by Howie Gordon
Y’see, you have not done it all until you’ve done a slow strip tease in the Mill Valley Howard Johnson’s banquet room for a total audience of one man. His name was Tron and he was our choreographer.
Did I say he was gay? He was gay. And now we’ve added homophobia to the process of me dancing with my ghosts. Tron’s direction as he sat in the back of the room that first day was for me to take my time and to try to turn him on.
Oh, okay.
He put on some music and then he waited.
I did something for him that day, some grotesque burlesque of a man pretending to be a woman. After all, women were the strippers, not men! I tried aping what I remembered them doing, but I didn’t feel very sexy. I felt very stupid.
I couldn’t exactly look Tron in the eye. If he was the kind of guy who liked watching a cat torture a mouse, or a spider play with a fly, then maybe he was getting himself turned on, but I doubt it. I bumbled this way and that and had a thoroughly humiliating experience in taking off my clothes for him. I was completely lost as I roamed the forests of the gender befuddled.
Tron eventually stopped the music. He apparently wasn’t impressed. He had me sit down and then I watched him.
He was fucking great! He moved well, was a strong dancer, and looked seductive! He was personally and erotically alive! It was a no-brainer. The part was his. I would just give it to him.
He didn’t want it! “You’re shittin’ me!” I said. I tried to talk him into it. I would absorb the financial loss, quit the business, and move to Minnesota to raise potatoes. Tron just said, “Let’s get back to work.”
For three weeks, I stripped for Tron almost every day. He designed a dance routine for me that wasn’t overly complicated and we did it over and over and over. Eventually, I began to gain enough confidence to think that this was all gonna be okay.
Of course, my fellow “Dreams,” Joey and Randy had to perform their strip routines too. Early on, they both had gotten one whiff of Tron and just disappeared. They both told Sam that they had worked as male strippers in clubs before and that they knew what they were doing. They said that they’d work on their own routines by themselves. Sam let them do it, but assured them that Tron would be available if needed.
I assumed it was Tron’s gayness that put them off, but who knows? I thought of Tron as beyond women and even beyond gay. I wondered about his relationship with the pet boa constrictor that he had brought with him from New York, but none of that even mattered to me. I was so frightened of having to dance, having to strip, that I put myself completely in his care, for better or worse.
We spent a lot of hours in that banquet room, alone, together, working on my routine. I certainly appreciated his instruction and I grew to like him too. When I asked Tron to autograph my diary one day, he wrote,
“Only in decent exposure, will you find ‘De’ cadence.”
About a week before we were to film the dancing sequences, Randy and Joey both kind of sheepishly made their way into the banquet room and sought out Tron’s help too. We all ended up stripping for Tron in the banquet room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
One of the best parts of working on The Dancers was the camaraderie that came alive backstage with the guys. I just loved this time of working with John, Joey, and Randy.
I was staying at the Howard Johnson’s in Mill Valley and it was like being on the road with them. We had a blast. Somehow, there were enough lines, enough scenes, enough women, and just enough everything for everybody. What could have been a disastrously competitive nightmare turned out to be one of my all-time favorite cooperative efforts. It just worked out that way during the whole shoot.
John Leslie was playing our boss and we were The Three Stooges. It was the right blend at the right time and in the right place. We ended up caring for each other and pulling for each other. It was a pretty rare experience in my X-rated travels.
Joey Silvera was a Kiwi bird with one wing stuck in an electric socket. He was the original, self-proclaimed Art Bombhead. He and John Leslie were both Italian and they went back a long way together. Joey could talk to John in a way that nobody else could. It made John more vulnerable and it made John more likable.
Randy West was the new kid on the block this time, but he was bigger than all of us, handsome, and full of confidence. The pieces fit together beautifully. The movie gave us common ground, a team to play for, and a game to win
The Dancers also featured Spinelli at his finest. He was interested, vital, and at the top of his game. He was happy. And when Sam was happy, the set was happy. The movie thrived.
Oh, he still had his inevitable clashes with his producers, but he did most of that backstage and kept us free of the chaos. Occasionally, it would spill out onto the set. It could get pretty silly. One time, an assistant producer literally interrupted a shot and scolded Sam in front of everybody because a production assistant had bought the expensive kind of potato chips. You think Martin Scorcese has to put up with that crap?
No matter, Sam had years of experience of holding the producers at bay with one hand while continuing to work on the movie with the other. Sam often told me, “Don’t worry about it. All producers are pricks! It’s just the nature of the job.”
The money for this film was German and that promised money was harder to get at than Sam had originally been led to believe. The boss man on the set spoke no English and Sam had to spend hours speaking with him through a translator in order to get the production money he needed, often on a daily basis. Sam said it was like pulling teeth. By the end of the shoot, he was calling them “The Nazis.”
December 8, 1980
You can read the headline there, ‘Low budget’ film creates some high embarrassment.” Well, that’s us! That’s The Dancers.
The sub-headline read, “Shooting of porno movie given Richmond’s blessing and aid.” The story went like this:
City officials are red-faced after the discovery that they and some of Richmond’s top business executives gave advice and police protection to what turns out to be a porno film crew.
