One Year of Reality and How It Nearly Killed Me: My Life Behind the Scenes

ONE YEAR OF
REALITY AND HOW
IT NEARLY
KILLED ME

My Life Behind the Scenes

Deborah M Wolff

Copyright © 2015 Deborah M Wolff

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1511867159

ISBN 13: 9781511867153

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
have to start by thanking my family, particularly my mother, who was a great support through everything and who silently sacrificed for me. Not a day goes by that I do not remember her generosity to me and to those around her. I can only hope to be like her someday. She was a light to many people.

I also have to thank my closest friends who helped me when I had nowhere else to go: Rhonda, Kelly, and Stacy. There is not enough time in this life to ever repay you for your kindness and friendship. You are my sisters, and I love you dearly. And to Laura, thanks for the extra ear and dose of sanity, for being my “other brain.” You are the best. And a special thank you to Angela Polidoro for editing the book.

I am truly blessed. I got into the entertainment industry for two reasons. One, I wanted to be an actress, and two; I wanted to wear jeans and T-shirts to work. Well, one out of two isn’t bad. In my work and play, I have encountered fabulous people and colleagues I am grateful to know. The people on the production side of media are workhorses who daily put in the hours and labor to make content for all to enjoy.

Finally, I’d like to thank the Academy…☺

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1:   LONG BEFORE I HIT PAVEMENT

CHAPTER 2:   NOT ONLY AMAZING, BUT A MIRACLE

CHAPTER 3:   THE BEGINNING OF A LIFE CHANGING MOMENT

CHAPTER 4:   MY DREAM COMES TRUE?

CHAPTER 5:   COMPLETELY LOST

CHAPTER 6:   FINALLY! HOME!

CHAPTER 7:   TRIUMPHANT RETURN - WIMPY ENDING

CHAPTER 8:   WEAR UNDERWEAR TO BED

CHAPTER 9:   DO NOT GO TO DINNER WHEN YOU HAVE JUST BROKEN YOUR LEG

CHAPTER 10: THE BEST SHOW I EVER WORKED ON

CHAPTER 11: THE BEST INJURIES I’VE EVER HAD OR GIVE ME SOME MORPHINE!

CHAPTER 12: THAT SILVER LINING THING

PROLOGUE

5
:30 a.m. Downtown Los Angeles. Half-awake. It was a B Stunt day on
Fear Factor
, meaning that it was a food challenge, and all the contestants would have to eat something gross. I walked to the dance hall to make sure the location was “safe.” And after making sure that the steadicam guy could manage the stairs with his rig, I started to head over to the catering truck for breakfast, deep in thought about how the day would unfold. As I walked the few blocks to the catering truck, I was looking through my show binder, flipping through paperwork, call sheets, and schedules for the day. I wasn’t paying too much attention to anything other than what was in my binder.

Then my ankle twisted and I started to fall in slow motion.

I fought the fall, trying to stay upright. I’m 6’2”, and as I’ve always joked, it’s a long way to the ground. That joke is a lot less funny when you actually do find yourself falling. I lost the fight to stay on my feet that morning, and I found myself on the ground in a lot of pain.

I saw people across the street and yelled for help. Everything was blurry as my glasses had come off, but I could see figures walking. No one came to my aid. I yelled a few more times, hearing my voice echo on the almost deserted street. I felt the burn of pain running through my body, and from the corner of my eye, I could see that my right arm was twisted in the wrong direction. I finally yelled, “Somebody in catering, HELP!” After another moment, some of the staff finally came to my aid. I heard someone say, “I thought you were a homeless guy.” And then I started hearing people talking into walkies asking for help. All the noise and even the pain started to fade from my mind after a moment, lost in a storm of thoughts about everything—my life, how I would pay for the ambulance, my career… Did I make the right decisions? Was my career over? Did I even have a career? Was I wearing underwear? When would they give me some pain killers? Where was the medic from the show??? My life flashed before my eyes…

It’s pretty amazing the way the body shuts itself down so you can manage whatever you’re going through. I only wish it would’ve shut my brain off too. This was the last straw in an otherwise amazing year of working on reality TV shows. I was able to work on three different shows from three different networks, and I went through a trial by fire on each one. I remember a producer’s assistant telling me, “If they only had the cameras on you, what a reality show it would be.”

How had I ended up here, on the ground? What choices had I made that led to this?

CHAPTER 1

LONG BEFORE I HIT PAVEMENT

I
t all started when I was a kid; I had a dream of going to Africa. I wrote a lengthy essay about the Congo in the sixth grade. I went to the library with my mom and picked out every book about Africa, combing through the World Book Encyclopedias at home and any other books I could find for more information. I was just fascinated by Africa—the beauty, the people and culture. I’m sure my teacher wasn’t looking for a ten page essay, but my paper channeled my passionate wish to travel the world. I had often thought about becoming a missionary or working for the Peace Corps.

Fast forward twenty-five years, a few years before I ended face up on the pavement, waiting for an ambulance.

I finally got closer to my dream of going to Africa when I was hired to work for a wildlife show that was my entre into reality television called
Wild Things
. The show did not have a host or narrator like many animal shows—rather, the cameras followed around individuals who worked with wildlife, telling their stories and the stories of the animals they studied. By the end of the show, viewers would learn a little bit about the person as well as the animal. It was both educational and entertaining. I started behind the scenes as a coordinator. It was my first freelance gig in a number of years, so I was nervous about entering the production workforce after leaving a “safe” studio job for one that had no stability. But my “safe” job was boring and predictable, and it was probably coming to an end anyway, since the studio was changing ownership. I took a risk to leave and it paid off big time.

