by Ron Jeremy
“Relax,” I told him. “You’re just watching. Nobody’s going to jump on you or tell the press that you’re here. We’re not rats.”
I’d heard that he’d recently given up smoking. But at one point, I looked over and Stephen was puffing away at a cigarette. He was sucking on it like he thought it might contain vitamins. So I guess I’m personally responsible for getting Stephen Stills back into smoking. I’m not proud of that. And in all fairness, he hardly watched any action. We just happened to be shooting a film near where he lives, so he came over mainly to see me.
After the shoot was over, he ran over and shook my hand. He was talking a mile a minute, not even pausing to take a breath. “Thanks Ron that was cool really cool I gotta go okay see ya later.” And then he jumped into his car and drove away.
Over the years, I’ve learned little tricks to put my guests at ease. When the Nelson brothers, the blond glam-rock duo, paid a visit to one of my sets, I tried to make them feel more comfortable by overexplaining exactly what they were seeing. I did it mostly to be funny, and maybe a little annoying.
“You see that, boys?” I whispered to them, pointing out a sexual position that was taking place just a few feet away. “In porn, we call that the reverse cowgirl.”
“We know, Ron,” they snapped, a little annoyed by me.
Later, when the actors switched positions, I pulled the Nelsons aside again for another porn primer.
“This is called doggy-style,” I said. “And pretty soon, that naked guy over there will be doing something called the pop…shot. Do you want me to explain what that is in more detail?”
“Shut up, Ron,” they yelled at me. “You’re an asshole! We know what a fucking pop shot is, you jerk!”*
I was just trying to embarrass them in front of the crew. And it worked like a charm. By the end of the day, they were so relaxed and unfazed by all the sex happening all around them you’d think they were at a church social.
But it backfired on me. I was so worried about keeping the Nelson brothers happy that I didn’t even think about what their presence would mean to the other actors. Buck Adams, the male star of my film, was having a slight difficulty keeping an erection. He did the scene just fine, just without his usual lightning-fast speed. And it was all because of the Nelsons.
“Thanks a lot, Ron,” he complained. “The girls keep staring at these two beautiful blond boys. They all want to have sex with them, and they’re being paid to be with me. How is a guy supposed to get wood with this kind of competition?”
He was right. It just wasn’t fair. So I politely asked the Nelsons to retire to the monitor, in the other room.
“Why?” they asked. “What did we do?”
“No offense, boys,” I told them, “but you’re just too pretty.”
Not every visitor to a porn set comes to stare at the naked ladies. Some, like famed director John Frankenheimer, were there to do research.
Frankenheimer was a movie director whom I’d idolized since I was a kid, the man responsible for such classics of cinema as Birdman of Alcatraz and The Manchurian Candidate.* When I got the call, John told me that he was working on a new film called 52 Pick-Up, based on an Elmore Leonard novel of the same name. The story involved a businessman who was blackmailed by a sleazy porn king. Known for his stark realism, John didn’t want to base his movie on conjecture alone. If he was going to accurately portray the gritty realities of the smut trade, he needed an “expert” to advise him, taking him deep into the belly of the beast for a firsthand look.
He came to a few sets with me before I invited him to sit in on one of my shoots in Laurel Canyon. John couldn’t have cared less about the sex. He was more intrigued by the production end. When we’d finish a scene in one take, he’d shake his head in wonder.
“You don’t need to do it again?” he asked. “What if the lighting was wrong? What if the continuity is screwed up? What if you don’t have enough coverage?”
I just shrugged. “Hey, it’s porn. Our audience is very forgiving.”
He couldn’t resist interrupting me with the occasional comment, suggesting a different angle or changing a lighting gel in midscene.
“Hey,” I teased him. “Did I tell you how to shoot French Connection II? Don’t tell me how to shoot a porno.”*
John spent most of the afternoon with us, and I hoped he was getting something useful from the experience. Compared to the danger and intrigue of his 52 Pick-Up script, our set must’ve seemed monotonous. There were no mafia henchmen, no women tied to chairs, no sketchy characters delivering briefcases full of cash. It was just another movie, no more exciting or eventful than any other film set.