Two weeks ago, a youthful-looking filmmaker appeared before the Richmond City Council to explain that his production company would soon be coming to Point Richmond to film a “low budget” movie about “three guys in a song and dance group and their shrewd manager.”
Looking somewhat Hollywood in his pointed-toe suede shoes, Ricky Frazzini, of the Los Angeles based A-B Productions, told the council that Point Richmond was just the quaint little town that his crew had been searching for as a backdrop for their movie.
He said he had met with Police Chief Leo Garfield to discuss how traffic in Point Richmond night have to be rerouted slightly during portions of the filming.
He also said the local chamber of commerce had been really helpful.
The city fathers, apparently flattered that their fair city had been chosen above all others for the production, asked whether Richmond would be mentioned by name in the film. “Oh, no,” replied Frazzini.
The council is probably quite happy now that Richmond will not be mentioned by name, since a script synopsis obtained by the Independent & Gazette shows that the film contains many explicit sex scenes.
The North East Bay Independent & Gazette
The article went on to explain that someone recognized Georgina Spelvin while she and I were shooting an outdoor scene in the park. The rest of the piece featured reactions of various townspeople who were either amused or outraged that their city was playing host to a porno film.
We waited for a police bust that never came. In the end, we just went back to work. The city officials and the police department continued to help us. When we weren’t actively shooting a scene on location, Sam had us keep to the Winnebago and maintain a low profile in between shots. What happened between our company’s higher-ups and the city officials will have to appear in somebody else’s book. I just don’t know. All I can tell you was that I was happy that I didn’t have to go to jail. I’d ne
ver been busted on a shoot and I wasn’t particularly interested in getting started. At least we had permits. In most of the X-rated filming I’d ever been a part of, the exteriors were almost always “stolen.”
On the day of the great dance recital, I found this star taped to my locker at Bob Vosse’s sound stage by the Count Vincent Fronczek.
Thanks Vince, that helped. Inside the locker, I had my dance costume and a bottle of tequila. That also helped. I’m not normally much of a drinker. In fact, the tequila belonged to someone else on the set, but when I noticed it there, I asked if I could borrow it for a while. A sip or two might calm down my very edgy nerves. Can’t recall ever having had a drink before performing before, but on this day, it made sense. I was scared.
Bob Vosse’s studio had been arranged to look like a nightclub and the set was perfect. It was designed and built by Brian Costales and dressed by Bob Jones. Brian, it should be noted, often worked as Sam’s set designer. He was one of “the boys” and always did great work for Sam. Quiet, resourceful, artistic, reliable, and smart, Brian Costales was a gem. Sam was lucky to have him.
The audience was packed with female extras. Half of them were professional strippers who were friends of Tron. The other half were students of a collegiate human sexuality class where I had given a talk a month earlier. They were a loud, raucous, and eager group. Like the set, the audience was perfect too, and Sam had them all revved up to a fever pitch before we even got started.
John Leslie opened with a harmonica act and then introduced Randy who did the first strip of the night. The place was electric. He had ten minutes. We all had ten minutes. Win, lose, or draw, we had ten minutes. I had a sip or two of Tequila. By the time that Randy finished and I was making ready to go on, I wasn’t feeling much pain. I might have had a third and a fourth sip of Tequila while I was waiting. I never did tell Spinelli. It wouldn’t have loomed large in my acting legend with him.
I had done it a thousand times. The crowd loved it. They were being paid to love it. Who could tell the difference? I was giddy. What the hell had I been so nervous about? This was fun! I especially enjoyed reaching into my jock strap and then showering the audience with handfuls of rose petals.
While I was dancing, there was one lady in the front row who was just burning holes in me with the eyes of pure lust. She seemed so turned on that it turned me on to watch her. I played all my teasing actions to her. It carried me through the first half of my routine and then I was supposed to go out into the audience and collect some tips before we’d cut the shot.
In the midst of all the screaming female chaos, I went right to her and sat down on her lap. When I moved to kiss her, she avoided my lips and whispered in my ear, “I’m a lesbian and if you don’t get off of me right now, I’m gonna break your dick.” She was smiling when I pulled back to look at her — and I was smiling too, as I gingerly removed myself from her lap. The cameras were still rolling and I recovered enough to move on to another lady or two. And then, cut. That lady was a helluvan actress!
The second half of my act was to commence with me talking a shower. The audience would see me in silhouette behind a curtain. They had rigged a working shower for me on the stage! That was pretty cool. It was a very arty shot. To begin the scene, Sam wanted my shadow to have an erection in the shower.
As we prepared for the call of “Action,” I took myself in hand to get “up” for the shot. Uh-oh, there was nothing doing. Nobody was home. My dick wasn’t interested in my right hand at all. The costume lady caught my eye. We’d been having a bit of an after-hours affair with each other.
“Whattaya say, lady?” I asked quietly. There was no mistaking my plea for her assistance. She blushed and flustered,
“Then everyone will know!!” she shushed at me and quickly disappeared.
