The B-unit director, a guy in his thirties in an NYPD baseball cap, Yankees t-shirt and sweats, turned to a clutch of waiting crew members. “Go! Get over there!”

Three guys in sweatshirts and jeans scurried to help the driver out of the turned-over car. Four 35mm cameras, at strategic locations, including one riding train-like tracks and another on a crane with a jib, had captured the elaborate stunt, which had seemed to be the work of a major male star behind the wheel. You’d recognize him.

But as soon as he got his feet under him, the driver yanked off the rubber mask resembling that famous white actor—who was watching from the sidelines, smiling, chewing gum—and revealed himself as my African-American friend Thalmus Lockhart who was stunt and special effects coordinator on the film.

Velda and I were sightseers, approved in advance thanks to Thalmus. I just couldn’t seem to get away from warehouses and cobblestones.

Thal spotted Velda and me, on the sidelines, and grinned and nodded and waved, then took off Caucasian-colored gloves and handed them to a crew member.

The B-unit director yelled, “Okay, next set-up! Warehouse rumble! Check your bullet hits and blood bags, boys!”

My friend—a muscular six-footer with a shaved head and a close-trimmed horseshoe mustache—came trotting over to us in a yellow turtleneck, jeans and running shoes. This side of the street had been off-camera, lined as it was with Ryder rental trucks, Winnebagos, honeywagons (semi-trailers of portable toilets), massive lights and craft service (snack) tables.

We shook hands and exchanged grins.

“When I drive like that,” I said, “I get my ass in stir or the hospital or both.”

“When I do,” Thal said, “I get paid. You want to say hello to Burt?”

“Why not?”

“Well, he may be grouchy. He hates not doing his own stunts.”

Velda and I went over and met the star of the film, who was dressed identically to Thal. But the actor (and former stunt man) was not grouchy at all, and flashed his trademark smile at Velda, who could compete with any actress Hollywood threw at him. The guy could barely keep his eyes off her, and who could blame him?

After a brief jokey chat with movie royalty, Thal took us inside the warehouse and over to a craft service table in a corner. The lighting was being tweaked on much of the yawning space nearby with its iron catwalks and brick walls. We helped ourselves to coffee and a cookie or two before the stunt coordinator showed us to waiting director’s chairs with GUEST on the canvas backing; we sat, Velda in the middle, out of the path of the bustling, buzzing movie set.