It was troubling to me when I had to forgo a chance to be part of the Broadway Onstage Theater production of Harvey, put on about this time last year. Both because I wanted to honor my commitment and also I knew the part was perfect for me. Only thing was, I had recently chosen to kick a few habits. The first being marijuana. I would wake and bake every morning and it would settle me down and allow me to think clearly. This might seem as a phenomena due to the “puff puff pass” laid back, general inclination attributed to the still illegal substance, however for me it would relieve my hyper tension.

After booking the role, I had also cut back drastically on my alcohol consumption. This only exacerbated my hyper-tension. I realize now, after over a year of clean (?) living, that it was the Coming Down part of my substance abuse which enveloped my mind with the claws of a Raven. Many things over lap this period including my bailing out of two independent films, both of which are suspect as to their validity. One was posted on a bogus yahoo site and the other was from craigslist. Some of the things I heard on one set and the other during a reading, lead me to believe some of these guys were full of shit. One episode ended up with me getting into a fist fight with some loser. He picked up the production’s sticks and I pulled my knife. Fight over. Some other Bachagalupe pretends to tell me a story about Georgianne Walken. I thought we were having a conversation, but I know bad acting when I see it [place self deprecating joke here].

My first gig, as a wee lad, was a talent show put on by my old parochial school, Mt. Calvary. In it, me and some of the other guys put together a band called: the Atomic Punks, named after the Van Halen song. I formed the structure of the song, while the other guitarist played lead at which point our singer came out in a fright wig and screamed into the mike. Four years later I played at my High School in Detroit with my “band” Urban Upset. This consisted of me and Bob, my drummer. We played one punk song I wrote, (I can’t recall the name of) in which I stopped playing in the middle of it and stole a line directly from Johnny Thunders: “Don’t you people know how to dance? What did ya come here to stand around and look funny, or something?” Some Homey in the audience yelled out, “Fuck You!” to which I replied, “And Yo-Mamma”. At this point I couldn’t hear a thing because the whole of the just-built auditorium screamed out laughing. The nextsong we did was a Rap tune, with just Bob pounding away on his tom-toms and me, being influenced by the “new sound” currently embraced by: Johnny Rotten with Afrika Bambaataa, the Clash, Aerosmith (whose Rocks 8-track me and Bob would listen to in his basement for hours, “smokin’ down!”) as well as my favorite Ramone: Dee Dee King! The kids were non plussed, only I felt different.

Soon after Bob joined Son of Sam (now Detroit 442 catch’em if you can) I started the Grievance Committee. I plan on putting all of the Grievance Committee’s early songs on myspace as soon as I up grade my old clunker of a computer. It was around this time that I started to audition for plays. I had been a life long film buff and now that I had gotten over my childhood shyness, I was ready to venture into something completely different. I felt nervous, of course, but any phobias I had were squelched from the countless Grievance Committee shows where no one would slam, stage dive or even nod along. Most Detroit punk audiences will stand there with their arms crossed, or sipping on their drink while you sweat and snarl like a beast. And this still stands true today. I went to go see FireWater at the Majestic and the singer couldn’t figure out why an audience who paid to come to the show, wasn’t jumping around in accordance. I gave him my t-shirt that read:Detroit, Motherfucker!

Inorder to get “work” as an actor, and I had been “working” since the age of five*, one has to have a head shot. A girlfriend of mine hooked me up with a couple-few photographers and I spent a small fortune in cash but, due to me being a neophyte, I had no idea of what looked decent and which picture, or series of pictures, I should use. In hind sight, they were all completely wrong for what I wanted to accomplish. Live & Learn-Money Burn!

I did a couple few gigs here in Michigan, but it wasn’t long before I hopped the Soul Train (Greyhound) to NYC. Once there I got situated in an apartment on Third St. between First and Second Avenue. Also by then, I had become a fan of the style of writer, director and auteur David Mamet. I was lucky enough to do some scene study with the Atlantic Theater Co. but it was really at the American Indian Community House, NYC where I began to come into my own.

