Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/1531981
8 PRODUCTION SOUND & VIDEO – Spring 2025 At the beginning of this column, I mentioned the Beatles. So, let's talk about their album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. OK, let's just talk about the front cover of that iconic album featuring the four lads in uniform and about sixty-five cutouts and wax models of people with varying degrees of fame. I've encountered nine. • Three Beatles—At the Grammys and other occasions • Shirley Temple—Grand Marshal of the Tournament of Roses Parade • Dion DiMucci—Sang "I Wonder Why" on a PBS '50s music special • Marlon Brando—An appearance on Michael Jackson: 30th Anniversary Celebration at Madison Square Garden Sept. 10, 2001 • Bob Dylan—The 2011 Grammys (find it on Vimeo) • Mae West—Ringo and I were both in Sextette, her last movie • Huntz Hall—I introduced myself to the original Dead End Kid who also played Horace Debussy "Sach" Jones in the Bowery Boys series. He was on the KTLA lot shooting something and enjoyed that a person from the younger generation (I was in my twenties) recognized him. One more unexpected Beatles-related story. A few years back, I was climbing around on a band riser adjusting drum mics for a Grammys performance. The kit belonged to Abe Laboriel, Jr. He's a heavy hitter and sometimes the mics and stands move around a bit. As I reached for one of the overheads, to give it a little love, a voice behind me asked about the placement. Without looking around, I answered that I thought by aiming the sweet spot of the overhead mics slightly away from the snare, clearly the loudest drum, it would have a better chance of hearing cymbals and the overall kit sound. At some point, mid-sentence, my words hung in the air as if they were frozen in a cartoon dialog bubble. I realized that I was discussing drum mic placement for a Paul McCartney performance with Geoff Emerick, the engineer who recorded Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and Abbey Road. I got off the riser, introduced myself, and continued the conversation with "… wherever you would like them." He was a kind and gentle man whose gifts have enhanced my life for more than fifty years. And more recently, at the Grammys, we were sound-checking Billy Joel and his terrific band. After all the instruments were good, the terrific music mixer John Harris requested that I ask Billy to sing something. I walked to the piano, leaned over, and asked Billy if he would sing "Something." He did. The George Harrison song. Each of those encounters was special. I've only asked to take one photo and have only requested three autographs in all my working years, but I'm very happy to hang onto the memories. It is difficult to explain to those not in our business how specific our jobs can be. In forty-plus years, I've made one commercial (with Monty Hall and an elephant), and once, a long time ago, I worked for two days on a feature. Two. Total. I can't remember the name of the movie. My career has been a combination of talk shows, sitcoms, game shows, and a lot of award shows and specials. Sometimes the crews are pretty big but often the same friendly faces appear in the hello portion of the day. When we say, "I'll see you on the next one," there is a very good chance that it will happen. Perhaps because of the size of the crews and the complicated challenges of doing a big live show, there is often a feeling of camaraderie. And when things go well, of accomplishment. Does that family feeling translate to episodic, features, and other formats where groups work together for long periods (both clock and calendar)? I hope so. At 35, I began playing regularly in the big-show sandbox. It was 1987, and I had been working in television for eight years. When I started to freelance in early 1985, the idea of joining that esteemed group seemed unlikely. Then some of the regulars began mixing shows and a spot for an A2 opened for me. After all, I could lift heavy things and drive a forklift, they, in turn, could make every difficult live television show work successfully under any circumstances. No pressure. This new situation presented an exciting set of possibilities, including one that I have tried wholeheartedly to embrace. We endeavor to help our fellow crew members get to important family events, perhaps a birthday or anniversary, a child's band concert, a dance recital, or a ballgame, we will try to make it happen when we can. Of course, sometimes (often) the timing doesn't work out. But when it does, it feels really good. The retirement report: As my friend, Mr. Mays, reminds me, we are somewhere between the back nine and the walk to the clubhouse. Not being a golfer, I hope to find other ways to wisely use my time in retirement, whenever that comes. Everyone says that staying busy and active is the key; there are retirement options for nearly every interest. I've always enjoyed the social time aspect of work (some would say storytime) and hope to find a way to include that in my next ventures. Whenever I stop working, I will strive to maintain the close friendships that have enhanced my life. So many hellos. One difficult product of age and work longevity is the increasing number of goodbyes. Friends and coworkers who are leaving us. That is, the big leaving us, not just moving to Florida. As these passages come, it is important to be present for each other and to remember how these friends have enhanced our lives whether sharing tangible skills or teaching life lessons. I was sad to learn that two of the great engineers from my days working at KTLA have passed recently. Murray Clawson and John Cook were encouraging, shared knowledge, and pushed me to learn and become better and more valuable at my job. In