TV Commercial Production on Navajo Res from Ben Bryant’s “Circumstances Beyond My Control”

This is a much truncated variation of a

TV commercial production

story that appears in chapter 13 of my Hollywood memoir, Circumstances Beyond My Control. In May ’74 AT&T was producing a series of two-minute documentary style commercials. I was hired by Ansel Productions as location producer.
James Roanhorse, our Navajo interpreter was waiting for us when we arrived at the motel. “The” motel is correct, as it was the only one for miles and miles. I suppose my history of watching Westerns and The Lone Ranger caused me to expect that an Indian with such an impressive name would look like Jay Silverheels, Ned Romero or Ed Ames. Wrong. Jimmy looked more like Wally Cox. He was short, skinny and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and a big cowboy hat. However he was a very nice and accommodating young man and we all grew fond of him over the coming days.

The day we arrived Jimmy took us to meet our subjects. From a New Yorker’s perspective, Window Rock, Arizona is very nearly the middle of nowhere. The actual middle of nowhere was the home of our featured Navajos.

BenHouseOur main character was the father, Mister Dibe, a shepherd. With Jimmy’s assistance he showed us around and told us about his daily routine which began at dawn when he drove this sheep to their grazing area in a picturesque canyon not far from the house and sheep pen. He was reticent and standoffish and we began to feel a bit chary about our prospects, but he was our star and we had to find a way to make it work

At least three (maybe four) generations of the Dibe family, eight or nine people, lived in this one room house with no electricity or running water. Each one of them who appeared on-camera was to receive S.A.G. scale (about $250 in those days) for each of the three or four days they were photographed. We were told that the household income for this family was about $3,000 a year so this was going to be a major windfall for them.

The next morning we arrived just before dawn and were set up and ready to shoot when Dibe rode his horse to the sheep pen. With both cameras rolling we got some beautiful shots lit by the rising sun. We needed to get ahead of him to shoot the entrance to the grazing canyon and Jimmy asked him to stop until we could get ready. He refused. He was driving his sheep and we were free to shoot him but he would not alter his routine.

This impasse remained in effect for the next four hours and while we were able to get some usable footage the situation was difficult to say the least. By 9:00 the temperature was approaching 100° and we wrapped and arranged to return late in the afternoon.

Dehydrated, hungry and disheartened we returned to the motel and sucked down a few cold Coors while Kit Whitmore, our camera assistant de-dusted the cameras and magazines.

Meanwhile director Ray Baker, cameraman Gary Young, the agency guy and I were discussing the Dibe problem and what we could do about it. The Indians had been lied to and ripped off by the white man for over 200 years so why should this Navajo expect us to make good on our promise of a lot of money to come in the mail in several weeks? Cash was the answer. The agency producer called New York and had them wire $2,000.

When we arrived at the Dibe homestead at 4:00 that afternoon and handed him the cash the reluctant Indian mutated into Marlon Brando. He even spoke perfect English.

We wrapped the shoot Friday afternoon, Ray and the agency guy left for San Francisco and after dinner the rest of us were relaxing with beer and reefer. One of the guys noticed a large rock, maybe a hundred feet or more high about a quarter mile out in the desert. It was a fine, moonlit night so we decided to climb it. In retrospect it was not as good an idea as it seemed at the time. We each grabbed a beer or two and hiked into the wild. What were we, crazy? It’s night in the desert, there are rattlers and god knows what else out there and we were a bunch of city boys, except for Gary who grew up in Santa Fe. But undaunted by anything like intelligence, onward and (literally) upward we went.

Getting to the rock was not difficult even in our group altered state of consciousness. Climbing the rock was another thing altogether. At first it seemed easy but as we moved upward and the angle increased the going got tougher. Gary, Kit and Jimmy (even with their load of Coors) scampered up the monolith like mountain goats. Juan Rodriguez. our sound man, and I were less imprudent and took our precautious time. We reached a spot where a three-foot gap hampered our ascent and Juan, being considerably taller and long of leg spanned it comfortably and waited for me on the far side. Beneath this gap there was nothing but a hundred feet of air and the desert floor. By now I was rethinking the entire project but, to avoid losing face and seeming a sissy, could do naught but press on. I took a deep breath and clutching the rock face with my fingertips, took the step across the gap. My foot reached the other side but my slippery cowboy boot was unable to gain a purchase and I felt myself begin to fall.

Juan Rodriguez saved my life.

For all the details and the happy ending: Buy Circumstances Beyond My Control

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