’re cool with that as I’m a contractor with them, too. I drive their cars and vans, not mine.

Having done my preliminary research over the weekend, I begin writing on Monday. I take a cue from a current commercial that is running featuring Austin Powers being cheeky with the word “hiney” and Heineken – it’s essentially fifth-grade humor – I’ll elevate mine to high school. It’s tough enough to write a traditional script with interesting tidbits here and there, but making it funny, that’s a whole other animal. It takes tremendous work, and it’s a bitch if you’re writing it by yourself. Of course, you get feedback from the client as you’re writing which I did when I submitted the outline on Sunday night. They liked the direction it was going and approved it.

On Monday, I put in 10 hours. Tuesday, I put in 11 hours. I wake up Wednesday and my gray matter is mush. But I trek on. Five o’clock rolls around and I’m spent. Bleary-eyed, my face is planted in the desk… and I’ve got five more hours ahead of me as I’m only halfway through the work.

The phone rings. I see it’s the limo company. “Damn it!” I said. “I told them I wasn’t available.” I don’t pick it up. They buzz again. I shake my head with frustration. I don’t pick it up. They call again. I’m sucked in and answer. “Pete! It’s Hal! Need you to come in tonight, buddy. I don’t have anyone else.” “Hal, I’m not available. I’m working on a script, and I’m spent. I have no time. I can’t come in.” “I get it Pete, but I need you, you’re one of the only guys who’s not afraid to drive “The Beast.” (The “Beast” is a giant, tall, 15-foot-long van that’s been converted into a luxurious black limousine – it’s the result of a limo and a minibus giving birth.)

“Sorry, I just can’t make it. I’m on a big job.” “Pete, it’s for Willie Mays and he only wants “The Beast.” I replied without skipping a beat. “When do you want me?” Willie Mays. He was a childhood sports hero to me. And I was not a big sports guy. But Willie Mays! He played his last two years with my favorite team, The Mets. As of this writing, Willie Mays is the greatest living baseball player ever. See the video below with Bob Costas describing his skill in the day. Today Willie is 91. When we met, he was 73.

The limo company is in Hawthorne, NY, about 40 minutes north of NYC. I throw on my suit, drive 15 minutes to the limo company, jump into The Beast, battle the Van Wyke “expressway” (it’s always a parking lot) and after an hour and 45 minutes, arrive at JFK. Usually, drivers have to park far away or stay parked in a lot until they’re called, then drive up with a sign in the window. The client sees the car and the driver escorts the passenger into the car. But this is Willie Mays. The job is to meet him inside the airport and escort him to the vehicle.

Willie Mays played for the New York Mets from 1972-1973 then retired from baseball – but not before being key to taking the New York Mets to the ’73 World Series. He was a beloved New York Giant (they became the San Francisco Giants where Willie continued his career.) Even though he’d been retired from baseball for many years, he was still well-known and still loved in New York.

I pull up to the terminal and tell a cop that I’m here to pick up Willie Mays can I park nearby? Without hesitation, he says “Yes!” and I park about a minute’s walk from the building. I enter the terminal in the baggage area and head up to the top of the escalator and wait with my sign saying, “Mays.” Normally, clients are met at the bottom of the escalator. But this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve worked with film crews on NYC film sets controlling crowds to make sure they don’t get into the shot. As you can imagine, New Yorkers don’t make it easy. Having escorted stars from the trailers to sets and vice versa, we often moved quickly, otherwise, crowds would gather and slow things down after the crew has worked hours to prep the set. I jokingly call this the Celebrity Sprint. They do this on their own, too. Watch for it if you spot a famous person in public – they’re usually polite, but hustling along. I anticipate Willie will want to move at a good pace, too, so I meet him up top to open the way in front of him as we get to The Beast. And that’s exactly what happened.

Willie arrives with a PR person and a personal assistant – and he was walking quickly with a few people following him asking for autographs and picture requests. Pretty amazing considering how long he’s been out of the spotlight.

One of the tips you learn when meeting a celebrity is, if possible, have someone the celebrity knows, introduce you. It gives you better street cred and shows you’re savvy, that you understand and that you belong in the circle.

