Zebra's Rock and Me

Zebra’s Rock and Me

Behind the Scenes of Ice Station Zebra

By

William Byron Hillman

Copyright © 2011 by William Byron Hillman

Publisher: SpectroMedia Publishing at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book in any manner, in whole or in part, in English or in any other language, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission of the copyright owner. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic edition, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number is on file

ISBN 10: 0-9706234-1-0

ISBN 13: 978-0-9706234-1-6

Illustrations: William Byron Hillman

Photographs supplied by Martin Flaherty

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Agents Phone Call

Chapter 2 Waiting

Chapter 3 The Interview

Chapter 4 Meeting Rock Hudson

Chapter 5 First Day on the Set

Chapter 6 Meeting the Cast

Chapter 7 Lunches with Rock and 60 Men

Chapter 8 Private Screening

Chapter 9 Meeting the Editor

Chapter 10 Watching the Director

Chapter 11 Times with Ernie Borgnine

Chapter 12 Working with the Producer

Chapter 13 Working On Night Shots

Chapter 14 Rock and the Flat Tires

Chapter 15 Rock said Don't Thank Me

Chapter 16 Moving On

Chapter 17 About the Author

Dedication

The Story Synopsis and Photo info

Author Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Agents Phone Call

On this particular day, it all started out like any other in the life of a young actor. Before leaving the house, you always check with your agent to see, if by chance, a miracle of unbelievable proportions happened overnight and there was an actual interview to go on.

No such luck, it was my day job as usual. Rumors spread that work in Hollywood was picking up and some of my fellow actors were suddenly going on lots of interviews. Hope eternal was alive and well so I kept my spirits high just in case my time snuck up on me.

The day ended like all the others before it, or so it appeared. I wasn’t home ten minutes when the phone rang.

Bill? It was the raspy voice of my agent Stella and there was no way you didn’t know who the caller was. She was a forty-year plus smoker with one of the best smoker-voices in the world. A few entertainers have the gift of an unmistakable voice, and Stella had worked hard to acquire a similar utterance, only hers wasn’t a blessing as it was earned by smoking thousands of cigarettes over many years.

Hi Stella, I said. She called only when there was reasoning to scold me for being late for an interview or to ask for a favor. Since I hadn’t been on an interview in weeks, it had to be the other choice – she wanted something. At times I accepted the fact she had all but given up on me and kept me around because of my witty tongue and argumentative attitude. Actors have a tendency to be pessimists and/or superstitious. In short expect nothing, and use whatever comes along to the best of your ability. What’s up, Stella?

I just now secured an interview for you on one of the hottest films of the year. She sounded weird, out of breath, and I was speechless. Are you still there, Bill?

I am. What’s the film? Every time I got a call like this excitement raced through me, as if this was my one defining moment that would surely change my life.

Never mind, just be on time. She snapped.

When is the interview? I wasn’t going to let her spoil it for me.

Tomorrow at eleven. I know you’re busy and all but do you think you can make an eleven o’clock appointment without being late?

I can, I said quickly.

What I mean, Bill, is can you be there early?

Sure, I mumbled trying to think why she’d want me to arrive early. Her voice did one of those strange out-of-this-world fade-outs, while my mind tried effortlessly to jump-start the rest of my body. Where am I going?

MGM, Stella was short and all business.

Open casting call? I asked.

No. You have an appointment to meet the director, John Sturges. The man is known for his punctuality, and he loathes those who show up late. When you drive up to the guard gate, tell the guard you’re there to meet with John Sturges, and he’ll show you where to park. Then she got so excited she started to have one of her coughing spells. I waited until the coughing subsided.

Are you alright, Stella?

I want you to listen to me, Bill, she forced out in-between gasping for air and expelling awful raspy coughs, Don’t over dress, don’t be late, and comb your hair.

I always comb my hair, I blurted out.

No, you don’t. And don’t take pictures or anything else with you. They are expecting a professional, so be one and call me when you’ve finished.

She hung up and I just stared at the receiver. If Stella had a sense of humor I’d of thought the call was a joke, but she lost her humor twenty years earlier. There were only a few studios in town and MGM was one of the busiest. John Sturges was a big-time director with a string of hit films to his credit, and I had an appointment to see him personally. Why would he take the time to meet with me? I not only hadn’t arrived yet, I was the ultimate nobody, an actor with a handful of day-player parts and little to show for it.

When my wife asked me what was wrong, I knew I was wearing my concern out on the sleeve of my shirt and that wasn’t a good thing. I told her about the appointment and what Stella had said, and she jumped up and got all excited for me. She never got excited. She was used to my getting passed over or losing out to shorter guys. I forgot how many times I had been told about the height thing and watched that potential float away without so much as a brief interview. Inside I couldn’t help to hope this wasn’t like all the other appointments I attended only to be sent away without getting a chance to show my talent. My wife was pregnant and often suffered through one of those hormone things pregnant women seemed to get a lot of; you know the ones that create anger and frustration? I was about to dismiss her excitement when she pointed out that MGM had announced earlier in the day that they were about to start eight different films and John Sturges was directing the biggest one.

Chapter 2

Waiting

Los Angeles traffic can be tricky. The planned trip may only be fifteen or twenty miles, and that could take anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours depending on many things like accidents, fog, smog, closures, highway repairs and a whole lot of people all going in the same direction at the exact moment of your journey. To guarantee timeliness, you left early, arrived with plenty of time and waited.

I left with a two-hour window only to discover no traffic or delays. I arrived at the studio an hour and a half early. I bought a copy of the Hollywood trade papers and settled back/ I read them cover to cover several times and was totally caught up with the daily gossip. A half hour before my interview time, I drove onto the MGM studio lot. I pulled up to the gate and smiled up at a frowning, unsympathetic face. The guard had the appearance of a long-term employee who had seen everything and heard all the stories one could concoct.

What can I do for you? The guard asked in a monotone voice that would scare any child into a lifetime of constant nightmares.

I have a meeting with John Sturges. I spit out without hesitation.

Really? The guard looked my car over as if it was rusting junk, but in reality, it was only a year old Mustang convertible. He studied my face for the longest second or two in history and then brought out his clipboard. What’s your name?

Bill Hillman, I answered. I knew right off he was going to give me a hard time, but I was prepared.

Don’t see your name on the list, Bill, the guard said sarcastically.

I glanced at my watch impatiently.

Perhaps you should look again," I said, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.

Nope, he said thumbing through several pages.

I’m going to be late, I snapped, and both John and his producer hate it when someone gets hung up at the gate. Maybe you should call them up