My First Lesson in Storytelling

It was 1995. I was fresh out of college. My mom had a friend Barry who was a working film composer who had just signed a deal with some tech company I had never heard of. Apparently, there was this brand new technology called CD-ROM and it was going to replace televisions and movies and everything, and he was in on the ground floor. Once the entire entertainment industry went CD-ROM, there would be more music to write than he could ever handle. I should just move to LA, he could give me infinite work.

I let him know the day I arrived. A week later, he called me and asked if I could engineer a recording session at two in the morning, which I did. And then I never heard from him again.

Through an ad in the trades, I had gotten an internship at Remote Control, Hans Zimmer’s studio. What that meant was I got to pick up their sushi orders, serve it, and then do the dishes and in exchange, they got to not pay me anything. These kinds of unpaid internships were the norm in Hollywood back then...before they were made illegal. I quickly ran out of money and got a job selling long distance over the phone. So, I split my days. In the mornings I would fail at selling long distance phone services in Hollywood (in my entire time there I made exactly zero sales) and then in the afternoon I would drive across town to Santa Monica to do my unpaid internship until evening. I was working two full-time jobs, making no money, and not moving my career forward at all.

There was one other composer, Trevor, who worked with me at the telemarketing job. He was getting his masters in composition at UCLA. He mentioned in the break room that he’d applied for (and not gotten) a job the day before, being an assistant to David Schwartz, the composer from Northern Exposure! He said the job was too technical for him and knowing I had studied audio engineering as well as music he suggested maybe I should apply. He said he’d bring me David’s number the next day.

When I got home that evening I could not stop thinking about it. So I opened up the phone book. There were five David Schwartzes in there.

I called the first one. “Hi, is this David Schwartz?” “Yes.” “Are you looking for a composer’s assistant?” “A what?!?” Sorry, wrong number.

Called the next guy. “Hi, is this David Schwartz?” “Yes.” “Are you looking for a composer’s assistant?” “A who?!?” Sorry, wrong number.

Third David Schwartz...Same thing.

On the fourth try, I got the right David Schwartz. I told him I was a friend of Trevor’s and that he thought I might be the right candidate for the job, so I went down to David’s studio and interviewed. At the end of the interview, David told me he liked me, and it was down to me and two other candidates. He explained that the relationship between a composer and their assistant is a very personal one so the way he was going to decide was to have each of us come in and work for a day. I took a day off of work and spent a day being David’s assistant. So did the other two candidates.

A couple of days later, David calls and says he still can’t decide. Could I do one more day? I was really impressed with David. He is a brilliant composer who had an amazing studio and it would be the opportunity of a lifetime to be his assistant so, of course, I said yes. It took me a minute to arrange another day off of work so by the time I did my second audition day the other two candidates had already done theirs. I thought it went pretty well. At the end of that second day, he says, “Each of the three of you has worked two days for me and that decision moment still hasn’t landed for me. You all have your strengths and your weaknesses.” Then he timidly asked, “Would it be horrible if I asked for one more day?”

At that moment I had a realization. David had been telling himself there was going to be this magic moment when the right assistant would do something or say something and then he would just know. But that moment wasn’t coming. We all had our strengths. We all had our weaknesses, and I could tell by the way he asked that we both knew a third day probably wasn’t going to change that.

So I took a risk and said, “You know, I already took two days off of work and I’m sure the other two candidates did too. It’s a little unfair to keep three people’s lives in the balance for so long, and we both know that you’re not going to learn anything new on the third day. If you make the wrong choice, I’m sure it will be obvious quickly to you and to your new assistant. And I’m sure I speak for the other two candidates when I say that the other two of us will gladly come back later if you have to change your mind. It really is a low risk choice for you. So just decide now. You can change your mind later.”

He looked at me for a few seconds and said, “You’re hired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

When I showed up in the morning, the very first thing he did was show me how to access the company checkbook and have me pay the other two candidates for the time they’d spent working for him. He wasn’t stringing anyone along. He was an ethical guy who was honestly struggling to make a choice because he was telling himself the wrong story about how he was going to find his next assistant.

That was the job that launched it all for me. And after three decades, an Emmy win and three more nominations, I know that those few seconds that David paused before he made his decision were amongst the most pivotal seconds in my life.

But here’s the thing. That pivotal moment in my career didn’t turn in my favor because I showed some technical engineering prowess. It wasn’t a moment of musical genius that launched my career. It was honestly expressing my feelings that let David trust the decision he’d already made. Nothing changed in those few pivotal seconds except the story that David was telling himself.

That was the first of many lessons David taught me. Looking back, I’ve come to realize that the most important stories we tell are not the ones we tell the audience. After a career of learning to tell stories at the highest level, I’ve learned that the stories we tell ourselves are the ones that really matter.

I plan for this Substack, to be an exploration into the power of narrative and how it affects our everyday lives. I would be thrilled if you would join me in that journey. So please subscribe, there is much more to come.

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