Scott Mason - Tar Heel Traveler: New Journeys Across North Carolina

Scott Mason has been a television reporter for thirty-five years and WRALs Tar Heel Traveler since 2007. His more than one hundred journalism awards include twenty regional Emmys and three National Edward R. Murrow Awards, one of broadcastings highest honors. He has twice been named North Carolina Television Reporter of the Year. He lives in Raleigh, North Carolina.

I was nervous.

Of course I was. I was headed to a huge movie studio near Charlotte to interview a film legend, a man who had starred in, produced, and directed dozens of classics. Never mind they were B-movie classics.

Earl Owensby had made millions from films many people had never seen. Although somebody must have seen them. CBSs 60 Minutes once featured a lengthy interview with him, and even Wikipedia had devoted an impressive spread, complete with handsome head shot.

Owensby had a kind of Marlboro Man look, minus the mustache, rugged but dashing. He reminded me of Steve McQueen, whom Id seen as a kid in Bullitt, a movie famous for one long and dramatic car chase. Owensby packed his movies with car chases. Plus car crashes, plane crashes, fights, and killings. Low-budget action films were his thing. Big profits were, too.

I had wanted to watch a few of his movies, but they were hard to find, even on the internet, although I had caught a scene or two when the Museum of History in Raleigh highlighted his career. Hmm, I thought, gazing at the wide screen on the museum wall. The acting seemed awkward but not terrible, and the production value was decent, the camera angles and editing; I paid attention to that sort of thing.

I had to say, Owensby was fun to watch on film. He had a certain magnetism; it came through in just the few minutes I stood there, arms folded across my chest, eyes on the action. The character he played screeched his car to a stop near a dilapidated barn and climbed out clutching a rifle. I couldnt help but root for him; I liked his look, especially the Stetson on his head. He marched for the door, toward the dark unknown, rifle swinging by his side, and I smiled in anticipation. No doubt about it, the poor sucker inside was gonna get it.

As for me, I did not feel the same bravado as we pulled into Shelby and made our way to Earl Owensby Studios. The on-screen hero was known to chew up bad guys and spit em out, and I sure hoped he didnt do that to television reporters in real life.

Robert, on the other hand, was giddy. He knew all about Owensby and his movies, but then hed been a film major whod also watched every Godzilla remake, even the versions dubbed in Japanese. Robert asked if Id seen the sci-fi thriller The Abyss, which I had in my twenties and enjoyed. But did Owensby make that?

Robert told me no, James Cameron had, the same director who later made Titanic. For The Abyss, Cameron needed a huge space for all the underwater filming. About that time, Earl Owensby had bought an abandoned nuclear power plant in South Carolina with the crazy idea of turning it into a movie set. It suited Cameron fine, and he proceeded to pump seven-and-a-half million gallons of water into the old reactor and shoot several scenes.

I told Robert how ingenious that sounded, though I didnt just mean the movie. I understood The Abyss did well at the box office, but I was thinking Owensby did even better with the rent.

When I called to set up my interview, I had left a message on the studio voice mail, which I expected. Id heard it was an enormous operation, studios plural, with buildings as big as warehouses sprawled across two hundred acres in Shelby of all places, a quiet town in the shadow of Charlotte. I figured the film hands were undoubtedly busy and couldnt get to the phone.

But I nearly dropped the phone when Earl Owensby himself called me back a day later. The legend was on the line, and he was friendly and southern, quite country actually, and I wondered if hed made any westerns. Was just in Raleigh, he drawled. At the museum. Nice display they had on me. But sure, you wanna come all this way, you can probably find me.

The probably had me worried; I never could pin him down on a time, and even as we neared the complex, I wondered if wed find him. It occurred to me I was marching toward the unknown myself, just like Earl in the movie clip Id seen at the museum, but instead of a rifle, all I had was a worn-out notepad. And thats not all that was worn.

A large black sign with crisp white lettering loomed at the top of the drive: E.O. Studios and Entertainment Center. The sign looked new, but as Id soon see, nothing else did.

We turned in and rolled down the slope toward a long, low-topped building with windowed doors in the center. The windows were dark, the building dullwhimpering, it seemed, for fresh paint. A separate building sat to the side and was lined with more than a dozen doors. And behind it... Is that a runway? It was, although I found it hard to picture jetsetters flying in for a splashy stay. The separate building was obviously a motel but with weeds creeping over the stoops.

The whole place had an aura of abandonment. There wasnt a soul in site. Granted, it was a B-movie studio, and Earl Owensby was not Steven Spielberg, but still, I figured thered be some action even if it had been years since Owensby had shouted, Action! He hadnt made a movie in a decade.

Maybe it was the whole sordid, low-budget, B-movie thing or seeing rifle-toting Earl in my mind again stealing into that eerie barn, but I had a slight case of the shivers when I climbed from the car. Movie studio or not, the place was a bit creepy. What else to do but march ahead, except my march was more like a slump-shouldered shuffle toward the tinted double doors.

At least it was bright inside, a small lobby with lots of overhead light. And Earl Owensby larger than life, was there to greet me, here, there, and everywhere, every wall plastered with movie posters, each displaying the chiseled face of the films steely-eyed hero. The posters were big, slick, and dramatic. I still didnt know about Owensbys acting ability, but he sure looked the part on paper.

Flashy posters would make great video, and I almost told Robert to start shooting. But the polite thing would be to introduce ourselves to the receptionist first. I stuck my head around the corner but saw no sweet lady behind a mahogany desk. I saw nothing, in fact, but a long hallway and didnt hear a sound, either. I could have heard a gun click.

Hello? I called, but there was no answer. I told Robert to hang on, Id check things out, and I began walking down the corridor. I think the movie posters had inspired a bit of the daredevil in me.

There were many open doors and small dark rooms, empty offices apparently, and more posters lining the hallway itself. I walked a few feet before calling Hello again, this time without the question mark. We needed to get the show on the road.

It was then I heard a slight ruffle, the riffle of papers maybe, and I eyed door number... six? The last door anyway, the one open at the end of the hall.

There at last was the mahogany desk but no sweet lady. Instead, an old gray-haired guy cocked an eye when I entered and slowly rose to his feet. Hey, there, I said with a wave and toothy grin. Im the guy from the television station in Raleigh. The man stepped around the desk, a big fellow indeed, big around, though not especially tall. He wore a short-sleeve black shirt that I guessed was a 2XL. His eyes fixed on mine; his face was tanned but expressionless. I smiled wider. Im looking for...