I was a little boy when Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno took to the screen as the “Modern Man who Turns Green” combo in 1978. I was certainly a little boy by today’s standards, considering men at the age of 24 are regularly referred to as kids in many mediums of entertainment and sports, even if they are old enough to go get their asses blown off in the deserts of the Middle East.
I was, at that age, able to easily identify with the plight of both the man and the beast in The Incredible Hulk. I somehow, even lacking any real life experience, understood the situation Dr. David Banner was in; having to walk through life possessing a secretive anger and rage and carry that burden until he found an answer for his problems. I was able to understand the sorrow and loneliness of the Hulk, a misunderstood and dangerous character capable of unimaginable destruction, but gentle in a Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein sort of way.
I have no idea now, why I could identify with them then, but I always knew the monster David Banner turned into at the stub of a toe (which is somewhat comical when I think about it now) was a good monster deep down inside, and that he never used his powers to hurt the innocent. And for those reasons I indentified with the both of them. I respected the doctor because of his knowledge and honesty, and I respected the Hulk because of his power and ability to right the wrongs the doctor encountered. I recall thinking I had a Hulk in me, and questioning if I would use my powers for good or evil. I liked the Hulk, and held him up in my little boy world as an idol.
So you may find yourself asking, “Why are you writing about the Hulk Mike? Not a lot of keywords in that, is there?” No, there aren’t a lot of reasons why this would have anything to do with the types of things I normally write about on my web site. This one is more personal, because a couple of my real life Hulks are in trouble, and I’m powerless to help them.
Over the past two weeks I have found out that two of my friends, one a close friend and fellow broadcaster, and the other a monolith in the voice over world, are in serious medical trouble. I had known for quite some time that both of them had some medical things going on, but only recently learned the depth and seriousness of their conditions.
I have to admit, when I heard the news, it fell on a somewhat hollow heart because I was caught up in the, at times, overwhelming task of completing my studio.
I found myself standing in the studio, up on a ladder, screw gun and boards in hand, needing another hand to help me finish one little task that would bring me so much closer to completion. It is at these times you begin to wonder where your friends are and who you can call. And then it hit me, just how alone I was standing there, and just how much I wanted and needed my friends, and just how close the both of them had come to no longer being able to pick the phone up when I called.
I had to put everything down and walk away. Two hours from being finished and I couldn’t take another step. I just had to lie down. I couldn’t take it any more. All I wanted to do was sleep.
Building the studio has worn me a little thin. My wife has said she doesn’t ever want to see me build another one. To which I said, “Then we had better never move.”
I don’t really know when I started building this godforsaken thing, but I know that it has been built with love in every screw and I have built it from board one, not including the outer walls or roof over my head. Aside from that, every wire, every screw, every piece of drywall and every dust cloud has been put in or generated by myself and a few family members that have been able to tolerate my slug like progress and my unnerving, yet somewhat uncanny ability to keep all of the design plans in my head, making it impossible for anyone to understand what I am doing until I explain it to them. And even then they sometimes don’t.
I’d like to say there is a method to my madness, but at times my methods might have brought me closer to madness. The stress of wanting my studio completed, and wanting it done right along with every day life and physically doing the labor, combined with at least a year of Edison like cat naps and false energy derived from coffee and sugar, while at the same time trying to perform and coach talent, rebuild a web site, configure and repair all of the studio computers and maintain my marriage, has left me a little frayed at the ends. Basically I’ve gotten to a point where it is one item out, before another can go in, a condition which has become reality purely for survival. There are things now that I just can’t afford to think about. Sad as it may seem, I just don’t have a lot of time for people right now, including myself.
So when the reality of my friends conditions hit me. It was simply an overload. I couldn’t hold the weight any longer, and emotionally it all kind of came tumbling down. I sat at my computer and stared, unable to think, unable to categorize, prioritize or process the feelings, unable to decide which thing to cry about first. Yes – the secrets out. I cry. Even if I am 280lbs of ass-kicking Russian-Italian-Irishman who’s about to turn green and tear down the evil studio that amazingly enough, Mr. McGee knows the location of and would show up just before it burst into flames and exploded. (That won’t be funny if you never saw the show.) I do have emotions – and they got the best of me the other day. I still haven’t picked up the screw gun and yet another delay is upon me as I sit trying to get these thoughts and feelings out of my head, so I can hopefully at some point begin to move on.
My feelings for these two people are much the same as my feelings were for the Hulk back in the summer of 1978. I idolize them in ways similar to that of the big green beast. One of them for being a cantankerous, bullet-proof, beer swilling, Jack Daniels loving bastard that has me by 10lbs and 2 inches and doesn’t take a dime of crap off anyone, and the other for being the first voice that taught me about nightmares, mostly from doing movie trailers in 1980. I had always wanted to be the latter of the two, but spent the more formative years of my life behaving like the first. They are rocks in my no-longer-a little-boy world for one reason or another and it cut me pretty deep to see the Hulks in pain.
It’s a tragic thing when a child has to face losing an idol. No one seems to have an answer for when an adult is faced with losing a childhood idol. Should we have let go of them by now? Should we have realized by this point that idols are for kids and have no role in adult life? Or is it society that in some silent way tells us to cover up our childhood dreams and walk the straight and narrow, and not acknowledge or admit having people we look up to or would want to be?
Well… No matter who is saying it, my response is to tell them all to go to hell. They’re my idols, and you can’t have them. I’m not ready to give them up yet. I have so much more to learn from them and so much more I wanted to say. If that means I’m not a grownup yet then I don’t ever want to grow up. I don’t ever want to live with out the people who have inspired me to become who I am today. And if you insist on taking them from me you are going to make me angry! Don’t make me angry Mr. McGee. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. (Once again, you would have had to see the show)
No matter how much I thought I had a Hulk inside me then, and wished I had one inside me now, it turns out, that I’m just a man with the same vulnerabilities as any other.
I care for these guys deeply – for some reasons and to depths that I’m not even sure I can explain. I just know that once they were a part of my life in any way, shape or form I never wanted to let them go because I don’t have too many idols in this world, and the list of close friends was already pretty short and doesn’t need to be getting any shorter.
I just know if I were Dr. David Banner I could make everything alright again.
Travis and Don, I’m rooting for you guys. Get well soon. I’ll be thinking of you.
***Edited on September 1st, 2008***
13 days after writing this article, my friend and lifelong voiceover idol, Don LaFontaine, died at the age of 68. I will miss you sir. Your guidance and good nature will always be with me. Peace be with your loving wife and children. My god I will miss you…
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