“Need some help, luv?” It was the melodious British voice of Miss Kay Parker coming to my rescue. She was John Leslie’s love interest in this movie and we were meeting for the first time on this set. She took my penis in her hands and looked at me with eyes that positively sparkled.
I started breathing again.
“We’re waiting, Howie,” Sam said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
Kay dropped to her knees then without me even having to ask and took me in her mouth. Not even thirty seconds later, she said, “You’re ready.” It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship.
I cued Sam. Sam called, “Action!” And the second half was underway.
Me and my erection took our silhouetted shower and then we went dripping wet back out into the audience of screaming, grabbing females armed only with a towel.
I even took the occasional glance at my lesbian friend. She was still smiling and cheering. Lady was a great actress! My ten minutes moved to a close. It had all been one exciting blur. I happily made my exit.
Next up would be Joey. After that, the three of us would take the stage together for the finale.
Joey blew them away. Randy and I got ‘em wet and Joey caught the explosion. That’s actually the way Tron had designed it and it worked. In fact, it worked a little too well. Joey was “the bad one!” He was Mr. Mean. He was crackin’ a whip and driving the crowd into a frenzy.
A couple of women in the audience just lost it. They forgot who they were and what they were doing and just jumped up on Joey in the middle of his routine and were all over him. Sam had to call a cut to insure everyone’s safety. It had flipped out of control. The pot had boiled over. It was like the audience had had a premature ejaculation.
An incredible crescendo was being built. It was too bad things got out of hand when they did. After a relative calm had been restored and shooting began again, Joey did fine, but it just wasn’t the same. There had been some very special magic at work that couldn’t quite be regenerated.
Sometimes, when it comes to magic, you don’t get a take two. None of this is visible in the movie, but that’s the way it unfolded on the day we shot The Dancers dancing.
Oh, yeah, before the finale, Randy, Joey and I were chatting in a corner when John came up to us and loudly plopped himself down on a big, lidded basket.
We just started laughing. We knew, but John didn’t, that inside that big, lidded basket was a very large snake! It was Tron’s boa constrictor who was going to dance with Randy in the last act. John, smart boy that he is, quickly put two and two together and catapulted himself way off of that basket. Might even have set some kind of record. Wow, never saw the King Salami move that fast, before or since. We pulled back the lid and introduced John to Tron’s snake.
I thought The Dancers lost a lot in the way the footage of our stage show was ultimately edited. It was sad. In the final version of the film, they cut most of John Leslie’s music and his dancing completely out of the film. They chopped up all of our dancing routines and interjected them with other parts of the story. I thought the straight version of our stage show in real time would have been incredible, but the powers that be took it all in another direction.
It was like they had too much movie and they made all of their cuts to meet the demands of your typical hard-core fare. They went for the easy choices and left a lot of another great movie, a different kind of movie, on the cutting-room floor. It was hard to put so much of yourself into a project only to feel defeated by the editors or whoever else ended up calling the shots, but such is the nature of making movies, porn or otherwise.
Georgina. Georgina.
I have saved the best for last. Georgina.
What an honor it was to work with this woman!
Years before I ever entered the business, as a fan, I sat in a darkened Pussycat Theatre and viewed The Devil in Miss Jones. It wasn’t “porn.” There was no “porn” yet, as we’ve come to know it. This was the very beginning. It was just a regular movie with sex in it, but there was nothing regular about it. It was scary. It was bizarre. It was terrifying.
It was Gerry Damiano giving birth to an industry, and he may have done so by making an initial
offering that has yet to be equaled. Georgina Spelvin was his leading lady, and his cook on the set too, but you’ll have to read Georgina’s book to get all of the details.
Gerry, Georgina, and all the rest of that cast and crew, they made a work of art. Don’t take my word for it. Go see it. It’s out there. It’s still a most disturbing movie.
I met Georgina on the set of Candy Goes to Hollywood. It was a big movie with a big cast. It all came to a halt when she entered the soundstage and passed through the set saying her “Helloes” and shaking hands. “Call me, George,” she said, taking mine. I was nobody. She was George, the modest megastar. We shook hands.
Three years later, Sam had cast her as my love interest for The Dancers. As Mel Brooks’s 2000 year-old man would say, “I was thrilled and delighted.”
Sam would have loved that. It would’ve made him laugh. I used to love to make Sam laugh. Loud and hearty, his laugh would light the room. I miss Sam. I’ve missed him now for years.
Once I found out that I would be working with Georgina, the script was suddenly not good enough. I had read our sex scene. It just wasn’t good enough. I complained to Sam and asked for the opportunity to do a rewrite.
He told me to take a shot. Said if he liked mine better, maybe we’d use it. Wonder of wonders, Spinelli loved my rewrite! Said we’d do it my way.
When Georgina got to town and checked into her room at the Howard Johnson’s in Mill Valley, I handed her the twelve new pages of our scene. It was very different and much longer than the original. She was charming and gracious about receiving a revised script.
When we met for rehearsal, three hours later, She was off book! She had the whole new scene memorized! Knocked my socks off, she did! Did not expect that from “a porn queen.” I was impressed. You should be too. Stuff like that didn’t happen every day in the world of X-rated films.
