Two For Texas -- the final chapter
by Chuck Stull
Last fall, I saw an ad in the paper which read something to the effect "looking for
people with facial hair who can ride horses and drive wagons." I threw up
my hand and said "I could do that," and I went into town to fill out the
application. After they looked the application over, they said, "don't call
us, we'll call you."
To my surprise they did call and said they needed an interview, and it could
be done right over the phone. They asked me if I would have any problems
shooting Mexicans. I thought about that for a few moments because it caught
me a little off guard, but before I could answer, they said I would be paid
five dollars and fifty cents an hour for the effort. I said real quickly
before they retracted the offer that "I wouldn't have any problem with
this," and they said, "fine" and for me to show up at wardrobe that afternoon.
Applications are taken with photos attached
They needed folks "with facial hair who could ride a horse"
Wardrobe was an unused space rented for the movie in a small strip center in
south Austin. When I got there, they fitted me with Texican cloths true to
the year 1836. They had a top hat picked out, but it really wasn't me, and
we settled on a nice slouch hat.
The movie was to start filming in six weeks and I was told not to shave or
cut my hair until then. This was okay with me except that after about five
weeks, cashing my personal checks around town became a problem. My 1836 look
was becoming authentic.
The casting company called with the schedule and location for the first day.
Since they would film only a few miles from our ranch, I knew that I had it
made. They said, "be on the set at 4am" -- that meant getting up at 3am. I
set the clock and thought to myself, "I really have to be desperate for that
five fifty an hour to be doing this."
Everyone parked in a big field and rode shuttle vans the last few miles to
the set. The landscape was littered with trailers and large tents. Lights
were strung everywhere. The strings were fed by a bunch of scattered
generators which were continually overloaded. When one would trip off, it
would leave the tents and walkways in total darkness. The bigwigs had 18
wheelers with their own power generators built in. These were serious
trailers driven in from Hollywood and their generators worked just fine.
We changed into our designated outfits in a large tent and then went to
props where I received a powder bag and a flint lock rifle. The next stop
was hairdressing and makeup where they added the dirt and grime appropriate
to the time period. In between these stops one could grab a bite of
breakfast in a buffet line. This process of gathering props and smearing
makeup took about two hours every day. We had to be ready and on the set,
which was over another hill about a half mile, by 7am sunrise.
In 1836 the Texicans had formed a loosely run army to fight off Santa Anna,
who brought with him oppression from Mexico City, which governed Texas at
Since we were supposed to look a little bit like a military adventure, the
director marched us out to the set to practice rifle drills in formation. At
ten that morning they had set up a scene where Sam Houston addresses the
troops. This was a welcome relief to standing at attention in a drill line.
In this scene, Sam rides up on his horse and gives his speech to get us
fired up for the big fight. During his speech we walk up and surround his
horse, and we get down right mad just thinking about those Mexicans and we
go crazy when Sam mentions "remember the Alamo". The first five times Tom
Skeritt rode up he forgot the lines to his speech. When he did remember his
speech, the sixth time, we were about mad enough to shoot him and shouted so
much that it spooked his horse. No problem, during the next take, we had to
act in pantomime so his horse would be calm. But Tom never did remember his
speech correctly after that so the director took him off his horse, sat him
under a tree, and made him read the speech into a microphone. The audio
would be mixed with the scene later. You will find me next to the left
cannon wheel during this speech.
This simple scene took several hours to shoot. So at 3pm they let us go back
to the tent for buffet lunch.
After lunch we charged the Mexican camp. This is what I was getting paid to
do and it felt good. We were in two long lines. Our two cannons (named the
Twin Sisters) fired. The first row of Texicans took two steps forward, knelt
down and fired a volley. The second row moved in front of us knelt and fired
while we reloaded. Then we charged their camp. During this scene I am about
ten people down the line from the flag. It took until dusk that night to
complete this scene, and I was exhausted. We were released for the day but
still had to turn in our props, complete the paperwork for our time cards --
another hour and a half. I got home at 9 that night only to face that alarm
clock at three the next morning.
There was one big director and three little directors. The big director was
just that. He did not sit in one of those wood and canvas chairs with his
name printed on the back like the actors did. He sat in a steel chair that
was double wide. Canvas isn't made that would hold him up. This guy sat in
his little tent almost the whole time watching what was going on through the
TV screens. Each film camera had a TV camera built in so that they could
video tape what the film was recording. He would communicate with each
little director through an elaborate radio setup. The little directors were
busy fellas. They would set up the scene, position the cameras, and tell us
what to do and how to do it. When all this was done the big director would
shout "rolling," and then "cut." They would play the tape back to see if it
filmed okay. If it didn't we did the scene over again, and again, and again.
