If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor (58 page)

"I would assume so, especially since..."

And we naturally fell in sync together for, "There's only one."

Tampa produced a threesome of twenty-something suburban kids at the table who immediately burst into laughter when I asked what keeps them busy. After exchanging nervous looks, one of them stepped forward to explain.

"We're Disney characters in Orlando."

Now, I burst into laughter, but I wasn't mocking them, I was actually impressed. Rotting in the humid Orlando heat while bratty kids pull your ears and stomp on your paws doesn't sound easy, or even fun for that matter. Secretly, I've always wondered what
else
happens on the job at places like Disneyworld.

"Okay, so tell me you don't have grainy black and white pictures of Goofy humping Snow White's leg."

I wasn't sure whether this would offend or not, it just sort of came out, but they burst into laughter again.

"We do," offered "Goofy," without an ounce of humor in his voice. "And the videos." He then proceeded to share tales of lewd acts performed deep below the happiest place on earth.

The signing in Arlington, Virginia, birthplace of the phrase, "Strictly Need to Know," started off like any other. Folks in this part of the world tend to work for the government, often in the military, so they were very well groomed, very buttoned-down. At my table, one such tidy man stepped up.

"Howdy. What's your name, buddy?" I asked.

"Robert," he said simply.

I began to sign his book. Usually, this is a good time to continue the small talk.

"So, Robert, what do you do?"

"I can't tell you."

Our proximity to Washington, D.C., prompted a good chuckle from me. "Yeah, that's a good one. What's your name?"

Robert looked at me as only a member of a covert elite operation could. "I can't tell you..." he repeated emotionlessly.

Still convinced that he was joking, I added, "Or what, you'd have to kill me?"

This time, Robert didn't respond. He just stared at me with a "C.I.A. gone bad" look in his cold, dead eyes.

"Ohh-kaaay," I said, quickly scribbling, "Stay Groovy," and handed the book back.

"You have a good one, Robert... whatever it is you do."

THE HANDSHAKE:

To shake, or not to shake -- that is the question. The act of interfacing with fans (I prefer the term "clients") in person always provides hours of awkward quirkiness.

I've been in front of crowds of varying sizes for thirty years, if you count Community Theater, so schmoozing is a natural part of what I do. For some guy who doesn't get out much, meeting an actor that they've followed and supported for years can be a big deal. This leads us to a discussion about "the handshake."

I have found, after shaking enough hands to land a seat in congress, a person's handshake is as unique as their fingerprints -- no two people do it the same way. A short-and-simple handshake was very popular during the book tour, particularly in Middle America. I enjoy how straightforward it is, but if a handshake is too short, it can be misinterpreted as "Sick, this guy has cooties," or perfunctory, as in "Okay, I'll shake this guy's hand because everyone else is..."

Conversely, a long handshake tends to get a little too intimate for me. I've had thirty-second handshakes, during which an enthusiastic sort would tell an entire story while squeezing the blood out of my fingers.

No handshake discussion would be complete without mentioning the grip. To me, a person's grip is a "key indicator," it lets you know who you're dealing with. A firm grip says, "Hi pal, nice to make your acquaintance." However, if you grip too firmly, it can be intrusive, suggesting, "You want a handshake? Huh? Okay -- let's do it!"

A weak grip, for my money, signifies disinterest. Every time I encountered a weak handshake, and I'm talking about the real dead fish ones, the person's interest level was pretty much the same. Much like driving, you are how you shake.

Let's move on to temperature. Obviously, our bodies all function at slightly different degrees. My wife, Ida, for example, becomes a nuclear reactor when she sleeps. Even on winter evenings, when I should appreciate it, I still have to move to the edge of our bed to keep from sweating.

The same applies to hands, and we can't always control our temperature at any given moment. Fans tend to run a little on the "nervous" side of temperature; therefore, I'm more likely to encounter a colder variety of hand. Every so often, after a long spell of cold customers, I'll grip a nice warm hand and linger there, just to soak up the heat.

I've noticed that hands also come at you from different angles. Some guys use the "biplane" approach, banking their hand up and around, eventually crash landing in your hand. Other folks thrust their hand out well in advance and march it forward, as if jousting.

I am still confused and embarrassed on occasions when my African-American brothers do "the shake." I am forever failing to remember the pattern of:
shake, slide, re-grip, over, under, knuckles together, slap, slide back, lock fingers, swipe away.

