Louie, Take a Look at This!

by Luis Fuerte

  Nothing short of another big shaker was going to spoil his day. We finished shooting and headed north to San Rafael and Mission San Rafael Arcángel. The mission’s curator told Huell right off the bat that not only was it completely new, it didn’t look anything like the original. Known as “the most obliterated” of the missions, it nonetheless had a very colorful history, including serving as a fort for Gen. John Fremont during the battle to make California a part of the United States. Also, Kit Carson had ridden out from the fort. Huell had plenty to learn and share with his viewers.

  The last mission of the day (and the series) was San Francisco Solano. Huell was thrilled to learn that it was the last mission built before Mexico’s 1834 secularization of the mission system, and it held the only post-mission-era chapel, which was built in 1842. He didn’t care when he learned that it was a complete replica. I knew what he was thinking: “It’s a replica, so what? Lots of the missions are replicas. I’m okay with that. This is the last one. Let’s shoot, Louie!”

  At the tail end of that shoot, Huell looked right into the camera and, with great relief and satisfaction, said, “We’re packing up and going home. We have completed our quest to visit all twenty-one wonderful and beautiful missions.”

  I was happy, too, with our achievement, and I felt like we’d just stumbled onto the beach after swimming the Catalina Channel. It was a big, big job, and we were both proud of the work we’d done.

  I have to mention something funny that Huell said around the eighteenth or nineteenth mission. He was starting to get overwhelmed by the enormity of the task of doing great episodes on every single mission in California, especially considering our tight schedule and budget. We were outside a mission, just looking at it and talking about what to shoot, when he said, “Louie, I’m getting over-missioned. If we keep going, I may just become a Catholic.”

  I said, “Well, if you do that, Huell, you’ll have to go to confession and confess all your sins to a priest.”

  He said, “All of them?”

  “Every one.”

  Huell screwed up his face and said, “Well, Louie, I might just have to think about that.”

  After shooting the last mission, we stowed the gear in the Explorer and visited a bar. He raised his glass and said, “We did it. We did it, Louie, all twenty-one.” I’m not sure, but we may have saluted each and every mission with a drink that night—all I know is that I didn’t get around to cleaning the gear.

  The shows about the missions were some of the most beautiful Huell and I ever did, and they were certainly among the most fascinating and important. The old churches, the stories of the padres, the building and rebuilding and rebuilding again, the earthquakes, the eventual devastation of the native peoples—all this brought out deep feelings in Huell, and they enriched his love of California and its history.

  SHOOTS I’LL ALWAYS REMEMBER

  Of the hundreds of California’s Gold shoots Huell and I did together, my favorite and the most fun was the Golden Gate Bridge shoot. That show seems to be a favorite of his fans, too. It was one of the most technically challenging shows I ever shot, as well as one of the most creative, because it gave me the opportunity to shoot it as if we were doing a film.

  The Golden Gate Bridge is a meaningful part of California, and I think many people view the promise of California in that bridge. It’s also one of most beautiful structures on earth—just thinking of it fills me with emotion. I knew I had to shoot it so the majesty of its impressive structure would be revealed. Thankfully, the day was beautiful and clear, without the fog that usually shrouds San Francisco. With only a few clouds off in the distance, it made for a picturesque sight.

  I thought we were booked for one helicopter, but as it turned out, we had two at our disposal. Imagine that—two helicopters, just for us! We decided to shoot Huell and his guest taking off toward the bridge in one while I shot Huell doing the interview in the other. Both of us circled back to land, and then I got into Huell’s helicopter to capture a second take of his interview against the beautiful Bay Area scenery. That took a lot of time and trouble, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to create an episode with multiple perspectives, thanks to the two helicopters—it made a one-camera show look like a multi-camera show. The pilots were happy to do what I asked, and I will always be grateful to them for giving me the opportunity to be creative.

  Of all the footage we shot that day, I think what impressed me the most was flying under the bridge. What a great shooting perspective, and what a thrill; I was like a kid in a candy store. With so many stunning shots, we easily could have edited the interview into a sixty-minute show. I don’t think the bridge has ever been covered so well in a one-camera shoot, and I’m pleased to say I was the one behind the camera. I still get a lot of comments from other camera operators asking how I did it, and their praise means a lot to me.

  After the flights, we drove back onto the bridge and got into an elevator that took us near the top. We made our way to the upper platform and stepped out into the brisk bay wind. To the south lay beautiful San Francisco, its buildings covering the undulating hills. The bay was hundreds of feet below us, and I began to feel—with a thrill and twinge of fear—how high up we were. I mean, this is the top of the Golden Gate Bridge we’re talking about. And though climbing up with all of my camera gear was tricky, it was a once-in-a-lifetime filming opportunity.

  Huell had a lot of fun on that trip. Ever the one to capture the human experience, he interviewed men who were replacing the original rivets, and he even spoke with the old-timers who had pounded in those red-hot rivets back when the bridge was built in the 1930s. He also talked to the painters who spend their lives keeping the bridge that striking golden-orange color. They told Huell that some painters don’t last through their first day because of the cold winds and frightening height. After being up on the top of that bridge, I really do understand why.

