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The moniker "Livinman" isn't just another clever attempt to coin a "catchy" company name, it's a reminder to produce only work that maintains a high level of integrity for both my clients and myself.
"Livinman" is how I feel every morning.
In the eighties, my incredible cousin, Mary Ann, lived in Farmington, Georgia, working as an artist-in-residence for a pottery company. I decided to pay her a visit. She lived in a rustic cabin set in the middle of a furtive northern Georgia forest.
The last night I was there, I sat down on her couch after a sumptuous meal in Athens, 60 miles away. A rattlesnake bit me in the right trapezius muscle, missing my neck by inches (it's a fallacy they always rattle FIRST!). Days and days of rain had forced the snake to seek a dry spot (a window sill half-hidden by a curtain). He had obviously squeezed through a slight tear in the botttom of the window screen. Mary Ann had no phone (the days before cell phones) and poor night vision (she suffered an eye injury as a child; we are the same age, and spent much of our youth with each other, especially while she recovered from this awful injury....we are more brother and sister than cousins).
She grabbed the keys to my Z-28 and drove like Steve McQueen in Bullitt.
We were 40 minutes from Athens when my vomiting became uncontrollable. She slid into a farmer's yard and kept me from choking to death as my throat and body swelled. The farmer was finally convinced to call the rescue squad after witnessing my "Ole Faithful" impression (a geyser that wouldn't stop).
First lesson? ALWAYS bring the snake (dead of course) with you! Of course if the person bitten spends too much energy chasing the devil around...well, let's just say "be judicious".
The reason the snake type is important is that the ER folks will need to take the time to test you for the correct antivenom (GA has four kinds of rattlers). My test came up Timber.
Apparently, the docs and nurses had never seen someone bitten that close to the neck before. As the gallery looked on, I slipped into shock, rose 6-7 feet above myself, looked up at a "womb-like" depression in the ceiling/heavens (it seemed fitting that the afterlife entrance appeared this way), and then sank back down into my ever-swelling "Michelin Tire Man" body. I remember going back down ultra clearly. Even today I could pick out the color and type of tile on the floor in the ER. I prayed unceasingly, as did my cousin, as these events were happening with machine-gun rapidity.
God had plans for me to survive this venomous bodily invasion. Four days in ICU and three more in a private room and I was back on my hind legs in Knoxville.
The docs warned me that since snake venom is a "cross-species" antidote distilled from horse's blood (WHINNEY), a return visit to an ER near me soon would be inevitable. Like clockwork, 30 days later I returned to a Knoxville ER with another virulent allergic reaction, though nothing like that long night in Georgia. Thirty more days of steroids finally got me back to 100%.
Since 1985 the animal kingdom has taken some choice shots at me: I've survived encounters with a curious tapir, a hungry timber wolf, even my home came under attack from a derelict cardinal (check out the movie in the "Livindiversions" section) all while behind a camera (I DID get to ride an elephant without incident - I've got a picture of this I'll post soon). Like candles and strong breezes, the obviousness of life's fragility re-awakened me.
Mary Ann never returned to the cabin.
The snake had bitten both her pups, but it didn't kill them as I had received the lion's share of the venom. This event, and our shared admiration for a grandmother who was a nurse, prompted her to return to school and become a registered nurse. She is currently married to Physical Therapist, Kenny, and works in Athens (she toiled for a short time at the very hospital that I convalesced in).
God and his child, Mary Ann, saved my life. I firmly believe God imbued her with enough sight to get me as close to the hospital as she could. A moment's hesitation and well, let's just say I can't sing, "I want to be a livinman...a LIVINMAN!" loud enough!
As for the slogan "never stop the dolly", it emanates from my career as a filmmaker. I've always admired how directors like Sergio Leone, Sam Fuller, and Marty Scorsese used camera movement. When plotting a camera move, I always ferret for interesting choreography. What's my favorite directive? "Never stop the dolly" of course! After all, you can't let a three-foot striped maraca with teeth "stop the dolly"!
The aftermath of the snake encounter held a tincture of family irony. Like my dad's ship during WWII, the heavy cruiser USS Portland (The Sweet "P"), I was declared sunk (dead) in the media twice. Once by Paul Harvey! (Tokyo Rose did the honors for dad).
Tap the first two images below for the original story of the event as I relayed it to a reporter. Tap the angel for a story that alludes to my demise.
To erroneous media types everywhere I bellow: "Never stop the dolly!"
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