A Cool Dip
On Swimming in a Frozen Lake for the Purposes of Achieving Movie Stardom
My friend Mike was in the process of directing an independent film and needed to replace an actor at the last minute. Mike offered me the role. I’m not an actor. Nevertheless, Mike thought I would be “perfect” because the character he wanted me to play moved very slowly and didn’t talk much. I had reservations because Mike was directing his film in Sister Bay, Wisconsin – in early February.
I’ve lived in Southern California my entire life. When the thermometer drops below seventy, I need a parka. Mike told me the hottest it got in Sister Bay at this time of year was seventeen degrees. Despite temperatures fit for a Siberian prison camp, I agreed to be in Mike’s film. It wasn’t every day I got movie offers.
Less than twenty-four hours after Mike’s call, I hopped on a plane to Wisconsin. The plane was nearly empty. A mother and her young daughter sat a few rows in front of me. I heard the daughter ask, “How come nobody is on this plane, Mommy?”
Her mommy matter-of-factly replied, “Because nobody wants to go to Wisconsin, Sweety.” When I arrived in Green Bay, in the middle of the night, the cold reminded me of an elementary school field trip I once took to McDonald’s. As part of our tour, we walked through the McDonald’s freezer. Wisconsin felt like the McDonald’s freezer, only colder. Obviously, Wisconsin should be closed in the winter. It’s just common sense.
At the airport I was greeted by a friendly young woman named Nicole. Nicole was a production assistant on the movie. She drove me from Green Bay to Sister Bay, to the Scandinavian Lodge. It was still dark when we arrived, there was a light snow. Someone had left a key to my hotel suite at the entrance. There were no people around. I was excited to be staying at the place that must have inspired Stephen King to write The Shining.
It was sunny and clear the next morning; the building not nearly as ominous as the night before. The lodge’s staff had reemerged from their burrows. Nicole again drove me, this time to the movie set. On the way there, I saw more snow on the ground than I thought could possibly fall on planet Earth. I asked Nicole if she knew what the temperature was outside. It was minus two degrees. Only seventy-two degrees less than what I was accustomed to.
Mike, the director, greeted me with a big hug, thanking me for making the journey. He gave me more information about my role. I’d be playing the local bartender, town bus driver, gas station attendant, general store clerk, city hall janitor, movie theater projectionist and diner cook. “Oh,” Mike suddenly remembered, “Also, you’ll be the master of ceremonies for the Polar Plunge. Everybody is going to jump into Lake Michigan. We’ll be filming that at the end of the week.”
In the same way that some actresses have no nudity clauses, I was going to have to inform Mike I had a no swimming in Lake Michigan during the dead of Winter clause. But since that scene wasn’t until later in the week, I had more immediate issues. There was no food in my hotel suite. I thought it might be a good idea to stock up on some provisions. When Nicole returned me to the hotel, I asked the cheerful receptionist if there was a grocery store nearby.
There was – a store known as the Piggly Wiggly. I asked the receptionist if I could walk there. She told me I could, but they wouldn’t find my body until sometime in April. The receptionist summoned the lodge’s maintenance man, a grumpy character by the name of Roy. When Roy showed up, the receptionist pointed at me and said, “He needs a ride to The Pig.”
As we rode in Roy’s beat-up truck to The Pig, I mentioned how amazing the snow was. I told Roy I’d never seen such a winter wonderland. He gruffly responded, “It makes me want to kill myself.” I half-jokingly advised Roy not do anything rash behind the wheel. Roy did not laugh. He accompanied me inside the Piggly Wiggly. It was a typical grocery store, until I spotted some dried pig ears for sale. Dried pig ears! I asked Roy if that was a Wisconsin snack sort of like beef jerky. He pointed out I was in the pet section. Then he declared, “We’re not that weird.”
Not long after I returned to my hotel suite, a blizzard hit – Blizzard Julia. Julia was fierce, blistering, unrelenting. Snow pounded against the windows. I endured the storm by sitting in the living room, wrapped under blankets by the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate. I was strong; I made it through the night. By morning, Julia had moved on. But she left more snow on top of the mountains of snow that were already there. If someone could figure out how to make cars run on snow, Wisconsin would be the next Saudi Arabia. The rest of the week went by smoothly. I delivered the one or two lines I had in any given scene with the sluggish pace Mike had requested.
And then the day came when we were to go for a swim in Lake Michigan. Mike arrived on the shore bright and early with his cast and crew, several hundred extras. There were also firemen and paramedics to make sure no one died. The water in Lake Michigan was below freezing, 31.8 degrees. It wasn’t frozen because the wind kept it from being still. I dipped my finger in it and then told Mike, “No – no, no. No.” If he wanted it to look like I went into the water, he was going to have to use special effects. Mike understood, explaining it was not imperative for my character to get wet.
As I watched the first group of extras rush into Lake Michigan and hurry back out, it seemed like they were having fun. Little kids were diving in. After witnessing this, I stripped down to my long john underwear, and boldly told Mike I’d go for a swim after all. He was pleased. Mike instructed me not to go in right away with the extras – he wanted me to go in with the main actors. I got in position and noticed grumpy Roy, from the Scandinavian Lodge, observing a few feet away. I asked him if he planned on going in. He shook his head and answered, “I’m not an idiot.”
Awaiting my turn, I watched the second group of extras run in and out of the Great Lake. These people weren’t having fun at all. They looked like they were being tortured, screeching as if their hair was on fire. Some of them were crying. I was beginning to have second thoughts. Mike gave the main actors and myself the go-ahead. As I approached the water, my brain relayed a simple request, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing – please don’t.” The water felt like acid. It was so cold, it burned. The moment I stepped foot in it, I wanted to turn around. Little kids had done this. I had to keep going.
I walked in up to my waist. It was a pain I had never experienced or imagined. It took my breath away. As I stood there, in literal shock, I suddenly saw the scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life: a gentle two-foot wave slowly rolling towards me. It clipped me, just above my nipples. For a second, I’m positive I was legally dead. I turned around, ready to head back to shore. I wanted to run back, like everybody else.
But my character was slow.
And so, as my internal organs were howling in agony, I ambled back to the icy shore as if I was taking a pleasant stroll through Central Park in the springtime. Marlon Brando would have been proud. In Mike’s completed film, Feed The Fish, there is absolutely no indication whatsoever that I got anywhere near the water. I absolutely did. And for a California Boy, that makes me a stud.
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