  All the preparation and grunt work that went into the shoot was worth it. The other day, I was watching the Golden Gate Bridge show with my wife, Gloria. She asked me how I got from my helicopter (from which I was shooting Huell and his pilot) into the other helicopter with Huell. I told her I had jumped over. She almost believed me, so I told her the truth. But a successful leap through the whirling blades sure would have made a great story.

  Good thing Louie wasn’t afraid of heights!

  Personally, I think this shoot was the most beautiful show we ever did. I’m really proud of it—both how it looked and the way it was shot. People tell me all the time that the Golden Gate Bridge show is their favorite California’s Gold episode. But I can’t take all the credit. The truth is, that remarkable bridge told me just how to shoot it so that I could show it off at its best.

  Another favorite show I did with Huell is a Visiting with Huell Howser shoot about the ornate vaudeville and movie theaters built in the 1920s and ’30s that line Broadway in downtown Los Angeles. I just love the look of that show, but it was memorable for other reasons as well. Huell said he wanted to interview this guy on the sidewalk, and if you’re familiar with that stretch of Broadway, you know just how crowded the sidewalk can be on a shopping Saturday.

  Getting ready to walk backward through downtown LA.

  “It’ll be just me and the person I’m interviewing, and we’ll walk for half a block and that’s it. Get the flavor of the street,” he said. Half a block soon turned into three blocks. Whenever Huell got inspired, he lost track of time—and sometimes, even me.

  I like to shoot people from the front, or sometimes from the side, depending on the look I’m going for. I decided to walk backward all the way, shooting Huell and his guest, constantly looking back to see what I was going to run into while keeping the camera steady. The thick crowds parted as we journeyed down the street, with Huell going full tilt on the interview, seemingly oblivious to me.

  At one point, I lost my perspective and I didn’t know where I was on the sidewalk. I slowed my walk and let them catch up with me, t
hen did a 360-degree turn around them as they continued their walk and talk. Halfway through the circle, I nearly collided with a mailbox, but I got my bearings and repositioned myself in front of them, and Huell got the interview in one long take.

  Other cameramen who saw that single-shot interview commented about the complete circle I made around Huell, saying, “I loved that 360 that you did!” and “That was a nice creative touch.” I had to be honest, so I told them I did that 360 to save the camera (and me!) from what could have been a nasty tumble. I still think the shot is one of my best, and I’m proud of the sixteen uncut minutes we captured in that scene.

  Another memorable show was one we shot on the B-2 stealth bomber up in Palmdale. I love machinery and technical stuff and, man, I was so happy that Huell had chosen to do the show on the bomber. I was in heaven. I got to sit at the controls and pretend that I was flying this big, beautiful baby—it sure felt good. Of course, every bit of footage I shot had to be closely examined by the government so I wouldn’t give away any military secrets. It all looked pretty complicated—I wouldn’t have even known what I was giving away.

  Huell was as excited as I had ever seen him when we were shooting that impressive airplane. He just may have set the California’s Gold record for the number of “gollys” and “gee whizzes” he uttered—maybe even more than during the “Big Things in the Desert” show.

  THE TRIP TO TBILISI

  In April of 1993, Huell and I traveled to Europe for a special program he was really excited to shoot. It didn’t turn out as he had planned, and ended with us coming home with plenty of footage but nothing that captured our original vision for the show. Yet this shoot-gone-bad may have been the most important event that we ever recorded on tape.

  Our destination was Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, a former state of the Soviet Union. The plan was to shoot the first private airlift of much-needed medications to a hospital in the city, with Huell accompanying the humanitarian team to document the mission. Huell saw it as an opportunity to show his viewers that there were good people in the world helping those in need. The show was supposed to be positive and uplifting. What we witnessed was the aftermath of the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the terrible toll it had taken on the common people.

  We were scheduled to leave in the early morning on a plane that was destined to land in Dallas with a stopover in Florida, but things didn’t go well from the beginning. As we taxied toward the runway, the plane’s wing hit a hangar and the wing-tip light got smashed. Though it was ultimately repaired, the process wound up delaying every other leg of our trip. That accident was an omen for what was to come.

  Once in the air, Huell sat down to interview Harry Thomason, the well-known co-producer of the long-running television series Designing Women. Harry, a good friend and admirer of Huell’s work, was part of the humanitarian effort in Tbilisi and the man responsible for helping us do a story about the mercy flight. Harry and two of his boyhood friends from Arkansas, Hayden McElroy and Jim Blair, had volunteered to pay for the flights in and out of Georgia, and they’d arranged for the airplane and crew to fly us there. As we flew, he told Huell about his desire to help the people of Georgia, who had been left without the most basic medicines and medical supplies in the wake of the Soviet Union’s downfall.

  We arrived late at the Dallas airport, where we picked up Hayden McElroy and got back into the air for the last leg to Florida. After a long night of travel, we landed and transferred to a Boeing 727 jet that had been waiting for us for hours. Sixteen thousand pounds of medications were already on the plane, along with trauma surgeon Trish Blair, who had devised the plan to get the supplies to Georgia. Dr. Blair was the sister of Jim Blair, who couldn’t make the trip himself but had helped finance it. We were also joined by several pilots, who I later learned were there to take over for one another as each pilot fatigued on the long, long flight to Tbilisi.

