The oracle that is David Mamet

Being a keynote speaker in Chicago at the ‘Black Romance Film Festival’ means I will inevitably be asked, ‘what was it like to work with David Mamet?’

How to answer that question?  The mind swirls.  It is akin to asking, ‘what was it like to take golf lessons from Tiger Woods?’ Or, ‘what was it like to shoot jump shots with Michael Jordon?’ Or, ‘what was it like to take batting lessons from Ernie Banks?’

Of course you can never assume any of the greats could teach anyone to do what they do or did.  Magic Johnson wasn’t the best coach.  Can Jack Nicholas teach a golf swing?  Maybe or maybe not. Like I mentioned, not all greats can teach.

Working with David Mamet as an aspiring writer did offer some unique challenges.  For example, when he spoke to me, it was nearly impossible to scream ‘Captain my Captain.’  Or when he paid me a compliment, I had to resist jumping into the air and clicking my heels or breaking into a ‘River Dance.’ When he was disappointed, I wanted to excuse myself, go for a long walk and resist hurling myself in front of a car.

Yes, a most difficult answer to the question, ‘what was it like to work with a Pulitzer Prize winning writer, I mean David Mamet?’ Lets see, where to begin?

He was tough, sometimes unyielding.  I recall him telling me to go rewrite my episode within three hours or I was fired.

He was funny.  Mamet is probably one of the best joke tellers in history.  Once in a while he’d let fly some of his life experiences working with some of the great directors, producers and actors.  We’d all be on the floor, howling.

He was generous.  One time he stopped me in the hallway and asked me if I had a quarter.  I resisted screaming in his ear, ‘yes, Captain my Captain, I do indeed have a quarter in my pocket.’  I scratched my head, reached into my pocket, and brandished a quarter.  Mamet took it and placed a beautiful knife in my hand.

Another time, he stopped my girlfriend and me at our staff Christmas party.  He told her that I had come a long way and my last episode was one of the best of the season.  Man, did I get some loving that night.

He was gracious.  Mamet would be the first to stand and offer his help to the Fed Ex delivery person.  He opened doors for assistants.  He was polite to unknown actors who came in for an audition, some of whom were so nervous they hardly got their lines together.  I heard countless stories about Mamet politely asking them to relax and try again.

He was religious.  He went to temple almost daily.

He was disciplined.  He studied martial arts, practiced all the time.  He wrote every day.  His episodes came in twice as fast as anyone’s on our staff.  Often, he’d turn in his episode and finish a play on the same weekend.  I know, cause he told us.

He was aloof and often cut straight to the chase.  I once asked him how to write a play?  He gave me a gentle smile and said, ‘ just go write.’  Man that was a long ass, humbling, turn and walk away.  It felt like ten years to move two feet.

He was a leader.  Sometimes he rallied the cry, ‘writers in the writing room, right now.’  One day he closed the door and said, ‘today I’m going to teach you all how to write.’  This didn’t go over well with the Emmy nominated, award winning senior  writers on the staff.  I quietly got out my pen and started taking notes.  Screw it, I wasn’t gonna miss getting that speech into my journal.  As a matter of fact, I still have it and look at it almost daily.

What was it like working with David Mamet?  It was probably the most inspiring and rewarding experience in my life. I had a modicum of success as a writer before I met Mamet.  I had written for noted actors and actresses such as Sidney Poitier, Mary Louise Parker, Lynn Whitfield and Diane Wiest. It wasn’t until I met David Mamet that I learned how to write.  Yes, he sometimes shouted, sometimes threatened to fire me, but the pearls of wisdom that flowed from the man’s mouth were mind boggling and came in bundles.  Imagine a trunk load of gold coins falling from the sky, crashing in front of you had but a few moments to gather them up.  That’s what it was like being a writer in the writers’ room with Mamet.

He talked about scene structure, dialogue, plot, and what makes drama.  I listened, and  I took copious notes at the expense of other writers thinking I was a kiss ass.  I was.  Mamet was teaching and I soaked up as much as I possibly could.  I learned and I learned big.  The best news is no one will ever be able to take it away from me.

Every day Mamet stood up and asked for the writers to come into the writer’s room, I’d smile, look up and say, ‘I’m getting paid for this, unfriggin’ believable.’

Yes, I was paid to work with the best writing teacher on the planet.  It didn’t cost me twenty thousand dollars a semester, like at some of the most celebrated colleges in the country.  All I had to do was show up and listen.  Take that Harvard, or Stanford.  I got to go to the school of Mamet.  And I got paid for it.  How do you like them apples?  It is true that not all the greats can teach.  Mamet could teach my dogs to write.  All they’d have to do was listen, maybe take a note or two.