From Nuclear Engine Rooms to Scene Study: The Unexpected Call to the Stage (Part 2)

Leaving the structured world of the US Navy's Nuclear Power Propulsion Program was a significant transition. For several years after my service, I bounced through a series of different jobs: custom marble and granite work, life insurance sales, outside sales for a printing company, a music publishing company, and even an internet startup where I dove deep into software development. While the pay was better, none of these roles ignited the same passion or excitement I’d felt during my time in the Navy.

Pinned Against the Wall: An Actor's Unveiling

One day, after performing a "repeat" scene from the classic film "All About Eve" – a scene I'd reworked meticulously based on our teacher's notes – I found myself literally pinned against the wall. An acting teacher at the Beverly Hills Playhouse, a force of nature named Allen Williams, had grabbed my collar. With a voice that cut through the air, he demanded, "Why aren't you auditioning for my play?!"

I tried to explain my rationale: "I wasn't an actor; I was here to learn about producing and screenwriting..."

He cut me off. "Bullshit!! I just watched your scene!! You were terrific!! You made your notes your own!!"

"I don't audition!! I've never auditioned in my life!!" I protested.

"I don't care. I'm directing 'Balm in Gilead' - it takes place in Manhattan. I need Puerto Ricans!!"

Allen Williams was an extraordinary individual: a Vietnam Marine Veteran with four Purple Hearts from the Battle of Khe Sanh (1968), an experienced boxer, a ballet dancer, and a truly killer actor, teacher, and director. He insisted I audition, and to my astonishment, he cast me in my first play, Lanford Wilson's "Balm in Gilead." I played a Puerto Rican named Ernesto in a play with, I believe, 25 different characters.

A New Kind of Propulsion Plant Drill: "Balm in Gilead"

Allen had us all agree to an intense rehearsal schedule: Monday through Friday from 5 AM to 9 AM, and Saturdays from 6 AM to 10 AM. This production, this team, felt remarkably similar to our propulsion plant drills on the USS Arkansas, preparing for yearly Pentagon inspections. Just as we had drilled constantly to achieve operational readiness, we rehearsed for over four months, striving for artistic excellence.

I got to observe two dozen actors, far more experienced and skilled than myself, vigorously pursuing their careers. One morning, I arrived early to find Allen dressing the stage by himself. I immediately began helping him. That was the last time he had to do it alone. I rallied a few cast mates, and from then on, we arrived early, turning the task of dressing the stage into a coordinated, fun team effort.

We eventually performed an incredible 108 shows – hitting the Actors Equity Association limit for performances in 99-seat theaters. With every performance, my understanding of the story and my character deepened. The anxiety of performing in front of a live audience, unlike my classmates, evaporated. I don't remember the exact performance, but somewhere along the way, the thought crystallized: If I could find a way to make a living doing this, instead of trying to raise money for independent films, it would be a dream come true. I had loved movies and television shows since I was a kid.

A Mentor's Lifeline and a Profound Lesson

Towards the end of our award-winning run, I faced financial difficulties when an invoice went unpaid. I confided in a cast mate that I might have to take time off from class. After the next performance, Allen approached me, his communication skills piercing through my reluctance, and I disclosed my situation. He asked me to pause any decisions until he called me the next day, simply saying, "Let me see what I can do."

Allen called, offering me a position as one of his class's Stage Managers. I thanked him and accepted, nearly collapsing in gratitude and disbelief. I would assist him twice a week, continuing to attend my own class twice a week, with my tuition fully paid. For three incredible years, I had the honor and privilege of helping Allen, observing his genius in teaching acting fundamentals, and applying those lessons in my intermediate classes.

I have never witnessed anyone care more generously for their students than Allen Williams. It made perfect sense, and it was beautiful to watch: he was a former Marine, a combat veteran. He set off metal detectors every time at the airport from a grenade fragment in his elbow, for God's sake!

I love this man who had more impact than anyone else on my career as an actor. When he demanded I audition for his play – "I need Puerto Ricans!!" (I'm Colombian American, by the way, which added to the humor of it all) – I didn't even have a headshot or resume, despite training for almost three years. I had no reason to believe I could make a living as an actor; I was just training as an indie film producer.

But he got me started on this journey. He guided me for those three years, encouraging me in a subtle yet clear manner, echoing a shared understanding: we are military veterans; we never quit. God bless you, Allen, and may you Rest in Peace.

Bringing "Crew Morale" to the Set

My final three years plus a few months on the USS Arkansas were among the best of my life, a stark contrast to my initial challenging nine months. This shift began after my "checkout" with Captain Robert Twardy, the Commanding Officer, for my Leading ELT qualification. That interview was the most challenging of my eight years in the Navy, yet it imparted the most valuable lesson I had acquired up to that point: there was nothing more important on that billion-dollar warship than "crew morale" – the collective feeling and atmosphere of the ship's crew, regardless of rank. Captain Twardy asked if he could count on me to help with the ship's morale. "Absolutely, Captain," I replied.

I kept my word. I began by, and maintained, saying hello to everyone I saw on the ship. This simple act fundamentally changed my attitude and the quality of my days.

This profound awareness of the value of "crew morale" is something I actively carry with me to every film or television production set. What's more, it became my primary intent as Allen Williams' Stage Manager, applying this lesson in over 300 of his class sessions, fostering a positive and supportive environment for my fellow actors. I continue to bring this mindset to every class session I attend, including my current acting class, where the first night recently unfolded. A day at sea on a warship is tough. A day on a production set is tough. But by fostering a positive atmosphere, we can still do incredibly cool work together and have fun doing it. It's a lesson learned in the most unexpected of places, and it shapes my commitment to every project I undertake today.