Rock Hill S.C. - I have always loved the history of our country. Little wonder that when I found a pattern for a Revolutionary War uniform in 1975 I bought it, purchased almost $100 worth of material, and asked my mother to sew me the uniform. She said she would make the costume on the condition that I wear it every 4th of July, a promise on which I have never reneged.
In the fall of 1999 I had a chance meeting with a gentleman who mentioned that he was in a film with Mel Gibson. Intrigued, I pressed him for more information. He said Columbia Pictures was shooting a film called "The Patriot" which is about the American Revolution in the South and is being filmed in Rock Hill, South Carolina. He gave me the number of the casting director and I promptly phoned him. I told the director about my Rev War costume collection and my expertise with black powder muskets. He than faxed me a form to fill out and return to him along with a recent photo. Two weeks later he phoned to tell me I had a part in the militia if I wanted it. I jumped at the chance. "Be at our Rock Hill office on November 6th for wardrobe," he instructed.
The Columbia Pictures office turned out to be vacant department store at the Galleria Mall. I wheeled in my clothing rack with all my period costumes and hats. I was asked to fill out stacks of paperwork and then invited into the wardrobe department. I was awestruck. The entire building was lined with racks of costumes. There were rows of waistcoats, knee breeches, shirts, British red coats, American blue coats, dresses, bodices, tricorn hats, and much more. The costumer marched me up and down many of the rows to select my costume. My outfit was a ragged shirt of no particular color, dark brown breeches, black stockings, a purple vest, and a round brim hat with one side pinned up. The costumer says I looked like one of the guys in the movie, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
 Monday the 9th was the first rehearsal. We learned to march to the beat of a drum and the shrill tune of a fife. "Order, firelocks!" our Sargent would shout. We would stand at attention, musket butts resting on the ground at our right sides with the barrels in our right hands pointed skyward. "Shoulder, firelocks!" The musket then went to the left shoulder. "Present, firelocks!" The musket held straight up and down in front of the body, right hand on the stock, left hand on the barrel, elbows out. "Aim!" We all know what that means. "Fire!" "Bang!" everyone would shout. After all, it was only a rehearsal.
After lunch we were all marched down a dirt road for about a mile to a large open field to practice the battle scene. There were some tractors in another field and I wondered what our platoon looked like to their drivers. After we were positioned on the field the British Soldier reenactors came marching down the same road. It was impressive. A hundred men marching to a drum cadence. A hundred bayonets caught the afternoon sun and a hundred feet hit the ground on the same beat. They then turned and marched onto the opposite end of the field. Then all were given the firing orders.
I have gained a greater appreciation for men who had to stand on an open field and be shot at with nothing for cover. Then if you weren't torn to shreds by a volley of lead balls, you were charged with bayonets. I can't even fathom what it was like to do hand to hand combat with the 100 soldiers coming ever closer. I can hardly describe the feelings that coursed through me as I viewed a man through the sights of my musket and knowing that with the order of "fire," that man would have been dead, some 225 years ago. And knowing that I was held in someone's sights from the other side of the field. Though it was only make believe, I studied the other side of the field to see if I could see a musket barrel aimed at me. How courageous our founding fathers were!
We fired two imaginary volleys at the British then, on command, turned and retreated from the British only to reform and fire a third volley into onrushing British cavalry. Now these were real horses in a real gallop and the danger was real. Fortunately, everyone was careful and there were no injuries save one. The dirt in the field was very soft and on the fourth rehearsal I stepped into a horse hoofprint during our running retreat and twisted my ankle. I had to hobble back to the camp.
I had to return to Stockbridge on Tuesday but was back for cast call at 4:00 A.M. on Wednesday. By daybreak 700 men and women were in costume and on the battlefield. We marched up a hill and as we mounted its crest, I could see the British camp on the next hill. As we marched past the burned out ruin of a once beautiful mansion we flew Old Glory as the oncoming British flew the Union Jack. I tried to imagine what it was like to be a private in the militia marching up against the greatest fighting machine in the world at that time. I was brought back to reality by the shouts of "Cut" and "One more rehearsal", and "I didn't like that, let's try it again."
After we had rehearsed for an hour or so, Mel Gibson arrived on the set. We were given strict instructions not to talk to the talent and take no photos. He seemed a nice enough fellow. He joked with the crew members but with the call of "Action!", he was deadly serious.
I have met many people who think that a movie is shot just the way you see it in the theater or on TV. Sort of a stage play on film. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The principal photography is done first. Sometime two or three companies are shooting at the same time in different locations. Sometime the easiest scenes are shot first and the more complicated ones later. On the set the action is shot from one direction then the cameras are moved and the scene is acted out again and shot from another direction. We marched over the same ten feet of ground twenty times. Then the camera angle was changed and we marched over it twenty more. Then we marched to another set and did it all over again. It is grueling work. By the end of the day my back was breaking. After sunset we marched back to the wardrobe tent to change.
There were three large tents that had been set up on location. One was the chow tent where we had breakfast and lunch, the second was the wardrobe tent, and the third was hair and makeup. As we changed out of our costumes it was announced that several earlier scenes had been edited together, the film transferred to video, and a large video screen set up in the chow tent. I could hear the cheers of the reenactors as I ran to the tent. I dashed in just in time to see Gibson instructing two young actors playing his sons to shoot at a British patrol in order to free his son who had been taken prisoner. The scene was intense and exciting and also bloody. But it's the intent of this picture not to gloss over the American Revolution but to show the price paid for the freedoms that we enjoy today. Our liberties were bought with the blood of many men and women and I've never forgotten that. That's why I wear the costume that my mother made so many years ago every 4th of July, to honor those who died for my freedom. It's my way of saying,"I haven't forgotten."
Though I enjoyed working on the film something wasn't quite right. I am one who makes friends quickly yet I couldn't seem to get past casual conversation with the reenactors. There seemed to be a distance there. One guy didn't like the looks of my rifle and had a few things to say about it. I really thought he and I were going to have words. I had been having a problem with my flintlock but I informed him that I had fixed it. By Wednesday afternoon I was even getting shoved out of my rank. After a few times of this I grew angry and walked out of camera range and left my place in line to someone else.
Back at the wardrobe tent that evening the casting director asked me if would bring my fife and play it in a scene the next day. I told him that I have always lived by the rule that when it's no longer fun, it's time to move on and today it was no longer fun. He was surprised and I told him I felt as though I was getting pushed around and that some of these guys were taking their jobs a little too seriously.
On the way to strike my tent a reenactor named Lee asked me if I was okay. I told him I was quitting the picture because some of the reenactors had been uncooperative that day and I didn't need that. I told him that I have just lost my wife to cancer and maybe I'm just being too sensitive. He informed me that I had been the topic of conversation among the reenactors that day. He told me that there were some who thought I didn't belong because my equipment wasn't exactly period. He said that one guy said that they bust their butts to get everything accurate and this guy (me) comes along with stuff that's not correct. Talk about dumbfounded! I had no idea that all that hostility had been purposely aimed at me. I told him that I had missed that one because I would never treat others that way. He told me that he had had a few things to say himself and he apologized for what he had said. It takes a big man to admit he was wrong so I can have no hard feelings toward him. I thanked him for his kindness, struck my tent, and left.
It was a few of the reenactors that ruined it for me. The Columbia Pictures people were the greatest. All that I met were professional, courteous, and seemed to enjoy their work.
Did I go and see the film? You bet. I was there opening night. My hope is that the reenactors will remember who they are portraying and treat their memories with the dignity and respect they deserve. I sure didn't get it. |
The Patriot by John Gilbert