STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 27: "BULL"

My most recent Bull gig proved how vitally important illusion is to television, and volunteering is to appearing on television. 

But first, a little background on the background. This was my second visit to the Bronx County Courthouse. My first, late last winter, was for an episode of Quantico, where, in my stereotypical role as "Reporter", I dropped to the floor when a witness jazzed up his testimony by shooting the defendant in the courtroom. 

The editor, however, had other ideas, to the point where 99% of the extras in that scene were invisible in the final cut. Perhaps this time, playing a lawyer on Bull, my luck would change. 

The Bronx County Court House shortly after its 1934

construction, when crime was more civilized.

It was a 6:00 a.m. call. As I waited, suit bag in hand, on the subway platform for the express to 161st Street, a well-dressed woman roughly my age approached me and asked, "Are you working on Bull?"

It was an easy call, since no one else looking remotely like us were there at that hour. And when we arrived at the subway stop, I noticed a young woman with a clear plastic make-up kit furtively looking around. "Working on Bull?" I asked. Like criminals, extras can spot their associates a mile away.

It was written in the stars that

he'd make the Walk of Fame.

Before going further, let me play tourist guide. The Bronx County Courthouse, for those of you on the right side of the law, is a five minute walk from Yankee Stadium -- rather appropriate, considering that, in the playoffs this year, the team was guilty of choking in the first degree. 

Across the street is Joyce Kilmer Park, where, outside its walls, runs the Bronx Walk of Fame, featuring the names of important figures who were smart enough to get out when they could. It might not be as famous as the Hollywood Walk of Fame -- scratch that, it isn't as famous -- but, unlike Trump's star, the markers can't be destroyed with a pickaxe. 

Just call me "Slick".

Usually, I don't have to sit in the make-up chair, unless it's for a little powder to "take away the shine". Too, the hair people tend to take one look at me and say, "You're fine" -- which is a nice way of saying, "I can't do a damn thing for you." This time, however, they put a little gel in my hair so it didn't stick up like Sylvester the cat's fur when he pokes his tail into a light socket.

We would be shooting three scenes -- one inside a courtroom, and two exteriors. In the former, I was a lawyer with a client. When it aired, my shot was so fast -- and I was so deep in the background -- that I couldn't even get a decent freezeframe. You'll have to trust me that my manner was quite lawyerly. 

Although it was October 10, the exterior scenes took place in early winter. In pre-climate change days, this wouldn't have been a problem. But it was a balmy 75 degrees when we had to work in heavy coats and, for many of us, scarves and gloves. Remember what I said about illusion? 

On my way to defend Harvey Weinstein.

Our first exterior shot featured us walking on the sidewalk along the side entrance of the courthouse before going up the stairs. Very little remained in the final cut, but I made it at the beginning of the shot, behind Bull stars Michael Weatherly and Freddy Rodriguez.

And then it was an hour or so of downtime. As we sat around doing nothing (other than taking selfies), an a.d. came around and said, "OK, I need five volunteers for the next scene."

My hand immediately shot up. They appreciate volunteers, because it lets them know you've come to work and not just eat the free food. We were lead to the corner of the block on Grand Concourse, where Weatherly and Rodriguez were going to be.


The a.d. gave me my direction: "When they start walking to the corner, you time it so you arrive there with them, and stand right next to them so you're in the shot."

Volunteering -- it's a beautiful thing.

It's freezing out here! Why the hell didn't I wear my fedora?

As the p.a. put bright masking tape on my landing spot, the a.d. reminded us this was supposed to be winter, "so act cold!" 

I took him at his word. When I wasn't wrapping my arms around myself, I was blowing into my hands. I hunched my shoulders. I stamped my feet. I grimaced as if the wind was blowing on my face. I did everything except turn blue. 

After a couple of takes, the a.d., who had been watching a monitor, returned and said, "I love what you're doing! Keep it up!" Happy to oblige!

My routine paid off. Not only did I get comparatively massive screentime, there is no way you'd mistake me for anything but an old guy silently damning the New York winter. In other words, I did my job. My wife positively marveled at the performance I gave.

When Bull aired this past Monday -- coinciding with the cold air that finally arrived here -- many viewers doubtlessly wondered how that codger withstood the New York winter... while never realizing it really felt like early July. 

Or, more likely, they were paying attention to Weatherly and Rodriguez. Looking at the extras? That's what spouses are for.

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Watch me shiver and grimace: