In the last issue (PLSN, June 2008) I joked about the usefulness of being able to BS your way through a difficult gig. But while I was pondering what I wrote last month, I realized that what is important in our profession is just the opposite. I think what makes someone good is that they run a fair business, earn their money the old fashioned way and don’t rely on BS to save a few bucks on a gig. Sure, there are times where unexpected obstacles can only be overcome by telling white lies — things that don’t hurt anyone but protect the design integrity of the gig. It’s a necessary evil. But what about the vendors who actually show up on site with gear that you didn’t spec and they didn’t bother to call you about the “changes” in your gear list? They know that you’ll be at the load-in before you find out. They know you spec’d all black truss but, hey, they ran a little short. They figure you will have to use them and they will get paid regardless. This is the ultimate BS, and if you think it doesn’t happen, you’re mistaken. But many of us will remember who they are, and you can be sure we’ll use one of their competitors for the rest of our lives.
Ten years ago I designed and programmed a rock tour. I had no say in the lighting vendor because the band liked them. I sat in Marty Wickman’s former WYSIWYG visualizer suite in Los Angeles for three straight days programming this show on the console of my choice. Because of prior commitments, I would not be at the first show, but the touring lighting director, who was there programming with me, would have no problem.
A week later, they loaded in for the first show and it was lunch time before my LD realized they brought a different lighting console out there. Instead of a Hog 2 and a wing, they brought a Jands Hog and an Avo Pearl. That would have been fine if they had told me that’s all they had before I programmed the show. But I sent the spec sheet in and they signed a contract. My show file would not load into the Jands Hog and since the show was in a few hours, all my work was down the drain.
My buddy was able to reprogram the whole show in a few days — no big deal. But I have never gotten over this experience and the size of the cajones on the salesman at this particular lighting company. He made a decision in order to save a few hundred bucks a week and it has cost him a hundredfold over the last 10 years. I simply refuse to ever use them or back them on anything.
Twenty years ago, I toured with another lighting guy. About halfway through the tour we stopped calling him by his name. Instead, he became TAM — short for the Tour Answer Man. This guy did his gig just fine, but his most notable attribute was that he always had the answer to any question. After a while, people started wondering if this guy read the encyclopedia for fun or if he was just a BS artist. One day the tour bus was pulling into Des Moines, Iowa. I wondered aloud how many people live in the city and how we could possibly be playing at a stadium. From behind me I heard Tam’s voice. “There are actually over 150,000 people in the metropolitan area and countless thousands in the surrounding suburbs. It’s actually quite a crowded and cultural community.” I knew this dude was born and raised in L.A., and this was before the Internet so how could he possibly know this? We all looked at each other and just laughed. Every few years I hear from this guy, but I can never hire him for anything because his BS precedes him.
But that’s enough about that. I want to talk about some hard working, honest people. For some reason, riggers seem to fit this profile. I’m not talking about the electricians running cables on a movie shoot; I’m talking about the guys who hang tremendous weights from iron beams for a living. I know many of these guys and they all seem to have one thing in common — they own their own businesses and they still like to get their hands dirty.
I think these are the guys who founded the American work ethic, but they also spent considerable amounts of time playing with erector sets long after they turned seven years old. Rocky Paulsen, whom I’ve known for 25 years or more, is one of them. He started Stage Rigging in the Bay area long before I met him. Two years ago, I walked into a venue and Rocky was there as the lead rigger. His company was supplying the truss, motors and manpower to rig everything on a fairly big gig. He told me this was it, this was his farewell gig. We shook hands, and then I had to go clean the chain grease off my paws.
Last month I walked into a TV studio in downtown Chicago. The LD had the crew moving heavy video walls and double hanging things. We were running a little behind schedule due to unexpected design issues. Finally the guys hung the walls so I could go to work. But all of a sudden I looked over at the lift and saw this sweaty guy emerge from the ceiling. It was Michael Reed, the owner of perhaps the largest rigging company in the Midwest. It was great to see yet another rigger who loves his job enough not to be chained to his office desk.
These are honest, hard-working guys. How many lighting company owners still touch a truss? Not many, but I’m betting there are some that still wish they could. Then there are the small rigging company owners out there. These guys may only own a hundred motors and a few sticks of truss, so they are always on someone else’s call. Just walk around the Detroit Auto Show floor and you’ll see all of them at work. Brutus Schwartz from Minneapolis — love that guy. When he’s not rigging a show, he’s running local crews at venues. But he owns his own rental house. The same with Sean Harvey and his company, Tall City. I never work with the gear these guys own, but I see them every year on other gigs, working for a living.
These guys are always working. They do an honest job and don’t have to rely on excuses. Last moth I did a gig with Sean. The lighting company forgot to bring 20 sticks of truss for a cable bridge across a convention floor. Not once did Sean bitch. He had a team of guys in a lift tie all the cable to the ceiling. It took a bit longer, but he did it in a way that nobody noticed anything was missing from the big picture. I liked it because no fingers were pointed and Sean didn’t have to rely on BS. He simply did his gig.
There’s a time for BS and there’s a time for making an honest living. And if you don’t know where that line is, then you’re likely to step in it.
