A First

A year ago I chose to brave traffic and parking to attend an on-camera workshop in Hollywood at the Actors Link Argentum location. There I had the opportunity to work with Casting Director Scott David.  After watching me do my scene, the first words out of Scott's mouth were, "Where have you been?” - ”You are now on my list." Now, I know he said a lot of other really nice things in between, but somehow those were the words that kept ringing in my ear. It was my own Sally Fields moment, "You like me!" A little acknowledgment goes a long way.

Scott is a really personable guy, almost impossible not to like. Better yet, action follows his words. A week later I was reading for Criminal Minds producers in a "luxurious" doublewide trailer. I didn't book that first time.... or the other two times that spring.  Scott’s feedback each time was invaluable. I have colleagues who've been in that room 12 and 14 times before they booked. Scott and team keep bringing you back when they see something in you. Booking the room is real.

In October 2014 I was again called into read and a week later I shot a scene with Shemar Moore and Matthew Gray Gubler. I had a blast. Everyone on the Criminal Minds team was welcoming and professional. It could not have been a more optimal experience for a newbie's first shot on primetime network show.

I am so blessed that Scott David opened the door to this first in my life. I trust that many other doors are opening now as a result. I will alway be grateful. Thank you Scott.

Hearts in Hollywood

I am very grateful to be a member of the Anthony Meindl’s Actor Workshop family and thankful for each teacher and fellow actor I have worked with or seen work. You inspire me and I am blessed to be in your company.

Conventional wisdom informs us that Hollywood is a cold cynical hell, a place where creative talent, dreams and passion fuel an industry that embraces a lucky few, while using and abusing the rest; a factory producing magnificent dreams while cannibalizing the dreamers. History is replete with stories supporting this view and the entertainment industry markets heavily to counter it by touting the philanthropic largess of its luckiest denizens. The culture as a whole eats up this narrative with an endless appetite, devouring a non-stop barrage of stories about the triumphs and tragedies of the gods, goddesses and villains of Hollywood. This narrative has remained unchanged if not amplified since my first stint here began some 30 years ago.

From the perspective of an unrepentant dreamer who has recently picked up his dreams and dusted them off after closeting them for 20 years working in the corporate software world, Hollywood reflects the changes seen in our world as a whole.

The rich have gotten richer and the rest poorer. There are more dreamers than ever, arriving daily from all over the world. The dollars of young aspirants are still willingly received by the myriad of companies who thrive on the development of talent.

Unions have consolidated and lost their power leaving an even smaller percentage of their members making a livelihood in the careers they love.  Low paying non-union acting work thrives while the union actor is asked to work for next to nothing under something called the “Ultra-Low Budget” contract.

Technology has been a double-edged sword wreaking havoc with the Hollywood film industry. Production has moved elsewhere because it can. Jobs have disappeared, as entire parts of the industry have been rendered obsolete. At the same time technological advances have expanded the creative toolsets of the filmmaker, freeing them from the bulky constraints of heavy cameras and lights and allowing them to create new worlds from nothing but pure imagination.

While outlets for content have exploded dramatically, there are seemingly fewer paying jobs to meet the demand. Fewer movies being made at the top of the feeding chain have driven movie stars to become television stars and everyone else climbing the ladder to move down a rung in turn. But, the dreams haven’t died and there are still charlatans posing as agents, teachers, managers and coaches willing to capitalize on the dreams of the dreamers.

There are also extraordinarily talented people everywhere you look: actors, writers, directors, producers and teachers. This is after all one of the primary beacons of light for creative artists worldwide.

One of the brightest lights in Hollywood today is hyphenate, acting coach-writer- producer-director Anthony Meindl.  His book  “At Right Brain, Turn Left” published in January 2012 quickly rose to be in the top 100 best selling self-help books and top 50 books about theatre on Amazon. In it he focuses on bringing out the creative artist in all of us regardless of profession.

His eponymous acting studio, Anthony Meindl’s Actor Workshop (AMAW), is a successfully growing business with studio’s opening in London, Vancouver and New York City.  His team has utilized social media masterfully in launching his book and expanding awareness of his brand. A videographer is never far away when Tony speaks. Short videos are very effectively used to build awareness, and what you see, is what you get.

My Father: James Lon Fiala

My father is an angel among the angels. A romantic notion I know. I fought for years to reconcile my feelings about his death. I raged at God. I raged at my father. I raged at my mother. Hell, I was screaming at anyone who crossed my path or would listen. I questioned God's love and my father's love. My anger boiled over in tantrum. How could they take themselves away from me and my brothers and sisters? How could they leave my mother alone to raise five children? How could they leave me alone in this world?

Then one day another angel helped me see. Fact. My father died. The rest? I created. I made it up. I made his death mean: I was alone, that God wasn't there for me, that my father didn't love me. I chose to give life to these untruths, living as if they were true. Tears flowed long and hard when I realized the years I had spent judging and blaming God, my father, and the world; because of a story I had created. I ask forgiveness of everyone my anger flowed over.

I know today that God and my father, love me and watch over me.

Emanuel Gustave Holstein

Grandpa Holstein is still with me every day. I talk to him regularly. I have many fathers in heaven that watch over me.

The more people I meet in my life, the more I am reminded how lucky I was to have my grandfather as a role model. He lived a life of service to his family and his community. He met and accepted you, where you were at, without judgment. His advice to me never sounded like preaching. There are many questions that I would love to ask him today, now that I am wiser and more aware of what questions I could be asking.


Spending time outdoors with my Grandfather; whether in his shed, yard, garden or in a boat on a lake in northern Minnesota are all treasured memories. I remember digging large fire holes in the back yard to cook baked beans. I remember whittling with my new knife while sitting at the picnic table in front of the shed. When I managed to slice open the middle finger of my left hand, I remember crying at my grandfather, “Grandma told you to watch me!” This was early evidence that I really needed to learn to take responsibility for myself.

