A Day in the Life of a Gofer

When a door on the set of the NBC television show “Wings” won’t close, a director bellows for a production assistant to stand behind it and hold it shut. Chris Wayne leaps into action. He braces the door until the final take, literally propping up the props.

But that’s OK with Wayne. As a PA, it’s his job to hold things on the show together and to not mind if no one thanks him for fetching a doughnut, copying a script or taking a phone message.

Part wet nurse, part coolie, PAs labor under the belief that success in the industry rests on their ability to provide writers with their Chinese takeout still hot and the quickness with which they provide a bottle of liquid paper to a producer.

So on a recent Monday, it is no surprise to find Wayne on the Paramount lot tidying Room 206 of the Wilder Building at 6:10 a.m. Even on this, an unusually early morning, Wayne isn’t due in until 6:30 a.m. But, as he explains: “This way you’re ahead of the game. When someone asks you for something, you’re ready to roll.”

Without sounding self-important, Wayne has a way of making even the most menial task sound as critical as last-minute preparations before a battle. This may be genetic. After all, John Wayne was his grandfather.

But where the actor vanquished outlaws with a six-shooter, Chris pacifies studio egos with kindness.

By 7 a.m., 29-year-old Wayne has run 40 copies of the day’s call sheets, taken messages off the answering machine and made three calls to Graphic Services to make certain that the day’s scripts have been delivered to Stage 19.

Copies of the newspaper and the trades are fetched. Phones are answered. And the weekly grocery store run is made to stock up on cookies, doughnuts and orange juice for the show’s writers. (The drug run to replenish supplies of Advil, Motrin, Excedrin, Actifed, Sudafed, Tums, Maalox and Alka Seltzer for the writers’ kitchen/pharmacy is only once a month.)

At noon, the temperature is an unseasonable 92 degrees and the back of Wayne’s lavender Brooks Brothers shirt is damp with sweat. Despite the heat, he pursues his work with the steadfastness of the Energizer bunny. Everyone else at Paramount appears to be at lunch. But Wayne still needs to pick up $1,500 in old $100 bills that are to be used as props later that afternoon.

He bounds up the stairs of the Schulberg Building, two at a time, to withdraw that sum from Judy “The Estimator” Chesser, the show’s accountant, who is punching numbers on a calculator while listening to the soap opera “Another World.”

“Nice background noise,” she says before sending Wayne to another part of the lot to first obtain a prop master’s signature. As it turns out, the prop master, too, is out to lunch.

But none of this coming and going, schlepping and toting, perturbs Wayne. No, his “Sure, I’ll pick your wife up at the airport” attitude has made him a valued and trusted PA. Howard Gewirtz, the show’s executive director, joked that the perfect PA is someone who is underpaid, overworked and good-natured about it.

As it happens, that’s also a description of Chris Wayne.

Michael Sardo, a “Wings” producer, has his own theory about what makes Wayne such a valued PA.

“I’m convinced Chris was born in the ‘40s, came of age in the ‘50s and was frozen and brought back to life three years ago when he came to work here,” jokes Sardo. “His values and his work ethic represent the best of another era.”

It’s 12:20 p.m. Still no sign of the prop master. Back at Wilder, Wayne stabs a slice of turkey with a plastic fork from a deli platter in the writers’ kitchen. But the phone rings, he is told the prop master has just returned, so he delays biting into the turkey and heads back into action.

At 12:33 p.m. Wayne nails that signature. Back to “The Estimator” and, with her blessings, he’s off to the cashier. For the umpteenth time and with considerable embarrassment, Wayne explains why he is working with a photographer and reporter in tow.

“These folks are from the L.A. Times. They’re doing a story on production assistants.”

Cashier: “So they chose the best one.”

At this, Wayne blushes.

She counts out his petty cash. Wayne places the money owed each individual in a separate envelope. He licks them shut and, for good measure, rubs the back of each envelope a few times with the bottom of his fist. When she hands him 15 $100 bills, Wayne sheepishly asks, “Anything older-looking?” She musters several crumpled bills. Satisfied, Wayne forges ahead.

Whoops. He jogs back a few steps to the teller’s window: “Thank you, Lucy.”

It’s now 1 p.m., and things actually begin to slow down. Wayne has his turkey sandwich on a kaiser roll, noshes a few fistfuls of potato chips and even lobs a Nerfball back and forth with fellow PA Rachel Schwimmer. They manage a dozen hits before the phone rings.

At 2 p.m., Wayne heads over to New York Street, an outdoor set designed to resemble neighborhoods in Greenwich Village, the Upper East Side and the Financial District.

“Wings” stars Tim Daly and Steven Weber, who play brothers Joe and Brian Hackett, are shooting a scene in front of a pawn shop for the show’s final episode. Wayne, who has been idle for almost an hour, is on hand in case someone needs something. Out of nowhere, a voice over a megaphone says, “Chris, take these makeup chairs to the makeup trailer.”

It’s 3:04 and Wayne has again been summoned back into duty. Sheila Stewart, an assistant director, wants Wayne to keep Avenue H clear, making sure no one steps into the shot. But that’s a bit like telling someone to direct traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard without a badge or a whistle.

Wayne apologizes to a caterer, asking him to please move his cart. He cajoles two laborers to steer clear of the street. But when Wayne holds up an open palm to halt an extra from walking up the street, she ignores him. He pleads for her to turn back.

Marni Kass, a caterer who honored Wayne’s traffic commands, finds his good manners a bit much, quipping, “He’s so sickeningly polite it’s almost disgusting.”

When Daly, the actor, sees the PAs suffer abuse, he defends them. “They are at the bottom of the food chain,” he says.

Sure, on some days even Wayne has doubts about his ability to one day work as a screenwriter. Particularly when friends begin conversations with, “You’re still a PA?” But for a PA with pluck, sacrifice pays off.

With “Wings” winding up its eighth and final season, Wayne has landed a job that bumps him up to assistant to Lori Moneymaker, the producer of a pilot starring Jenny McCarthy. That means union wages, benefits and more challenging work.

It’s now 8:30 p.m., a late night even for a PA. Wayne walks a visitor to his car. “I guess in one respect I am like my grandfather,” he says. “He believed you can succeed if you work your tail off, treat others well and go forward without looking back.”