Manhood: How to Be a Better Man-or Just Live with One

by Terry Crews

  “No, no, we should do it,” she said.

  It was back and forth like that all day until I finally had an idea.

  “Let’s just do the pilot,” I said.

  Well, she had a ball. We all did. I had always worked without my family, and now, here I was, filming with my wife and all of my kids every day, and I loved it.

  Shooting the pilot for our very own reality show, The Family Crews, had gone well, and talks were moving forward on Are We There Yet? But in the meantime, I wasn’t working, and I’d had a series of letdowns that had made me feel like I had to start making opportunities for myself. When I’d heard they were shooting a remake of The A-Team, I knew the part of B. A. Baracus would be perfect for me. I wanted that part so badly, I paid an effects house to create a new interpretation of the character with these spikes in his head, and I made a video of myself in the role, which I then delivered to the producers. When they passed on me, I was devastated. (Never mind that in the past five years, that video has since garnered 600,000 views on YouTube; the mysteries of casting are not for me to attempt to unravel.) No other big parts had materialized, so I started writing a character called Squeegee, who’d gone from poor window washer to the world’s best dancer. I was doing everything in my power to move that project forward, writing and rewriting the script, doing all of the choreography, and doing live dance performances all over LA. I was even using the character for a series of commercials to promote LA public transportation, and I was in a meeting for this latest job, all Squeegeed out, when Brad called.

  “Sylvester Stallone wants to meet with you. Right now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Check it out. You’ve got to get down there. I showed him your video.”

  “Squeegee?”

  This was real. Why would he want to meet with me about Squeegee?

  “No, no, I showed him your video of your A-Team audition.”

  Now, at the time, Sly Stallone was making the first Expendables movie. He’d already hired Forest Whitaker, but Forest had to drop out. When he went to several other people, he couldn’t get anyone interested because the movie wasn’t a big deal at the time. Stallone was in his sixties, and when he told everyone he was going to make an action movie, they all laughed at him, and every studio turned him down. He was forced to go to a B player, Millennium Films, which was known for straight-to-video releases. All he had lined up at that point were Jet Li and Jason Statham. But Sly’s a force of nature, so he was making calls and doing everything himself, which was how he saw my video and decided he had to meet me.

  “Wherever you are,” Brad said. “Get to Beverly Hills right now.”

  Once in Beverly Hills, I found the address, a small office right off of Little Santa Monica. This redheaded kid brought me upstairs into this dim room. And then I heard the voice: gravelly, unmistakable, the one, the only, Sly Stallone.

  “Hey, sit down,” he said.

  It was really weird, almost spooky, and then the lights suddenly went on, and there he was. He sat down across from me.

  “I’m doing this movie,” he said. “We’re shooting it in Brazil. It’s going to be pretty good. I’ve seen some stuff from you.”

  What I later found out was that he has daughters, and through them and a friend, he’d seen White Chicks and really liked it. But all I knew at the time was that he’d seen my audition for the A-Team movie, and now he was explaining the project as if he was pitching the movie to me. Meanwhile, I was thinking this was an audition and wondering where the lines were. I wasn’t prepared for him to talk to me as if I already had the part.

  So I did what I’d done the first time I went to Eddie Murphy’s house: Just nod and don’t say anything, so you don’t say the wrong thing.

  “We’re going to go down to Brazil,” he said. “We’re going to have a good time. We’ll take care of you. We feel like it would be a real good thing for you.”

  I just smiled and nodded and tried not to mess it up.

  “Let me show you what you’re going to be shooting,” he said, showing me videos of this amazing, fully automatic shotgun, the AA-12, known as the world’s deadliest. “This is your gun in the movie,” he added with a smirk.

  This is not an audition, I thought. He’s giving me this part, like right now.

  The whole thing didn’t take longer than twenty or twenty-five minutes, and let me tell you, I was intimidated. This was the man I’d watched in Rocky when I was growing up.

  “So, uh, how do you feel?” he said.

  “I love it,” I said. “It’s a great project. I’m going to do a good job for you.”