Three cameras were used for each scene. Two of these were the large Panaflex
type that sit on a tripod. The third camera was mounted on the top of a 30
foot tower and remote controlled from another tent. It was neat.
The movie scenes where the camera appears to be on the ground and you are
looking up to see the horses feet running, is done with a small wind up
camera about the size of a thick book. Its wind-up lasts 30 seconds. A
person would push the go button and quickly run out of the scene; then the
horses would charge and run over the top of the camera. It took some
impressive shots. The camera was disposable if a horse stepped on it,
otherwise it was ready for another scene. The big cameras came with a whole
crew of operators. One girl's job was to keep the dust off the lens, several
people were needed to move the thing, and each camera had a photographer
My second day started again at 3am. We were ready by 7, too when we were
told to go to the set at the top of the hill. We formed in a long line ready
to charge the enemy camp again. We had to wait several hours to get the
cameras set up. Then the rains started. It would rain for a half hour and
then clear and then rain some more. Some of the rain was a light drizzle and
some rain was a real cloud burst. They did not allow us get out of the rain
because it took too long to get us all back in line.
We stood out in the miserable weather for the entire day in a long line. And
we charged the camp a dozen times between the downpours. The greasy makeup
was streaking down our face into our shirts, down our pants and filling up
our period Broughan shoes. We were all incredibly miserable after 12 solid
hours of this. During this running charge across the flat field I am again
about ten people from the flag, which is at the end of the line.
When we first started to line up, we stretched out about a quarter of a mile
in length. One of the directors thought that he could direct what we were
doing better from horseback. He called to one of the wranglers to bring him
a horse from the picket. Then it started raining cats and dogs again, so we
waited 15 minutes at attention in the rain while he got his horse. They
brought him a white one. But he couldn't get on the horse for some reason.
He was a ways off so I couldn't tell what the problem was exactly. He
finally gave up trying to get on and we saw the wrangler lead the horse back
to the horse picket to get another horse. The director got right on this
second horse and he was able to patrol the line and give us our directions.
Makeup was called in to redo what the rain had made a mess of on our faces.
Then we charged across the field again. We lined up for another charge.
The starting position for action is called Position One. Movement goes to
Position Two, something usually changes and then a person goes to Position
Three and so on. So the director called everyone to Position One. He made
one easy lope down the line to check on things, came suddenly to a stop and
was thrown from his horse in the mud right in front of us. He got up,
arranged all the various walkie talkies around his waist, called for a
wrangler to remove the chestnut mare too, and he ever got on a horse again.
I got home at 9pm again that night exhausted and miserable, and I really
didn't know how I was going to continue for two more weeks of this. A lot of
the people did give up by the next day, thus ending their one shot at
Hollywood fame. In the days that followed, the casting company brought in
more and more people to replace the ones that dropped out. There was only a
hand full of us that completed the two full weeks of shooting.
The third day was a surprise. They did not have enough people left to fill
the Mexican camp. So all the Texicans except 20 or 30 became Mexicans at
four that morning. Beards were shaved, sideburns and moustaches were added
where necessary, a new wardrobe had to be fitted, and new props were issued.
It was a mess. We didn't get to the set until 10am. But the Mexican camp was
wonderful. There were tables and chairs to sit on, tents to get us out of
the rain, and wagons to lean up against between shots. The perimeter of the
camp was piled up in a line with brush and lumber and junk and barrels and
boxes. This is what separated us from the Texicans, and was called the
The Mexicans were a highly trained and regimented military outfit comprised
of three different types. There was the mounted division, the regular grunts
who wore a top hat, and the Presideo. The Presideo were the personal guards
for Santa Anna. They carried a pike (a 10 long pole with a point and a small
flag on the end.) I was one of the seven Presideo guards with pikes. The
Presideo had a wide flat brimmed hat with a short flat top. So, when you see
a shot with Mexicans carrying a pike I am one of them.
