Hiding in Hip Hop: On the Down Low in the Entertainment Industry--from Music to Hollywood - Hardcover

Dean, Terrance

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1416553398 ISBN 13: 9781416553397

Publisher: Atria Books, 2008

Synopsis

An entertainment industry insider traces his ten-year career in Hollywood and hip-hop, where he witnessed the profound influence of sexual orientation on the careers of celebrities who presented themselves as straight while hiding their homosexuality.

About this title

About the Author:

Speaker, Educator, Author, and Hip Hop Head Terrance Dean is the author of the explosive and provocative memoir, Hiding In Hip Hop: On the Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood. Dean is also the author of Straight from Your Gay Best Friend and co-author of Visible Lives. He has worked in the entertainment industry for over 10 years with heavy hitters such as Spike Lee, Rob Reiner, Keenan Ivory Wayans, and Anjelica Houston, and with notable television and film production companies such as MTV Networks, B.E.T., Savoy Television, Paramount Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures, and Sony Pictures.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

1. Welcome To Hollywood

One of the most invigorating things to do at least once in your life is to drive across the country and take in the wonderful views of the great ole U.S.A. I fell in love with life all over again after witnessing some of the most beautiful skylines spread throughout Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Arizona.

It took us two days to drive to Los Angeles from Nashville, Tennessee. I was so excited that the long drive didn't bother me. It was me and my boy, Jacob, from North Carolina.

I was thrilled to be out in the world, seeing the green and brown land, and looking at the blue sky. I was twenty-eight and just released from a correctional facility in Nashville. I spent eight months in prison for stealing a car and was released early on parole for good behavior.

I stole the car years earlier while I was in college in Nashville, and the judge put me on probation. I wasn't supposed to leave the state without permission, but as soon as I graduated from college I hightailed it out of Nashville, and became a fugitive on the run for several years.

The first place I went to was Washington, D.C., where I started working in television production, and then later I went to Wilmington, North Carolina, where I met my boy, Jacob. It was in Wilmington where I was caught and extradited back to Nashville to serve my prison time.

But when I first arrived in D.C., after college, I was broke and sleeping on the living room floor of a friend. I was desperate to make my communications degree work for me. I was fortunate to land an internship with CNN, which I liked. I found what I was meant to be doing. I discovered something that brought me joy, and it was working in television. What so many search their entire life for, I found early.

When I went to work each day at CNN, it was magical. I spent four years in college trying to figure out what I wanted to do, so I felt like the luckiest person in the world to have discovered my passion, something that gave me a purpose. After being there a few weeks, I decided that I wanted to become a producer. They were in control and handled business. People respected them, and I liked the title because it seemed to have prestige attached to it.

I couldn't have asked to get better training for it, either. I was working with the most prestigious news network in the world. I was going places. I became a sponge and soaked up every piece of knowledge about television that I could. I asked questions, I volunteered to do things, and I stood out. I was on a mission to make it in the entertainment world.

After my release from prison I was a free man, but I had a record. I was tarnished. My squeaky-clean record now had a felony conviction on it. In the real world my chances of finding a decent job and making decent money would be even more difficult. With a felony, I knew I couldn't work for a bank or any financial institution. Not even most corporate companies would hire me. I couldn't become a teacher or work for any government agency. My list of options was very short.

But I discovered that in the entertainment industry many people had felony convictions. Many people were criminals. The very thing I loved the most was a saving grace for my life.

In the world of Hip Hop, the more adversity in one's life, the more street credibility earned. And with street cred comes your playing card: dropping out of school to make money (gold card), selling drugs (platinum card), jail term (titanium card), getting shot (the almighty, inviteonly black card). I'd been to prison so surely I would be accepted, no questions. Hip Hop artists usually fall into one or even several of these categories.

Now that I was working in the entertainment industry, I didn't worry about my livelihood. I could make money doing something I loved to do. Besides, I didn't have to explain or tell anyone about my criminal past. No one asked. There were no applications to fill out and no human resources department to do criminal background checks. So there was no need to be fingerprinted or provide my social security number.

Being in the clear and not feeling limited, I worked on movie production sets, learning everything I could. I was moving quickly up the ranks from production intern to production assistant to production coordinator. I was on my way toward my goal of becoming a film producer. My name was spreading among production crews because I had a great work ethic. I didn't mind the long hours and going above and beyond my job duties. I wanted this. I needed it. And the hard work paid off with a plethora of job offers.

