The Day Superman Saved My Life.
A long time ago, I made a movie with Christopher Reeve. It was a knock-off for Turner Entertainment, something called “The Rose and the Jackal.” It concerned the life of Elizabeth Rose Greenhow, a Confederate spy, and Alan Pinkerton, the godfather of the U.S. Secret Service. Elizabeth Greenhow drowned at a young age; Alan Pinkerton went on to become a legend.
Christopher Reeve played Alan Pinkerton. An early segment of the movie is a highly dramatized (read: fictionalized) account of an assassination attempt on the newly-elected president Lincoln during a train ride from Baltimore to Washington, DC. The segment involves extensive gunplay on a steam train.
My job, in the grand scheme of things, was to load black-powder handguns and hand them to Superman. It takes a few moments to actually load a black-powder firearm, and my job was to be sure that “Mr. Pinkerton” did not run out of six-shooters during his gunfight aboard the train.
This segment was filmed aboard the Stone Mountain Railroad, a clever recreation of an 1860s railway. At their peak, the operators of the Stone Mountain amusement park featured a Western town reenactment, including a climactic walk-down gunfight. By the time we got there to film the movie, only the train survived.
One detail that fascinated me was the vibration coming off the boxcar, which is the first car behind the steam locomotive. When I asked, a crewman opened the door and showed me the diesel unit that hides inside the car, and actually pushes the rest of the train. The steam locomotive is a sham; a put-on. The boxcar pushes the train.
For this little job of work, I was employed to hang from a lineman’s belt from a ladder on the side of this boxcar. From there, safely out of the frame, I would pass handguns up to the star of the picture, Mr. Reeve. Like Hopalong Cassidy, he would have a six-shooter with twelve or fourteen shots in it.
As is usual with such productions, the greenskeepers prowled the set, and hacked down any tree limbs that might interfere with shooting. This time, they missed one.
The train was moving flat out, 35 or 40 miles per hour. I was fastened to the ladder, and watching Superman shoot it out with the bad guys. My sole job was to make sure he didn’t run out of shootable pistols.
Suddenly Reeve yelled “Look out!” He snatched me against the ladder, breaking my nose. The train locked down. People were screaming “Cut!” all over the set.
The greenskeepers had missed a tree limb. It was coming right at my head, at whatever speed the train was moving. I would have been killed, if Superman had not seen it coming.
One of the delights of filming this movie was horseback riding with the stars. Chris Reeve was an accomplished rider, brought his own horse, and I enjoyed my five minutes as a wrangler who got to share the trail with him.
I’ve been tossed from a few horses, but when I heard the news about Reeve’s accident, I was horrified. I sent a letter, not expecting a reply.
Dana Reeve wrote me a wonderful letter. She assured me that her husband remembered me, and she even managed a joke about not crashing any more horses, and watching out for choo-choo trains.
Both of these precious people are gone now. I never had the honor to meet Mrs. Reeve, but I’ll never forget the day Superman broke my nose.
Christopher Reeve played Alan Pinkerton. An early segment of the movie is a highly dramatized (read: fictionalized) account of an assassination attempt on the newly-elected president Lincoln during a train ride from Baltimore to Washington, DC. The segment involves extensive gunplay on a steam train.
My job, in the grand scheme of things, was to load black-powder handguns and hand them to Superman. It takes a few moments to actually load a black-powder firearm, and my job was to be sure that “Mr. Pinkerton” did not run out of six-shooters during his gunfight aboard the train.
This segment was filmed aboard the Stone Mountain Railroad, a clever recreation of an 1860s railway. At their peak, the operators of the Stone Mountain amusement park featured a Western town reenactment, including a climactic walk-down gunfight. By the time we got there to film the movie, only the train survived.
One detail that fascinated me was the vibration coming off the boxcar, which is the first car behind the steam locomotive. When I asked, a crewman opened the door and showed me the diesel unit that hides inside the car, and actually pushes the rest of the train. The steam locomotive is a sham; a put-on. The boxcar pushes the train.
For this little job of work, I was employed to hang from a lineman’s belt from a ladder on the side of this boxcar. From there, safely out of the frame, I would pass handguns up to the star of the picture, Mr. Reeve. Like Hopalong Cassidy, he would have a six-shooter with twelve or fourteen shots in it.
As is usual with such productions, the greenskeepers prowled the set, and hacked down any tree limbs that might interfere with shooting. This time, they missed one.
The train was moving flat out, 35 or 40 miles per hour. I was fastened to the ladder, and watching Superman shoot it out with the bad guys. My sole job was to make sure he didn’t run out of shootable pistols.
Suddenly Reeve yelled “Look out!” He snatched me against the ladder, breaking my nose. The train locked down. People were screaming “Cut!” all over the set.
The greenskeepers had missed a tree limb. It was coming right at my head, at whatever speed the train was moving. I would have been killed, if Superman had not seen it coming.
One of the delights of filming this movie was horseback riding with the stars. Chris Reeve was an accomplished rider, brought his own horse, and I enjoyed my five minutes as a wrangler who got to share the trail with him.
I’ve been tossed from a few horses, but when I heard the news about Reeve’s accident, I was horrified. I sent a letter, not expecting a reply.
Dana Reeve wrote me a wonderful letter. She assured me that her husband remembered me, and she even managed a joke about not crashing any more horses, and watching out for choo-choo trains.
Both of these precious people are gone now. I never had the honor to meet Mrs. Reeve, but I’ll never forget the day Superman broke my nose.
posted by Robert at 11:00 PM
8 Comments:
Not being a very accomplished rider of flesh and blood steeds myself, (preferring the steel variety) I still can't help thinking that if Chris Reeve was a more accomplished rider, he'd be with us yet.
Fascinating anecdote, though...and sad about his wife, too.
OLA, Yeah that was my first thought too. Don't make us worry like that Possum!
Anyway, my dauther recently worked for the Shakespeare Theater of New Jersey as House Manager. Dana Reeve was a board member of the theater. My daughter's boss there was Bonnie Monte, and it was Bonnie who introduced Dana and Christopher to each other.
And if you think that's interesting, I know a guy named 'Possum' who...
I ain't shutting down UPI. That would give too many people too much satisfaction.
I once got swatted off a horse by a peach tree. The thing was just there, where I wanted to ride through.
I wonder how many times Jack has spilled that bike of his. The CDC says horses are five times more likely to kill you; a motorcycle is a machine that obeys commands...a horse has a mind of its own.
I did my last horse fall in "Glory", taking down an 18-year-old mare. I don't get killed in movies, ever since.
I can still remember Christopher Reeves as a rather wicked charactor on one of my favorite soap operas. This whas long before he was Superman. He was so good lookingand he had some good roles ,but I always liked him better as the rascal ,he was very good at it.
His wife was so beautiful ,and at first I was rather surprised that she stayed with him ,then I was truly amazed at the was she became his advocate ,his voice, his legs . She went way beyond what most loving wives would have. And then this... if seems so unfairand yet they are together now as they were in life.
Possum ,that is a wonderful story,a lot of Hollywierd pretty boys, wouldn't have saved you, they would just have ducked.
Very interesting and touching anecdote, Possum. You're always a surprise and never a bore!
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Dana was as class an act as there could have been. I was shocked and saddened that she passed so quickly!
Good story possum
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Post a Comment
<< Home