On the set, they always had a table with water and Gatoraid, and at 11am
they brought in doughnuts. They did not allow us to wear watches but it
wasn't too difficult to figure just when the doughnuts would arrive. When I
saw the white doughnut boxes piled up, this third day, I started drifting
toward the table. I got three chocolate covered donuts and was trying to
juggle them in my hands with a pike, and I was trying to keep the chocolate
out of my moustache which was thick with black mascara, when the director
said he needed two volunteers. The directors never made us do anything we
didn't want to. I raised my hand with a half eaten doughnut to volunteer but
there were two fellas in front of me who got their hands in the air first.
They didn't have any doughnuts yet. The director picked them and not me.
He told the volunteers that a few Texicans would ride into camp and that
they were to charge the horses on foot. The Texicans would then beat them
over the head, they were to fall down and play dead, and then the mounted
Texicans would continue into the camp. At this point, I and another Presideo
would fall in behind and give chase to the horses and riders. Well, the
horses rode in, the Texicans clubbed the two volunteers (not really clubbed,
it just looked that way), the two volunteers fell quite dead on perfect que,
but one horse hesitated from going forward and swung around and stepped on
the lower leg of one of the volunteers and broke it in half. The break
sounded like a muffled pistol shot. When someone gets hurt, the whole set
comes to a complete stop, I guess to show respect for the injured. Nothing
else will stop their cameras from shooting film. There was a nurse
available full time during shooting. They got the poor fella on a stretcher,
loaded him into a station wagon and sent him to the hospital. I figured I
was a half a doughnut away from being on that mans stretcher. After that I
was careful about volunteering for just anything.
The uniforms that we wore as Mexicans were the same uniforms used in John
Wayne's movie, "The Alamo." These uniforms had not been used since that
film. There was another Alamo film made after John Wayne's but they made
their own uniforms for that one. The guns were real. They were fully
operational antique flint locks. We only shot a powder charge. Each time we
got ready to fire we checked the bore for bullets; there were none. The
swords and knives were all real. The only exception to the swords was the
hand to hand fighting on horseback. Those swords were rubber.
The pike that I had was a problem when it came to fighting. It was too
dangerous to have raised around the horses, and it was too cumbersome to use
in the hand to hand fighting on the ground.
The directors would lay out the basic ground work for the next scene but
they let us choreograph our own hand to hand action. For example, he told us
that there would be 5 Texicans coming over the hill on foot, you 8 Mexicans
fight at this spot, etc. It was up to us how we fought. Since it was
difficult to fight with my pike, and the since the scene needed some wounded
and scared Mexicans running off into the stream (it actually happened this
way in the real battle), the director let me throw down my pike and run like
Until then I had not taken a hit. I didn't exactly know how to do it. I had
seen gunfighters in 1950 westerns take a dive in the street but I didn't
think the directors were looking for that kind of melodrama here. I didn't
know if I should fall down on my face or my back or what. The director came
over and said there would be fighting on the knoll and for me and another
fella to turn around, run behind a tree, turn right and run with all our
might down the beach next to the shore line. At the end of the shoreline
would be a camera. The cameras rolled; I ran with the other guy but he was
too slow and we arrived too late to meet more Texicans coming out of the
woods to shoot us. The action didn't work. They called for another take.
This time I threw down my pike aside and ran like hell down the shore, (my
partner was still back by the tree), and I was met by two Texicans who fired
simultaneously at me from ten feet away. I threw my feet straight up into
the air and landed on my back in the soft sand. The Texicans came up and
took turns pounding their rifle butts into my neck, and each time I was hit,
I quivered a death throe. I was the only person right in front of the
camera. We'll see if they show it. It should be pretty good.
There was a handful of stunt guys from Hollywood, but they only did one
stunt; the elevator. The rest of the stunts were done by us volunteers. A
little stunt like a squib added $25 to the days pay. A little more dangerous
stunt brought $50. The folks face down in the water each got the usual $25
minimum. These additions to the pay were called a bump. With a squib and a
wire a person could get a nice $75 bump in pay. This was a cheap movie. I
think a person can get double that on a big action movie in Hollywood.
They were beginning to film the scene where the Texicans chased the Mexicans
into the water. Since I had taken six (I counted everyone of them) falls
that morning I figured I knew what I was doing. I volunteered for a squib. A
squib is a little explosive charge sewn into the jacket. A little metal
plate is between you and the charge, so that when it goes off it shoots
blood out the front of the jacket like you are shot. They did not pick me
for the squibs, but the director got two other suckers. I checked the
temperature of the water and I did not volunteer again to go in. It was cold
as ice. But we all got to sit on the bank of the river, eat doughnuts, and
watch the next scene with the dead soldiers floating face down in the
stream. Be sure to watch the Texican take his horse slowly around the dead
bodies. His horse's feet came within inches of their legs under water. There
were two takes of this scene and miraculously no one was hurt.
