The fictional and mercifully forgotten Dr. Thorneberry
Saying, "Yes"
A couple of weeks ago, I walked into my first acting class since college. Back then, I took one solely to check off an elective for my Bachelor of Science degree. For three hours a week, I practiced not being myself—only to realize I wasn’t very good at being anyone else either. And I was certainly not competent enough to play the heavily accented English psychologist, Dr. Thorneberry a role my acting partner and I wrote for our final project.
Thank God there is no video of the performance. What I lacked in ability, I made up for in enthusiasm, and “embarrassing” doesn’t begin to describe the result. I slinked out of that final project with an "A" (mostly for audacity) and vowed never to return to the stage—unless it was to build or change a set. Hardly the mindset of someone striving for a One Life Well Lived.
Fast-forward a few decades, and I gave acting another shot. I have my wife to thank for the opportunity, and this time, the stakes felt lower. Last August, she forwarded an email calling for extras to appear as concertgoers in a Yellowstone scene featuring Lainey Wilson. I like the show, I like Lainey Wilson’s music, and it was something fun for us to do together.
With Dr. Thorneberry far from my memory, we filled out the casting questionnaire—height, weight, age, etc. Within forty-eight hours, I received an invitation to work the show. Alas, my wife was not selected.
With her encouragement, I went anyway, queuing for two hours in a Texas downpour with 1,499 other extras, inching toward the Fort Worth Stockyards Championship Rodeo Arena, where the production team had set up wardrobe, hair, and makeup.
Once inside, it felt a bit like jury duty: Fill out this form. Wait here. Go sit in Section N until called. Finally, they ushered us next door to Billy Bob’s, handed us half-full Solo cups of cream soda (beer’s twin on camera), and told us where to stand—and not to drink the cream soda.
I’ll spare you the details (perhaps another time), but it was a good day. I blew my entire paycheck on a massive plate of barbecue at Cooper’s Old Time Pit Bar-B-Que and a subscription to an extras casting app.
Three months later, my Yellowstone debut came as a blur in a fast-moving panning shot across a crowd bopping to Hang Tight Honey. So much for my close-up.
Despite my blurred TV appearance, my career as an extra took off with a whole three days of work on a Yellowstone spinoff called The Madison, which recently wrapped shooting for Season One and is rumored to air this spring or summer. I won’t be surprised if I’m just another background blur, eclipsed by Michelle Pfeiffer’s elegance. But the experience was worth it—I had fun, made new friends, and found just enough curiosity to step into an acting class.
I’m not telling my readers to sign up for an acting class, but I am suggesting you consider revisiting something you once failed at—or even something you think you failed at. Even if that failure was as epic as my butchery of the fictional and mercifully forgotten Dr. Thorneberry.
Last week, the class worked on a short, two-person scene. By the end of the session, I made my theatrical debut in the Richmond Theatre Bar, but what struck me most was how three pairs of actors performed the same short script in completely different ways. Something I should keep in mind as I write my own plays.
From my shaky start as Dr. Thorneberry to my blurry television debut, revisiting old failures and embracing the unexpected has reinforced one thing: One Life Well Lived begins with saying ‘yes.’ In two weeks, I’ll return for my second class more open to that idea.
And That’s My Window on the World. Thanks for looking in.