Jacob and I kept in touch while I was locked up, so I called him as soon as I got out. I had to find out what was going on in the industry and if anyone was talking about me. I had developed a name for myself and I didn't want my arrest to prevent me from moving up in my career. I was determined to make it in entertainment. This was the only thing I knew and I didn't want to lose it.

Jacob was a real cool brother who didn't pass judgment on anybody so I knew I could trust him. He was a down low brother, like myself. Although we had girlfriends and slept with women, we also liked sleeping with men. The women were unaware of our lifestyle.

Jacob let me stay at his condo with him in North Carolina. The place was right off the beach, and it was laid out beautifully. Jacob had very nice taste, and his condo was a reflection of it -- big-screen televisions, plush leather furniture, and queen-size beds in each of the three bedrooms. He was making some serious money as a soundman in North Carolina.

He was also one of those brothers who everybody loved, with the nicest disposition and kindest heart. Whatever you asked of him, he would go to great lengths to help you. When I got locked up, he just packed up all my things and put them in his basement. I was very grateful for his kindness and willingness to stick by me.

"Jacob, what's going on? What are people saying about me?" I asked nervously when I called. I had been gone for nearly a year.

One thing about the industry is that any bad news, gossip, or rumor will spread faster than wildfire. But as quickly as they spread, they are forgotten. If you're away from the industry for too long, you, too, can be forgotten. It's true what they say: In this business you are only as hot as your next project.

"Nobody's talking about it any longer," he replied. "It's old news. Besides, this is Wilmington, this ain't Los Angeles or New York where the big boys are."

I was relieved. That meant I could get back in the game and start fresh.

I just needed a place to go. Nashville is cool but, let's be real, it's not a television or film city. I needed to be in a place where I could make things happen.

Jacob let me know he was moving to Los Angeles to continue his career as a soundman for films. I was looking for a new start in life and to begin my career as a film producer. He was driving cross-country and planned to pass through Tennessee. He asked if I wanted to go along with him out to Los Angeles. That was music to my ears.

Before I spoke with Jacob, I had narrowed down my choices to either going back to New York or trying out Los Angeles. I chose Los Angeles. I could hide in a big city. In Hollywood it's all about illusions. I could be anyone I wanted to. I had already lived in New York for a couple of years, and besides, the farther I was away from my family in Detroit, the better. I didn't have a good relationship with them and hadn't seen them in a couple of years.

While I was holed up in Nashville, I was staying at a motel off Trinity Lane. It was one of about six sleazy motel spots for truckers, druggies, and prostitutes, but I had my freedom and I knew it was temporary.

Being locked up makes you appreciate the small, simple things in life. Once I knew Los Angeles was my way out, I knew it was a sign from God. I just knew it. I could feel this was my chance to start over.

The motel was twenty dollars a night. My cousin Cynthia wired me some money that I had stashed at her home in Detroit. Damn, that six hundred dollars was right on time. It wasn't a lot in a city like Los Angeles, but I'd lived off less than that before.

When I lived in D.C., I barely had money because the internship with CNN did not pay. I had to live off money I made from a part-time telemarketing job. The only thing I could afford to eat were Snickers bars and potato chips. That was my meal every day for lunch. For dinner, it was whatever pieces of chicken and pasta I could find for less than five dollars.

I was excited that I had some money to help me move to Los Angeles -- I was desperate to go.

One thing I needed to take care of before leaving Nashville, however, was getting my parole transferred to Los Angeles. I was going to be on paper for two years and I definitely didn't want to be in Nashville all that time. I wanted to get as far away from Tennessee as possible. Being a black man with a felony in the South and trying to get a job was like going to an all-white college and trying to convince them you did not get in because of affirmative action. It ain't going to happen.

In order for my parole to be transferred to Los Angeles, I had to prove I had a place to live and a job.

A good friend of mine, Sandy, had recently moved to Los Angeles to pursue her career as a producer as well. She knew about my sexuality -- she was one of the few people with whom I shared my deep, dark secret. I actually had no choice but to tell her.

Sandy is very attractive and has humongous breasts and they are very hard to miss. When we met I fought hard not to stare at them asthey spilled out of her top. After a few months, she came to me and said, "You're gay aren't you?" I looked at her, perplexed. I had never before been approached so forthrightly by anyone asking me about my sexuality.

"Naw, why you say that?" I asked.

"Well, most men can't keep their eyes off my breasts when they speak to me. But you never stare at them while you're speaking to me."

Although she was right, I was simply trying to be a gentleman and not make it obvious. We joked about...

About this edition

• Publisher: Atria Books
• Publication date: 2008
• ISBN 10: 1416553398
• ISBN 13: 9781416553397
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 320