In the old westerns, a bad guy that got shot with a shotgun in a saloon
would be plastered up against the wall. This is the wire stunt. Two
volunteers were chosen to wear a squib and a wire while defending the
breastworks. They were rigged with a chest harness attached to a fine wire
that stretched out about 20 feet from their back. When they got shot, the
squib blew and two big stunt men on each wire jerked these Mexicans right
out of their shoes. They both got injured. One sprained his neck, because he
was not perpendicular to the wire when they pulled. The other fella caught
his thumb on something while he was pulled and needed 6 stitches.
The professional stunt men did the elevator. The elevator is a small plate
about the size of a bathroom scale, just large enough for both feet to stand
on. The heel side of the elevator is hinged, while the other side is
connected to a big cylinder precisely controlled by a gas charge. The
cylinder lifts one side of this platform like a book, flat on a table. When
the cylinder fires, whatever is standing on the plate in going into the air.
The stunt men placed body armor under their uniform. Two mattresses were
placed end to end six feet away from the elevator. A test run was made and
we all watched with enthusiasm. The thing fired the stunt guy past the two
mattresses and he fell flat on his back. The operator reduced the charge and
he tried it again. This time he fell short of the mattresses and again fell
flat on his back. But the operator had the setting figured out this time, we
were told to move back out of the scene. The mortar fired like a cannon ball
had hit and the elevators went off perfectly shooting the stunt men out of
The mortar was interesting. It was a heavy cast iron pot, open on the top.
The stunt people would cover the bottom with gunpowder and fill up the rest
of the pot with a mixture of sawdust and horseshit. The whole thing was lit
off with a blasting cap, and it looked like an explosion from a cannon ball.
These mortars were not particularly dangerous but they did make a lot of
noise. They said the safe zone was 20 feet away but most people got closer.
Pay attention to the explosion of the Mexican ammo wagon. There were three
mortars under some plywood to make it go off. I have a story about this
During the raid of our camp one tent caught on fire. You will see me running
with my pike toward the camera. When I got next to the tent already on fire
it exploded with a hidden mortar. The director wanted me to show surprise
when the mortar went off. I had no trouble doing that, I was only a few feet
away. He also wanted me to shield my face from the heat of the fire. I did.
I continued running past some panicking horses still toward the camera when
the man to my right and a few feet behind me stepped in a mortar as it was
going off. He played dead -- he wasn't hurt, just shaken and covered with
We did dozens of scenes like this for another week. Toward the middle of the
second week the rain had let up and the days were incredible beautiful. I
was getting the hang of the movie business. I didn't even mind the 3am wake
up anymore and I was beginning to get used to the heavy makeup and grease in
my hair. There were only a handful of us regulars left at this point. They
kept recruiting new people to fill in so I felt like a seasoned hand. I
followed the director around as much as I could and when he needed a warm
body someplace I was there to do what he needed. It paid off on the last day
as you will see.
When a scene was simple to do, like sitting around a campfire, there was
only one take and no rehearsing. When the scene had several groups of folks
that had to be in Position Two or Position Three and timing was critical we
would do a full speed rehearsal or two before the final shot. When horses
were involved we did several half speed rehearsals then one or two at full
speed. The horses were always the unpredictable factor. They either went too
fast or too slow. The horses always had the right-of-way and it was our job
to watch ourselves.
The Mexicans in 1836 were not really motivated to fight the Texicans, they
preferred to go back home in one piece. But they got caught in a situation
with Santa Anna, and at the time, the best thing for the Mexicans to do in
this battle was to just run. There were two avenues of escape, across the
river behind them, or back across the bridge that they came over to set up
their camp. The director said he needed some hands to shoot the retreat
across the bridge and, of course, I volunteered.
There were three pup tents set up. There were Texicans and Mexicans (I was a
Mexican this time) doing hand-to-hand in front of the tents and there were mounted
soldiers from both sides doing sword-to-sword fighting directly behind the
tents. The camera was a half mile away with a telephoto lens. We would
battle a while then the mounted Mexicans would break loose and run their
horses toward the freshly blown up bridge. I am standing directly in front
of the left tent. The director said to practice some hand-to-hand. I picked
out a partner Texican and I asked him if he wanted to practice a little.
