If you ever watch old crime shows on television, you’ve seen me. Cop is chasing a guy down an alley or through some sketchy ghetto district, guy rounds the corner and turns over a garbage can to slow the cop down. It became a cliche, repeated on a dozen TV shows and in a few low-budget movies. But what no one realized was this: That was me, every single time. On Kojak, Telly Savalas bangs his knees into the can and immediately decides I’m not worth risking his nice suit over. I wasn’t the big fish, just a goon, so why bother? On Hawaii Five-O, Dano’s stunt double actually does an Olympic-worthy forward tumble over the barrel and continues the race without breaking stride. I eventually lost him when I jumped onto a moving garbage truck. Starsky and Hutch ran into one another like Keystone Kops. My favorite was when Det. Belker on Hill Street Blues fell flat on his face, then slowly rose up, growling like a dog.
I got away in all these instances. Very occasionally I was cuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car, but it was inconsequential to the story arc. Getting away added tension and mystery. I was living in Los Angeles and had a union card, so when directors needed to eat 75 seconds of screen time, they’d send for the garbage can guy. “Get me the can!” they’d bawl at some lackey and, boom, maybe a thousand dollars would fall into my lap.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had gotten taken back to headquarters and interrogated. Maybe Scorsese would have noticed. Maybe Cassavetes. Who knows? The sky’s the limit when you’re running for your life.
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