Angela My Angel

Mama's Boy

February 10, 2016 


My mother Angela, died today. While heartbroken that my number one fan is gone. It hurts more to know that I won't have her to call on the phone to share news, and answer her questions abut various Facebook or Instagram posts that have confused her. Something I know she did with all of her children. What follows is a tribute I wrote a while ago - to my angel.

I was lucky enough to spend time with her in hospital, and tell her once again that I love her. After one of those times she said, "Thank you...you sure say that a lot" and smiled. It was even more heart warming to watch my daughter Fi talk and work with her through the weekend. As my mother went in and out of lucidity, their conversations went from lovely to ridiculous. Through it all their love and care for each other rang true.  I know that she had that same relationship with many of her grandchildren. I was lucky enough to see it for one last time. 

I saw her face light up when she Face-timed with her first great grandchild Nathan - and heard the love in her voice as she acknowledged some of her other grandchildren on the phone. As I said goodbye, I knew that moving on was her best path, and yet I still selfishly wanted her to stay.

Her struggle to decide whether to go or stay was so apparent in our conversations in hospital. She talked about the people waiting for her, Jim first and foremost, and her parents. "They need me". In the next breath she would ask about the new babies and weddings that seem always imminent in our family. I let her know that whatever path she chose, we were all okay with her decision. Her care and concern and worry for all of us was unending. As she said so clearly to her grandchild Julene, "I love you - forever."

I do not know how to sum up a life. I simply know that my mother loved me. That is enough.

I want my brothers, sisters and family to know that I love them. I want to thank Monte and Stacey in particular for all of the time and care of mother in recent years. They have been incredible with her. I grieve with my siblings and share your joy in knowing that Mom and Dad are together again. We all know what true love looks like.

Love,

Lon 


Angela May Fiala
March 3, 1933 - February 10, 2016

I don’t remember being born – but it seems like mom has been there for me, all my life. There is a lot of evidence that we are related – the least important of which are the comments from people who ask my mother if I am her brother when we go out together.

I am blessed to have a mother who has unwaveringly loved me. I remember asking her why she would always buy tickets for two nights to see one of my performances in high school. She explained that on the first night she could only see me, and on the second night she could actually see the show. I have since experienced this phenomenon when watching my daughter Sarah.

So how do you pay tribute to someone who has raised, loved and supported you your entire life? I’ve experienced her love, her tears, her rage and her fears. I’ve seen her in pain as well as in joy. I’ve watched her grow up and shared her love of dance, music, theatre and film. I’ve hurt her, surprised her, scared her, nursed her and loved her. So I guess; a thank you and an apology for all of the challenges I’ve thrown her way, would be a good start.

My memories are fuzzy prior to my parent’s accident, and my father’s death. My first conscious memories of my mother are seeing her and my father lying bloody and broken on the cold cement floor of the public beach house at Lake Calhoun. Both had received serious head injuries, my father taking the brunt of the blow that had left my mother’s face and jaw broken, not to mention various other wounds.

In the fog of my shock I remember repeatedly asking my mother for my grandparent’s phone number; which, miraculously she was able to give me though she was barely conscious.

When I say I watched my mother grow up, this may indeed have been her re-birth. This was the day and the moment in time that the responsibility to raise five children, which she had shared with my father, became hers alone.

I can speak with authority on how drastically my reality changed in that moment. I can only imagine the weight of the change in her reality. She moved from loving wife and mother, to sole bread-winner, grieving wife and still mother of five in a nanosecond.

When she came home from the hospital she appeared so fragile. As the glassiness in her eyes slowly waned, her jaw unwired, and her wounds healed; my mother reappeared and moved forward. We needed her to.

Time has changed my perspective on many things; but not – my mother. I love her.

Learning other people’s stories about their parents has made me appreciate even more, how blessed I am to have an Angela, for a mother.

Real Life Teachers: Cuz School ain't Real Life?

Teachers in the real world, the “grown-up” world show up in my experience serendipitously. I've found them ( or vice versa ) every where I've been, and I've been in a few different places and industries. Having pursued an acting career for the first decade I was out of college, I had a myriad of acting coaches, many of whom were certain they were angels, if not prophets. As intimate as an actor to coach relationship can be – it was all about the business with most of them.

While I was pursuing acting in Los Angeles in the last century, I was working in temporary positions and had the privilege of meeting a Controller at Colwell Mortgage, named Bert. Bert hired me because I could remember what was on top of my dresser in my bedroom during the interview. He apparently thought that proved I could pay attention to detail. In the ensuing year he taught me how to reconcile giant cash accounts to the penny. He also gave me the opportunity to work with the system design group implementing new accounting software on the mainframes that were starting to be used at the time. I received a crash course in the foundations of accounting that allowed me to work and feed myself and my family for many years. Thank you Bert.

Professors are Teachers Two

COLLEGE

Lawrence University held a cacophony of angels for me. After the initial exhilaration of being able to choose what I wanted to study, college became a continual lesson in politics for me, personal and public. What I recognize now, is that one of the things that make small liberal arts colleges so dynamic is the constant clashing of ego's; those newly forming ( students ) and those so strongly built ( professors ) that heated, passionate argument, debate and discussions are never ending. It was quite a shock to me.

What I see now, but couldn't then, was that because a University is traditionally a place ruled by intellect and demonstrable accomplishment. Ego's rule the roost. Professors must “publish or perish” to be rewarded with tenure or continued employment. Students obviously must perform to make the grade. Pretty “heady stuff”, literally. In light of this intense focus on the intellect , the heart and soul, while studied intellectually are rarely unleashed or honored. There were some notable exceptions to that rule at Lawrence for me.