After such a serious post about osseointegration, I needed to lighten things up and find a way to thank my followers. So get comfortable, click on the link below, and enjoy the YouTube music video from the Shoalhaven Library staff.
After such a serious post about osseointegration, I needed to lighten things up and find a way to thank my followers. So get comfortable, click on the link below, and enjoy the YouTube music video from the Shoalhaven Library staff.
Heading back from the beach last week after our Gulf Coast Bloggers meeting at Jenna’s, I went to the Orange Beach Public Library. I was on a mission to find a print copy of a journal for library school homework. I thought, for some reason, if anyone had a copy it would be Louise, who graduated from Alabama three years ago. She’s a dedicated, energetic, and innovative librarian so I stopped in to say hello.
She was talking with a guy when I walked over to her desk.
After becoming reacquainted, I handed over a copy of my assignment and said, “I’m looking for a copy of this,” pointing to the title.
“Oh JASIST. I know exactly what journal you mean,” Louise said, the familiarity of the assignment now as fresh in her mind as it was five years ago.
I was in my shorts, having just come from a swim in the Gulf. The entire time Louise and I were talking the guy was staring at my prosthesis, a typical occurrence with children, but odd behavior for an adult.
“I’m Rick,” he interrupted us barely lifting his eyes up to meet mine.
“Alan,” I said, and we shook hands.
He wasn’t bashful, that’s for sure, as he blurted out a question about how my prosthesis is attached.
“Is your prosthesis connected to bone?”
“No,” I said, that’s someone who gone through osseointegration, a surgery that is still unapproved in the United States.”
Osseointegration is a surgery that leaves a metal rod sticking out of your stump where a prosthesis can be attached. (Residual limb is the politically correct term for stump, but Residual Limb the Librarian will never catch on so I’ll be sticking to what I know, hoping that the style does not offend.)
Anyway, this guy Rick seemed a bit obsessed, so much so that he was distracting me from my conversation with Louise. I wondered how well Louise knew this patron. She probably wondered why he was so fixated on my prosthesis. I’m used to talking about my leg, but others amputees prefer not to discuss it. There are all kinds of odd behavior in the able-bodied and amputee world. Acrotomophilia is when an individual expresses strong sexual interest in amputees and are called amputee devotees. Other people suffer from apotemnophilia, a sexual desire to have a perfectly healthy limb amputated.
“I met a guy who had a prosthesis attached to his bone,” he said.
“Really,” I said, not sure if I should believe him.
“The guy was in the service,” Rick said.
“I just threw out a copy at home,” Louise said.
Then she went to the stacks behind her desk, “I weeded that one too.”
I suggested she check her boss’s office, not realizing he was not in today.
“He keeps it locked, and he wouldn’t have a copy anyway,” she said, and headed off to check somewhere else in the library.
“Are you gonna have the surgery?”
“No, I think it’s for younger people.” I didn’t tell him I was a better candidate for osteoporosis than osseointegration.
“The veteran told me it gets infected a lot and he takes medications to control the infection. Hey, is that titanium?” Rick asked, pointing below the socket.
No, that’s an alloy, but my old leg has titanium hardware,” I explained.
When I got home, I looked at the literature I had on file for osseointegration. Rick, it turns out was more credible than I gave him credit for. As I dug through my files I found the information for a clinical study (Rosenbaum-Chou,, 2013) and an article on Miranda Cashin, (Hochnadel, 2014) an Aussie who underwent the procedure and blogged about it from 2012 to 2014. Cashin initially thought of the procedure as “science fiction-I would essentially become a Cyborg.”
There were osseointegration clinical trials in 2013, according to an article in The Academy Today. Ten former US veterans and military personnel underwent the procedure. The clinical studies are supposed to last two years so the findings should be reported later this year.
Libraries have many odd and eccentric patrons, but Rick wasn’t one of them. Talking to Rick served as a catalyst for me to write about osseointegration, a subject I had wanted to write about but could never find an angle on how to approach it.
Louise was not able to help me on this visit, but as we parted ways we shook hands. and at the time I thought of us as superhero librarians with a lasting Super Friends connection. “Wonder Twin Powers Activate!”
As for Rick, well, who would have guessed two patrons in a public library could share such an obscure interest. It’s more than a coincidence, it’s serendipitous! You never know where the next story is going to come from or who you are going to meet in a public library.
Hochnadel, L. F. (2014, May). Miranda Cashin: Tall tales to sci-fi. The O & P Edge, pp. 70-71.
Rosenbaum-Chou, T. (2013, Spring) Update on osseointegration for prosthetic attachment. The Academy Today: A Supplement of The O and P Edge, pp. A9-A10.