So I meet Willie’s assistant first and she introduces me to Willie. He smiles broadly and when he shakes my hand, it was like shaking hands with a truck. At 73, the guy is still powerful. Giant hands. You can just imagine his might when he was a universally loved professional baseball player.

At the top of the escalator, Willie signs some autographs. When we arrive at the bottom, a few more people meet and greet him. Now I have to get The Beast. Fortunately, the people he’s with will take care of any sort of crowd that forms.

I pull The Beast up and the small entourage gets inside. Willie’s assistant and the PR rep go over his schedule tomorrow and his speech as we head into Manhattan. I also chit-chat with them a bit, and I’m totally professional. I don’t ask Willie for his autograph; I don’t tell them about what I’m doing or my background. Above all I do not say the catchphrase about him that he's heard a billion times over "Say hey!" I ask them about them. We have a nice groove.

I pull up to the Sheraton on Seventh Ave in the 50s. Willie shakes my hand again and thanks me for the ride. It turns out that the driver who normally takes him and has done so for many years, passed away, so he was pleased that he could find another driver he liked. Willie Mays likes me? Talk about a banner day! His assistant asks me to wait for a few moments. Outside the van Willie talks with his entourage. Then they all walk to the entrance of the hotel and go inside. A few minutes later, his assistant comes back and hops into The Beast.

“We like you and Willie would really like to have you drive him through the rest of the week.” “No! Not now!” I think to myself “I don’t have work for months and now I do, and, and… Hell!”

I look at his assistant. “I would love to, but I can’t.” But before I can continue, she says “I’ll talk to the limo company and we’ll work it out.” “Oh, it’s not that. You see, this is just a temporary job for me, normally I’m a professional writer and I’m on a deadline to finish writing an industrial, but when the limo company told me it was Willie and that he wanted this van, I took the job.” “Are you sure? There’s nothing you can do?” “Oh man, if I could find a way to somehow make it happen, I would. But I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m on a very, very tight deadline” “Okay,” she says disappointingly. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” It’s 10 PM. I wait a few minutes and she returns.

“Willie’s sorry that you can’t drive him, but wanted to say thank you.” And she handed me a $40 tip. This was big, even by 2004 standards – especially since the tip was already included in the ride.

I drop The Beast off at midnight. The office is quiet. I thought about the jobs I had working with the Oscar winners on sets and running their production offices. Luck played a role in getting these gigs, and those folks will tell you that luck played a role in their success, too. I don’t say “role,” to be cute because I’m talking about acting, but because I, and they, went forward despite getting slammed by “no’s” over and over again. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to temporarily become a limo driver. Never in a million years would I have guessed that lady luck would tap me on the shoulder in this job, giving me one of the greatest experiences of my life. You just have to keep going forward. ‘Be in the mix.’ As I like to say.

The next day I arrive back in the now-busy office early because I have to bring in some paperwork. I’m greeted with “Oh, Mr. Hollywood! Can’t drive Willie Mays for the next few days!” “Big man, aren’t you?” “Oh yeah, you got me. I’m just too good for Willie Mays.” What I wouldn’t have given to have actually hung out with him for those next few days.

And the script? The running theme was that one of the sexy, cardboard cut-out girls keeps popping up behind our main character as if she’s following him while he jokes with her, explaining the benefits of selling Heineken in the store. It's a “meet cute,” which is “a cute, charming, or amusing first encounter between romantic partners.” Not easy to pull off when one of them doesn’t even speak.

The agency loved it as it echoed the Austin Powers silliness that’s currently running. Heineken comes back and says they feel the story makes them look stupid. What? A fake British International Man of Mystery oddball relating Heineken to “heiny’s” (butts) is OK, but a beautiful, smiling, lifelike, cardboard girl admiring what she’s hearing about Heineken doesn’t cut it? I rewrite the script with a live partner. The interspersed naughty jokes about beer, size, and refrigeration are fun. Heineken enjoys it and gives it a thumbs up – but the production never sees the light of day as it was axed by a budget cut.

Willie, if by some wild chance, we meet up again, let’s grab a Heiny. It’s on me.

#baseball #Heineken #beer #newyorkmets #sanfranciscogiants #austinpowers #beer