SECOND-HALF REBELS
- markrickerby3
- Apr 30
- 9 min read
I was walking my dog in Burbank, California, one sunny morning when I passed a popular bakery called Portos. A man of about 90 was sitting at a table along the sidewalk, reading a Louis L'Amour novel. I mentioned that I had read it and asked if he was enjoying it. We discussed it for a minute, then he told me, "I wrote a few western screenplays when I was in my twenties. I still have them somewhere."
"Did you ever submit them to the studios?" I asked.
He looked at me like I asked him if he had ever swallowed a horny toad backward. "Oh, no. I wouldn't have been able to handle the rejection."
I appreciated his candor, but my next thought was to ask why he had written them in the first place if he was planning to keep them a secret his whole life. I mean, we're talking about sixty years here. An old saying crossed my mind - "Much talent is lost to the world for want of a little courage."
I didn't ask him that because I didn't want to insult him or pour salt on an old wound, but I did make a suggestion. "Westerns are timeless. Why don't you try it now? I think you should dust off that old dream and give it a shot."
His next response was sadder than the first: "That's a nice thought, but I still don't like rejection."
A little storm started raging inside me. I wanted to say, "For God's sake, man, you're ninety. What have you got to lose?" But again, the last thing I wanted to do was say something that might add to an old man's despair in his few remaining years, so I tried a softer approach.
I said, "A poet named Edwin Markham wrote, 'Ah, great it is to believe the dream as we stand in youth by the starry stream, but a greater thing is to fight life through and say, at the end, the dream is true!'"
I wanted his heart to soar. I wanted him to say, "You know something? You're absolutely right! I'm gonna stop worrying, find those old scripts, and send them far and wide!"
But he just said "that's very nice" then glanced at his book again, a subtle hint that he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone, so I did, but not before borrowing a pen and napkin from a passing waiter, writing my phone number on it, handing it to him, and saying, "Send them to me. I'll submit them for you."
He took the napkin and said, "You would do that for me?" "Yes, I would," I replied. "The only thing better than making my own dreams come true is making someone else's come true." He assured me he would send them right away, and we parted with a handshake and big smiles.
I never heard from him again.
It has been about ten years. You know something? I'm starting to think he has no intention of sending those scripts. In fact, since he was 90 or so at the time and it has been ten years, he has probably gone to that big western saloon in the sky by now.
They say everyone we meet is a teacher, whether they're successful or unsuccessful. They can inspire us to be like them, or to not be like them. That man was the latter. I don't mean to be cruel. He was very nice, and seemed happy enough, but I can't help wondering how much not making that dream happen, or at least knowing he tried, weighed on his mind throughout his life.
All cards on the table - maybe I brought some baggage into the exchange. My father loved to sing and was just as good as any pro, but he never auditioned for anything. He also swore for his entire adult life that he was going to write a memoir about his youth in Northern Ireland, but he never did that either. I had to finish it for him in his final years. I was frustrated and confused by his complete lack of effort. He passed away right before I met the Louis L'Amour fan that day.
Not everyone can become a superstar, but I don't understand it when someone has a talent and doesn't try - at least a little - to make the most of it. This man mentioned his western screenplays to me within a minute of meeting him, so they were still important to him. Maybe he wrote them just so he could know or say that he did, but he died never knowing how good - or bad - they were because he hid them in a drawer for over 60 years.
Though I was never naturally extroverted, I did get a degree in stage acting, acted in several plays, and did some film acting before I found more fulfillment as a writer. Because of those experiences, and from submitting hundreds of written works to agents and publishers, I have become completely immune to rejection. I have learned that avoiding rejection isn't the answer - overcoming it by making it not matter is. Some will like it and some won't, just like every creation since the beginning of time. It truly doesn't matter. Artist create, and they have no control over the reactions to those creations.
A few years after meeting that old man, my friends Rick Balentine, Tanille Yow, and I decided to stop submitting scripts and pulling on Hollywood's coat sleeves and start our own production company. We named it Temple Gate Films. He was a film and TV composer for over twenty years at that point (and still is), Tanille had done some acting, and I was a writer. However, though my stories had been published in dozens of books and magazines, I had never tried screenwriting in earnest. We created and wrote a western series before Temple Gate Films came to be, and have added dozens of new scripts and script ideas since then. We also made a lot of great connections in the business - incredible people like Martin Nuza, Jane Lindemuth Fitzpatrick, Augustine Guma, Jeff Deverett, and Joe Austin - who are helping us make this dream happen, who are part of our vision for the company, and who we never would have met if we feared that toothless tiger known as rejection.