This was his first day on the movie. He said that he didn't need to
practice. I thought to myself that I really have a winner (sarcasm) here.
It was early in the afternoon and it was hot and humid. I had long handle
underwear on under my uniform because the early mornings were bitter cold.
But the afternoon had grown hot and I was burning up and tired. This movie
was supposed to end Tuesday but because of the previous rains they were
behind schedule, this was Wednesday with no end in sight. There was no place
to sit, the ground was covered with thistles and sticker burrs and in the
few places where a person could possibly kneel down on one leg to get a
little relief, there were fire ant mounds. And I had a partner who was
supposed to kill me and he wouldn't even get off his ass to practice. I said
to myself that I just don't care anymore. I looked for a place to take a
fall. I was absolutely in no mood to tangle with the fire ants so I choose
to fall down in the thistles. Being a Mexican on the loosing side not only
humbled me but I also had plenty of practice on how to fall down dead by
this time. I would fall on my tummy so that I could pick my stickers out by
myself the rest of the afternoon.
The director said "rolling", and three seconds later "action". On "rolling"
I had my pike pointed at the chest of my partner. On action, I took a jab
and tried to do him in. He dodged and the pike missed and went under his
arm. I recoiled and jabbed again. This time his rifle butt came under my
pike and he knocked my pike up over his head. I came down hard on the top of
his head but he countered by blocking the blow with his rifle. I came down a
second time but he blocked again and with an upward thrust of his gun he
knocked the pike out of my hand. I grabbed his rifle at both ends and we
struggled first dropping to the left and then to the right and back up
again. A Texican directly behind me, having dispatched his unfortunate
partner, turned toward me and ran me through with his Bowie knife. I fell
face down in a patch of ground 2 feet wide by 4 feet long that was full of
stickers. Some Texicans kicked me on the way by and I jerked my muscles
involuntary for dramatic results. For me, the action was over, but I had to
continue laying there dead for a few minutes to let the horses run the half
mile to the bridge. Thankfully there were no ants where I was laying. The
director yelled cut and he came over and told my partner and I that we did a
really fine job, but next time we were to also knock over the tent in our
struggle. My partner thought we did a fine job too then he was my best buddy
all of a sudden. He must have thought the same of me as I did of him at
first. I discovered that he was a professional actor from San Antonio. We
fixed the tent pegs to break loose and during the struggle on the next take
I pushed partner back slightly to knock down the tent. When it came down I
cued him to push me back to my fall position so I could line up with that
bloody Bowie knife. We did our part right on the takes, but the horses could
not seem to get it together. We had to do ten takes of this scene and it
took the rest of the afternoon. I truly was exhausted.
The next day I was back at the Mexican camp; conditions were better.
Everyone in the camp was taking it easy between camera changes. The
highlight of the day was when the big director rolled out of his tent to
make an announcement. He did not appear to be in a happy mood. He informed
us that there had been 28 injuries in the last few days of the hand-to-hand,
his budget was all eaten up, and he had a belly full of people getting hurt.
He went back into his little tent.
A few days earlier when it was raining, there were two tents nearby. Kris
Kristopherson and Tom Skeritt were in one. I stayed in there a while with
them. Kris was pretty nice, down home. Tom was arrogant and aloof. I went in
to the little tent of the big director. He never said anything to me. He was
working a crossword puzzle and getting no where with it. It was an easy
puzzle out of some local paper, not like the impossible puzzles in the New
York Times. I had to stay to the edge of the tent cause the director filled
most of the available space in the tent by himself. This tent was the master
control and the heart of the movie and I was fascinated by the video and
The last week, during the peak of the hand-to-hand action, they parked an
ambulance on the set and had a crew of medical technicians to help the
nurse. The movie was behind schedule by this time and when someone got hurt
they quickly moved the injured off the set and the cameras kept rolling till
it was too dark to see. Some people were carted off to the hospital for
x-rays for broken bones, but if anyone needed stitches, that was done on
the spot. They have a special band aid that doesn't show on the skin, and
makeup follows right behind the medic and touches up the spot. The whole
process of sewing up a laceration and putting the man back in action was
done in minutes.
