looked like a combination of a camera and metal detector strapped to his chest and a heavy belt around his waist with bulging pockets that reminded me of a soldier’s ammo and supply belt.
“Get a little ahead of me, a little ahead of me,” the cameraman said.
The kid on the outside did.
“Now! Stop and turn! Stop and turn!”
The other kid put the brakes on, then spun and started running back the other way, and the cameraman whipped in place and tracked him.
Then he stopped. He threw up his hands and screamed, “Aaron! You call that racking?”
A collection of rags with a spillage of dark hair and a dripping Fu Manchu looked up from a boxy remote in his hands. “I’m racking, Eric. I’m racking. It’s the lights, dude.”
“Bullshit!” Eric screamed. “The lights are fine.”
Ray Dupuis smiled and turned his head away from Eric, who looked like his head was about to explode with rage.
“Steadicam guys,” Dupuis said. “They’re like kickers in the NFL. Very specialized talent, very sensitive personalities.”
“That thing strapped to his chest is a Steadicam?” I said.
He nodded.
“I always thought it was on wheels.”
“Nope.”
“So the opening shot of Full Metal Jacket ,” I said, “that’s one guy moving around those barracks with a camera strapped to his chest?”
“Sure. Same with that shot in GoodFellas . You think they could have rolled a machine down those steps?”
“I never thought of it that way.”
He nodded at the kid holding the boxy remote. “And that’s the focus puller over there. He’s trying to rack focus by remote.”
I looked back at the young guys as they prepped to try the shot again, fine-tune whatever needed fine-tuning.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “Cool.”
“So you’re a cinephile, Mr. Kenzie?”
I nodded. “Mostly the older ones, to be honest.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So you know where our name comes from?”
“Of course,” I said. “Sam Fuller, 1953. Awful movie, great title.”
He smiled. “That’s just what David said.” He pointed at Eric as Eric rushed by again. “That’s what David was supposed to pick up the day he was hurt.”
“The Steadicam?”
He nodded. “That’s why I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“The accident. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“On the corner of Congress and Purchase?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was he supposed to be?”
“Natick.”
“Natick,” I said. “Birthplace of Doug Flutie and girls with big hair?”
He nodded. “And the Natick Mall, of course.”
“Of course. But Natick’s about twenty miles away.”
“Yup. And that’s where the Steadicam was.” He gestured with his head at it. “That piece of equipment makes most of the stuff we have here—all of which costs a goddamn fortune—look cheap. The guy in Natick was fire-saling it. Rock bottom. David raced out of here. But he never arrived. Next thing, he’s back downtown on that corner.” He pointed out the window in the direction of the financial district a few blocks north.
“You tell the police this?”
He nodded. “They got back to me a few days later, said they had absolutely no doubt it was an accident. I spoke at length to a detective, and I came away pretty convinced they were right. David tripped in broad daylight in front of something like forty witnesses. So I guess I don’t question that what happened to him was an accident, I’d just like to know what the hell made him turn back from Natick before he arrived and come back into the city. I told the detective this, and he said his job was to determine whether it was an accident, and on that score, he was satisfied. Everything else was ‘irrelevant.’ His word.”
“You?”
He rubbed his smooth head. “David wasn’t irrelevant. David was just a terrific guy. I’m not saying he was perfect. He had flaws, okay, but—”
“Such as?”
“Well, he had no head for the nuts-and-bolts of hard business, and he was a
“Get a little ahead of me, a little ahead of me,” the cameraman said.
The kid on the outside did.
“Now! Stop and turn! Stop and turn!”
The other kid put the brakes on, then spun and started running back the other way, and the cameraman whipped in place and tracked him.
Then he stopped. He threw up his hands and screamed, “Aaron! You call that racking?”
A collection of rags with a spillage of dark hair and a dripping Fu Manchu looked up from a boxy remote in his hands. “I’m racking, Eric. I’m racking. It’s the lights, dude.”
“Bullshit!” Eric screamed. “The lights are fine.”
Ray Dupuis smiled and turned his head away from Eric, who looked like his head was about to explode with rage.
“Steadicam guys,” Dupuis said. “They’re like kickers in the NFL. Very specialized talent, very sensitive personalities.”
“That thing strapped to his chest is a Steadicam?” I said.
He nodded.
“I always thought it was on wheels.”
“Nope.”
“So the opening shot of Full Metal Jacket ,” I said, “that’s one guy moving around those barracks with a camera strapped to his chest?”
“Sure. Same with that shot in GoodFellas . You think they could have rolled a machine down those steps?”
“I never thought of it that way.”
He nodded at the kid holding the boxy remote. “And that’s the focus puller over there. He’s trying to rack focus by remote.”
I looked back at the young guys as they prepped to try the shot again, fine-tune whatever needed fine-tuning.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “Cool.”
“So you’re a cinephile, Mr. Kenzie?”
I nodded. “Mostly the older ones, to be honest.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So you know where our name comes from?”
“Of course,” I said. “Sam Fuller, 1953. Awful movie, great title.”
He smiled. “That’s just what David said.” He pointed at Eric as Eric rushed by again. “That’s what David was supposed to pick up the day he was hurt.”
“The Steadicam?”
He nodded. “That’s why I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“The accident. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“On the corner of Congress and Purchase?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was he supposed to be?”
“Natick.”
“Natick,” I said. “Birthplace of Doug Flutie and girls with big hair?”
He nodded. “And the Natick Mall, of course.”
“Of course. But Natick’s about twenty miles away.”
“Yup. And that’s where the Steadicam was.” He gestured with his head at it. “That piece of equipment makes most of the stuff we have here—all of which costs a goddamn fortune—look cheap. The guy in Natick was fire-saling it. Rock bottom. David raced out of here. But he never arrived. Next thing, he’s back downtown on that corner.” He pointed out the window in the direction of the financial district a few blocks north.
“You tell the police this?”
He nodded. “They got back to me a few days later, said they had absolutely no doubt it was an accident. I spoke at length to a detective, and I came away pretty convinced they were right. David tripped in broad daylight in front of something like forty witnesses. So I guess I don’t question that what happened to him was an accident, I’d just like to know what the hell made him turn back from Natick before he arrived and come back into the city. I told the detective this, and he said his job was to determine whether it was an accident, and on that score, he was satisfied. Everything else was ‘irrelevant.’ His word.”
“You?”
He rubbed his smooth head. “David wasn’t irrelevant. David was just a terrific guy. I’m not saying he was perfect. He had flaws, okay, but—”
“Such as?”
“Well, he had no head for the nuts-and-bolts of hard business, and he was a
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