  In an in-flight interview with Huell, Dr. Blair explained her role as the founder and president of A Call to Serve (ACTS), the first humanitarian and development organization to work in Georgia after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Dr. Blair and ACTS volunteers had gathered the medical supplies onboard from around the country; these included bottles of perfectly good insulin that couldn’t be used in the United States because their labels had been applied upside down. She had been working in Georgia for some time and told Huell of her great concern for its people, especially the children.

  Huell interviews Dr. Trish Blair.

  The pilots sure had their hands full on that flight. Our older 727 had been designed for shorter-range flights, not an intercontinental mission. The plane had to land in Newfoundland, Ireland, and Turkey to refuel, and we were allowed to disembark only once, in Istanbul, to stretch our legs. By the time we arrived in Tbilisi, Georgia, it was around 2 a.m. We landed on a runway with no lights, about seven hours late, and I hadn’t slept a wink.

  A delegation of some forty people (including generals, dignitaries, and hospital personnel who had been expecting us at seven in the evening) was waiting to greet us. They piled us into cars and whisked us off to a hotel where, much to our surprise, they had set up a banquet in our honor. They fed us well, and straight vodka flowed out of pitchers set on the tables. Harry, allergic to alcohol, passed Huell his share of vodka, which Huell drank, as any polite guest would.

  The banquet, called Supra by the delegation, was grand, but by 5 a.m. Huell and I were exhausted. We went to our rooms and slept for an hour before we were rousted out of bed for the shoot. We were beat, and Huell had a big headache—we just wanted to sleep a few minutes more! But we were there to shoot a show, so out we went.

  Our first scene began with Huell touring a burn center that was filled with many terribly injured children. He interviewed the staff, who were struggling to care for the children with the meager medications and supplies they had on hand. The situation was pitiful, and the picture looked gray and washed out through my viewfinder. Huell came over and said, “Louie, there’s no story for me to take back home. I can’t make the story I was thinking of from this.” That was saying a lot, as Huell was capable of creating a good story from just about any situation put in front of him.

  So the show we intended to shoot fell apart, and we were in the former Soviet Union, thousands of miles from home, without a viable story. Huell asked me if I had any ideas about what to do. I remembered what he was great at: interviewing people in the street. I suggested that we visit a market and see what was there. He agreed, and off we went with our English-speaking guide to see what was happening in the streets of Tbilisi.

  What Huell and I witnessed in those city streets was disheartening, to say the least. The Soviet Union had collapsed two years prior, in December of 1991, and the result was fifteen separate countries that had been dependent on centralized planning and supplies coming from Moscow. Though Georgia was one of the countries to gain its freedom, its economy was in shambles.

  The market that our guide picked was outdoors on a busy street bordered by a train station on one side. It was teeming with people buying and trading food and merchandise. Vendors sat behind makeshift stands that looked like orange crates, selling anything they could: light bulbs, bars of laundry soup, potatoes. We even came upon one desperate man trying his hardest to sell an armload of fox pelts to a passing crowd that paid him no attention.

  Huell interviews Harry Thomason.

  Huell walked up to a man standing in front of a round tank mounted on wheels, with a pair of used shoes for sale propped against it. Our guide told Huell that the tank held homemade beer and invited him to taste it. Though he was always game to try things, including alcoholic beverages, even he had to hesitate at the offer. Against his better judgment, he agreed and was handed a glass of beer. He tasted it and made a small sour face. “It sure tastes different,” he said. I admired him for not spitting it out.

  Huell talks to a Georgian bread baker.

  Our guide told Huell that there were no
buses; only the subway was running. Most of the city’s electricity was out, which explained the candlelight in the hotel banquet room. He compared Georgia to America during the Great Depression: everything had ceased to work, and people were unable to meet their basic needs.

  It was like that everywhere we went. Yet the people were polite, courteous, and friendly. A woman in an indoor market, for example, offered Huell free Georgian-style baked bread that she had for sale. Huell tried to pay for it, but she refused money; the bread was a gift to him. He insisted, giving the money to our guide and asking him to make sure she accepted it. There was joy in her voice as she thanked Huell, so grateful to have the money.

  By that time, Huell had just about had it with the depressing market shots. Still trying to salvage the show, he asked our guide to take us someplace else that could be of interest.

  We shot monuments and buildings as we drove around the city, and we found a few people on the sidewalk in front of a foreign-language institute. Huell asked a sour-looking young woman what she thought of the current state of affairs in Georgia. She said flatly, “There are no places to have fun here. Just go back to America.”

  Huell looked back at the camera and shook his head, trying to make light of her comment, but I could see he was getting close to the end of his rope trying to get something positive for the show. He interviewed a few more people, most of whom were more optimistic than that woman, but, at the end of a long and difficult day, he gave up and told our guide to take us back to the hotel. I was thankful that he’d pulled the plug, but I felt bad that even after all our efforts, we still didn’t have a show.