We started all this when we (Rick and myself) were in our late 40s. Modern America is not the best place to get older, for many reasons. The world of entertainment, in particular, is youth obsessed. There's no mystery to it - young, beautiful people are just nicer to look at. The internet offers no relief either with all the memes about getting older. i.e., "If you watched this TV show / recognize this person / love this song, you are officially OLD!" As if anyone needs to be reminded of something they're already acutely aware of.
Every gray hair, wrinkle, and noisy joint is a reminder that none of us are spared. Time isn't forgetful that way. It misses no one.
We've all heard about cultures that revere their elderly population for their wisdom and experience. America once did too, but over time, American movies have become filled with 20-year-olds who somehow know it all and have skills that take most people decades of adult study to master. And though someone barely out of high school playing a Renaissance man doesn't ring true to us, our "willing suspension of disbelief" allows us to accept even them in a role that, prior to 1965 or so, would have been played by a much older actor.
So what should we do in this constant avalanche of negativity about getting older? The programming leads many to feel that if they haven't accomplished their dreams by 30, or 40 at the latest, they should just give up on themselves. Having children complicates matters even further. It's one thing to struggle alone and quite another to struggle with children watching who are depending on you. Go get a nice, secure office job until you can retire, the world screams.
But there's another voice. Some call it "the little voice" in our heads. And that voice belongs to the other person in each of us - the one who is perpetually 25. Every senior is confused to some extent by what they see in the mirror and what they feel inside. So, unless that voice - and the person it belongs to - has been discouraged completely by this world, it will rise up and fight for you. "Damn it, you're still here!" it will say. "You will not betray that boy with a heart full of dreams that you used to be. You will not abandon that young man/woman who tried but didn't succeed the first or second or third time. You will not disappoint the people who believe in and depend on you. You will not deny God, who gave you your talents, and the purpose he has for your life."
When we get to heaven, the Creator won't ask us why we weren't like someone else. He'll ask why we weren't more like ourselves - the person He created each of us to be.
The world belongs to people who say no. No to what you're supposed to do. No to when you're supposed to do it. No to anyone who says you can't. They decide that the word "no" is just the beginning of "not with you".
The human spirit is ageless. Talent is valuable whether the artist is 15 or 50. Rodney Dangerfield didn't get his break until he was 46. Ray Croc didn't open his first McDonald's until he was well over 50. Laura Ingalls Wilder began writing "Little House on the Prairie" at 65. Grandma Moses didn't touch a paint brush until she was almost 80. The list of fearless older people goes on and on because the less time we have, the more precious it becomes. You bloom where you're planted, and when you're ready to.
Success in any field is a lot like happiness. The inner voice says, "You're getting older. You're running out of time. If you're not going to let yourself have it now, when will you?"
So here my partners and I are, surrounded by other fearless, second-half rebels, all equally determined to dust off old dreams and make them shine as brightly as possible. The difference is we now have a lifetime of experience and study to back it up. The dilemma now isn't "the tyranny of the blank page" (writer's block), which is really just a by-product of not having lived enough - the problem (a good problem) is choosing which story to tell out of thousands; which production to do next. It's all finally coming together. And I say "finally" not just in terms of when we started our company, but in terms of the great span of our lives so far.
It hasn't been easy. Fortunately, we knew it wouldn't be easy going in. Some of the blessings of age are the ability to delay gratification, to know that things happen in God's time, not ours, and the awareness that Rome really wasn't built in a day. You also start to see the threads in the tapestry of your life as you get older - threads that were always there but needed the span of time to be seen clearly. Because of that improved view, you also start believing in fate. For instance, Rick and I were born in the same year, he's Scottish and I'm Irish (same thing, really), and we have the same warped sense of humor. Then there's Tanille, who is much younger than us, and part Native American. Suffice to say she puts up with a lot of childish banter. Her background in acting has made her a talented casting director. She brings an energy to our company that Rick and I don't have. She has calmed us down countless times, particularly when we crossed paths with dishonest people and were tempted to, as Rick would say, "light a torch and touch all the huts with it." The three of us met and just fit together in a way that can only be described as "mysterious".
We have encountered heartless con artists, disappointments, delays, and personal tragedies, but we have persevered. My partners, associates, and I are proving that old poem I recited ten years ago, hoping to inspire that dear old man who had given up on his dream. So if you're over 40 and haven't made "that" dream come true yet, take heart. No matter what date is on your driver's license, your heart, soul, and mind are ageless. The child with wild, limitless dreams not yet tainted by this world still exists. Your dreams still exist. You can still make them happen, though you need to find others as persistent as yourself, like we did. In that spirit, it may be worth saying again...
Great it is to believe the dream
as we stand in youth by the starry stream,
but a greater thing is to fight life through
and say, at the end, the dream is true!'"
Mark Rickerby
Founding Partner/Producer/Head Writer
Temple Gate Films
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