I posted a photo similar to this one on Facebook. It was from the wrap-up party for the Summer Reading Program. Lorraine, a fellow blogger, friend, and local lunch lady, saw the picture on Facebook and asked what we were doing with the stuff. Lorraine posted that the school is having a superhero theme this year and was anxious to get her hands on any of the decorations we were willing to part with or share. I told her the decorations were mostly down, but I emailed Lorraine my coworkers email and work number.
She contacted Julia, our Youth Services Assistant (She’s Captain America, next to Spider-Man, me, and Batgirl, co-worker Rose). Lickety split, a team arrives to take down the decorations.
This is why I love social media. It connects people around the globe, and down the street. I recently signed a petition to Save Prosthetics that garnered 100,000 signatures that will have federal policy makers take a second look at Medicare prosthetic coverage. While there are over 4 million amputees in the United States there is a sense of satisfaction knowing that our voices are being heard. As cool as it is connecting people, ideas, and causes from around the world, it’s more important to connect people in our own communities.
I am proud to be a small part of the conduit that connecting Fairhope Public Library and Fairhope Elementary. Appreciative, the cafeteria staff sent us some photos of how they transformed their cafeteria space. Check ‘em out!
Lorraine and I are connected because we met last year at a Gulf Coast Bloggers meeting. Last month, I hired her daughter Megan to create a logo for Stump the Librarian. Megan is an extremely talented graphic and animation artist.
I’ve included this early draft to show you the collaboration process, which I thoroughly enjoyed. We used email, the world’s first social media, (apologies to A. G. Bell, and G. Marconi) to exchange thoughts and ideas.
Megan was easy to work with and was great at incorporating my ideas and sketches into vivid graphics and text. I hope you love the new logo as much as I do!
Stump the Librarian is branching out. This space has always been geared toward my creative writing, my work at Fairhope Public Library, and the amputees that populate my literal and figurative world. Fear not followers, Stump the Librarian will continue with two posts each month about books, movies, libraries and amputees. I’ve added “Question” and “Answer” pages to extend an olive branch to “Stump the Librarian” Google searchers. Stump the Librarian is a universal search term, so if you land on my site for that reason, great! I’ve got some questions for you and I encourage you to browse around and read more, especially if you are an amputee or a librarian.
Building a Home Downtown Fairhope
Our builder, Delia Pierce of Lemongrass Custom Homes, has over a decade of experience and her homes in Fairhope and Point Clear are beautiful, but she knows and appreciates that we are on a much tighter budget, We went to TK Cabinets on Friday where we started to design our kitchen. We have already changed our garage location which is setting us a back a week. Thank goodness we came to this conclusion while we’re still on paper. This will give us a nice private back yard. I’ll be posting photo essays of our progress. If you want to stay up to date and “follow” our construction process go to Alan Samry. I plan to post once a week
Back to School
Later this week I will be attending orientation for the University of Alabama’s Online Masters of Library and Information Studies program.
I’m looking forward to beginning this program, and a bit apprehensive about the amount and type of work that will be required. I’m one of 43 students in Alabama’s 11th MLIS cohort. We have self identified as “Elevenses.” (AKA Elevenzies, or 11zs) My suggestion, from This is Spinal Tap, “These go to eleven,” was soundly rejected. I’m taking two courses, Organization of Information and Introduction to Library and Information Studies. I’m receiving the Friends of the Fairhope Library Scholarship and I’m grateful that it covers the cost of one course. Thanks to my coworker Rob Gourlay (Alabama MLIS ˈ15) for letting me borrow two of his books. The classes take place in real time on Blackboard. If anyone cares to follow my educational experience, you’ll find it at alansamry.wordpress. I’m told by several people who have been through the program, there could be some required blogging for future classes, but my goal is to post my experiences about the program once or twice a month.
Change is the only constant in the world. I’m trying to embrace it. I hope you’ll join me in the journey.
“Everyone looked like a broke-down movie extra,” Sal, On the Road
I arrive on Monday in time for a full breakfast of pancakes, eggs, grits, bacon, fruit, yogurt, orange juice and coffee courtesy of Sessions Productions.
I see Tommy while I’m eating.
We talk about our weekends.
“I rode my bike down your street over the weekend,” he says.
“Did you check out the lot we are building on? It’s the one with the big live oaks in the front.”
“Is it next to a house going up?”
“Yeah it is.”
“It’s a nice piece of land and those trees are beautiful.”
“Thanks, stop and say ‘hey’ if you see me on the lot while it’s being built.”
“I’ll do that,” he says.
I have time to socialize and find out how Friday night at the Flora-Bama Yacht Club went. Extra Bobby says it was a great time and the party didn’t end until 3 AM.
