Depending on the day and the moment, when someone asks me how I became a programmer, my answer will vary. Obviously, it’s my life and career, so it doesn’t fall into a neat narrative where one action relentlessly leads to the next. Today, my answer is because Gene Dent disliked another programmer enough to not call him back after break.
We were working on a very large holiday show that we did every year. The past year, the previous long-time programmer had moved out of town, so we were using a new one. This new programmer wasn’t IATSE, and I was and still proudly am, so I was assigned as the second programmer. Though the programmer that year certainly knew the console (Hog 3) better than I, he wasn’t really good at reading the designer- which was Gene Dent. When Gene would call for things, the programmer would often respond with:
“You can’t do that.”
“The console doesn’t do that.”
“Let me show you something instead.”
These were literally the worst things you could say to someone like Gene. Gene was old-school-tough-as-nails-gay man. He came up in a time where it was extremely unsafe to be who he was, and he was both a designer and a business man, running a large design and construction company that did the Rose Festival among many other things. Those kinds of statements the programmer was making- besides just being inexcusable from any programmer at any time- were perceived as attacks on Gene’s authority. Which Gene would not tolerate. So when the show took it’s normal break for Thanksgiving, the programmer wasn’t asked back. I was.
Gene and I shared more than a little aesthetic, and a great rapport. So when he asked me for something, I knew what he wanted. I just had to figure out how to make the console do it. Believe it or not, because I wasn’t needing a ton of description and didn’t argue any point that Gene was making, our programming went faster. Was I good? Absolutely not. Did I get it done? I sure did.
Come January, Gene and I chatted about the next year. Gene was considering calling the other programmer back, but kept saying to himself (and me) “I don’t think I can stand that voice in my headset again.” So I proposed a solution. He did a lot of business with Southwest Airlines and had access to vouchers that could fly you anywhere they go. So I asked for one of those tickets to fly to Hog training and I offered to put myself up and pay for the class if he would give me the programmer position. To my delight, he said yes.
Gene and I worked together for decades. His style was so distinct that, over time, I could light you a show just like Gene would do in any space with any inventory. And eventually- I did. I was also a designer, and one of the hardest things for me is when the art doesn’t speak to me yet I still need to manufacture an emotional response. So one show, I decided to light it like Gene would. It was unbelievable amounts of fun, and the client was pleased (though they didn’t have any clue what I was doing).
I remember the first time I was programming a full show for Gene. It was something for a children’s theater show (side note- the most fun you will have as a designer or programmer is children’s theater) and I had a modest moving light rig. At some point, he had me point a light somewhere and then gave me a command that made me giggle for years “Pink that b**tch up”. My family- especially my daughter and I- repeat that to each other still to this day.
Programmers aren’t born, they are made. I certainly had an affinity for consoles, but that would be nothing without the opportunity to practice the craft. Gene (and our friend Greg Tamblyn) gave me endless opportunities to practice, improve…and contribute. Programmers aren’t just technical wizards who dream in keystrokes- we are unacknowledged collaborators and partners. Just like any partnership, you see where the other person isn’t as strong as you and offer support. I had no clue this was a normal thing for programmers to provide. I would just create new effects and looks for Gene to use in shows because I knew the opportunities the console offered and I knew Gene’s style.
Gene wasn’t super great with sequence of events- he was a strong, bold-strokes designer. I’m autistic, so sequence is EVERYTHING to me. Over time, as our collaboration evolved, I would sometimes fill in gaps of how the staging went when we were working without cast and/or director. After the first few times- where Gene questioned whether I was challenging his authority- he accepted it. Together, we could light a spectacular show in record time because so little communication was actually required.
Gene was a friend, a colleague and an artist of many disciplines. He had a profound impact on me as a person and a professional. He hired me, I hired him, and he even designed musicals I wrote (that frankly could not afford him). He was flawed, like all of us. But he was one of the greatest storytellers I’ve ever met, and one of the most distinct people I’ve ever known. My memories and stories of him enrich my life and the lives of those I share them with. I still sometimes tell his stories in a fairly accurate impersonation of him I’ve done for years. Often imitated, never replicated. Here’s to you, Gene. I’ll pink that b**tch up for you.
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Mark LaPierre is a programmer in film, television and theater based out of Albuquerque. He grew up in live entertainment and has been a designer/programmer for musicals, concert dance, live music, circus and corporate. Mark is a proud member of IATSE, an ETC Eos trainer and an enthusiastic trainer of many other platforms and subjects. He offers Zoom console training as well as in person. If you enjoy his content, please consider commenting on his posts on the website to appease the Algorithm.