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Original Date of Publication: April 12, 2007 |
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Professor
Toru Tanaka was a major internationally-known wrestling star, a
former World Champion. Standing slightly over six feet in height,
the good professor weighed a remarkably muscular 325 pounds. He was
a tenth degree martial arts grand master and one of the toughest
people on the planet – very possibly THE toughest! Tanaka and I had
been friends for quite a long while. Over the years, we had spent
hundreds of hours together in dressing rooms, on the road, in
various and assorted restaurants, and, of course, in the wrestling
ring. At times, especially when we were wrestling in the same areas
of the country (we called them “territories”), we would run into
each other up to five or six times a week. And, because of the
nature of the wrestling business, sometimes a year or more would go
by until our individual paths would once again cross.
In the early 1980s, I decided to accept fewer wrestling bookings and
concentrate on APS Entertainment, the Hollywood, California based
organization I had founded two years earlier. Although I had
stayed in touch with Tanaka, I had not actually seen him for a couple
of years. I was at my desk at our Sunset Boulevard offices when the
receptionist walked in. “There’s a Toru Tanaka for you,” she said.
I was surprised. “Tanaka’s here?” I asked. “No, he’s on the
phone.” The last I had heard, he was out of the country, so that
did made more sense. I picked up the phone. “How are you, my
friend?” I asked. Tanaka told me that he was good, but something in
his voice caused me to question his answer. “Are you tired?” I
asked. “Oh, yes, very tired,” he replied. “I’ve been wrestling
every night and traveling every day. You know what I mean.
Sometimes you just need a couple of days off to sleep and recover.”
“And, to allow your body to heal,” I added. “That’s very true. My
knees are pretty good, but my ankle is giving me problems. I’m
afraid that if I don’t slow down this pace, I’ll end up on
crutches,” Tanaka admitted. “Then take a week off,” I suggested.
“I’m in Puerto Rico now,” Tanaka explained. “I’ve got three more
weeks here. After that I’ll take some time off.” “Excellent,” I
said. “Where are you heading after Puerto Rico?” “I’ve been
thinking of coming to Los Angeles,” Tanaka said. “I’d like to work
in the movie business. Would you be willing to help get me in?”
I
didn’t respond for several seconds. I was pondering Tanaka’s
question. Yes, I had contacts in the film and television industry.
And, yes, I was responsible for more than a few actors getting their
“breaks,” but Tanaka was certainly not a trained actor. If it were
anyone else, I would not have hesitated to turn them down. But,
this was Tanaka, my friend, and a member of my close wrestling
family. “Have you ever done any acting?” I asked. “No,” Tanaka
admitted. “Nothing other than what you’ve seen.” I could feel his
smile over the phone. “Well, Tanaka-san, you have a great unique
look, you’re an amazing martial artist and wrestler, and your
attitude and personality is very good. I won’t make you any
promises – except one. I will do everything I can to help you,
market you, and introduce you to the people who can hire you.”
“That’s all I could ask,” Tanaka said. “Thank you.” We continued
our discussion and talked about particulars. I told him that I had
two apartments and that he could stay at one of them for a few
months until he got situated. “I won’t let you down,” he said
several times. I knew he wouldn’t.
Several weeks later, Tanaka knocked at my door. He was not alone.
“This is my wife Cheri,” he said. I was a little surprised. I had
heard that he was married, but I expected his wife to be older; I
thought that he had some nearly-grown children. When I mentioned
this to him in private a few days later, he smiled and said, “Oh
that was my other wife.” Later on, I heard that he had overlooked
the customary divorcing of the first wife when he married this one.
“Interesting,” I thought, “but, then, a lot of the
wrestlers don’t quite follow all of the ‘regular people’ rules.”
I showed Tanaka and Cheri to their “new” apartment. “Here are the
controls for the air conditioning,” I explained, “and here’s the
remote for the cable TV.” I showed them how everything worked.
With pride, I handed Tanaka the remote control for the TV. “Press
star-one,” I said. “I programmed a special station for you.” He
pressed it and the all-Japanese station came to life on the
large-screen television. Tanaka thanked me, and in almost a whisper
said, “Rock, I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t speak Japanese.”
“You’re kidding!” I said. “You’re the best-known Japanese wrestler
on the planet, and you don’t speak Japanese?” He smiled and said in
that same hushed tone, “Hawaiian.” I didn’t say anything. I cocked
my head to the side, and with a half smile on my face simply stared
at him in disbelief. “My real name is Charlie Kalani,” he said with
a big smile on his face. He extended his hand and with an even
bigger grin said, “Nice to meet you.”
A
few days later, Tanaka met me in my office. It was time to begin
promoting him as an actor in the film and television business. As
impressed as I had been with my friend of over a dozen years, I was
even more impressed as I continued to pull information from him for
his acting resume. I’ll share some of that information with you in
a future column – even highlighting his resume would take a full
one-page story! The man had mastered so many martial arts that I
began to become concerned. “I hope this resume doesn’t intimidate
people who read it,” I said to my amazing friend. “From this
resume, it looks like you’re a one-man unstoppable army, a killing
machine.” I hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Is there
anything you do that does not involve hurting people or destroying
things?” Tanaka thought for a
few seconds, shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and said, “I sing
dirty Hawaiian songs.” “Great!” I said. “That’s perfect,” “Oh,
no,” Tanaka said, “You’re not going to put that on the resume!”
“Yes!” I responded. “It’s perfect. Producers will see that you
have a sense of humor and they won’t automatically be afraid to work
with you.” Tanaka wasn’t totally comfortable with it, but he
trusted my judgment. “You’re my manager, Rock. You’re the boss.
Whatever you say we should do, we do.”
We
made hundreds of 8x10s for Tanaka. We used one of his famous
wrestling photos, and we printed his resume directly on the back.
In many cases, when I submitted his photo and resume to my producer
friends, I would get a phone call which would go something like
this: “Gee, Rock, this guy is certainly unique. But, I don’t
know. The guy looks scary. I don’t know if we can work with him.
If he doesn’t like something the director says, he could destroy the
entire set along with the cast and crew.” At that point, I would
usually respond with, “Take a look at his resume. Read the ‘Special
Skills’ section.” When they got to the “sings dirty Hawaiian songs”
line, they knew everything would be okay. That one seemingly
inappropriate line was responsible for getting Tanaka more film and
television work than everything else on the resume combined. To be
continued next week. Until then, keep those e-mails coming.