I’m still waiting around Base Camp at 10:30 AM so I open On the Road and start reading.
Finally they call the extras. Several of us, including Extra Bobby, a retired Navy Veteran with two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, and the special effects people take the boat ride to the rig. We hear from big hat and big beard effects guy that the plane is on set today and we are shooting the rescue.
“After that,” he says, “we’re moving locations to film at night.”
The day hasn’t even started and he speaks from experience as he says, “Shooting at two locations is a lot for one day.”
I don’t go directly to make up on the rig today. I hang out with the extras on the back of the platform, and we battle one another for a place to sit. We get our face, hands, and necks made up in the back of the rig shadows. Prop man hands us all our dog tags.
“Thanks, you gave me Sledge’s the same ones I had Friday.
He looks at me, confused, “that doesn’t happen very often.”
“It’s a good sign,” I say, as he hands a set to extra Barrett. He’s a professional disc golfer I met while introducing some people to the sport at the course in Fairhope. It was great to see a familiar face and we pass the time chatting. He knows Tommy too because they play disc golf together.
“Man,” one extra says, “It’s 12:30 and we haven’t even gotten wet yet.”
There’s a buzz as Nic arrives on set.
Sam calls me up to Video Village. I say hello to all the make up and wardrobe women who are are busy with actors, not extras.
The rig is unusually full today. Everyone involved with the production is on set and there are lots more chairs set up for the movie’s producers under the Video Village tent.
One producer is barking at everyone to “pray for the sun.” Everyone ignores him.
“The PBY is in the air,” Mario announces with the bullhorn about the incoming seaplane.
A few minutes later he walks by Marley and I, more excited and animated than his son and says, “You’re being rescued today!”
“Awesome Mario!” I shout, and a few guys yell, but it sounds lame because no one is in sync.
“ETA 10 minutes.”
It should be arriving from the north any minute now. It comes into sight over my right shoulder and is cruising fairly low. It looks like a boat with wings.
As impressive as the sight of it is, the sound is even better. The steady Bwaaa bw bwaaa is mean and powerful, and a little worrisome, like it’s not firing on all cylinders. Everyone is standing, craning their necks to get a good long look at the seaplane. It makes a second pass for the camera. It circles again and lands rather roughly. It has a massive wake as much of the plane seems to be below the water line.
An hour passes, and Nic comes out of the galley, his makeshift trailer, and says, “I’ll see you for the night shoot.”
Everybody is looking at each other wondering what’s happening. It takes another half hour to reach me that the plane broke down and that there will be no plane rescue scene.
They are shooting underwater scenes with the sharks circling and attacking the rafts.
The animatronic shark is swinging over our heads from a crane. I grab my iPhone.
Just as I’m ready to tap, I hear, “No pictures Alan.” Sam, the PA is in the right spot at the wrong time. I listen this time. It’s a tiger shark, and it looks very real, glistening in the sun, yet still seawater slick.
I got this picture of the animatronic shark suitcase. It’s the blue thing directly behind the trash can.
At 3 PM, Tiffany removes my leg make up.
“That’s 30 minutes.” We break for lunch. Lasagna, salad, collard greens, watermelon and lemon bars for dessert.
“This location is a wrap.”
Still in our movie wardrobes, we wait for the boats to take us to Base Camp while they move the whole production from the rig to a barge on the Intracoastal Waterway, about six nautical miles away.
We arrive at the Base Camp location,which practically empty, like a carnival that has up and disappeared. All that remains is one trailer and a wardrobe truck.
Under the bridge, I pour Skittles directly into my mouth like a confectionary troll. We wait for someone to call our name, give us some news, tell us where to be, or what to do. Your life as an extra is to follow instructions. The only problem is we receive very few instructions. It’s been a hurry up and wait day. There are 20 extras today and nobody, including my eastern European friend and Gulf Shores resident, “have been in the water.”
We are told the new base camp is off Canal Road, not far from the breakfasts and Bloody Marys at Brick and Spoon.
We have two hours before we are due at the new base camp. I have an extra take a picture of me.
I drive to Dairy Queen. I walk in and order a Reese’s Blizzard. I wait for it, and a family of four wait beside me. The little girl is staring at me. I’m used to being stared at. Does she think the amputation is recent? There have been shark sightings along the Gulf, including Hammerheads.
“I’m in a movie,” I tell the girl with braids like Pippi Longstocking. Her expression doesn’t change. I know thanks to make up my face looks fried and blistered, but Pipi’s dad looks like he’s burnt crispier than I am. His sunburn is going to hurt for a while. Mine will wash off, sometime today.
“Reese’s Blizzard,” someone says, and I move up to the counter to see she’s already inserted the spoon. She flips the cup upside down. ‘I should put some of this on that guy’s face.’ Naw, that’s wasting it, and I think how foolish I would be to expect a third meal as part of my extra benefits.
When I get to the new Base Camp, I see Tracy chucking a football in a parking area near the trailers.
More people arrive on scene around 8 PM. We are all hungry, and can smell food, but only the actors get to eat.
Another hour goes by and I pass the time chitchatting and reading from the parking lot light.
“It’s a wrap for today”! Maggie, the chain-smoking blonde says.
“We’re wrapped!” I had spent 12 hours waiting at base camp, in make up, on set, waiting for the rescue scene to be filmed. It didn’t happen. I am weary, upset, angry, and relieved in a span of 12 seconds.
Reflection in the Mirror
For the first and only time, I stepped up into the make up trailer. Tom Sizemore was saying thanks to Lauren and exiting the other door. Alvin, my raft mate, was getting the grease rinsed out of his hair. I looked around, half tired, when a fresh and familiar voice called out amidst the confusion and bright light from the bulbs reflecting off the mirrors.
“Over here Alan,” Stacey says, and I brighten at a friendly and familiar face.
“Have a seat,” she says and I plop down into the barber chair, exhausted from doing nothing, except breathing in the wet, salty, Alabama air, intermixed with the diesel from nearby generators.
She uses baby oil and “99” to clean my face, neck, and arms.
The casting agent called me on Thursday. I told her I couldn’t make it. I like to think that by not showing up, my character didn’t make it. In a movie inspired by real events, even I did not see my character surviving 4 days at sea. What was keeping the character alive? A narrow denim tourniquet.
It doesn’t really matter what I think, if they want my character to survive, all they have to do is grab another extra, like Barrett, bloody his knee cap, fly the green screen, and put him in the background. It’s Hollywood, by the time they are done editing, the movie-goer will never know the difference.
Oddly enough, the reality is not the movie, it’s in the movie-making, and the people who work in front of and behind the cameras. It’s not about where the movie is going, it’s how it gets there. Just like Sal in On the Road.
My chances of actually being background seems better than most simply because I was in the same boat with Nic, Tom, Joey and a few other actors.
The last Nic Cage movie shot in Mobile, Tokarev, was renamed Rage and went straight to video.
USS Indianapolis: Men of Courage producers are hoping for a May 2016 release. It would be nice to see the film in a movie theater, and my friends and family are hoping for the best. If it goes straight to video my coworkers are having a premiere party at the library.
I Suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief. I was getting the bug myself. Sal, On the Road
I arrive at Base Camp at 9:20 AM and see Paul, Jarrod, Zach and Saunders milling around wardrobe. My outfit, which I had taken off on the rig, has magically appeared on the mainland. I change into my boxers and T-shirt in the BG trailer.
I see the guy from Fairhope again. He grabs a water out of the cooler and I notice the back of his shirt. It says “Ship-Faced.”
“I love that shirt,” I tell him, “whatsyournameagain?”
“It’s Tommy and thanks,” I notice it has OBA, the acronym for Orange Beach, on the front pocket.
I find out that Tommy is a grip and we hit it off so well that I tell him my wife Susan and I bought a lot in Fairhope and will be building a new house soon.
“Hey congratulations, that’s exciting news.” he says.
“Yeah! It is, and thanks, check it out if you can.”
Actor Joey (playing Alvin) steps down out of his trailer.
“They are filming day four raft scenes today, and I’m doing my stunt later.”
“That’s awesome!” I say, happy for that nugget of information about our scene together. He tells me about the fight scene and how he falls “like 25 feet.”
“I’m going back in my trailer to eat my breakfast burrito.”
Very little waiting yesterday, but we are making up for it today. It’s already been two hours, and I’m still here at Base Camp.
All of a sudden it’s go time and people are running around like they just stepped on a fire ant mound.
Paul, the production assistant, has two walkie talkies and two cell phones. He seems to manage them all rather nicely, and still talk to me, the person standing next to him, while we wait at the marina. Minutes later we are joined on the dock by amputee extra Zach and Stacy, who reminds me of my sister Laurie.
There are none cooler under pressure than make up and wardrobe. I call them out because they are the people responsible for transforming me from a fake leg-wearing amputee into a humble, Skivvies-wearing sailor whose stump has been shredded into something completely foreign, even to its owner. Stacy, the silicone wonder, Amber my oiler and Dawn patrol guru, and Melody my sunburner and eye blackener all work together to bring me, and many other extras, as director Mario says, “near death.”
Prop man comes by and tries dropping a set of dog tags over my head again. The opening is much smaller and I have to pull and wiggle them over my head.
Lillian is tying a tourniquet around my thigh.
“Mmmmmm,” she says looking at a picture of me on her phone from the day before. “This one’s shorter.” She walks away and then quickly comes back with my denim rag prop.
“Today is Day 4 in the rafts and we act on the direction that we spot a plane, then see a plane dropping supplies, and finally watch the seaplane in the air that will later land and rescue us. FYI: There are no planes we can see flying, but there would be if we ask Siri to find “planes overhead.”
In the Water
Our group is down from ten people and three rafts to 5 people and two rafts.
I’m in the same raft with Joey, Nic, and Marley but I’m shlumped over the opposite side of the life raft with my back to the two guys who have lines. Jarrod is solo in the smaller raft.
There is time between takes. The extras are silent as Nic and Alvin talk about acting, makeup, movies, etc. Alvin recommends a book called Wanderer, (by Sterling Hayden) and Nic says he’s interested in it. I want to say ‘I’m a librarian, and I’m interested in that book too,’ but because of my status as an extra and physical position in the raft facing away from them, I keep quiet.
I relax between takes, and though I’m mostly in the water I lean my back against the side of the raft and look over at my raft mates Joey, Nic, and Marley, the director’s son who is sitting beside me. I’m not the kind to get star struck, Nic’s just another guy in the boat who gets the lines and the most camera face time. Plus Mario is a great motivator, very supportive, and always positive with the actors and extras. Mario’s ability to empathize with actors makes him an actors’ director. Between takes there is a lot of talk about “close-ups,” “wide angles,” and “camera speed.”
The Zodiac comes by several times with Nic’s make up person. She is touching him up during the time between takes.
Mario on the bullhorn, “Thanks for your patience guys. We’re changing the camera battery.”
I notice a pattern on the water’s surface a few yards away indicating a school of fish. Does anyone else notice the fish swimming all around the rafts?
With all these fish swimming around us, I wonder if we are being served up to the Gulf Coast sharks as lunch. Later on, one of the special effects guys says the rig is surrounded by an electromagnetic pulse, kind of like an electronic fence that keeps your dog in the yard. The sharks don’t like the pulse so they stay away, in theory.
I point as an osprey pulls a fish out of the sea, gripping it within his talons.
“Check it out.” Just as I say it, the fish falls back to the sea. As Alvin and Nic look over, Nic says, “What kind of bird is that?”
“It’s an osprey,” I say, “some people call them sea hawks.”
We watch the bird fly north, toward shore, and out of sight.
“There are bald eagles around here too,” I blurt out.
“At the beach?” Nic asks. Is he trying to Stump the Librarian?
“Not sure about here, but definitely in Mobile Bay, and all across the Delta,” I say.
“I didn’t know that. I thought they were only in the northwest, like Alaska,” Nic adds.
“Well, I think they’ve made a resurgence here and all around the country.”
Marley, pushes me on the right shoulder, and points up above the rig. All eyes look up to see the osprey land on the top of the crane, settle his wings, and start scanning the Gulf looking for his next catch.
We shoot two scenes, with everyone “near death.” For every take, I’m facing away from my raft mates, stump resting on the side, and right arm and shoulder draped over the side of the raft.
Nic and Joey are talking about what to do this weekend. They are staying in Mobile.
“You should visit my hometown, Fairhope, across the bay,” I tell them. They stare at me, like they’ve never heard of it.
“It’s a nice walkable downtown and it’s great for families too,” I add, sounding like the Chamber of Commerce.
“Picture’s up.” I hear. I say to myself, ‘Saved by the megaphone.’
“Rolling, Rolling.” I settle into my sideways position and instead of tensing up, I relax, rest my head on my blue denim rag, and feel the sea roll beneath me. I close my eyes just as the camera enters my peripheral vision, and remember the method to this madness is “near death.”
On the Rig
Mario comes by after conferring with Saunders, points at me and says, “Your wrapped.”
“Am I gonna’ live?” I ask.
“Are you gonna live?” Mario smiles and then starts laughing, “That’s funny.” Now I’m smiling. Everyone around is all EF Hutton, listening. People on the rig resort to observation, eavesdropping, snooping, and general skullduggery to find out WTF is going on. It turns out nobody knows WTF is going on, so I continue to press the only one who actually knows what’s going on, Mario.
“Seriously, I’m not being philosophical, I’m being literal. I want to know if my character dies.”
“You’re still here aren’t you?” Mario says, and keeps on walking, but I still don’t have an answer.
He and Saunders speak privately a few feet away. Saunders comes over and says, “You should get a callback for Monday.”