Until the cops showed up.
It was an unlucky coincidence. Had John visited me on any other day, he would’ve come and gone without incident as he had before. But he just so happened to be on my set during the very day that I was first raided by the L.A. vice squad. When John saw the cops come storming through the door, his face went as white as a sheet.
He was rounded up with the other actors. The cops recognized him but didn’t let on. He asked for a moment alone with me, and we retreated to a corner to confer in private.
“You have to get me out of here,” he whispered.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said. “I don’t have too much pull with the LAPD.”
I walked back over to Como and explained the situation to him. I didn’t need to give him a list of Frankenheimer’s credits.
“I know who he is,” Como said. “He’s the Manchurian Candidate director, right? What the hell is he doing on a porn set?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “He’s scouting locations and doing research for a new film. He isn’t involved in any of this. Any chance you can cut him a break?”
Como sighed as he considered what to do. We both knew that he could easily nail John just for being there. But it might also hurt the city’s case against us. If word got out that a mainstream director was associating with a porno production, it would only legitimize us. We couldn’t as easily be vilified as a criminal operation if we had too many famous friends.
Photographic Insert II
Famous Friends
With Samuel L. Jackson and some gal backstage during a commercial for the MTV Movie Awards.
Keith Richards and me at Musso and Frank’s Restaurant (Keith was meeting with Johnny Depp).
With Rick James (R.I.P.) outside the China Club in L.A.
With Brad Pitt at the premiere party of Rock Star at the House of Blues.
Juniper, Matthew McConaughey, and me at the premiere party for Tip Toe.
With Johnny Depp at Musso and Frank’s Restaurant. Johnny was meeting with Keith Richards for research on Pirates of the Carribean.
Pauly Shore, me, and Christian Slater comparing dick sizes at the Comedy Store while Pauly was making his album for Priority Records (I’m on that album, too).
With Carrot Top backstage at the Hollywood Theatre, MGM Hotel Las Vegas (comparing dick sizes).
Ice-T and me comparing sizes while shooting Frankenpenis (starring John Bobbitt).
Me with Chris Rock backstage at the Universal Amphitheatre.
Sam Kinison, me, and Robin Williams doing a skit in the Comedy Store parking lot.
With Axl Rose at the Rainbow in L.A. when Guns n’ Roses first became famous.
Dave Chapelle and me in New Jersey, on Dave’s show, where I was a guest for the internet skit.
Verne Troyer and me in Hawaii, where we hosted a disco event.
Debbie Harry and me backstage at her concert.
Fred Durst and me comparing sizes at the premiere party of Detroit Rock City.
Robert Evans and me while doing his radio show.
Tommy Lee and me comparing sizes at the Playboy Mansion.
With Coolio backstage at the House of Blues in L.A.
With Sting at a party in Beverly Hills following the MTV Music Awards.
With Moby during his video for “We Are All
Made of Stars.”
With Dustin Hoffman during the filming of Confidence (I had a cameo).
Humpty-Hump aka Shock G and me during Digital Underground’s show at the Las Vegas Hilton (I introduced them).
10. A Young Sean Penn with Sam Kinison’s sidekicks Doug and Dave and me at the Bellagio Hotel in L.A. (Notice the Kinison T-shirt.)
With James Hetfield backstage at Metallica’s L.A. Forum concert.
With Stevie Wonder backstage at the Billboard Awards.
With Heather Locklear backstage at the Comedy Store during a Sam Kinison show.
David Faustino and me comparing sizes backstage at the studio after a taping of Married with Children.
With Harry Reems, the first porn star. On the back of this photo Harry wrote: “Ron, it’s about time a real man sat on your face.”
With John Frankenheimer (R.I.P.) on the set of Ronin in France.
With Jerry Springer, one of the four times I was on his show.
