AN OPPORTUNITY CAME UP AND I THOUGHT OF YOU! read the e-mail’s subject line. My spam radar went off but, no, the sender was totally legit: Gail Solomon, VP of communications at my beloved Kessler Institute for Rehabilitation. Evidently, a casting agency had contacted her, looking for a white, caucasian, double amputee (check, check, and CHECK!) for the upcoming HBO miniseries The Plot Against America, based on the Philip Roth novel.
I read the forwarded attachment:
LITTLE ROBERT (Male, 25-55, Caucasian)
A double leg amputee, Little Robert calls out ball scores while begging for money in downtown Newark. He is a neighborhood fixture, friendly with our story’s protagonist…
2 lines
Neighborhood fixture? Baseball? North Jersey? Jeez, even without the amputation, that sounded an awful lot like me. (Plus, I always feel like I’m about a week and a half away from begging on the streets.)
I emailed the casting associate, telling a bit about myself — that I wasn’t an actor but was very comfortable performing — and attaching a full-body photo. Her assistant replied quickly, inviting me to read for the role on Thursday, June 20, 2019 in midtown Manhattan.
“Prepare a slight New Jersey accent,” she wrote. Again, not a problem. My friend Karen even says that I talk differently, very Jersey, around the guys at Delfino’s Pizza.
I opened the attached scene (or “sides,” as we call them in the biz):
—————-
EXT. BAKERY/BROAD STREET/DOWNTOWN NEWARK – DAY
HERMAN and PHILIP walk to the bakery, as LITTLE ROBERT, legless, calls out ball scores on the sidewalk.
HERMAN
How you doing, Little Robert?
LITTLE ROBERT
How’re you, Herman?
HERMAN
Boston keep pace?
LITTLE ROBERT
No, they dropped one to the Yanks. Chicago beat ’em five-two.
HERMAN slips the man a nickel and a dime. PHILIP stares at the LEGLESS MAN.
—————-
This was so incredibly exciting! I googled the miniseries — costarring Winona Ryder and John Turturro! Oh, how I’d laugh with Winona about the insane crush I had on her in college. And I’d tell John about my hilarious shenanigans with his son on WFMU. Ah, but I only had two days to get ready. I picked out my most 1940s-looking outfit — tan button-down shirt, plain black shorts — and incessantly ran my lines in a slight Jersey accent: How’re YOU, Herman? No, they dropped one to the Yanks. Chicago beat ’em five-two.
On Thursday a little before 11:15 a.m., I arrived at a shabby, nondescript New York office building. No lobby to speak of, just an uninterested security guy behind a podium. I took the elevator to the second floor and found what I believed to be the correct door, though there wasn’t a sign for the agency. Opening it, however, I saw the sort of casting waiting room I recognized from TV and movies: several suited guys sitting around a low coffee table. I scanned the room and noted that everybody but me had two legs. Score!!
There were two clipboards on the coffee table; I signed in on the one for Plot Against America. Turns out every other dude was reading for the part of newsman Walter Winchell. I filled out my name, role, agency (blank), and — first time I’d seen it — preferred pronouns.
A door to our right would open, a woman emerged and read the next name off the clipboard, and the next fella went in that room. The space was so small that even through the closed door you could clearly hear each audition: “GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, AND ALL THE SHIPS AT SEA.” I started to get depressed, thinking how there were rooms like this full of actors all over New York, and L.A., and London, etc. etc. etc., every single day, and only one person was getting each part.
However, as I watched the actors being so supportive of each other — I guess they’re all aware of the daunting odds they face — I was cheered by this genuine camaraderie. One guy leaving said to everybody, “Break a leg!” to which I replied, “Hey!!!” Then we discussed his wife who is missing an arm.
Now it was my turn. From movies, I expected a long folding table with three people behind it, one guy with a beard. But this is Manhattan, so it was a small room, with only one woman (the casting associate) and a video camera. Knowing I wasn’t a professional, she patiently talked me through the process. Said we’d film my lines twice. For the second one, she suggested slowing down a little, which I did. (How’re… you… Herman?) When we finished, she said, “You could totally be an actor!” which really made me smile.
She told me they’d let me know either way, and as I left the office, I was feeling really good about things. I’d enjoyed the experience (plus it hadn’t taken nearly as long as I’d guessed), I learned a whole lot, and, to be honest, I kind of liked my chances of getting the part. As a bonus, I knew exactly where I was going for lunch: Shorty’s near Port Authority. I wished good luck to the remaining Walter Winchells, and headed down to the lobby.
As I approached the security stand, though, my heart sank.
There, in a wheelchair, staring at his phone, was a big burly guy, way above-the-knee double amputee, no prosthetics. There was, like, nothing there, leg-wise. “Motherfucker,” I thought. Now that’s an amputee. I was completely crushed. The part was his, I could just feel it.
Still, a voice inside my head said, “Camaraderie, camaraderie, camaraderie.”
So, I slowly walked toward my fellow actor, stood before him, and with a smile on my face said, “Well, I’d tell you to break a leg, but….”
But he didn’t look up from his phone; didn’t react at all. I noticed something in his ear, ear buds or a hearing aid, maybe? I stood there helpless, my joke floating listlessly in the air. I looked at the security guard for a smile, a grimace. Nope, he might as well have been on display at Madame Tussauds. So I cut my losses and walked out onto the grey summer streets of New York.
I never did hear back from the casting agency. The shooting period — July 3 to September 6 — eventually passed, and the miniseries debuts tonight, so I am fairly sure I didn’t get the part. (And I do understand; back when my job involved hiring people, we absolutely intended to inform the losing candidates, but it just wasn’t a top priority.) I’ll definitely be tuning in; Little Robert appears in Episode 4. I’m curious to see if it’s the wheelchair guy, but I’ll be happy for whoever is in the role. We actors have a certain camaraderie.
Jack Silbert, curator