While sitting in Video Village next to Bama, a main character, who is getting make-upped, producer Richard Rionda Del Castro introduces us to a woman who is the grandchild of a USS Indianapolis survivor. I learn later from a Channel 5 interview that Bama’s late grandfather was also a survivor. The granddaughter, turns her phone toward us and flicks through pictures of her granddad, in uniform, on board the ship, and posing in Hawaii with a hula girl. Just as I notice how tall he looks, she says, “He was six feet, five inches.” She mentions, in a lighter moment, the Navy being know for its low narrow doorways, and how he always had to “duck.”
She gives Bama, Richard, and myself a personal detail of what helped him survive in the water.
“He held a potato in his hand the whole time.” I look down at my own hand, imagine a potato, ‘That’s all he had to hold onto.’
Grateful to hear such a personal and moving story, I think to myself, ‘Alan, the leg not only takes you places it puts you in the right place too.’ I thank her for sharing the details and the photos with us, and Bama says, “We just want this movie to honor the men and tell their story.”
Back to Base Camp
On the boat ride back Melody and I sit next to each other on the bench in front of the captain. A rogue wave hits the bow of Tony’s boat sending a wall of water at us just seconds after I put Melody’s phone in my plastic Ziploc baggie. Having a cell phone on set is another item on the extras don’t list. As an amputee, it’s another thing I can actually do, or, at least get away with. Yesterday, I took a picture of my stump under the table, so I have a record of Stacy’s fantastic work.
Taking off my wardrobe, I grab for the dog tags and notice the name. E. B. Sledge. Of all the dog tags in the props department, I get the pair that belong to a man whose son still lives in Fairhope. Up until a few years ago, John Sledge wrote a book column for the Mobile Press Register that avid readers, librarians, and lovers of literature read religiously. I’ve only met John a few times, but he’s a well-known and much respected author in Lower Alabama. Anyway, his father’s memoir, With the Old Breed: At Peliliu and Okinawa is the basis for the HBO series The Pacific, and probably the reason the props department for this film has a set of his dog tags. The actor who played him in that series, Joseph Mazzello, probably wore these very same dog tags. When I saw the name, I suddenly felt humbled and very proud at the same time. Humbled by the actions and respectful of his writings and of all the World War II service men and women. (Stump the Librarian recommends, And If I Perish: Frontline U.S. Army Nurses in World War II, by Evelyn Monahan.)
I walk into to a trailer to do paperwork so I can get paid, and who do I meet? Cam, the screenplay writer. It sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. It doesn’t hurt that I’ll talk to just about anybody. I guess that’s the journalist in me. I’m curious about people, and want to find out their stories. These traits serve me pretty well at Fairhope Public Library too. I tell Cam I’m an essayist and blogger with an MFA from Spalding University. He talks about writing and character and how the screenplay for the film was developed, using several sources including In Harms Way. He explains that the story is “inspired by” true events and many of the secondary characters are composites from actions and experiences of survivors. Cam reminds me a bit of Woody Allen, with his rectangular framed lenses and his fine wavy hair. As he’s leaning forward to read his green copy of the shooting script, I notice he’s constantly sweeping the hair away from his eyes and face.
“So you’re the script writer and the script doctor?” I ask, as I notice him making notations on the script in his hands.
“Yeah. I’m working on adding a scene that we had removed back into the script.”
He asks, “Are you an actor?”
“No, I’m an amputee,” I say, and I laugh at that since it’s obvious.”When they did a call for amputees I auditioned as an extra with Mario and Tim, one of the producers.” Cam asks about my impression of it all.
“Oh it’s been a great experience and a great opportunity to check off the bucket list.”
“I need to thank Mario for using actual amputees in his movie, instead of just green screening everything.”
“Mario’s awesome and it was 100 percent his idea to use actual amputees to film some scenes.”
“It was great talking to you Cam.”
“You too, Alan.”
On the Road
On the drive home, I feel physically and mentally exhausted. After a ten-hour day, an hour and a half in the water, we probably shot less than two minutes of film that will be in the final cut of the movie. My mind starts to wander, drift really, so I pull over for a minute and close my eyes. I see the osprey, so majestic and strong, dropping his catch again. I begin to wonder if the osprey is becoming my albatross.
“And this was my Hollywood career.” Sal, On the Road, by Jack Kerouac
I show up under the Perdido Pass Bridge in Orange Beach, Alabama at 11 AM carrying my belongings including a towel, cell phone, wallet, keys (in a Ziploc bag), and a copy of On the Road, in a blue Otto Bock sling bag. The parking area under the bridge is full of trucks and trailers.
