Good advice from Horace

Horace James said to me, “Forget it, Freddie. It’s a rough life and you would not be able to take it.” I had asked Horace what were my chances of making it as a professional actor in England. After all, I had a few months at the Central School of Speech and Drama and had planned to take the London University as well as the Associate of the Drama Board exams and if I got through all that, I thought I would be well qualified for jobs. Horace did not think so. He went on to say that being a British Council Scholar, having certificates and loads of talent did not mean a thing when it came to getting parts in plays or films in London.

“First of all, you got to look the part. As far as looking as a West Indian is concerned, you don’t stand a chance. They want big black guys like Brock Peters — the negro guy in To Kill a Mocking Bird. Look at me all I can get is bit parts. The only role for you will be as a Sudanese or Egyptian. And how many plays or films have parts for brown skin actors — one in ten thousand.” He then went on to explain how hard he was having it and said when ever he got a job he had to save as much as he could because he did not know when the next role would come. “Look, first of all you got to have an agent and he is the one who searches round for jobs. I was really scrunting and my agent rang and said, ‘Bob Hope is making a movie in London and there is a part for a black guy, tomorrow is the interview at 10 am at such and such a place.”

Horace told me, he spent most of that night, getting his curriculum vitae ready. He was well prepared for the interview with his brief case packed with recommendations, clippings and photographs. He arrived very early in the auditorium. There were about three or four black guys there already and he thought that was all but every minute more and more arrived in droves until there were about two to three hundred blacks. At ten o’clock on the dot, the white American director with two producers came on the stage and said, “Good morning everybody. We are looking for a service attendant. Bob Hope drives up and says to him, ‘Fill her up, boy!’ We want the actor to repeat this as a question. He has to say, ‘Fill her up boy?’Get it. Let me hear that guy over there...say, ‘Fill her up, boy?”

“The director pointed to a man in the middle of the hall. The guy responded, ‘Fill her up, boy?’ Then he asked another and another about eight or so. Then he selected three persons out of that number and asked them to come on stage. The director thanked us for coming and that was the interview.” Horace said as he left the building, all he did not do was cry. He did not even get a chance to say, “Fill her up boy?” Then I told him about a story this student in the Teachers’ Drama Class told me. There was an actor who got a bit part on the London stage and all he had to say was, “Hark, I hear the cannon roar.” He rehearsed like mad placing the emphasis on the first word, “Hark, I hear the cannon road.” Then the third, “Hark, I hear the cannon roar” and so on. Now it was opening night, he was excited and nervous. His big moment in time had come. When he was on stage, the cannon fired — BOOM. He trembled and shouted, “What the hell was that!”