by Tavis Smiley
Although I make my living on television, I’m no expert on the formula that makes a particular show a hit or miss with its audience. However, there was one HBO series that I figured out pretty quickly—Entourage. It’s about four childhood friends from Queens transplanted to Hollywood via the success of their curly-headed leader, Vincent Chase (actor Adrian Grenier). The testosterone-heavy show, loosely based on the life of celebrity Mark Wahlberg, revolves around the gang’s party-hopping, woman-chasing, star-gazing, and movie-making adventures.
I understand the appeal. The entourage has the hookup, thanks to Vince’s sudden ascent to A-list status. And, as we all know, everybody wants the hookup! Inside or outside Hollywood, everybody wishes they had a go-to person, a powerful friend who can grant magic-wand-like favors and provide instant access to big-name concerts, sporting events, chic night clubs, jaunts with the rich and famous, or the right connections to help secure a sensational, high-paying job or other opportunities.
I know I did. When this Kokomo kid arrived in LA in 1985, I was instantly hypnotized by the city’s glitz and glamour and eagerly anticipated running with the big dogs. I didn’t have a “Vince.” But I did have Jim Brown, the best player to ever bulldoze his way up and down a football field.
Through a failure I experienced with Jim, I learned an invaluable lesson about the real price tag of the favor game.
A Lesson in Tinseltown
Earlier that year, I met Jim by way of Chi, my college roommate. We had gone to LA to attend a national convention of student leaders. Tamara, Chi’s cousin, was Jim’s friend. After driving us to his home in Hollywood Hills, Tamara introduced me to the pro football Hall-of-Famer-turned-actor-turned-activist, who was in his kitchen engaged in a serious game of backgammon (a game he loves). After Tamara told him I was a promising student leader, Jim said, to my delight: “Great. We need a couple more young men like you.”
Jim then introduced me to his backgammon buddy, George Hughley, a former Washington Redskins football player. The chance meeting was a testament to a favorite saying of my grandmother, “Big Mama”: “That’s the kind of God we serve!”
Once I landed in LA, I started formulating a plan to stay. The idea that I could do another internship, this time with LA Mayor Tom Bradley, was percolating in my head. Meeting George was a blessing. Not only was he incredibly helpful, he had also worked for Mayor Bradley.
The next day, George drove me to City Hall. I was introduced to several members of the mayor’s staff, including Craig Lawson, the official in charge of internships. Craig told me to write a letter when I got back to school, and he’d give my internship request every consideration.
After more than nine months of writing weekly letters, making numerous phone calls, and enduring two frustrating flights back to LA to plead my case, I eventually received a phone call from the mayor’s office. My perseverance had paid off: The mayor invited me back to Los Angeles to intern for him.
Jim graciously agreed to let me stay with him until I got settled. So there I was, my first few weeks in California, crashing in the guest house of one of the most well-known celebrities in all of Hollywood. I spent a good month living the high-life, gawking and greeting visiting celebrities and notables I’d seen only on TV, movie screens, and magazine covers. With the kind of raging ambition I had, it was impossible for me to avoid greedily lapping up as much of Jim’s world as I possibly could.
He was accommodating, making sure I was comfortable in his home and, on occasion, offering me tickets to concerts and other events. It was his kindness combined with my star-struck naïveté that began to fuel my habit of asking for things before my host even offered. With parrot-like persistence, I’d ask: “Jim, can I go here … Jim, can I go there … Can I do this, Jim … Can I … Can I … Jim, Jim, Jim?”
Not known for suffering fools gladly, Jim had apparently grown weary of my entreaties. One day, I approached him while he was playing his favorite game poolside with a few friends. I can’t recall his exact words, but I do remember Jim’s steely “I’m-about-to-go-off” glare.
“Why are you always begging so much?”
Right in front of his amused backgammon buddies, Big Jim laid me out:
“Listen, I don’t ask people for anything. The reason I don’t is because I don’t want to owe. Every time I ask somebody for something, you can rest assured they’re going to ask me for something later. And I don’t want to spend my life returning favors.