A man at wardrobe walks through an open sliding glass door, out of an air-conditioned truck, and steps down onto a platform that rises up and down like a beer delivery truck. Patrick gives me a pair of blue denim sailor pants, a white T-shirt, and a long sleeve blue denim shirt.
“You can change in the trailer marked BG,” he says. I walk down the row and see BG handwritten on a strip of masking tape stuck to the door. Later in the day, I learn BG stands for BackGround. I grab the handrail to climb up the three steps into what was really a bunk room with an adjacent toilet and sink.
I change quickly and head back to the wardrobe truck, where they cut my right pant leg, make some jagged cuts, and add some fake blood to the denim.
I meet Paul, a production assistant, and we walk past Cobalt restaurant and over to the docks where boats are ferrying everyone to the set, a rig in the Gulf of Mexico just south and west of the Flora-Bama.
Stacy, the make up artist, and I took a boat ride with Alan, the boat owner and ferry service provider, to the set. It’s my first time on the water in the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve been fishing, sightseeing, and whale watching in the Atlantic and whale watching in the Pacific on a Zodiac off the Oregon coast and highly recommend the experiences. It feels satisfying to finally complete the trinity of boating on and swimming in the three major North American seas.
I step onto the dock floating alongside the rig. The first thing I notice is the pile of bodies wearing the same get-up I have on.
Stacy heads to the galley, which is air-conditioned.
“I apologize in advance for the smell,” I tell the women around me, and Zach, the arm amputee. “It’s the Gulf Coast in the summer.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Stacy says, and so I pretend not to worry and doff the leg and lean it against a cabinet.
Stacy begins dabbing and glomping red and black goo on my stump with a wooden tongue depressor.
The silicone is red, black and textured to the point that Stacy “builds it up” really well. So well, in fact it’s heavy and I begin wondering what ill affects it will have once I get it all off and put the prosthesis back over the stump. When I see my residual limb it’s red and raw. It looks like it’s on fire.
At the same time Stacy is applying gruesomeness, four other hands are on me.
Melody, a blue-eyed, and blue-green haired make up artist from LA (Los Angeles not Lower Alabama), applies sunburn. Amber, Stacy’s auburn haired business partner, runs her greased up fingers through my hair. She tells me it’s a concoction of charcoal powder and castor oil.
“Oh so it’s all natural?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Amber says, and Melody just giggles.
“Everyone outta here, we have to set up for lunch,” John the bearded caterer tells everyone in the galley.
“Not without help,” I say to everyone within earshot of me. I’m suddenly, and quite uncomfortably now dependent on others for mobility.
Extra Bobby and Extra John step inside the galley to help me.
They set me down in Video Village, an area where extras are not allowed. Video Village is at the front of the rig and facing south to the Gulf, right behind the camera and where all the playback screens and monitors are located. It’s also protected from the elements by an Easy Up, and for make up touch ups.
“Good timing,” the director’s daughter tells me with a smile, and she gets in line for lunch.
Amber brings me a lunch of steak tips, rice, and broccoli. Melody makes a special trip and brings me back dessert; red velvet upside down cake with white chocolate chips and cream cheese frosting.
At lunch, all the fashion conscious women are impressed by Zach and I, the amputee extras. We recommend Hobo purses and wallets, a brand none of them had heard of before but one both our significant others swear by.
After lunch is a costume change: get out of pants, take off denim shirt.
A woman with a Wiffle haircut, asks/tells me to put on two pairs of boxers, as just one is see through once it gets wet. Lillian, is the skinniest person on the rig and as you’ll see we become close. She helps me get to the laundry room, which is next to the galley. Up the steps, through the hatch door, I notice the tattoo on her forearm.
“It’s a mathematical symbol,” Lillian says, but I’m thinking it’s more geometric. It looks a lot like the Deathly Hallows symbol from the Harry Potter books and movies.
And speaking of books, I see someone with a copy of Only 317 Survived!, which is one of the books the movie is based on.
Lillian, who had just been talking about pizza porn on Tumblr during lunch, holds a towel up across the door to block passersby from seeing me bare-assed. We exchange awkward pleasantries, and I really have no idea if she’s even still holding the towel because it takes all my concentration to stand on one leg, take off denim pants, and my Hanes and then slip on two pairs of boxers that are two sizes too big. With lightning speed, Lillian is standing next to me, pinching the boxers in the back, has a needle and thread in her hands, and is tailoring them to fit me.
“That should hold,” she says. She’s smiling confidently. Wardrobe Humor? Not funny. I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t like to go out without a prosthesis on and here I am in my Skivvies with a couple hundred people around.
Back in my chair, Lillian is by my side tying a strip of denim around my right thigh.