  “Good, good, all right,” he said. “You’re my guy.”

  The next day, the paperwork came in, and it was a go. So I was jumping around from project to project, doing The Family Crews, Squeegee, The Expendables. I thought I was doing everything it took to succeed. Now I can see I was hypervigilant. I filled my days to feel alive. Well, I was feeling alive then. I was pumped. I really felt like The Expendables could be the big one for me.

  We started shooting early that spring, and I flew to Brazil. When I got off the plane, I was in for two big surprises. The first one was amazing. I had no idea that Everybody Hates Chris was huge in Brazil. Everyone in Hollywood had always told me that black performers only hit in America, and because they couldn’t sell us in Europe, or South America, or anywhere else, we weren’t worth as much as white performers, and we shouldn’t be paid as much. Well, I was so mobbed at the airport that I had to be escorted to a special lounge and wait for security to take me to my car. I couldn’t leave the hotel without being mobbed by fans that were waiting for me to come out. But then I decided to see what this was all about. I went running in the streets, and I found that everyone in the country was wonderful. They were so respectful and happy to see me.

  The second surprise was not so good. During the month I was in Brazil, I only shot one scene. My character seemed to diminish before my very eyes. Normally, this would have been the kind of development that would have made my insecurities flare up and caused me to act out, as I had on my first film set in Vancouver, a decade earlier. This time, I vowed to behave, and I was lucky enough to have a wonderful tour guide. I threw myself into exploring the beautiful country. I was relieved when shooting in Brazil was over, and I had no more dark secrets to protect, as I was still terrified Rebecca would someday find out what I had done in Vancouver.

  I still had to get through the rest of the Expendables shoot, and the situation wasn’t looking to improve anytime soon. It took only a week on location in New Orleans for me to be extremely disappointed. All of my scenes had either been cut down significantly or cut out completely. I felt like a glorified background player. I was determined to make the most of the situation, even talk to Sly about a potential spinoff, but it was difficult for me not to become cynical, especially when a month went by and I’d spent most of my time sitting in my hotel room.

  The project had been poisoned for me. When I went to the set, I saw everything as a negative. If Sly was talking to Jason, I became jealous. When I saw other people exchanging looks on set, I assumed they were talking negatively about me. I hated feeling that way, and I knew I had to reframe it.

  It was hard. It was really hard, but this is what I did. Anytime I was given an opportunity I took full advantage of it. When Sly gave me a line, I put everything into it. EVERYTHING. I worked harder, stayed later, and improved my attitude. Slowly, Sly started noticing me. By the middle of June, I began winning Sly over. After we filmed a scene, and everybody else had moved on to the next scene, Sly sat with me and went over every nuance, how to act, and what I should do every moment in front of the camera. He basically taught me how to be an action star.

  “When you get your moment, play it to the camera,” he said. “Don’t turn your head. Don’t shrink back in those moments. Carry the ball when you get it.”

  He pointed out the scenes were I wasn’t focused, and the ones in which
I was really shining. “Look, you can see it in your eyes,” he said.

  “That’s the detail that I needed to see,” I said.

  When my attitude improved, my performance did, too, and he let me know.

  “Man, you’re doing it,” he said. “You’re staying in shape. Every time I give you a line to say, you’re killing it. I’ve got to tell you, you’re really making me happy.”

  Just like I’d created a net-negative vortex before, when I’d become consumed by my negativity and insecurity, now I created a net-positive vortex. It literally started in my heart, and grew until that was one of the best experiences of my life.

  I decided to reframe the Expendables experience like I did my security job. I told myself to see the good in everything and everyone around me and not to give off any bad vibes. It worked. Almost instantly, I saw Sly in a new light, and I began to notice things I hadn’t before. I watched him shoot for twelve hours, running around like a wild man at sixty-three years old. I realized this film was his baby. He was taking out scenes that didn’t work, as he knew the action fans didn’t want their heroes pontificating about social injustice. They wanted action, and we were going to give it to them.

