Singing to a Bulldog

by Anson Williams

  The filming of both episodes went great. They were difficult shoots, but a lot of fun. On the last day of shooting we all said our goodbyes, but I didn’t see Brad because he wasn’t working that day. The next morning, I headed off to the airport for a flight home, hoping the show would do well. As I was checking in, I saw Brad hurrying to catch his own flight. He told me that he was on his way to screen test in Los Angeles for a film titled Thelma and Louise. I wished him “Good Luck” and off he went.

  Glory Days was not picked up, but Brad landed the part that started his rise to—well, more than fame. I’m not surprised that he has become a super star and prolific producer, or that his Twelve Years a Slave won the Oscar for best picture. Even more so, I am not surprised that he is using his status to help people. Just like his talks with the cast on the Glory Days set, he continues to selflessly help people improve their lives. Only now he can help millions. The world is definitely a better place because of Brad Pitt.

  “All dat matters is dey good dat goes on after you gone. Don’t never forget dat, boy.”

  I will never forget, and don’t worry, Willie, there are exceptional people, right now, making damn sure that the good goes on.

  I Don’t Have Time to Hold Back

  “Be open to angels, let dem find you.”

  One Saturday afternoon, Willie was cleaning up around one of the checkouts, making a small girl laugh. She couldn’t have been more than a year old and was being held by her mom. She was laughing so hard that her mom had to put her down to pay the bill. Willie continued to make funny faces and the child kept laughing. Suddenly, the girl started taking stilted steps toward Willie. Just before reaching him she started to fall, but Willie was able to catch her and pick her up.

  “Oh my God!” the mom screamed, and rushed toward Willie.

  Unnerved, Willie was frozen in place.

  The mom bear hugged both of them. It turned out, this was the first time her daughter had walked. “You live on in dey hearts of all you touch. Dat way you never die, boy.” Willie did more than say these words—he made sure that he touched hearts every day. When we worked together, whether it was sweeping down aisle five, dusting the furniture department, or waxing the appliance section’s floor, he would look for places to connect. He taught me that the smallest things—making silly faces at a baby girl—could create moments between people that would last for a lifetime.

  * * *

  Happy Days was the number one show in the world, and I have to admit that the attention was overwhelming at times. All of us in the cast were constantly traveling, meeting people at high-adrenaline events, and basically not having a chance to plant our feet on the ground. A break from shooting was coming up when I received a call from the Cerebral Palsy National Organization. I had an ongoing relationship with them because of my volunteer work and my cousin, Annie. They sponsored a yearly camp in Florida for kids with CP during Easter week, and wanted to know if I’d be the celebrity camp counselor.

  I was planning to go to Hawaii and relax, but decided it was more important to spend time with these kids and be part of something real. I said yes having no idea what my responsibilities would be when I got there. I knew the camp itself was not large, but it was beautiful. There were good-sized rustic cabins, a lodge where we could eat all of our meals, a swimming pool and other recreational facilities—all of it surrounded by expansive, vibrant, green land. There would be six kids in each cabin, and after a drawing, I would stay in the winning cabin.

  I flew into Tampa and was met by Rick, a college-aged volunteer. He was studying to become a neurologist. He was a twin, and his brother had CP. Rick felt strongly about giving back and wanted to help find a cure for his brother. I learned that he was a terrific guy on our hour-long ride to the camp. When we arrived I was introduced to Jerry, who ran the camp. He showed me around before taking me to the cabin where I’d be residing. I met the boys, all between the ages of ten and twelve, all had CP, some more challenged than others. I was a bit confused. I was the only able-bodied person who would be staying in the cabin? I told Jerry that I didn’t have experience in taking care of kids with CP.

  “Don’t worry, these kids take care of themselves. You are here for them to hang with and have fun.”

  Now, I admit I was really nervous. It was late in the day, and we needed to get ready for the dinner that would be served in the lodge, where I was to meet the rest of the counselors and campers. The cabin was equipped for persons with disabilities and had its own large bathroom with sinks, toilets, and showers. As the kids started to get ready, I watched as they helped each other. I saw the less-challenged helping the more-challenged. Not only that, they were having a blast together—they were 100 percent connected to the moment and each other. They didn’t need my help to get ready for dinner. This was the beginning of my week of life lessons.

  The lodge was built in the nineteenth century and all of its original wood floors and log walls were still in place. Jerry introduced me to the other counselors. I had already met Rick; the rest were equally impressive, all there to give from the heart. I was overwhelmed by everyone’s pure commitment, campers included, and underwhelmed by my own character. Looking at all of the beaming faces that surrounded me, seeing the selflessness of everyone there, it occurred to me that I was the disabled one at this camp.

  We were eating dinner when a woman in her twenties rushed in pushing a camper in his wheelchair. She had a smile that lit up the entire room. “Hi, Sunny!” the kids yelled as she escorted the young man to his table. Sunny, I guessed, was definitely the most popular counselor at the camp. And yes, that was her real name.

