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Barrett Rainey
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Editor’s Note: Retired journalist Barrett Rainey’s column, Second Thoughts, will be appearing in The News-Review each Sunday beginning today.
There are times when people come into your life and you don’t think much about it until years later. Only recently have I been wondering if Rock Hudson was in mine only to teach me to play bridge.
As I’ve written before, I was a military TV director in the underground command post of the Strategic Air Command near Omaha, Nebraska, in the early ’60s.
At that time, with Cold War fever running high, Hollywood companies wanted access to shoot movies there. With total script approval by SAC, only one was made during my time: “Gathering of Eagles.” My back is seen for one-third of a second at the beginning. Then gone. $300.
When TV briefings were done for the day, we took down all classified information and the movie company set up. All USAF personnel were offered jobs as extras if we worked from 6 p.m. until 3 a.m. At $100 a night just for being there and $300 if you were used, a dozen of us signed on. Big money then.
Here I have to break to tell you about a man I’ll refer to as Tech. Sgt. Phil, the world’s master double-deck pinochle player. As a baby, his basket was under the tables at the Croatian Halls in Pittsburgh as his parents played pinochle three nights a week. The game was in his genes, the best I ever saw.
Normally, he was in charge of our classified photo lab. But when I expressed an interest in learning pinochle, he took on a new role. He would teach me if I’d study, practice and develop my skills. It had to be a total commitment.
Noon hours and in the evenings at his house, we practiced and practiced. And practiced! After three months, he said I was ready. He quietly spread the word to all noncoms in our immediate area that there would be a running pinochle game in the photo lab each noon. A $5 buy-in, 20 cents a point, $10 a set, $20 prize each game. Serious money. Oh, yes, the winner of each game stayed at the table and the next team on the list would be seated.
Gradually, as the red light “No Entry Film Processing” sign on the photo lab door caught some of the officers’ interest, they wanted in. We were an institution.
Tech. Sgt. Phil and I kept the table for 13 months! No cheating. No under-the-table stuff. Just “guts” double-deck pinochle day after day after day after day. Made my mortgage payments each month and bought a new car.
Back to the movie. While waiting our turn for stardom, we turned our TV production room into a pinochle parlor. The movie guys used one corner for wardrobe and makeup but kept their distance.
One night I heard a familiar voice behind me, turned around and found myself looking up at Rock Hudson. Yeah, him. He asked what we were playing, and said it was something he’d always wanted to learn, but everyone on movie sets at that time played only bridge.
I’ll never know what possessed me but I blurted out, “Well, I’ll teach you pinochle if you’ll teach me bridge.”
And he agreed.
Over the next five nights, when he wasn’t on the set in the command post, he and I spent a couple of hours playing bridge with the crew and cast, then a couple more hours of pinochle with the G.I.s. He learned quickly. I didn’t.
I learned to like him very much. There wasn’t an ounce of pretension in the man. Low-key and easy-going. Except when working. I used to hang around the set watching his work and interaction with the crew.
There was an opening speech his character made, explaining SAC and the fail-safe nuclear launch system to some visiting military brass. He blew it. Time after time after time after time. But he kept at it. No excuses, no temper, not a harsh word. He worked and worked. And got it about 3 in the morning.
When shooting ended Friday night, Hudson made the rounds to each person involved in the production, civilian or military. He called each by name, shook each hand and had something personal to say to all: their wives’ names, kids’ names, last duty station, new home they’d just bought. Something unique that each had mentioned to him during the filming. I never saw anything like it.
People come into our lives all the time; most simply pass through. But once in a while, a connection is made. My connection is this: When I think of anyone who is a thorough professional, likable, caring and a downright decent human being, my character yardstick is Rock Hudson. Not a bad legacy.
Barrett Rainey is a former journalist who has plied his trade from Oregon to Washington, D.C., and home again. He moved to Roseburg from Brookings several years ago.
There are times when people come into your life and you don’t think much about it until years later. Only recently have I been wondering if Rock Hudson was in mine only to teach me to play bridge.
As I’ve written before, I was a military TV director in the underground command post of the Strategic Air Command near Omaha, Nebraska, in the early ’60s.
At that time, with Cold War fever running high, Hollywood companies wanted access to shoot movies there. With total script approval by SAC, only one was made during my time: “Gathering of Eagles.” My back is seen for one-third of a second at the beginning. Then gone. $300.
When TV briefings were done for the day, we took down all classified information and the movie company set up. All USAF personnel were offered jobs as extras if we worked from 6 p.m. until 3 a.m. At $100 a night just for being there and $300 if you were used, a dozen of us signed on. Big money then.
Here I have to break to tell you about a man I’ll refer to as Tech. Sgt. Phil, the world’s master double-deck pinochle player. As a baby, his basket was under the tables at the Croatian Halls in Pittsburgh as his parents played pinochle three nights a week. The game was in his genes, the best I ever saw.
Normally, he was in charge of our classified photo lab. But when I expressed an interest in learning pinochle, he took on a new role. He would teach me if I’d study, practice and develop my skills. It had to be a total commitment.
Noon hours and in the evenings at his house, we practiced and practiced. And practiced! After three months, he said I was ready. He quietly spread the word to all noncoms in our immediate area that there would be a running pinochle game in the photo lab each noon. A $5 buy-in, 20 cents a point, $10 a set, $20 prize each game. Serious money. Oh, yes, the winner of each game stayed at the table and the next team on the list would be seated.
Gradually, as the red light “No Entry Film Processing” sign on the photo lab door caught some of the officers’ interest, they wanted in. We were an institution.
Tech. Sgt. Phil and I kept the table for 13 months! No cheating. No under-the-table stuff. Just “guts” double-deck pinochle day after day after day after day. Made my mortgage payments each month and bought a new car.
Back to the movie. While waiting our turn for stardom, we turned our TV production room into a pinochle parlor. The movie guys used one corner for wardrobe and makeup but kept their distance.
One night I heard a familiar voice behind me, turned around and found myself looking up at Rock Hudson. Yeah, him. He asked what we were playing, and said it was something he’d always wanted to learn, but everyone on movie sets at that time played only bridge.
I’ll never know what possessed me but I blurted out, “Well, I’ll teach you pinochle if you’ll teach me bridge.”
And he agreed.
Over the next five nights, when he wasn’t on the set in the command post, he and I spent a couple of hours playing bridge with the crew and cast, then a couple more hours of pinochle with the G.I.s. He learned quickly. I didn’t.
I learned to like him very much. There wasn’t an ounce of pretension in the man. Low-key and easy-going. Except when working. I used to hang around the set watching his work and interaction with the crew.
There was an opening speech his character made, explaining SAC and the fail-safe nuclear launch system to some visiting military brass. He blew it. Time after time after time after time. But he kept at it. No excuses, no temper, not a harsh word. He worked and worked. And got it about 3 in the morning.
When shooting ended Friday night, Hudson made the rounds to each person involved in the production, civilian or military. He called each by name, shook each hand and had something personal to say to all: their wives’ names, kids’ names, last duty station, new home they’d just bought. Something unique that each had mentioned to him during the filming. I never saw anything like it.
People come into our lives all the time; most simply pass through. But once in a while, a connection is made. My connection is this: When I think of anyone who is a thorough professional, likable, caring and a downright decent human being, my character yardstick is Rock Hudson. Not a bad legacy.
Barrett Rainey is a former journalist who has plied his trade from Oregon to Washington, D.C., and home again. He moved to Roseburg from Brookings several years ago.
