FROM SHOW BIZ TO SUNDAY SCHOOL
Sharon Leann Wyatt’s autobiography
SUMMER IS WINTER, WINTER IS SUMMER part 3
She pulled her peek-a-boo back up with the suit’s netting supposedly meant to camouflage this whole charade. It did not instead it was laughable. I had never experienced any thing like this before, and I could not believe my eyes. These girls really had no modesty whatsoever.
Outside they were still not as yet ready for shooting, so I found a blanket courtesy of the prop department, and plunked myself down. I was soon joined by a few of the fellas, some of which had bravely begun to acclimatize themselves by removing their coats. By nine o’clock the fog had lifted enough, and the crew began to set up for the first shot. It is then the director pointed to me, and said to those with him, “will use her.” His next words were curt, “O.K. young lady give your coat to wardrobe and follow me.” The wardrobe lady was all too quick in taking my protective covering from the cold. The morning breeze blowing off the surf chilled me to the bone. Once at the volleyball net, however, who should be in the official’s seat overlooking the court, but a dear old character actor the one and only Ed Winn. He was just as I had always seen him in so many roles, pleasant and lovable with a winsome smile. What a cutie on and off camera.
The director indicated to each of the players to their respective spots. When he looked at the scene through the camera lens, he made a few minor adjustments in the blocking, and went about telling us just what he expected the game to look like. I was placed near the net, directly under the official’s stand. The server had the ball in hand, and when action was called out, they did a run through, exactly as the director wanted. “Okay,” said Mr. Taylor, “Let’s shoot it.” On “action” the ball was served, and the game begun. At one point in the gaffing the ball was to come to me, then it was for me to then pop the ball over the net. “Cut, print.” The director was pleased as he uttered those immortal words that are music to any actors or extras ears. “Now,” he continued, “do the exact same action, but listen for my direction.”
The shot was once more set up. All the ritual preliminaries taken care of, and then the word we were waiting for as the director called out, “O.K., now let’s see some real playing.” My eyes followed the ball to a player in the back of the court on my side. He hit the ball, and a bullet soared past my head, and skimmed over the net to a player who returned it with a vengeance. The next player set up the fellow next to me, for a spike, which was beautifully executed. The receiver on the opposing side dove into the sand to retrieve it. The rubber missile was aimed directly towards my corner of the court. “Get it, get it,” cried Ed Winn. “Sharon it is yours,” explained a teammate. The director tightened up with anticipation of an abysmal failure on my part. With teeth clenched he bellowed, “Go girl, get it”
The ball seemed to be in slow motion as it approached me from its stratospheric heights, and I begin the choreography that would hopefully meet the challenge with the correct form to return the ball back over the net to my unsuspecting opponent. During the entire descent of the ball I was cheered on by both the personnel on and off the camera. Hands clenched in front of me in classical positioning, I The ball seemed to be in slow motion as it approached me from its stratospheric heights, and I begin the choreography that would hopefully meet the challenge with the correct form to return the ball back over the net to my unsuspecting opponent. During the entire descent of the ball I was cheered on by both the personnel on and off the camera. Hands clenched in front of me in classical positioning, I bent my knees and prepared to connect with the ball. My arms met it with stinging accuracy, and the whites sphere tore away from me with blinding speed,
(Continued next month)