“If somebody gives me something, that’s one thing—because I’m Jim Brown, people do give me stuff. But I don’t go around asking,” Jim continued. “If I don’t do it for myself, I sho’ ain’t gonna be returning no favors for you. So just stop asking me!”
Whoa!
Standing there, a thoroughly humiliated 20-year-old, I made two vows to myself:
#1: Never ask Jim Brown for anything again, ever!
#2: Get the heck out of Big Jim’s house!
It took my moving out and time for my adolescent ego to heal, but eventually, I reached the obvious conclusion that Jim was a straight shooter who told me exactly what I most needed to hear. Even though I didn’t appreciate the verbal smack-down, in my grown-up, professional life, I have come to respect Jim’s mantra: “Don’t do me no favors!”
“Oh No, What Do They Want Now?”
As I’ve had to hustle, scratch, and finesse my way through life, I’ve come to realize just how right Big Jim was. Every time I asked somebody to do something for me, that person would come back and ask for a favor in return. Quid pro quo, right?
Wrong! Nine times out of ten, whatever I requested was nowhere near as significant as what was wanted in return. Say I asked for two tickets to a play; the favor in return would be something like my speaking to that person’s group in Newark, where I’d be expected to fly myself back and forth; put myself in a hotel; pay for transportation and meals; and deliver a free speech—about $35,000 worth of stuff—for a favor that may have been worth about $150!
The point is that when you reach certain levels of success, the favors are never equal. Jim tried to warn a pesky college intern that he could avoid a whole lot of headaches if he didn’t run around asking folks for favors. I get it now.
Ask any member of my staff, who will attest that if I’m interested in going anywhere or doing anything that costs money, the first thing that staffer says is: “Mr. Smiley would like to inquire about purchasing tickets.”
Now, as it was for Big Jim, some people insist on gifting me tickets. If that’s the case … well, I reserve the right to graciously accept. However, I still insist they charge me for something, perhaps two of the four tickets. Basically, I try to never ask for freebies. Consequently, I don’t spend my life returning unequal favors.
We all know people who, whenever their names pop up on the Caller ID, provoke an automatic response: “Oh, no, no, no. They want something!”
Believe me, you want to avoid landing on that “Oh, Lord, he/she wants something” list. Not only is it a lonely place, it’s also no way to build a career, advance a project, or move you to that treasured and respected place of self-sufficiency that we should all strive to achieve.
A Hand-up, Not a Handout
Don’t get me wrong; no one makes it on his or her own. Jim never hesitated to help me get on my feet. He just had to check me when I attempted to become dependent on his kindness. Everybody needs somebody, and every somebody should help someone who’s less fortunate and less connected. I’m not criticizing those who need temporary help. I’m talking about capable folk who depend on and expect permanent help.
It’s not just young people or the Hollywood and entertainment types either. We live in a culture where everybody wants the hookup, the easy way in. Even before the onset of our nation’s economic meltdown, millions of Americans had no clue how to survive without the government’s largesse. Some will endure mortifying trips to the welfare or unemployment office for years just to avoid the do-for-self mandate.
Ironically, many Rep
ublicans, who staunchly oppose economic relief for bona-fide needy families, willingly slather taxpayer dollars on “needy” billionaires and bankers. When the auto and financial industries were teetering on the edge of collapse, they turned to taxpayers for handouts. The $700 billion in TARP (Troubled Asset Relief Program) funds—which helped rescue dozens of corporate giants in exchange for huge regulatory restrictions (arguably not huge enough)—stifled autonomy and diluted ownership. Only a few executives had the fortitude to turn down government money and fend for themselves.
This kind of selfishness and cowardice is, of course, quite different from individuals who, through no fault of their own, find themselves in dire straits—economically and politically disenfranchised. Why is government intervention unquestioned at the top of the economic ladder but roundly and frequently condemned at the bottom? Hookups for the rich with wellplaced lobbyists and beat-downs for the disenfranchised voiceless poor, that’s why.
