My Best (True!) New York Story
My best New York story happened many years before I moved here with
my family in 2013. In the early 90s, fresh out of college, I teamed up
with my High School friend Dave for an unusual venture. Dave was in the
early stages of developing Kornflake Productions, a
fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants TV production company, and asked me to
collaborate on his first idea for a show. It was to be called Zack’s
Video Shack: part urban sketch comedy, part Pee Wee’s Playhouse, and
part Siskel & Ebert. The premise was this: a mom-n-pop Video store,
Zack’s Video Shack, would be the setting for screwball comedy bits
interspersed with reviews of new-to-video movies. Zack (the store’s
proprietor) would host, supported by a cast of offbeat customers and
neighborhood personalities. And Dave’s vision of the show included one
crucial casting note: he wanted Gary Coleman, diminutive star of the 80s
sitcom “Diff’rent Strokes,” to play Zack.
To describe Dave as tenacious would be an understatement, and he applied that trait to his pursuit of Coleman. But it seemed that Coleman was also hungry for work, because after a few conversations with his agent (Dion—a Michael Jackson look-alike), he took a meeting with the crazy kids of Kornflake.
I drove to New York from Boston to meet Dave, Gary and Dion over dinner. I don’t remember the venue exactly, but it was some chain restaurant in Times Square. So cool (I thought to myself at the time). Most of the meeting is a blur now, but I know that we discussed a rough pilot script that Dave and I had drafted. To our delight, Gary seemed into it. To this day, I entertain the notion that he really wanted to do the show. Gary was all child-like enthusiasm, to match his small stature. Dion was more businesslike, but you could tell that he was Gary’s confidant, friend and “keeper,” as well as his agent. I remember that someone (Gary?) ordered one of those huge “blooming onion” things. It was the size of Gary’s head. But what I recall most clearly is how Gary pulled out a couple of glossy 8 x 10 headshots toward the end of the meeting and inscribed them for Dave and me. Mine read “To Eric. Happily, Gary Coleman,” in black Sharpie over the smiling image of Coleman, looking like he was headed out for a sunny day at the Ballpark. As much as I cherish that photo to this day, I recall thinking that the gift was Gary and Dion’s subtle way of reminding us who the star was…
After our dinner discussion, we all stopped into some specialty store in Times Square that sold armor and swords and the like, and I distinctly remember that Gary was captivated by a claymore—a huge, two-handed sword that must’ve been longer than he was. He insisted on swinging it around the store, and I recall that Dion made diffident attempts to stop him. That image of Gary with the claymore still makes me smile.
Perhaps needless to say, the show never got off the ground. We tried to get some corporate funders, to no avail. But I still think the concept was a decent one, encouraged by the fact that we got as far as meeting with Coleman. And I like to think that, in the midst of Gary’s many personal and professional travails following his child star days, our little New York meeting—with the blooming onion and the personalized headshots and the claymore swinging—was a bright, surreal spot for all of us that year.
To describe Dave as tenacious would be an understatement, and he applied that trait to his pursuit of Coleman. But it seemed that Coleman was also hungry for work, because after a few conversations with his agent (Dion—a Michael Jackson look-alike), he took a meeting with the crazy kids of Kornflake.
I drove to New York from Boston to meet Dave, Gary and Dion over dinner. I don’t remember the venue exactly, but it was some chain restaurant in Times Square. So cool (I thought to myself at the time). Most of the meeting is a blur now, but I know that we discussed a rough pilot script that Dave and I had drafted. To our delight, Gary seemed into it. To this day, I entertain the notion that he really wanted to do the show. Gary was all child-like enthusiasm, to match his small stature. Dion was more businesslike, but you could tell that he was Gary’s confidant, friend and “keeper,” as well as his agent. I remember that someone (Gary?) ordered one of those huge “blooming onion” things. It was the size of Gary’s head. But what I recall most clearly is how Gary pulled out a couple of glossy 8 x 10 headshots toward the end of the meeting and inscribed them for Dave and me. Mine read “To Eric. Happily, Gary Coleman,” in black Sharpie over the smiling image of Coleman, looking like he was headed out for a sunny day at the Ballpark. As much as I cherish that photo to this day, I recall thinking that the gift was Gary and Dion’s subtle way of reminding us who the star was…
After our dinner discussion, we all stopped into some specialty store in Times Square that sold armor and swords and the like, and I distinctly remember that Gary was captivated by a claymore—a huge, two-handed sword that must’ve been longer than he was. He insisted on swinging it around the store, and I recall that Dion made diffident attempts to stop him. That image of Gary with the claymore still makes me smile.
Perhaps needless to say, the show never got off the ground. We tried to get some corporate funders, to no avail. But I still think the concept was a decent one, encouraged by the fact that we got as far as meeting with Coleman. And I like to think that, in the midst of Gary’s many personal and professional travails following his child star days, our little New York meeting—with the blooming onion and the personalized headshots and the claymore swinging—was a bright, surreal spot for all of us that year.
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