  After we ate, the kids were allowed to play board games, watch cartoons screened from a 16 mm projector, listen to a story, read ’round a bonfire, or just sit on large, comfy couches and chairs and talk with their friends. I decided to listen to the story—The Outsiders. It was a clear evening and the sky was sparking with stars. About ten kids were huddled around the warm fire while Rick read the addictive words of S. E. Hinton.

  “Hi there.”

  I turned.

  “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Sunny.” Her angelic face, perfect features, blue eyes, and beach-blond hair brightened by the firelight made her seem like she belonged in a prince’s palace, not a kid’s camp in the wilderness.

  “Want to go on a walk? I have a question to ask you.”

  Well, she was not only very beautiful, but also assertive. I’d never met anyone like her before.

  I agreed to walk with her. After a few minutes it felt like we’d walked together many times before. She was a free spirit, connected to everything and everyone around her; being next to her opened my own heart. In fact, being with Sunny was like stepping outside of time and seeing things with new eyes, as if for the first time.

  “I’ve never seen your show, but the kids have told me how much they love you, and now I can see why.”

  “How’s that?” I answered.

  She turned to me. “They feel needed because of you needing them. I watched you at dinner and by the fire. They’re your teachers; they will help you to find you.”

  I was shocked silent. How could she possibly know what I was feeling?

  “Now, here’s my question,” she said. “Will you let me hug you?”

  Startled, I didn’t know how to answer her. Sunny put her arms around me and gave me the most caring hug that I had ever experienced. All of my stress just faded away.

  Sunny stepped back and took my hands in hers. Smiling, she looked at me for a few seconds and then finally said, “You know that we were destined to meet, Anson. You’re a special person put on this earth to help people’s lives, but you need your teachers to help you get there.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Sunny sensed that and said, “When I feel the need to reach out to someone, I just do. I don’t have time to hold back.” She then gave me another hug
and a tender kiss on the cheek before heading back to the camp, leaving me standing there speechless. Then she stopped and turned back. She smiled and without saying one word, planted her selfless love in my heart before continuing on.

  “Did I just dream all of this?” I thought to myself. But I knew I didn’t. I remembered Willie once saying, “You be open to angels, boy, let dem find you.” An angel just came to me, I told myself. She touched my life forever. The lesson? Get outside of myself; be in the moment, and be there for those that need me.

  The next morning at breakfast, I didn’t see Sunny, and I asked Jerry about her. He told me that she had been a volunteer for the past five years. At eighteen, she was on her way to a major career as a model when she learned that she had a rare form of breast cancer. It was terminal. They gave her five years with treatment just over four years ago. Ever since her prognosis, she’d dedicated her life to helping kids. She had left that morning for another round of chemo. Quickly, it all became clear, “I don’t have time to hold back.” My eyes began tearing up, and I told Jerry about my experience.

  “That’s Sunny,” he said. “She lives her heart.”

  Less than two years later, Sunny passed on, but she lives in my heart; an angel who came into my life for one, brief shining moment, a moment that I pay forward every day.

  “You live on in dey hearts of all you touch. Dat way you never die, boy.”

  Big Al’s

  “Someone look and say things too perfect . . . den somethin’ not perfect. Always looks inside, boy.”

  Willie and I loathed the days when a new shipment of sofa beds arrived at the store. We were the ones responsible for getting them to the sales floor; they were heavy, twice the weight of the average couch because of the bed frame and mattress hidden inside. Exhausted after setting up the floor samples one morning, Willie and I took a seat on one.

  “Why doesn’t a couch just have a mattress that folds out?” I said to Willie, as the thought dawned on me. “Then you wouldn’t need a metal frame and the rest of the heavy stuff. It would not only be lighter, but also cheaper.”

  Willie’s face beamed, “You got God’s gift, boy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You see mo’, make things better fo’ everybody,” Willie replied. “You ’posed to move things forward. Dat’s God’s gift.”

  I wish I would have known how to move things forward then . . . someone else invented the futon sixteen years later.

  Willie saw something in me long before I did: I had a knack for finding things that could be improved and then creating solutions. He recognized my entrepreneurial destiny years before I did, and instilled the confidence I would later need to dream up new products and creative ways to sell them. He also taught me that I had a responsibility to use my “gift” to move the right products forward, products that contribute to people’s lives. These gifts and lessons were paramount in pursuing my acting and musical careers. It was while I was doing Happy Days that I ventured outside of the entertainment industry and into my first product creation.

  Al Molinaro, who played Al on the show and the owner of “Arnold’s,” was a talented comedic actor and a wonderful friend. He was also an entrepreneur and owned a very successful collection agency. He was looking for a new venture. About a year earlier, the Happy Days ball team played a charity game at Padres Stadium in San Diego. The owner of the team and stadium was Ray Kroc, the founder of McDonald’s. Our charity game was a pregame before the Padres took the field, and then all of us were invited to watch the main game from Kroc’s private box. I was able to speak with him about my entrepreneurial ambitions for a few minutes and he gave me a piece of invaluable advice: He said that the most important rule of selling a new product is how you sell it. You have to establish a connection to the consumer, and it might have nothing (or everything) to do with what you’re selling. That’s why he created characters (Ronald McDonald, Captain Crook, etc.) to sell his food; they were characters that people could fall in love with. Like Coke recreating Santa Claus to sell their drink.