Some patrons will not only shake your hand, they'll clamp the other one on top, thereby preventing any hope of escape. I call this "the Cling," "the Clamp," or "the Boot." As a kid, I got this a lot, particularly from older relatives. I find this to be a more intense, yet generally sincere handshake. The old, hand-on-top, grip-the-little-nipper is a staple of church socials.

And how about those sweaty handshakes? After hours of research, I have found that sweat is more often associated with a cold hand than a warm one. What causes this phenomenon I'll never understand, but a cold and clammy hand should come with a warning label -- unless you're fully prepared, grasping the equivalent of a cold sausage can stop your heart.

One particular fan, Robert, comes to events any time I'm near enough to Canada, his land of origin. He's something of a sensitive fellow, always concerned about my well-being. He'd been to many events previously, but this one particular warm and humid signing grossed him out so much that he offered me a pack of disinfectant "Wipies" afterward.

It took me by surprise because, up to that point, I never thought about contracting anything from all the interaction. I figure the act of saying a friendly hello, in the form of a handshake, far outweighs the potential risk of cooties.

Every time a signing went long, and we ran up to five hours at some events, the pain questions would start:

"Hey, Bruce, your hand hurt?"

"No," I would explain, "now that the steel pins are in."

"Got carpal tunnel yet?"

"No, it's just gone numb, but don't worry, my autograph is so bad, you won't know the difference..."

Fortunately, during the course of a long night, my manual duties were divied up. My left hand, the signing one, is spared the onslaught of my right, which has to fend off chipper grippers all evening. Personally, when it all "shakes" down, I always prefer a short-duration, medium, yet full-bodied grip, with a dry finish -- that sounds more like a fine wine than a handshake.

The most deadly combination of them all, and I think you would agree, is "the Bone Cruncher," a hard-pumping, below-the-knuckle, enthusiastically long, "I love all your movies" kind of shake -- with a dose of cold and clammy thrown in just for good measure.

If I spot a potentially dangerous candidate approaching, and I can usually tell by their eyes, I have time to direct my hand into the crux of his or hers, thereby avoiding the death grip. Unfortunately, far too many times, I'd turn back from waving at a departing customer and be caught unaware.

When all is said and done, the key to a successful and pain-free book tour, hands down, is mental alertness.

GIFTS THAT KEEP ON GIVING

At public appearances, I always walk away with more than I started with, and I'm not talking about money -- I'm talking about "stuff." A small percentage of fans, clients, call them what you want (I call them smart people) tend to leave things with me.

The reasons for this are myriad: it might be a VHS or DVD some "perspiring" filmmaker can't wait to share, a sketch some artist type did of the crowd while waiting in line, or a budding band member with a CD of their latest tracks (my favorite of these homegrown classics was entitled "Bruce Campbell Can Kick Your Ass" by Deaf Vocation from their hot new CD,
Hunting at the Zoo
).

I can finally say that I own a pair of underwear that makes my wife whimper. In Royal Oak, Michigan, an eager young man dropped a pair of briefs in front of me. Handcrafted across the crotch was a quote from
Army of Darkness:
"This is my 'Boomstick'."

"Please take them off," Ida whimpered when she saw them for the first time. "I never want to see that hideous underwear again..."

In Dallas, two sexy female police officers presented me with an official "Police" sweatshirt. Now that's a gift I can use -- just think of the possibilities: I can randomly pull over any motorist that annoys me, even if it means a high-speed chase, and quell civil disobedience at book signings. Thanks, officers!

On occasion, folks don't want to give me anything, they just want to share information, or show me something, like their new tattoo. It's safe to say that the average
Evil Dead
fan sports a much higher tattoo per capita ratio than the norm. I'm not complaining, mind you; tattoos are walking billboards. I've seen inscriptions from all three
Evil Dead
movies on arms, chests, necks, backs, and legs -- even on a few locations that I had to take their word for it. As you might expect, some were very primitive, while others were simply mind-blowing in color, detail, and scope.

As a general observation, body piercing is also making a strong showing among fans of all things dead. I'm not easily shocked, but when a guy plunked his arm down on the signing table to show me a row of steel spikes protruding from under his skin, I gasped out loud.

"Oh, it's okay," he said. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Trying to sound more nonchalant than I felt, I asked, "How did you get those spikes to line up like that?" I almost didn't want to hear the answer, but he was happy to explain: