When I was born in Chicago, Ill. on July 13, 1942, the doctor slapped my
mother. Badda-BING! Thank you very much. Life was pretty much like any
kid's until I discovered acting in a college production of "The Skin of
Our Teeth" at Ripon College in Wisconsin. (I was thrown out of school my
senior year.) I failed all my senior courses. I slept through the entire
year, waking up only to eat pizza. I didn't want to be anything. Shortly
thereafter I married my honor-student wife (to the obvious delight of
her parents) and moved to California.
My goal was to become an actor. I got a contract with Columbia for $150
a week. This was in 1965 when studios were still telling their contract
players what kind of haircut ot get and what women they should have on
their arms at the Oscars. I was cast as a bellhop in "Dead Heat on a
Merry Go Round", so I acted like a bellhop. I was told I'd never make it
in Hollywood because I didn't act like a movie star. They were
determined to send me back to acting school until I learned how not to
act like a bellhop.
I did the usual starving artist bit until I tired of starving. Decided
to become a carpenter. Hey, if it was good enough for the Son of God, it
was good enough for me! I was totally self-taught, learned from books
and the exercise of logic. It was wonderful. My first paying job was
building a recording studio for Sergio Mendez in his backyard. I got bit
parts in couple of big movies in the late seventies, but I made my
living as a carpenter for almost eight years. It beat going to parties
and introducing myself as an "out of work actor". I finally made it
"big" as an actor, but I still feel like the carpenter I was all those
years ago.
I have a pretty hectic schedule these days, but I still make time for my
woodworking. I've been able to afford a pretty nice place in Beverly
Hills, complete with woodworking shop and all the p*wer tools a guy like
Norm could want. But I still get the most pleasure from the simple
sharpening of a chisel, or a plane blade...From hearing that sound of
the blade cutting a wisp of wood... from the smell of wood molecules as
they meet the air for the very first time. It's not really practical for
me to go to garage sales and flea markets anymore. (You guys don't
realize how good you have it.) But on the plus side, I own everything
Lie-Neilsen ever made.
No, I haven't won an Oscar yet, but if I ever do I'll probably just melt
it down to make ornate little plumb bobs. If any of you ever figure out
who I am, don't let it get out or I'll have to lose this psuedonym and
come back as somebody else. Thanks for letting me hang out on the porch
with you all. I'm learning a lot about the historical handtools. (A
SPECIAL thanks to those of you who answer my "newbie" questions.)
Darren C. Addy
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