  I had an idea for a fast food business. I thought that if the food was fresh, and the restaurant sold nothing that had been frozen—well, it would give the consumer a healthier alternative to what was currently on the market. I spoke with Al about using his name. The world loved him and he was already known for hamburgers—would he want to open a place called “Big Al’s”? He thought that it was a great idea, and that we wouldn’t even have to license any rights, since “Al” was his legal name.

  I was soon to learn one of the most frightening lessons of my life.

  If you don’t already know, let me tell you that having “gifts” is all well and good, but you also need the business education to back them up. I had a contact that knew executives at Coca-Cola who would put together a business pro-forma free of charge if we sold Coke exclusively in the restaurants. Al and I met with the Coke execs and they not only put together the business plan, but also set us up with a top-ranked fast food consultant. The consultant (who will remain nameless) was very excited about the whole concept; so excited that he convinced us to use our own money, partner with him, and get started.

  Al and I were over the moon: Here was one of the most important people in the fast food business, who the giant ­Coca-Cola Company had recommended, and he wanted to be in business with us! The consultant’s idea was to use Al’s familiar face and place “Big Al’s” restaurants in malls where there was not a McDonald’s. We would build one, first, to see how it was received. Conveniently, there was a space available at a mall that was located right down from the consultant’s offices, where he and his staff could oversee it.

  Everything looked and sounded perfect. “Someone look and say things too perfect . . . den somethin’ not perfect. Always looks inside, boy.” I should have listened to Willie, because Al and I never did “look inside.” The first Big Al’s was a huge hit, so big a hit that a bank offered to finance nine more. Al and I could wait for our millions to arrive in sunny California while our partner’s team did all of the work. How great was that? According to the consultant, all Al and I needed to do was show up at future openings and smile.

  In a blink, we had ten successful restaurants. Or so we thought.

  We weren’t seeing any profits, but our partner told us that was because all of the money was going back into the business to pay off the loans quickly; he also convinced us to fund a franchise and Bam! We had ten more restaurants! In just over one year, Al and I were each one-third owners of a burgeoning twenty-restaurant chain. There was only one problem: We still hadn’t seen a dime of profit. But what the heck, we were working with Coca-Cola and the best in the business. What could possibly go wrong?

  If we had only done our due diligence, we would have known that our world-famous, highly-recommended consultant and partner not only had cash flow issues, but was also a functioning alcoholic, a prescription drug and gambling addict, and a true sociopath. He and his accountant were skimming all of the profits from our Big Al’s locations to float his other restaurants and addictions.

  One day Al and I received personal and business bankruptcy notices from our consultant’s law firm. We found out that we were now both personally responsible for the day-to-day running of the restaurants, all the debt, the mall leases, and the franchise owners. Our days of waving from sunny California were over. We stood to lose our homes, our bank accounts, everything. We didn’t know where to begin sorting out this disaster, and from where we were, things looked so far down they almost looked up. Luckily, we hired a wonderful guy who selflessly helped us clean up the terrible mess. We lost all of our investment, and our time spent—but not our lives.

  I learned two large lessons from this experience: First, never be fooled by the image of anybody or anything—big companies, big titles, big offices, fancy cars, perfect clothes, pictures with Presidents, expensive restaurants—none of these things excuse y
ou from performing due diligence. Second, never, ever go into a business without learning it and working it and taking on full responsibility for it. I’ve already mentioned that Willie taught me that sometimes you have to lose and hit rock bottom in order to climb back up. I did just that—and this time, I had the tools I needed to succeed, along with the wisdom and humility to stay on top. “Someone look and say things too perfect . . . den somethin’ not perfect. Always looks inside, boy.” I should have listened to you, Willie, but maybe, just maybe, I had to go through this tough lesson to grow up.

  Show All of Them How Wrong They Are

  “Age don’t stop nothin’. Don’t let nobody tell you different. Peoples tries to makes you feel like nothin’, but you smarter and better. You keeps goin’. Never forget dat, boy.”

  After the Big Al’s fiasco, I concentrated only on show biz for a while. I was directing comedy movies of the week for NBC, and I had an idea for a series of comedic films. My agent set up a meeting with the legendary Aaron Spelling, the most successful producer in television history. It would take place at his beautiful home. To say that I was nervous was an understatement.

  Upon arrival, I was led into a large, exquisitely decorated living room and offered refreshments by a formal white-­jacketed waiter. He brought me coffee on a silver tray with freshly baked scones. Just as I was taking a bite I heard, “So sorry I’m late, Anson. I had a phone call that took longer than expected.”

  There stood Aaron Spelling in person, and he was not what I expected. He was warm, humble, and gracious, and immediately made me feel comfortable; the same feeling that I had when I met President Reagan. We discussed my idea and he loved it. He offered me a development contract with his company on the spot. As I walked out his front door toward my car, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was and thought, “Wow! I’m in business with Aaron Spelling!”