click Don Lafontaine
I started Audio Post Philadelphia in June of 2001.
On September 11th the phone stopped ringing for the next 6 weeks.
Somewhere around November 1,
I received a call from Vanessa Gilbert of the Tisherman Agency.
Her client Don LaFontaine needed a studio to work out of for two weeks.
I had no idea what that meant. But two weeks of ISDN bookings?
Hmmmm, that's a lot. And who was Don LaFontaine?
A few days before his arrival, every network imaginable called to get my ISDN numbers and to run tests. I remember one call from the guy at E!; he said, "So, you're the chosen one."
My head twitched and my eye brow raised but I still didn't know what that meant.
Come Monday around 11am, I had set up the studio. We were aware by now that we might be busy. I was nervous. I was a new studio owner. We needed bookings, badly. I was still installing new pieces of gear as needed, the place looked pretty good but not as good as it looks now, but I knew I had a solid booth, good mics and my studio manager was working very hard to keep me calm during those nervous months after 9/11.
As I check the mic, "I actually say, 'In a world where"...something something something. And in walks Don. "That's pretty good." He says. "Huh?, oh, yeah, my name is Scott, I'll be your engineer. I guess you do a lot of promos, there's lots of networks that we might be connecting to." He smiled. "Do you like to stand when you're on mic?" I prefer to sit.
So maybe this guy is 5'7". A striking look about him. Those eyebrows. Still no real clue.
At about ten minutes to noon the fax machine starts spitting out scripts. The phone starts ringing. Jeanne, my studio manager is beginning to freak out a bit. She's running in with scripts and messages. Don sits down in front of the mic. What is this? It's a Neumann. I use a Manley. Oh, ok. I don't have one of those. First session. BOOM! That voice! Eyebrows scrunched. Where have I heard that voice? Another session 15 minutes later, more scrambling. BOOM! That voice! One after the other until about 4pm. 4 hours. ISDN connections every 15 minutes or so. Jeanne looks like she's about to cry. The phoning, the faxing, the revisions, old scripts, new scripts, things backing up like an over-crowded airport runway.
What just happened? I finally say to him,"You sound just like that movie announcer guy." He looks at me and says "I am that guy." I knew it! Do you know I've been hearing your voice my whole life? "Yes." Wow. That's cool. "Yes it is. Now, how can I get a Caesar salad?"
At the end of each day, there would be a huge stack of scripts. This went on for two solid weeks. Jeanne became an expert. She got to the point where she was telling some networks that in order to get Don you need to go through Vanessa. OR, "We can fit you in between FOX and CBS but you only get 10 minutes. It was crazy. It was great fun. Don and I spent enough time together that I was able to hear his life story. I asked. He seemed too interesting to not have a good story. His daughters would hang around after his wife Nita would go to the Prince Theater for the evenings performance of Me and Mrs. Jones, starring Lou Rawls. A musical comprised of Gamble & Huff songs. The Sound of Philadelphia music from the 70's. Don told me stories, he asked me about my family, and we enjoyed each other's company for 10 days. The studio had no other bookings.
On the 9th day, he says to me, "Want me to do your answering machine message?" Uh yeah, that would be cool. I'll write some stuff tonight. He recorded 4 or 5 little snippets that I could use for the business including a message with Jeanne where she began the sentence and between their coughs and throat clearings, Don's voice would finish in grand fashion. Once in a while, someone leaves a message and they say, "You know that sounds like the movie guy?" East Coasters. The West Coast people just say, "How the hell did you get Don LaFontaine to do your machine?"
On the last day, he tells me that if I'm ever out in LA, let him know and the whole family is welcome to stay at their house. Yeah right. On Saturday, we sat and watched with Don and the kids as Nita performed the last night of the musical. Backstage, we met Lou Rawls and were introduced to the rest of Nita's family. From there we hugged and said our goodbyes and I thanked him for helping the studio get through a rough financial time. He had no idea. But those two weeks of billing took care of December and January before things began to turn around for the better.
One year later, I emailed him. We are coming out to California for a vacation and we're stopping in LA for a night as we make our way south to Carlsbad to visit relatives. His response? Good, then you'll stay here that night. I'll BBQ something and you'll be our guest. He wasn't kidding.
As we meander up the hill overlooking LA, my wife is giving the kids, then 6 & 11, a set of instructions on how to behave. Don opened the door with a big smile and big hugs. He took the kids up the glass elevator to the third floor because "There is no sense in walking up stairs." A gorgeous house. My son remarked the next morning,"Dad, this place is like MTV Cribs." He was right. I watched Don in his home studio go through a few scripts, and then he grilled steaks. My daughter stayed with his daughters and my wife Sue sat and talked with Nita. Don and I retired to the den, played computer card games and drank "real men's" drinks. Later my wife said, "I wasn't going to interrupt that. It looked like a men's club meeting."
Don was the man. I was just the young lad soaking up this surreal yet very real world of genuine hospitality and unflaunted affluence.
Over the years, we'd exchange an email; I'd send him my newsletter. As the business grew, Don and Vanessa would reply with "Congrats, great news! Keep it going." The years past, and on September 1st, the four of us all cried together. That's what I call being influential. Thank you Don. Thank you Nita. My best to the kids. God Bless.
Scott
