You're Wanted On Set
With Mr. Nicholson
As the story goes, a woman was waiting in line one hot summer day at the old ice cream stand on Argilla Road. While deciding on her order, she sensed a slight kerfuffle behind her, then silence. Not wanting to add attention to the fuss, she resisted the impulse to gawk behind her. When it was time to place her order, she cast a modest glance over her shoulder; when the brisk gesture was finished, she was now facing the ice cream scooper, ashen white and stunned. She blurted out something ice cream-ish, hurriedly dropped some money on the counter, quickly took her ice cream, and dashed to the safety of her car.
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Standing behind her was Academy Award-winning actor Jack Nicholson. He proceeded to purchase his sweet, cool treat and strolled away with all eyes on him till he was well out of sight. It took a while, but the woman bashfully returned to the ice cream window and explained to the ice cream scooper that, in her shock, she had rushed away before she got her cone. With a teenage-bemused tone, the scooper replied, "You put it in your purse, lady." Her eyes went wide, and she snapped open her purse. Among her wallet, keys, and sundries was a melting ice cream cone.
This story accurately represents the collective reaction that Ipswich, Massachusetts, had in the summer of 1986 when the 22 million-dollar movie, 'The Witches of Eastwick,' came to our tiny New England town. We were all completely unprepared, wide-eyed, and fit the seaside-yokel stereotype to a T, or so I thought. Like it or not, Hollywood had arrived to sprinkle an unsettling stardust on our salty Cape Ann summer.
Ipswich is a small beach community with a population of around four thousand. What sets it apart from other seaside towns is a 165-acre estate named Castle Hill that perfectly fits the film's protagonist. It's a magnificent Great Gadsby-esque property with all the adornments of a 1920's Tudor Revival mansion, complete with outbuildings, landscapes, and gardens. The film is also based on a novel written by the two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning author John Updike, who lived in Ipswich from 1957 to 1973. It makes sense that the production would 'immerse itself' in the writer's environment by shooting in various Massachusetts locations around the state. All to capture that authentic element that Updike penned into the story.
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I had just turned fourteen and was working a summer job at Castle Hill estate, the very location where the film's protagonist, Jack Nicholson, was set to shoot. I was in the eye of this Hollywood storm. The old estate was washed in a fresh atmosphere of electricity, buzzing with excitement. I was utterly caught up in it.
My boss was Bill McCarthy, the House Manager at Castle Hill, and he had a very different response to the film being in the mansion and on the grounds. To him, this was nothing more than a bunch of out-of-towners making a colossal mess he would have to clean up. Bill grew up in Ipswich, and the McCarthy family goes back many generations. Bill was the first boss I ever had that was genuinely fun - pranks and jokes were part of the working day, and much of that work was an absolute slog. It mainly consisted of setting up and breaking down hardwood dancefloors, stages, risers, tables, and chairs for events, weddings, and conferences held at the estate - event labor. But we had a blast simply because that's the tone Bill set for the entire crew on the job.
As that summer of '86 went on, my celebrity expectations were going unfulfilled. I hadn't had any encounters, and it became clear that Bill was putting our work locations as far away from any shoots on the estate as possible. The gravitational pull of witnessing a big Hollywood movie was becoming undeniable, and I decided to surrender to it and take a shot. As we were toiling away one day, I exclaimed,
"Bill, we should go down to the set and check out the movie; they're shooting outside all day, so we should be able to see Jack."
His reply was instant, and he didn't even look up from what he was doing;
"I already seen him."
I was slightly surprised, "You already went down to the set without us?"
"No," he replied, "I saw him in the movie where he goes psycho in the hotel."
It took me a second; "Oh, you mean The Shining."
"Yeah," he said. "It was good; he goes out of his fuckin' mind."
I felt like we had jumped the track, "Yeah, but I mean, we can see him on the movie set, like, see him in person."
"Why?" he replied.
It took me a minute to respond, and at the same time, I wasn't sure if Bill was reeling me into some sort of joke. I mentally checked myself for a 'KICK ME' sign taped to my back. I went on cautiously;
"Well, now you get to see the guy from The Shining in person, like, in real life. Don't you want to see him in real life?"
His reply was the same: "Why?"
Now I was sure there was a 'KICK ME' sign taped to my back, but at the same time, I was not letting this go. If I was going to be a punchline for the crew, all intently watching this exchange, so be it.
"You know, you get to see the actor from The Shining, but in person, like Jack Nicholson, is an awesome actor, you can see him work and see how he gets all that on film." I felt like I was repeating myself. Bill was now looking at me with a puzzled expression; his reply came with a steady delivery;
"I've seen the guy projected on a forty-foot high screen in stereo sound; it doesn't get any better than that; why would I want to see him in person when I can see him up on a movie screen?". I was completely and utterly stumped - my responses kept repeating themselves. They included starts and stops along with ridiculous phrases like "it would be cool" and "everyone wants to see movie stars." Still, my impulse and intellect were in complete disagreement.. Somehow, in my fourteen-year-old brain, I thought there should be a valid counterpoint to this, but I couldn't fine one..
Then the diabolical happened; Bill threw down the gauntlet.
"If you wanna go watch them make a movie, go ahead - take the rest of the day. But I'm not going".
I felt the crew fix their gaze on me, looking to see what I'd do next. Bill drew a line in the sand. All of this inner conflict and turmoil culminated in the textbook default response of a teenager: a shrug of the shoulders with, "Whatever."
I continued working with the crew and Bill, and I couldn't help but notice that Bill was now wearing a subtle but perpetual smile.
All these years later, any counterpoint I could bring to Bill remains blank. I have no new nugget of information that life experience has provided to justify passive celebrity stalking - Bill was right then, and he's right now. In the passing years, some aspects have revealed themselves; Jack Nicholson would probably agree with Bill, too. Meaning if Jack, or any celebrity, could choose between people engaging their public persona or their actual one, they'd choose the public.. I never went to the set to watch movie-making. Who knows what would have happened if I had? Probably nothing, but I do know this: Jack Nicholson could never have imparted the lesson that Bill McCarthy did in showing me the importance of not being moved by the influence of others. Take people as they are, and give energy and attention to those around you, the people you are close to because they deserve it. Not some out-of-towner that you'll likely never see again. The social currency of a celebrity encounter will never outweigh a life lesson well learned. When I look back on the Hollywood excitement of Ipswich in 1986, I can see that there were just as many folks just like Bill. Quietly having an ambivalent attitude toward the entire Hollywood escapade, and thankfully, I can count myself among them by the skin of my teeth.
I would never avoid frivolous or 'throw caution to the wind' endeavors—I have had plenty of instances when a coffee ice cream cone has been melting in my purse, and I expect many more of them in the future. But at least with this perspective and the experience Bill gave me in 1986, I don't need a bemused teenage ice cream scooper to tell me when it's happening.