With Carmen Electra backstage during Penn and Teller’s TV show Sin City Spectacular in Las Vegas (we were both guests on the same episode).
With Matt LeBlanc at Spago in Beverly Hills.
John Frankenheimer, me, Roy Scheider, and Johnny Glover on the set of 52 Pick-Up.
Comparing sizes with Gary Dell’Abate after I was a guest on the Howard Stern Show.
With Ed Norton backstage during the Larry Flint Roast at the Friar’s Club in L.A.
Jonathan Davis and me comparing sizes at his July 4th party at his home.
With Penn Jillette during the Adult Entertainment Expo Convention in Las Vegas.
With Bobby Brown at the Comedy Store (before he married Whitney Houston).
Linda Blair and me at a Beverly Hills restaurant.
Jonathan Davis, me, and Kid Rock while the three of us hosted Miss Nude America in Roselawn, Indiana.
With Mickey Rourke in his trailer on the set of Tony Scott’s Domino…(Comparing sizes, he could have me beat!…He told me to say this.)
Flea and me backstage in Australia during a concert.
With Vince Neil after I introduced (onstage) the Vince Neil Band (before Mötley Crüe got back together).
Gene Simmons and me at his birthday party at Jerry’s Deli.
With Bill Maher at a party at his home.
Comparing sizes with Bush’s Gavin Rossdale at the Chateau Marmont.
With one of the guys from ZZ Top at the House of Blues in L.A.
With Grandpa Munster aka Al Lewis at Miss Nude North America in Roselawn, Indiana (we both hosted).
With Patrick Dempsey and Taylor Wayne during Roger Avary’s pilot for NBC’s Odd Jobs (also produced by Aaron Spelling).
With Jennifer Tilly during the film Fast Sofa.
Woody Harrelson and me during the Larry Flynt Roast at the Friar’s Club.
With Nelson on one of my sets when they came to visit.
Me with the Black Eyed Peas (minus Fergie) and Sunny Lane backstage at the G4 Awards Show.
With James Taylor at his concert in Reno. (He and I share the same birthday.)
With Richard Dreyfuss at Dan Tana’s in Beverly Hills.
With my mutilated head on the set of Trey Parker’s Orgazmo.
CeCe DeVille and me backstage at a Poison concert.
Alanis Morrisette and me during the filming of Comedy Central’s I’m With the Band.
With Elijah Wood at the premiere party for Sin City (I was Mickey Rourke’s guest).
David Spade and me during my cameo on Just Shoot Me.
Kid Rock and me during the making of the video “Cowboy.”
With Erik Estrada and Todd Bridges (before we were reality stars) during the making of Sounds of Silence, a B-film shot in Arizona (that also starred Dana Plato).
With Willem Dafoe comparing sizes during the filming of Boondock Saints.
Matt Damon and me at Dan Tana’s in Beverly Hills.
With Jenna Jameson during the making of Comedy Central’s film Porn and Chicken.
Paris Hilton, me, and Bijou Phillips at the premiere party for Wonderland.
John Stamos and me comparing sizes at Spago in Beverly Hills.
With The Rock on the set of The Rundown.
Louis Gosset, Jr., and me at the CES Convention in Las Vegas—comparing sizes.
With Billie Joe Armstrong backstage at the Universal Amphitheatre.
With David Carradine on the Texas set of Adam Rifkin’s Homo Erectus.
Sir Mix-a-Lot and me during the making of the “Freak of the Week” video.
Tammy Faye Messner and me at a lovely restaurant in North Carolina.
Keira Knightley and me during the shooting of Domino in Las Vegas.
My good friend Brad, Gene Simmons, and me at a KISS concert in Florida.
With Dimebag Darrell, Pantera legend (R.I.P.) who died in 2004.
With Colin Farrell after he finished filming Miami
John Wayne Bobbitt, me, and Joey Buttafuoco during the filming of the “Freak of the Week” music video.