  Everything started to turn around. We found out that The Family Crews had been picked up. Rebecca and the kids came to visit the Expendables set in New Orleans. She ran into Sly while she was walking around by the trailers, and he let her in on a little secret, which she ran back to tell me as fast as she could.

  “Terry, oh my God, you won’t believe this,” she said. “Sly just said, ‘Your husband has been so amazing, I’m rewriting the script so he saves my life.’ ”

  I couldn’t even speak. I just stood there and stared at her, so happy.

  “Terry, I can’t believe what’s happening,” she said.

  This was one of the moments when Rebecca got excited, and I knew things were really starting to happen, because she’s always had an excellent ability to read people and situations (not that I always listened to her, of course; again, that’s why this book has a before and an after).

  “Terry, this is the one,” she said. “When I heard him telling me how good you are, I knew.”

  By the end of that shoot, Sly was sending dailies to my room and giving me lessons every day on how to make an action movie and how to be an action star. I felt like I was in a dream, because I couldn’t believe how good it was after it had first been so bad, one of the worst experiences of my acting career. That was such an important moment for me, because I learned that I truly have the power to reframe anything. Every experience I have in my life begins in my head, and it’s up to me to be positive, and learn, and grow, and make it all worthwhile.

  I started to see how Rocky and Rambo got made. Sly was in his sixties, and he nearly killed himself during that shoot, but he wouldn’t give up, even when he was limping around the set, and we were running out of time, and people had to leave.

  “Sly, I’m with you one hundred percent,” I said. “I’m with you. If I have to stay over, I’ll do it. Man, I’m here for you.”

  He appreciated that, and to this day, Sly is not only one of my mentors, but he’s also a true, true friend. He’s become my biggest champion, and he enjoys everything I’ve done since then. There’s nothing better than hearing him say: “It was really good, man. You’ve got that comic timing, brother. You go do it.”

  I think everybody needs a dad, wherever they are in life, someone who can give you a thumbs-up, and in Hollywood, more so than anyone else, Sly Stallone has been that person for me. He’s really been a pop to me in the entertainment industry.

  He even took my side when I wanted to pull what I saw as a great publicity stunt during the promo tour for The Expendables, even though the folks at Lionsgate weren’t so sure. We were down on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and we’d just rung the opening bell. Now I had something even bigger planned, but the producers had said, “No.” And then Sly gave me the bump.

  “Hey, man, it’s time,” he said.

  I took off my shirt, and I screamed as loud as I could. The place was like a locker room to begin with, all guys, running around with ticker tape, and the whole place froze. And then everyone laughed and cheered, and the cameras all just went off. At that moment, The Expendables was the number-one movie in America, and when that picture hit the wire, it was huge. Well, after that, we were number one again for the next week, and that experience taught me so much about publicity. I had already done the Old Spice ads at that point, and they’d been massive, but this moment was different. I’d learned that beyond playing a particular part, I could sell a project.

  “You did good,” Sly said. “This is how you do it. You are a real star, man.”

  To have Sylvester Stallone call me a star, it was beyond belief. Here I was, this kid from Flint, Michigan, and now I was in his inner circle. It was the tops.

  Things were rolling. That summer, we finished shooting for The Family Crews, and Rebecca had a ball. She was charismatic. She was sweet. She was wonderful. And best of all, she’d started talking the year before about how she wanted to do something huge for our twentieth anniversary. She wanted to have a big party, but I just didn’t see where I was going to get that kind of money. I was getting more regular work, but I was still a working actor, and we had five kids. Well, BET decided to kick off the whole show with our twentieth anniversary, and so they paid for our twentieth-anniversary party. We had a huge shindig in Malibu. I used money from the show to get Rebecca a new ring, and it was almost like she had willed it to happen. I danced with her and thought back to our first dance on our first date, when I was just a nineteen-year-old kid with big dreams: Isn’t this crazy?

