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by jeremy padow I remember it like it was 1987. Another day at Sierra Canyon Day Camp in rustic Chatsworth, California. It was a rugged environment where we all participated in the usual camp activities such as go-carts, swimming, archery, and video games. Yes, video games. Standing, arcade-style video games. We all cherished that precious hour when we could play Contra, Mario Brothers, or Burgertime. Keep in mind, this was before I got Nintendo for my Bar Mitzvah, so I had to rely on day camp for my video game fix. Sierra Canyon was kind of like the ZBT fraternity: You didn't have to be Jewish, though about 90 percent of the camp-goers were. One of the 10 percent goyim was then-unknown actor Stephen Dorff, and he was in my camp group. I remember the first time I met him he was wearing a crew jacket for Beverly Hills Cop II. This was before I knew what a crew jacket was, but my 12-year old brain was already attuned to pop culture, so I was familiar with the summer blockbuster. He introduced himself and told me he was an actor. The first question anyone asks an actor who is not featured in People or Entertainment Tonight is, "What have you been in?" So I asked him. He told me he was in a movie called The Gate Now, The Gate is no Beverly Hills Cop II, but believe it or not I had heard of it. I was and always shall be a huge horror geek and I remembered reading an article about the Canadian horror film in my then-bible, Fangoria magazine. It had a similar premise to the previous year's Trick or Treat, in which playing a heavy metal record backwards would cause some kind of havoc. In the case of The Gate, it caused some kind of stop-motion animation creatures to ascend from hell. (Such horror films were made as reactions to Tipper Gore and the PMRC.) I had not seen the movie, but I was impressed that he was in it. Stephen must have appreciated that someone of our age group had recognized the movie, since nobody had known who he was. Keep in mind this was 1987, years before he graced the screen in such classics as Space Truckers, Deuces Wild, or FeardotCom. Dorff's biggest claim to fame at that time was his father, TV composer Steve Dorff. Steve senior was quite prolific, having written the theme music to such shows as Spenser for Hire and Growing Pains. Stephen milked the Growing Pains connection more than a dairy farmer. Keep in mind, the show's main attraction was Kirk Cameron, who was the Ashton Kutcher of 1985-1989. Girls loved his shit. Stephen knew this. He promised to get counselors-in-training two years his senior on set so they could meet Kirk Cameron. What hot-blooded American teenage girl could refuse? All of them, actually, since they were smart enough to realize they were being picked up on by a sleazy 13-year old. Stephen never invited me to the Growing Pains set, but somehow we still became friends. We talked on the phone a lot. I thought he was cool, because he had his own phone line. My fondest phone memory is him impersonating Kiefer Sutherland in Lost Boys. He would re-enact Kiefer's monologue in the cave. You know, the one when he's feeding Jason Patric all kinds of Chinese food that may actually be maggots and worms. "Those aren't worms, Michael..." Stephen would emote. "Be one of us." There was definitely a homoerotic vibe to the scene and the impression, which if I had known of foreshadowing at the time could have averted the events I am about to reveal. Stephen Dorff showed me his dick. Three times. Dick-flashing Incident #1: We were in arts and crafts class. I don't know if we were working on lanyards, or popsicle stick houses, or Barney-esque Vaseline sculptures, but Stephen told me to walk over to him. I did. "Look under the table," he said. I did. I was greeted by his semi-erect penis, flopping up like a sick Jack in the Box. Despite this experience, which would have scarred most pre-adolescents for life, I later invited Stephen to spend the night at my house, which led to dick-flashing incidents #2 and #3. Dick-flashing Incident #2 ("Oops, I Did it Again"): Jacuzzi. I don't think we've used it since the late 80s, or to be more precise, the night Stephen Dorff stood on its steps, pulled his swim trunks down, and exposed himself. He may have feigned masturbation; to be honest I really cannot recall. Dick-flashing Incident #3 ("Oops, I Did it Again -- the Neptunes remix): This is where it could have gotten really bad. I don't remember if it was before we went to bed or soon after we woke up in the morning. All I remember is him moaning. "Oh, Jeremy... Oooh, Jeremy..." I looked up from my sleeping bag to see him burying his dick in one of the pillows. I burned them the next day. In retrospect, I don't know why I never said anything to him, like, "Hey, why are you showing me your dick?" What if my parents had walked in? Did he do this to his other friends? What would Kirk Cameron think? After that summer, it was off to junior high for me, and prep school and the beginnings of a grown-up movie career for Stephen. I kept in touch with him for a bit and even invited him to my Bar Mitzvah. He called me a few days before the big day to say he was not sure if he could attend, since he would be filming a program for PBS. If he could make it, he asked if I would prefer he come to the service or reception, since there was a significant lapse of an afternoon in between. I said either one. He said he would try and attend one of them. He also asked if my friends knew that he was invited, because he was already in his mind a celebrity. He had a bigger ego than Robbie Williams. His mom spoke to my mom, and told her that Stephen really wanted to make it, so he could congratulate me and give me a gift. That was a very sweet gesture on her part. I'll admit that I was excited about getting a nice gift, because after all, he was rich, even back then. Needless to say, Stephen did not make it to the Bar Mitzvah, and that's okay. What's not okay is he never called to apologize or wish me congratulations. It would have been nice to get that gift (Legend of Zelda perhaps?), but more important was the acknowledgement of my becoming a man in the Jewish sense of the word. Hell, he used to love being a Lost Boy in our summer phone conversations -- what was another phone call? I have not spoken to him since. I admit, Stephen Dorff is a great actor. Well, actually, he did overact in Blade, and truthfully I have not seen his entire oeuvre. For awhile, Dorff was more famous for dating every hot, young, coke chic M.A.W., which is a term that Hal Sparks will soon deconstruct on I Love 1997. It means Model-Actress-Whatever. M.A.W. It almost sounds like his Stephen's Gen X caper, "S.F.W." and is several letters off from what he really is: "A.F.U.C.K.I.N.G.A.S.S.H.O.L.E.". I wonder if he ever promised these aspiring Hilton sisters access to Kirk Cameron on the set of his current apocalyptic Christian thrillers. Or did he amaze them with his Lost Boys impressions? One thing is almost guaranteed -- he showed them his dick. |
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