Looking back, it’s amazing how many people unknowingly contributed to my career. If even one of these moments hadn’t happened, my life might have gone in a completely different direction.
It started when I was in the ninth grade.
My best friend, Shane, and I had bought our first trucks from a friend who owned a junkyard. One day we were driving around with a bunch of our friends when Shane’s truck broke down. It was an old, beat-up truck. The rear bumper was damaged, so the license plate wasn’t attached — it was simply sitting inside the cab.
As we were pushing the truck down the street, a police patrol car pulled up behind us with its lights and siren on. The officers told everyone to stop and sit on the curb while they figured out what was going on.
One of my friends, Greg Lasher, spoke up for me. He told the officer, “He shouldn’t have to sit on the curb. He’s an actor.”
The officer — a huge, strong man everyone knew as Officer Rosie Brown — looked at Greg and said, “Bullshit. What movie were you in?”
I answered, “Down and Out in Beverly Hills.”
He immediately asked, “Do you get residuals?”
I had no idea what residuals were. I said, “No.”
He laughed and said something like, “Oh no… I don’t need another actor over here.”
The whole incident ended there, and I went back to school thinking nothing more of it.
What I didn’t know was that Officer Rosie had actually contacted my high school counselor.
A short time later, I was called out of class to the counselor’s office. My counselor, Mrs. Bonney, told me she had heard that I had been pulled over and that I was an actor. She seemed genuinely surprised.
Then she said something that would completely change my life.
She told me that I didn’t belong in a traditional high school and that things would only become more difficult as my acting career continued. She believed I needed to be somewhere that supported both academics and the arts.
She introduced me to the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts (LACHSA).
She said that if my parents approved, she would personally overnight my application. At the time, sending something by FedEx overnight wasn’t cheap — it was about ten dollars — and she paid for it herself because she believed in me that much.
I went home and told my dad about it.
He asked one simple question: “Do you think it’s a good thing?”
I answered, “I think so.”
He said, “Alright. Then do it.”
I completed the application, gave it back to Mrs. Bonney, and she mailed it overnight. Eventually I received an audition date.
Preparing for that audition became another turning point. Chip Fields helped me prepare both my modern comedic piece and my classical monologue. Her coaching gave me confidence walking into the audition.
I auditioned. I got in.
A broken-down junkyard truck.
A police stop.
A loyal friend speaking up for me.
A police officer who happened to understand the entertainment business.
A counselor who cared enough to make one phone call and spend her own money on overnight shipping.
My father’s trust in my judgment.
Chip Fields preparing me for the audition.
Every one of those people unknowingly became part of the story that led me to Los Angeles County High School for the Arts and ultimately to the career I’ve had ever since.
Sometimes the biggest turning points in life don’t look important while they’re happening. Sometimes they begin with something as ordinary as pushing a broken-down truck down the street.