Balancing the Scales
There’s a new consciousness circulating among individuals and industries dedicated to ending or reducing worldwide poverty and hunger. It’s called empowerment. In brief, ideas, strategies, and programs are being introduced that help the poor help themselves with dignity.
It was an amazing tale of charitable empowerment that motivated musician, songwriter, and philanthropist Alicia Keys to aid an orphanage in South Africa.
The documentary film, We Are Together: The Children of Agape, tells the story of 12-year-old Slindile Moya and the children of Agape Orphanage, an agency in South Africa for children who have lost their parents to the HIV pandemic. Moya is a member of the Agape Children’s Choir. The film captures the children’s effort to produce a CD that they hoped would raise funds to build a new orphanage and buy better clothing and deliver other essentials.
In the midst of rehearsing for a major concert and recording the CD in the summer of 2005, the orphanage caught fire and burned to the ground. Yet the children pressed on with producing their CD and clinging to the hope that someone, somewhere would hear their music and come to their rescue.
Someone did.
Keys, co-founder of Keep a Child Alive—an organization that provides life-saving anti-retroviral medications, care, education, and food to HIV-positive youth in South Africa, Kenya, Rwanda, Uganda, and India—learned about the Agape Children’s Choir’s plight. She invited the children to perform in a fundraising concert in New York where she and Paul Simon were the headliners. Not only did the children raise enough money from the concert and CD sales to build a new orphanage; Keys’s foundation works to make sure the choir and the orphanage receive continuous support from all over the world.
This group of children was not seeking handouts for themselves; they were trying to help others whose parents had died from the plague of HIV. Because they felt empowered to do for others, they were rewarded with international recognition and much-needed assistance.
New programs that actually allow people to learn to help themselves and sustain their own lives and communities may be the 21st-century models that provide a genuine alternative to government dependency. Programs and projects like the Agape Children’s Choir aren’t seeking undeserved or unwarranted favors or handouts, just a hand-up to dignity and self-sufficiency. We’re talking about dependence versus independence, respect versus disrespect. When you respect and support human beings’ innate desire to do for self, you oftentimes find that people, including the indigent, are more than ready to operate in their own self-interest.
You don’t have to be impoverished to have an indigent attitude. Our relationships and friendships should be of value to us; why risk them by asking for favors all the time? Of course, setting boundaries in relationships can clearly save you a lot of grief down the road. But why lose a good friend because you stepped into the begs-too-much territory? A safeguard is to make sure you always give before you get. Be it in your personal or business life, reciprocity is sweeter when the exchange of services, favors, or goods is mutual.
Big Jim illustrated that there’s a never-ending price to pay when you ask, plead, or expect special privileges and undeserved access. The hookup comes with follow-up requests that oftentimes outweigh the initial favor. You should always seek independence and autonomy, do for self, and insist on paying your own way—if you can.
And if you can’t, perhaps you should do without—until you can.
CHAPTER 4
YOU’RE
ALWAYS ON
Everything was copacetic. We had about 15 minutes before BET Tonight with Tavis Smiley went on the air live from Washington, DC. The lights, monitors, and microphones were cued, and my questions were at the ready. I was told my guest—director, writer, and actor Robert Townsend—had arrived at the California studio. The plan was to discuss his new film, B.A.P.S (Black American Princesses), starring Halle Berry. I was looking forward to an engaging conversation about the new film and other matters.
“Yo, Tavis, you seen the movie; how was it?” a crew member asked.
Now, I love Townsend’s work. Hollywood Shuffle, The Five Heartbeats—great movies. B.A.P.S, on the other hand: hated it!
“Man, the movie was so horrible. It was the worst piece of sh** I have ever seen in my life,” I told my crew, adding, “and what I really can’t understand is why Halle would allow herself to be in such a horrible movie. I mean it was just that bad.”