A.I.C.H. was in an unassuming building sandwiched between Broadway and Lafayette. Jim Cyrus was in charge of the Theatrical Dept. (as well as many other tasks and duties of which he performed impeccably) where me and a whole host of truly talented and modest actors would perform in the Circle. Industry people where always present and we would all get sent out on go-sees a.k.a. auditions. Luckily I had gotten my head-shot problem under control early on. Somehow I managed to find this really cool fellow who was not only nice enough to take the time in order to produce something I could use, he also knew people like Richard Hell and Debbie Harry. We talked about the No-Wave scene and he told me about the Mud Club which was long gone by the time I got to the rotten apple.

I hit the ground running only to find I worked alot more when I sent out my head-shot through Back Stage, than I did going to agency auditions. Ricki Olshan was lovely enough to send me out on many auditions, but the problem was this: Being an actor in New York is alot like going to prison. One has to stay with ones own kind. I’m being extreme to make a point. I don’t look like a traditional Native American. Once I inform people that that’s what I happen to be (along with the non apparent Scots-Irish from Kentucky) and after I listening to them tell me about how their grandmother was a Cherokee Princess and how they go to the hoop-dance-pow-wow every year, they always ask me about my “tribe”.

My grandfather told my mother that we were Eastern Sioux and refused to sign up to be apart of the Lumbee people back in 1953, a people who I have come to know and respect, due in part to Lloyd Oxendine who was the curator of the American Indian Community House Art Gallery. He is the one who turned me onto books and stories relating to the Lumbee and other Native People of North Carolina. As well as giving me one of my first jobs. I’ll always be grateful to him and everyone else at A.I.C.H.

It’s my theory that in Hollywood’s infancy, when they used Italians and Jews to play native people, this fore shadowed a persona, one which has stuck to the movie going psyche. Martin Landau, Chuck Conners, Fredric Forrest have all played Natives but, the one that gets me the most is: Iron Eyes Cody. The son of two Sicilians! Hell my step-father has a better chance at getting cast as a red-skin than I do. However, I’ve come to be comfortable with who and what I am, where I’m from and where I will eventually end up. So mote it be.

When I picked scenes or monologues to do, I tried to pick ones that were not well known. I did something from John Moran’s “Manson Family Opera” as well as “Short Eyes” by Minguel Pineroor anything by Sam Shepard. I even did a John Lurie sound byte from a John Zorn song. Top that thesboze! I also began working with students from New York University film school.

Before leaving Detroit I was into film makers like Nick Zedd, Richard Kern, Jim Jarmusch, Alessandro Jodorowsky along with John Cassavetes. I wasn’t able to work with anybody who was on the same level as these men, but I did work with alot of people who were just as invested in their projects and I did my best to help them along. Speaking of my best, the worst piece of work I did was a commercial for a furniture company. Getting cast was great, along with the five hundred dollar check, only thing was; I had no idea what a “buy out” was. This means they can show the commercial over and over and over, as many times as they like, without giving the actors any residuals, as they do in national commercials.

At the shoot, all I did was show up, put on their goofy clothes, say the lines once as a rehearsal (I was the first one up), say them again once the director gave me the direction to “sit down when you say this line”. We shot another one for safety and that was it. Just that fast. One, Two, Three and I was done. A fifteen passenger van picked me up, so instead of leaving early with no ride, I stayed and filled my pockets with food from the craft service table. I listened as some people were on their twelfth take. To me this didn’t seem like “selling out”. Hell, now you see and hear Iggy Pop in commercials, but for me, it was really a kick in the head. This one spot didn’t represent me or anything about me. The money went to pay my rent, my booze and my drug habit.

I’ve done alot of other gigs in the city that never sleeps (you’ll hear about all in due time), though once I moved to the desert, I had to improvise by doing Stand-Up (in my case it was; sit the fuck down) as well as open mike “poetry”. I’ve always believed in the idea of rebirth and to be a true Renascence man I have to regress back to infancy, come out weak and keep growing strong. This is what I’m doing now and despite my checkered passed, I will always find an outlet for my neurosis.

I recently looked up my old favorite free weekly, the New York Press on line. In it, some kid wrote an article about the good ole daze of NYC circa 93′. I thought to myself, shit, what do you know? I Was There Man!!!!!! Stay Tuned for the next exciting episode of: “Slack Jaw Where are You?” or “Incog-Guido”

*I approach my work as an actor the same way I do any other job. Blue Collar!