  EVERYTHING WAS GREAT, AND THEN I HAD TO GO TO CONNECTICUT in October to start filming Are We There Yet? Things got bad, and they got bad really fast. Rebecca didn’t want to move. The kids didn’t want to move. This was my first star turn, but from the beginning it wasn’t turning out as well as I’d hoped. And so, being the controller I was, I tried to make everything better than it was possible to be. I went way beyond what was appropriate in terms of my sense of responsibility for my costars, and the show itself, and this put even more pressure on Rebecca and me.

  We were coming up on the premiere of The Family Crews, which meant doing press together as a happy family, and yet we were getting along worse than we had in years. And then Rebecca sensed that something deeper was wrong between us.

  “Terry, you’ve done something, and now you’re going to put me out here on TV in front of everybody,” she said. “I want to know what it was before anything goes down. I don’t want any surprises.”

  I denied it, of course, but I’d never told her what had happened in Vancouver ten years earlier, and I knew she was right: It wasn’t fair. If you don’t tell her now, you’ll never tell her, and your marriage will never be able to survive this moment.

  More than ever, I was terrified of losing her. I denied and denied. But she could sense there was something I wasn’t telling her, and she kept bringing it up.

  “I don’t want to be somewhere, and somebody comes up and tells me something about you, and I’m going, ‘What?’ ” she said.

  And I knew that, with what I’d done, this was a distinct possibility. Who’s to say that it wouldn’t happen? Oh my God, that could happen, I thought.

  I knew I had to be fair to Rebecca, but at the same time, it was easy for me to keep making excuses as to why my behavior and my secrecy were justifiable. First of all, I honestly felt like everybody looked at pornography and behaved the way I had. You couldn’t have convinced me that everybody didn’t have secrets. I’d seen it growing up in my church. I’d certainly seen it in the NFL. Even our former president, Bill Clinton, had been getting up to all kinds of stuff behind closed doors.

  I was always comparing myself to people who were a lot worse than I was, in order to make myself feel better. I might have messed up, once, but I didn’t have any chicks on the side. And o
ther guys fed into this by telling me I was one of the good guys because I didn’t cheat. I’d even gotten a little bit of a strut about this.

  MEANWHILE, THERE WERE WARNING SIGNS FROM THE beginning about Are We There Yet? I hadn’t been given a producer credit. I’d been strong-armed into working with Ali LeRoi again, even though we’d had such issues on Everybody Hates Chris. I’d been told I had to go to Connecticut. Once there, we were shooting three episodes a week, which was almost like ending up on the line back in Flint after all, only we were making entertainment instead of cars. This whole time, everyone just kept telling me that once we got the first ten episodes done, we’d get our order for the full 100, and I’d be all set, and so I just had to hang on.

  I thought back to The Expendables, and I told myself I needed to reframe my experience once again. But instead of just working on my attitude, I took it upon myself to be the pleaser I’d always been, and to be the savior of everyone else on the show. I took a pro-sports mentality, like: If I go out there, and go full speed, and get knocked out on the field, then I’ll just get knocked out. Well, usually in the end, you’re the guy in the hospital, and they keep on going without you. They love guys like me, who can’t say no, who don’t have any boundaries.

  And so I just kept giving. That’s what eventually led to the worst day of my life: D-day. In February 2010, I was working on my new show, and I went to New York City for the weekend. I took my costar out to dinner, trying to act like the producer who was going to fix everything, when there was really no reason for me to do it. I felt like I was responsible for everyone’s happiness, and so I didn’t realize I was creating more problems than I solved.

  Rebecca was still on me about the secret she suspected. “Terry, there’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. “I don’t know what it is about you.”

  “Nah, it’s cool.”

  This went on, over the phone, all night. Meanwhile, a huge snowstorm was bearing down on the city, and even though I was staying at one of the most beautiful hotels, the Mercer, my room was like a prison. It was dark, heavy with snow. All of a sudden, something told me: Man, this is your opportunity. If you don’t tell her now, you’re going to be divorced. You’re not truthful. You’re probably going to lose her if you do tell her, but at least this is a chance for you to actually be clean.