Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg, Special Collector's Edition

Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg, Special Collector's Edition by Barry Williams;Chris Kreski Page A

Book: Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg, Special Collector's Edition by Barry Williams;Chris Kreski Read Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Williams;Chris Kreski
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to forget about what happened that night in Hawaii.
    We'd often fail miserably.

     

    magine this. You're a snow skier with one of the world's
greatest slopes all to yourself. No crowds, no lines ... nothing between you and a mountain of powder.
    Or imagine you're seven years old, running amok in
Disney World. No crowds, nolines, just rides, food, and fun.
    Or imagine you're a really fat guy with a buffet at The Sizzler
steaming solely for you. No crowds, no lines ... you get the picture.
    That's how I felt on the beach in Hawaii.
    When I first heard that the Bradys were gonna pack up and ship
off to Hawaii for the filming of a three-part episode, I was excited.
When I found out that the episodes called for Greg to hang ten at
Oahu's world-famous surf spot, Queen's Beach, I was ecstatic.
Hawaii, of course, is home to some of the hottest waves on the
planet. Now I, a longtime beach bum, and dude-in-training, would
get a chance to show off my skills, complete with camera crew in
primo surf that I'd have all to myself.
    I was up to my ears in adrenaline.
    You remember the story. Greg spends most of his time in
Hawaii surfing, until he's cursed by that evil tiki and wipes out into
the treacherous island foam. Is he dead? Tune in next week and
find out. It was the "Brady" cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers.
    Actually, I didn't give a rat's ass what the story was about. All I
cared about was hitting the beach. This trip was gonna be a dream
come true.
    But there was a catch. Turns out there was a lot of concern
among Paramount's necktie-bedecked higher-ups about me doing
my own stunts. The bean counters didn't fully fathom my status as
"surf God" and were worried that I might do something silly like
... oh, I don't know ... drown.

    Anyway, right around the time I was "sex-waxing" my "stick",
word trickled downstream that I would be allowed to enter the
water and paddle around, but some other guy would be hired as
my stunt double, and he'd do all the actual surfing.
    Major bummer!
    Hmmm ... there was no way in hell that I was gonna go along
with this nauseating turn of events quietly. Bob Reed may have
had his script problems, but I had my pride. However, I had no
idea how to battle this obvious case of corporate psychosis. After a
great deal of thought, I decided to fall back on the course of action
that had served me so well in my youth: I'd simply look the
authority figures squarely in the eye and lie like a cheap toupee.
    I appealed to the producers shamelessly, inventing stories
about how I was legendary in southern California as the recognized leader of the Cowabunga Surf Movement (I made it up). I
told them that I was globally ranked in competitive surfing events,
and that I could surf Oahu's six-foot surf with a sandwich in one
hand and a Marlboro in the other. Basically, I said whatever I
thought might actually change their minds.
    The producers looked at me as if I were something they'd like
to scrape off the bottom of their shoes, but they had no way to disprove my outlandish claims, and because I just plain wouldn't shut
up, they eventually caved in, took me at my word, and pointed me
toward the beach.
    The surf was definitely looking up!
    Once again, my budding acting skills and bold-faced lies had
served me well. I may not have been able to live up to my selfappointed world-class status, but I was a good surfer, and very safe
in the water.
    Or so I thought. Two weeks later, Oahu's pounding surf would
come close to prematurely ending my career-and my life!
    Shortly after I'd convinced the powers brokers at Paramount
that it would be in the company's best interest to let me surf for
myself on screen, I also convinced them that in order to ensure a
good-looking on-camera ride, a seven-day Hawaiian test-surf (at
their expense) was vitally necessary.
    They bought it.
    My real-life brothers and I whooped over this bit of good fortune and caught the next plane.
    We touched down,

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