After a few chuckles, we went about the business of preparing for a good show. Five minutes to live air: My director walks on the set. I can tell something is wrong. This close to live air, my director should be in the control room, not on the set. Sure enough, he comes over and whispers in my ear.
“Tavis, uh, we have a problem. The audio guy had your microphone open when you were talking. Robert’s in the chair in LA. He heard everything you said about his film.”
Oh, Lord!
Now, with only a couple of minutes before show time, I opened my mike to greet my guest.
“Hey, Robert, good evening.”
“Yeah, so you think my movie is a piece of sh**, huh?” Townsend growled.
Before I could respond, he unleashed a diatribe of profanity. I let him go for a few minutes. I owed him that. It wasn’t his fault he heard me trash his film. This was our fault, not his—the volume should have been turned down. Way down.
With one minute left before air time, I abruptly interrupted Townsend’s rant:
“Robert, I’m really sorry you were subjected to hearing what I thought of your film. However, what you heard was exactly what I thought of the movie. Again, I’m sorry, but I didn’t like the film.”
Silence on the other end; I barreled on:
“Here’s the bottom line: What you heard was me just talking to my boys. It would never come up on the air. I am a professional and you are a professional. We are going to go on the air, and for the next hour we’re going to be professionals.”
More silence. Thirty seconds to go. Negotiation was out the window.
“OK, I hear your silence and it is profound,” I continued. “Let me just promise you, I will be a professional as long as you’re a professional.” I didn’t want to sound threatening, but with just a few seconds to go, I had to let him know that I wasn’t interested in an on-air feud. “If you try to clown me for what happened off the air, I’m going there with you,” I said. “If you act a fool, I’ll be a bigger fool. We can deal with this later, but not on the air. Again, I apologize. Let’s go.”
More silence. The tension hung like a soaking-wet quilt on a thin clothesline.
Now, we’re on air live. I introduce my guest, highlighting his movie-making career and mentioning that he’s about to release a movie starring Halle Berry.
“So, Robert, how you doing tonight?”
“Fine.”
“Thanks for coming on.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is your fifth film now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it like working wit
h Halle Berry?”
“Great.”
I could not believe what was happening. This brother planned to sit there on the air and stoically utter one-word, monosyllabic answers. There was no way we could sustain a one-hour conversation like this.
The show was live, but we took phone calls every night. Quicker than I ever had with previous guests, I told the audience that we were going to take a commercial break, and afterward I said: “Let’s take as many calls as possible for my guest, Robert Townsend.”
Thankfully, the first caller showered Townsend with love. He listed movies Townsend had made that he thoroughly enjoyed and complimented him as a pioneer in Black film.
Townsend might have been furious with me, but he wasn’t going to be rude to his fans. Getting myself out of the way and letting callers drive the show were key factors in flipping a volatile script and turning lemons into lemonade. The show went reasonably well; afterward, he dressed me down again. He called BET’s founder, Bob Johnson, to complain. Without the clock ticking away toward airtime, I was better able to address the situation. I wrote Townsend a letter. Even though my engineer’s gaffe allowed Townsend to hear me dismiss his movie, I was responsible for speaking negatively about a guest before inviting him into my figurative house. It was a mistake.
I have seen Townsend since the interview; he’s cordial when we meet. I can only hope and believe my letter and sincere apology were accepted.
Watch Your Mouth
I’m not the first and won’t be the last to pay the price for a “live” microphone mistake.
Live mikes caught President Obama calling Kanye West a “jackass” and Vice President Joe Biden dropping the F-bomb when health-care legislation was passed. A few years back, during a break before appearing on a FOX News program, the Rev. Jesse Jackson made a huge faux pas when the microphone pinned to his lapel picked up his frustrated comments about wanting to castrate Obama. George W. Bush, standing before a cluster of microphones while campaigning for president, was overheard calling a New York Times reporter a “major league a——hole.” Evangelist Pat Robertson had egg smeared all over his face during a CNN interview when his description of a departing guest as a “homo” went out over the air.