Saunders, a man of color with freckles and an Einstein Afro comes by and says, “Mario (Van Peebles) wants to talk about the scene you are in, can you come with me?”
“I need a little help.”
“Oh! Yeah! Here, which side is better?” Saunders says, as I raise my right arm and he dips his left shoulder under my arm and props me up. I grab onto anything I can get my hand on to hop as little as possible, and I hop, shuffle, and slide toward the front of the set, near the director’s area that has a camera and other equipment under a black hood.
Mario sets the scene for us and we are going to rehearse it. With my right hand I hold onto the left shoulder of the man with the megaphone.
“First, everyone just introduce yourself.”
“Nic(Cage), Joey, Alan, Marley, Tom (Sizemore), Jarrod.”
“You’ve been on a raft for two days,” Mario sets the scene. Captain McVeigh, played by Nic, passes around some SPAM, which we all fake taking a bite of and pass along.
“That’s great,” Mario says, now we are passing along a canteen’s cap full of water that everyone must get one small sip. So we pass it around and take our fake sips.
After our run through, I say, “Ah, Mario, they just changed my wardrobe and need to add more to my stump.”
He’s staring at it, and sees there is not enough blood below the tourniquet.
“Ok, Saunders help, whatsyourname?”
“Help Alan out.”
The cool thing is that Saunders already knows my name. He, along with another guy who knew a double amputee and actor who he thought should be the amputee extra but they wouldn’t pay to fly him to the Gulf Coast, help me to the nearest seat.
I sit in an “Actor” chair one away from Nic, who is drinking an Aquafina water, while Stacy adds more blood and hanging flesh to my stump. I look over and give him the head bob, he smiles and says, “getting some work done I see.”
“Yeah, it’s getting nastier looking.”
He nods and walks a few feet away while Stacy applies more make up. By this time, everybody on the rig, and I mean everybody, is waiting for me to shoot the next scene. But as my friend Rivers wrote in a recent email, “Alan that leg takes you places.” And sure enough, I find myself checking off another item on the extras list of Don’ts. Do not sit in “Actors’ chairs,” which ironically enough are actually directors’ chairs.
After Saunders and one other person grab onto me the props guy drops some dog tags over my head, and says “tuck ‘em into your T-shirt.” The guys get me to and over the rig railing, and down the ladder into “John Rambo’s” Zodiac boat. I sit next to Nic, but don’t say anything to him. He’s rehearsing lines.
Shooting a Scene in Gulf Waters
It’s a twenty yard boat ride, a distance I could swim faster than the boat travels. Mario, using a microphone to amplify his voice above the sea, gives all of us directions about where he wants us in the life rafts.
“You, You,” Mario’s pointing at me, “Whatsyournameagain?”
“Move left, right, move your leg, put it on the side of the raft.” If he tells me to, ‘do the hokey pokey and shake it all about’ I will take his direction.
“Rolling,” the guy holding the bullhorn says.
Mario disappears under the hood.
In one of the takes the extra who’s supposed to be feeding me, is vomiting. So I improvise by shifting and lifting myself while gritting and wrenching to get the rations from the other guy. It turns out Extra Jarrod gets seasick because he didn’t take enough Dramamine. If I’m only visible in one scene, this will probably be it. Here’s me: stump in the air, sipping water and a guy barfing in my background. In fact, many of the crew didn’t survive because they drank seawater, and vomiting is one of the first side effects.
I lose track of the number of takes we shoot, and the number of SPAM bites we actually eat.
On the Rig
Back over the rail and onto the rig, with a little help from an extra friend and a man named Tommy, who lives in Fairhope.
I sit down on a folding chair, and Lillian whisks over and hands me a towel.
Mario walks over.
“Nice job!” We fist bump.
“Thanks,” I say, “glad to be a part of this.”
“That’s a wrap for you!”
Stacy applies some clear solution to help me get the silicone off the leg,
She tries helping but it was touchy with my hair sticking to the silicone. It feels nice when it goes on, but it stings quite a bit when you have to remove it.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stacy says.
“I don’t want you to either,” I say, and she laughs. I use the tourniquet to brush, scrap, pull, and peel the silicone off my stump.
Melissa and I get off on the wrong foot. She is in wardrobe and after I was out of make up, I tell her that the tourniquet fell off in the water. Actually the torn shirt I was using as instructed by McVeigh to keep my head wet, was swallowed up by the Gulf sometime between takes. “I don’t believe you,” is the look she gives me.
Under the Bridge
Back at “Base Camp” I change out of my wardrobe and fill out paperwork for Sam so I can get paid $125 for the day.
The people on set treat me like a star, not an extra.
Being superstitious, I keep the tourniquet hoping it will help me get a callback the next day.
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