The next day I was on the breastworks sunning myself between shots. It was
noon time and a beautiful day, folks were milling around leisurely or camped
out in their favorite hiding place. I wasn't paying attention to anything
and low and behold the big director comes walking by me, he has no intention
of stopping, but he gets a call on his cell phone. This is a call he has to
answer. It is the producer of the movie. Not Ted Turner but someone under
him, and definitely over Big Director. The big director sits next to me. It
is obvious that the big director sits a lot of the time. I think about
getting up to give him some privacy, but nah, I listen in. The producer is
jumping up and down about the cost overrun of $90,000. The director explains
that it was due to the rain last week. The producer says that he doesn't
have it, he can get it but he has to go out on a limb to get the money. The
phone call was not about money, but about laying blame on Big Director so
the producer would be off the hook with Ted. I had read in the paper that
this movie had a budget of $9 to $11 million. So after this phone call I
figured the movie cost $11 million and 90 thousand dollars. I added up the
cost of the hands like me and that came out to $40,000 per day. Hollywood
doesn't own or buy anything. They rent everything for the movie -- the
cameras, props, trailers, wardrobe, catering, everything. When the movie is
done, the powers-that-be go home. They don't keep a warehouse full of stuff
left over after the movie. I roughly figured that rental of everything was
about $50,000 per day but that could be a little on the low side. The
cameras must be expensive to rent. When the movie was finished on Friday at
7pm, at 7:05 those cameras were boxed and headed to the Austin airport with
a special courier.
At the end of the battle, the Mexicans were all dead. After all, that was
the original purpose. We were told to play dead in a large field to show
carnage. I was in the middle of the pack somewhere. This field was pretty
clean, no fire ants or stickers. I flopped down dead and put my arm behind
my back and twisted my wrist around in an unusual angle and I did the same
with my feet. The director came by and liked the twisted up pose I was
doing, and after the shot he said to come with him. He led me to the already
blown up ammo wagon and asked if I minded playing dead next to the wagon. I
said I could handle that. As he walked away he said that the wagon would be
on fire but that there was a stunt guy who would take care of me. But that
was only half of the plan; he didn't mention the horse.
The stunt guy had an iron pipe with holes in the top connected to a propane
bottle and he was hiding behind a small piece of plywood painted black next
to the ammo wagon. I laid down with my face toward the wagon but the fire
was too hot to take for more than a few seconds. I moved back a few feet and
I found that I could stand the heat for 20 seconds at a time. The shot was
to take 15 seconds. The professional stunt man had control of the gas and I
felt okay with this. But this alone did not make for an interesting movie,
there had to be some horse running toward me, jump the breastworks and take
a few steps, turn left 45 degrees while a mortar blows up next to the horse.
The quarter horse would not jump the breastwork the first time so they
lowered it to a foot and a half high. The horse was about 8 feet from me
when he jumped and turned off at an angle but close enough that I felt the
concussion of his feet in the ground near my head. I thought about the horse
stepping on that other fella, and I was not pleased to have my head flat on
the ground next to a stupid horse spooked by a nearby mortor. We did three
practice takes. My face was turned away from the horse and I could not see
the action. After the first take I was concerned for my safety. It felt like
the horse was stomping around right next to me. I whispered to the stunt guy
and asked him how close that horse came to me (he could see that I was
anxious about this) and he said "oh, a couple of inches or so". It was
really about 8 feet but I didn't know that at the time. Two more takes were
practiced, and on the last take, the mortor blew; the horse did not shy, and
I was happy to get up in one piece.
It was starting to get late on the last day of the movie. I had hoped we
would get to go home early but the big director had plans to keep rolling
film as long as there was an ounce of light left in the sky. They wanted to
get a traveling pan shot (the camera is pushed on rails) of dead bodies
piled over the breastworks. They called all the Mexicans to the breastworks
and the little director said "you and you lay over there" etc. He ran out of
people to place and I was still following behind him and I said where do you
want me. He turned around and said that he had a special place for me and to
follow him. He told me to lay face up on the breastworks directly in front
of the camera. This was my cameo pose, the last shot on the last day, and
this was my ticket to Hollywood stardom. Makeup came over and brushed blood
(Karo syrup with red food coloring) on my face and cloths. I placed my pike
over my chest, closed my eyes, stopped breathing, and the movie was finished.
Two for Texas shows Sunday the 18th at 8PM Eastern on channel TNT
Check out International Dog Stamps.
Return to the
Kristull home page.