With Ringo Starr backstage at the Hard Rock Hotel, Las Vegas.
With Slash at his home Jacuzzi (way before he met his wife Pearla).
With Rodney Dangerfield at a Sam Kinison party.
“Okay, fine,” Como said. “I’ll let him go unnoticed. I can’t get his name off the police report, but we won’t make a big deal of it. Just get him out of here as fast as you can.”
I escorted John to the back door, apologizing all the way.
“That was certainly an experience,” he said, giving me a quick wave as his Ferrari sped away, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
After months passed and his name never appeared in the tabloids, John finally decided it was safe to contact me again. He wasn’t brazen enough to visit any more porn sets, but he had other ideas about how I could contribute to 52 Pick-Up.
He needed actors for a party sequence, and, because it required some nudity, he asked me to call in my industry friends.* I brought him porn stars like Amber Lynn, Jamie Gillis, Tom Byron, Amy White, Herschel Savage, Inez, Honey Wilder, Erica Boyer, Peter North, and, of course, myself. He also asked me to shoot a short, soft-core porn loop for a scene in which Roy Scheider goes to an X-rated theater and watches an adult movie. The video never made it into the final cut, but I was still given a “film clips courtesy of” credit. And John did use the audio portion. So the next time you rent 52 Pick-Up and hear groans in the background, just remember that I created those groans. And John also gave me a small acting role, as a porn film director.
Often when mainstream directors have needed a brief snippet of porn for their movies, they’d come to me. Director Ron Howard asked my friend Bobby Gallagher and me to shoot some soft-core footage for Parenthood, for a scene in which Steve Martin’s nephew watches a porno tape. It needed to be nonexplicit, as the studio wanted a PG rating. So we hired Janine Lindemulder, Veronica, Victoria Paris, Benet (and, of course, me) to do a little bumping and grinding for a short loop. Ron appreciated our efforts, but he opted instead to use a clip from a late 1970s porno called Blonde Goddess. My face never appeared in Parenthood, but listen closely during the scene and you can briefly hear the audio of me and a few other actors grunting and groaning.
I soon developed a reputation in Hollywood as the “go-to” guy for porn. If a director needed background on the history of adult films, he’d call me. If he needed a bunch of naked porn actresses to cavort in a hot tub, he’d call me. If an actor was cast as a porn sleazebag and needed coaching on his character, he’d call me. I even spoke on the phone with James Gandolfini to help him prepare for his role as a porn henchman in 8MM, measured Jennifer Tilley’s breasts (in a bra unfortunately) for a body double in Fast Sofa,* supplied porn footage for American Psycho, and consulted on the authenticity of the sex-club scenes in 9½ Weeks. Any movie that so much as mentioned porn in passing has probably utilized my expertise in some way. And my name has almost always appeared in the credits.
It was only a matter of
time before I was called upon to consult on a movie that not only dipped its toes into the shallow end of the porn pool but dove in headfirst. Boogie Nights was a comprehensive history of the adult-film industry, reaching back to the golden age of porn that I knew all too well. When director Paul Thomas Anderson called and told me he was working on an epic biopic about a porn actor with an unusually large schlong, I thought to myself, At last! Somebody has finally decided to document my life story!
“It’s about John Holmes,” he told me.
Crap.
Even in death, that skinny little bastard was still stealing my spotlight.
I came very close to blowing it with Paul before the Boogie Nights project even began.
He invited me to a private screening of his last movie, Hard 8, at the Hard Rock Cafe in Beverly Hills. Burt Reynolds and Drew Barrymore were also at the screening, because Paul was trying to woo them into accepting roles in Boogie Nights. Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever been inside a private screening room, but it’s not like the theaters at most multiplexes. You’re not sitting in hard-backed seats designed to rupture your spine. You’re reclining in huge, comfy sofa chairs, with cushions so soft and plushy that your ass just sinks into them. They’re so cozy that even with the most captivating and well-crafted movie to hold his attention, a guy could feasibly drift off into a deep slumber.