My interview had been with the executive producer, Bert, and the executive in charge, Mark. Bert was a handsome older man, very charismatic and energetic. The kind of person who was so convincing that you’d believe cows flew if he told you it was true. He wanted to make sure I had the experience
needed to do an international show. I felt like I was in a poker game. We were sizing each other up and I didn’t want there to be any “tells” that I couldn’t handle the job because of my lack of experience. I rattled off some countries that I may or may not have experience with, just to spruce up my image. It was true that I had some experience working with Canada and had done research for filming in other countries, but I probably didn’t have the kind of experience I should’ve had to get the job. Occasionally I read about filming in other countries and even had to get a passport updated for an actor on a movie, but that was about it. So I was slightly out of my element. But I squeaked by enough to get hired. Bert and I got along very well in the beginning, and I felt that camaraderie most of the time I was there, but we did have our moments.

There was the executive in charge, Mark, who I liked to call the “Big Cheese.” He was young, confident, handsome, and funny—a great guy to work with and learn from. Over the three years we worked together, he taught me a lot about budgets, dealing with people, and even picking stocks. He was very proud of his financial prowess and his meteoric rise to his position. I respected him greatly and wished very much to be like him. I consider him my mentor to this day.

The one person that I started a long lasting friendship with was Laura, the accountant on the show. We got along right away, primarily because she liked my jokes and thought I was funny. To this day we are good friends. She was someone I could talk to about anything and ask for advice on how to deal with office politics or with people in general. She came up with a phrase that I still use to this day. “It’s not your fault; it’s just your turn.”

The best and hardest aspect of
Wild Things
was the fact that it was an international production. We needed people from all over the world to assist in the production, and we were constantly sending staff and crew overseas. As the rest of the team was assembled, I realized that I probably had the least international experience of anyone.

Some of the staff had great international resumes. I remember a field producer who knew everything about Russia; she was incredible. And we also had people on the staff from other countries. There was a small group of us that had a small amount of international experience—well, a
tiny
bit in my case. I came from a studio background, an office environment where I had not been directly involved in production.

One of the biggest things I had to learn was to use an atlas, because we were going to travel all over the world. My chief job responsibilities were to travel the crews and producers to locations, ensuring that they had the necessary travel documents, and obtain permission to film in each country. While I had been a coordinator at a studio and had seen productions at work, this was something very new to me, and I wanted to do everything I could to excel, including not making any mistakes. I wanted to look like I knew my stuff at all times.

Trying really hard to act like I knew something was my first mistake.

Just after I was hired, Bert was going on a trip to look at the various locations where we were planning to film as well as meet the local facilitators who would assist us. He gave me his plan, “Can you put together an itinerary for Johannesburg, Nairobi, and Dar Es Salaam? We’ll book Europe later.” I told him that it was exciting that he was going to Africa and India. This was my effort at trying to bond with him by showing off my knowledge of the world.

“What!?” he replied.

“Dar Es Salaam, in India, pretty cool.” I said smiling, hopeful that we were sharing a bonding moment.

“That’s in Tanzania,” he replied, looking rather annoyed as he walked out of the room.

Oops. I pledged then and there not to open my mouth about a place until I knew where it was. And where on earth was Tanzania, anyway? Well, it was in Africa. I realized that there were more places in Africa than just the Congo. I felt downright stupid. I had never taken geography. I could tell you anything about tectonic plates, having taken geology, so knowing where countries were was something I had to quickly learn. We weren’t wired for the internet just yet, so I had to go old-school and got a couple of maps and books on travel. I also got a small pocket atlas so that I wouldn’t have a “geographical malfunction” again. I didn’t want to send Bert somewhere other than where he planned on going.

One thing I did learn while working at a studio was that every first season of any show is the absolute worst and hardest to do. Every show I had seen ramp up for the studio always had a heavy turnover of staff after the first season because of various problems
that had cropped up. Even though schedules and plans looked great on paper, you have to go through at least one season to see how a production will really work. Looking back, it’s amazing how we pulled off the first season of
Wild Things
at all.

Starting a show is like reinventing the wheel. Even though you hire people with experience on other shows, people who know what they’re doing and how to put a show together, it’s still a different animal each time. There is no one way to construct a show because the studios and the networks all have different guidelines and standards to abide by to ensure safety, delivery, and airdates. Even job definitions are different. I’ve been a production manager on a few shows, but could’ve just as easily been called a production coordinator or even a line producer or executive in charge. While there are some things that I always do as a production manager, there are many other tasks that vary from show to show, depending on how the show is structured and what your boss expects of you. Sometimes I was more of a production coordinator than a production manager, and other times I was more of a line producer than a production manager. Whatever my title, it was my goal to do as much as possible, learn as much as possible, and, most importantly, become irreplaceable.

The first season of a show is also the first time the staff gets together, builds an entire infrastructure of crew, contacts, and stories that come together to make the show work. In other words, it’s like putting a multi-million dollar company together in a matter of weeks that is expected to run smoothly and stay within a pre-determined budget for a short amount of time. We figure out what stories we’re going to tell, how we’re going to tell them, and when we’re going to tell them. All of that ends up on a shooting schedule that looks good on paper. Everyone agrees it can be done, and then we start filming.