The next week we'd see THE LONGEST DAY –– and now my legion was transformed into a platoon, with army helmets, plastic machine guns, and rubber hand grenades. The re–enactments were heavy on dirt clods, brave frontal assaults, and heroic and glorious death tumbles down a sand hill. Stealthy night maneuvers were carried out after dinner and aided with signals from Oscar Mayer Wiener Whistles and flashlight blasts, and they usually ended up with a hapless neighbor's mailbox lid getting blown off by a sap–charge cherry bomb.

But when I became a young man, I put away childish things. Sort of. I grew up with the normal interests of sports, girls, science, and rock and roll, not necessarily in that order. When it came time to select a career I chose doctor. My dad was a doctor and I was fascinated by medical science so once in college, I ensconced myself in premed. I was a better than average student, but somewhere along the University line I lost my focus and my passion for medicine. Oddly, what I did discover was the drama department. And whereas taking drama was originally meant to supplement my grade point average, I found that I was much more comfortable on a stage than in a chem lab.

I don't begin to fathom why that is, or was, due to the fact that I always considered myself a bit shy. Maybe it was a therapy of sorts, being in front of people, on stage, to sort of bring myself out, make contact. And if I'm to be honest with myself, I must say my interest in girls had no small part in it. On more than one occasion a pretty young thing would approach me post–production and say, "Nice work in that play. I didn't know you were so "sensitive." "Thank you," I'd mumble humbly. "Would you care to go out for coffee and talk about me – I mean – talk about the play?"

But I think it was more hiding than anything else. One could get lost in a character, in the safe little enclave of a play. And something else, something scary, when I think about it: it was a great way to avoid responsibility. It's the character, it wasn't me. I didn't do those things, say those things, have that fit like that, it was the play, it was the character. What great license I had found! Ah the delicious debauchery of behavior it sanctioned. To be an actor. Virtually anything was permissible because it was all ultimately done in the name of art. I feel rather like a magician committing the ultimate taboo and breaking the code by revealing all the closely guarded trade secrets, but hey, I'm sorry – it goes with it.

To be an actor is to give yourself all the excuses you've ever dreamed of to misbehave. Ask Jack Nicholson, ask Robert Downey Jr. ask any of them, and if they're honest with themselves they'll agree with me. We get away with an awful lot in the nebulous name of 'ART'. Ah, drat – I've broken the actor's code! NEVER TELL THEM WE'RE HAVING A BALL!! They might not pay us as much as they do. Not that acting is easy. NOOOOOO, in fact it's rather difficult. It may look easy to the untrained eye, but to do it and do it well, to make it appear effortless, that requires tremendous amounts of skill, patience, and stamina. Because what you are asked to do as an actor is so nonsensical and illogical and antithetical to every human instinct, especially, the instinct to protect.

As an actor you are required to open, to reveal, to make yourself vulnerable. And here is clearly an irony: those of us who pursued this craft in an effort to hide from ourselves, are ultimately obligated to explore and reveal ourselves. And beyond that, and even more essentially, we are compelled to create. We are required to create an oxymoron: imaginary reality – which in and of itself demands copious amounts of concentration and relaxation – all while large numbers of strangers stand around and wait for you to tear your guts out, nail the scene, do it and do it right so we can break for lunch already. And that's just the doing of it, executing under the pressure to NOT BLOW IT as the slate comes in and you hear "Action!" That's pressure enough, but on top of that you have to remember –– each performance your career is basically on the line.

When I approach a play or film, and new role, a new scene, I think about how I can bring up the juice, inject more extreme stakes –– sort of up the ante. If I want something, I REALLY want it. If I love someone, I REALLY love them. (This approach, of course, can become a problem on a personal level, especially with one's wife, hence the cardinal rule – always leave the work at the office. Never let the character come home with you. He may be a rude son–of–a–bitch.)

In acting, I've always thought it a good thing to K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple, Stupid. And to Practice Stillness. Less is usually more (except for those times when more is more). In addition, one mentor early on said something that has stuck with me: "Each day look for at least five things that are beautiful. Reflect on these, digest them, bury them deep within. Then when you act – draw upon them. Beauty can be found in the most simple and obvious of places. Always when you act, look for the beauty."

Plus – I know folks on the west coast who get so homesick being away from their east coast relatives for a few months – imagine those same people who are separated by a span of hundreds of thousands of miles. Yes, the Russian cosmonauts have been space–bound for years at a stretch, but these are trained and disciplined soldiers. The common man may not fare as well. Psychological counseling services for Mars Colony would be my choice for stock market investing in the new millennium. Also, recreational distractions such as Mars–Gravity Golf and Upper Atmosphere Jet–Skiing would certainly come into fashion, as the locals would soon tire of the overdone Mars Dune Buggy excursions.