I know you’re somebody, I just can’t remember who…

Monday night I drove carriage with MBA, my Monday night driving buddy, and the evening started out as uneventful as Monday nights usually do. I had a 4:30 appointment, an hour ride up to Memory Grove and then through downtown. The couple was nice, from Utah, and had never been on a carriage ride before. Same old same old. Then MBA and I stood around for a while, having valuable face time shooting the bull when a man and a boy escaped the south gates and approached us.

Since I was at the front of the line and MBA had two appointments that night to my one, MBA tipped her head to let me know they were mine, she wasn’t even going to attempt to steal them from my grasp. MBA is like that, kind and generous, wanting to make sure things are fair and equal. Last week I hooked an hour ride right about the time we were supposed to quit for the night and she got stuck hanging around until I was done. Sucked to be her but she managed to catch a short ride around the square while I was gone so it wasn’t a total waste.

Anyway, the man was tall (okay, compared to me everyone is tall) and as I looked waaay up and gave him my sales pitch I kept thinking I know you from somewhere.

A good carriage driver is able to judge the mood of their customers. Some want a historic tour so you talk almost the entire time (this job is perfect for me because I can talk for hours about almost anything) some want a romantic ride so you shut the hell up and drive, and sometimes if there is a group of people they like to chat amongst themselves and occasionally ask a question about you, the horse, the city, the church, whatever. So I plopped them into my carriage and asked;

“So, are you from Utah?” (He looked familiar, so he could be a local)

“No, L.A.” He replied.

“Here on a vacation?” Asked me.

“No, I’m working on a production in American Fork.”

American Fork is south, out by Mount Timpanogos. It’s a beautiful area. I mention that “Footloose” was filmed at the Lehi Roller Mills, which is close to there. I also mention how funny it is to watch because it’s supposed to be Nebraska and, wow, I didn’t know the Rocky Mountains extended out all the way to Nebraska. Then we chatted about the Sundance Film festival, The Assembly Hall, Conference Center and the Temple. I took them to memory grove and he remarked how beautiful it was, and how he’d never guessed that a park that nice was so close to downtown. I told him that they had filmed the miniseries “The Stand” in that area before the tornado had wiped out 432 trees. I asked where he was staying and he told me which hotel, so, knowing the location I advised him not to go to the park south of his location (Pioneer Park) very bad place, unless you’re looking for drugs, prostitutes or a souvenir knife wound.

But the entire time I’m thinking “I know you’re an actor, I’ve seen you acting, I just don’t know who the hell you are…” And yet this small voice in the back of my brain kept repeating “My Bodyguard.”

Of course I dismissed it. That movie was made ages ago. I was still a teenager, almost. And I knew I’d seen him in something more recent, but I hate asking because clearly he was on a ride with his kid, wanting to have some quality Father/Son time, and as the Lynyrd Skynyrd song says “Don’t ask me ‘bout my business and I won’t tell you goodbye.”

So we went along my route, him asking questions, me answering. At one point he said “So I take it you’ve lived here all your life?” to which I replied “Heck, no. I’m from Chicago, baby. I’ve only been here five years but I love history.”

He did ask about the Bonneville Salt Flats, and after I answered his question, he said that it was where they had filmed “Independence Day.” I mentioned that Bill, one of our drivers, had been an extra in the RV/Rabble scene where they flee to the safety of the mountain.

We ended up back at South Gate, he paid and tipped me well, asked directions to PF Changs, and sauntered off while MBA was tweaking because a crazy woman was standing on the sidewalk, talking to herself about being a member of the church and not having a tail, changing her clothes and cutting some of them to shreds with a pair of scissors. Not a typical show for us on a Monday night. That’s more of a Friday night event. So I was never able to ask who the hell he was because I had to go in and have security call the cops (so it didn’t look like we did and aggravate her into taking the scissors to us) But there was a guy taking pictures of the horses and he kind of recognized him.

Mr. Photographer: “That’s the guy from that show.”

Me: “Yeah, thanks, that helps a lot.”

Mr. Photographer: “That show about that guy who works for a store like Best Buy.”

Me: “Chuck?” I love that show.

Mr. Photographer: “Yeah, that’s it.”

Me: “That’s not Chuck.”

Mr. Photographer: “No, he’s the other guy.”

I realized he was right, but I had to narrow it down. Things like that bug the living crap out of me. So, using my trusty Moto Q Smart Phone (Which, if it truly was a smart phone would have rung me at the beginning of the ride and flat out told me who he was.) I Googled him.

Adam Baldwin.

And guess what? He was in “My Bodyguard.” Go figure.