If you’ve ever had someone who’s taken you under their wing to show you the ropes, you know how it can make or break you.  For me, the person who singlehandedly helped launch my TV career remains my #1 fan.

Her name is Wendy Lyons.   A.K.A. Wendatola.  Mrs. Lyons if you’re nasty.

When it comes to directing commercials, I learned every bit of skill and panache from this woman.  No, she didn’t have a bullhorn or an ascot, but she wielded a lot of power behind the camera.  She had Mary Tyler Moore’s moxie and Katherine Bigelow’s chutzpah.  Before I met Wendy, I had very little luck getting anything accomplished.  I was a fickle, indecisive, angst-riddled director.  Instead of yelling, “CUT!” … I’d feebly mouth, “Cut???”  Actors would run roughshod over me.  News talent would eat me for lunch and not think twice about it.  And I was never happy with anything I produced.

One day I tagged along with Wendy on a shoot.  The commercial was for a 50’s style diner/burger joint.  I was a chubby extra wearing a letterman sweater and pompadour.  She was pleasant, polite and coolly in charge.  I thought to myself, “How is this soft-spoken blonde woman gonna pull this off?”   I wasn’t hoping to learn anything; I was merely hoping she’d come back with semi-usable footage.

Before we even arrived, Wendy was calling the shots from her cell phone … that, I swear, was larger than a brick.  (It was the mid-‘90’s, mind you.)   She simultaneously schmoozed the client, dressed the set, put the actors in place, chastised the cameraman for smoking, rearranged lights and managed to write ideas for four more scripts on a napkin.  I was in the presence of a force to be reckoned with.

I would have bowed, but my jaw was already on the floor.  I would have tipped over, and completely ruined my lacquer’d hairdo … which Wendy styled in the van on the way over.  The commercial went on to win countless ADDY awards that year … and it wasn’t because of my acting.  Whether she knows it or not, that shoot inspired me to ensure I have every “T” crossed and “I” dotted before I arrive on set.

Wendy is both modest and humble.  She’s probably blushing as she’s reading this.  (And critiquing my writing at the same time.)  She hasn’t aged at all in the nearly 20 years I’ve known her.  Same perfectly-coiffed blonde mane that is her signature style.   Think Nancy O’Dell meets poodle meets professional mom-on-the-go.

Wendy’s husband Gary is yin to her yang.  The first time I met him he scared the crap out of me.  He’s involved in covert military intelligence, allegedly.  He once offered to tell me what he did, but also threatened to have me killed.  I remember going over to Wendy’s house to work on a script and Gary was screaming at the top of his lungs in the basement.  He was practicing his drill sergeant technique.  I got nothing accomplished that day because I was forever dropping to the floor and doing 50-pushups for no reason.

As payback for Wendy’s good deeds over the years, I gave her a CD I thought she’d like.  It was weird, ethereal, jazzy-techno world music from the “Moodswings”.  Apparently, it struck a chord with Wendatola and Gary.  Fast-forward nine months, Wendy gave birth to twin girls.  Fast forward eleven months and she had another boy.   The group should have been called the “Fertile Myrtles”.  Never doubt the mystical power of the “Moodswings”.

I saw Wendy last weekend at the inaugural KCCI reunion.  She fawned over me yet again.  Little does she know what an impact she had on me.  Thanks Wendatola, this blog is for you.