“I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.” – Blanche Dubois
Every opportunity I’ve ever gotten was because someone believed in me. More often than not, that person was my Pop (R.I.P.) or a woman—usually a stranger. It’s a curious phenomenon: strangers have often believed in me more than friends or family I’ve known for decades. Life, it seems, is full of mysteries.
In my acting career, every gig I landed was because of women who vouched for me—women I barely knew, stepping up and saying, “Choose him.” This happened four times: once with a fellow actor, once with a set seamstress, and once with a production assistant—all on the first day we met. These weren’t powerful industry players, just kind souls looking out for a fellow artist. That generosity blows my mind to this day.
One story stands out. Back when I was a teenager, Cyndee, a good friend, barged into my editing suite at AIFL and declared, “There’s an audition downstairs, and you’re going now! I already filled out the paperwork for you!” She only knew I dabbled in acting in high school, yet her belief in me pushed me forward. That audition became a stepping stone, but nothing in my journey came easily. If I succeeded, it was because I worked for it. Getting into SAG, for example, was a maze of rules and loopholes, and I had to figure it out myself.
Cracking the Code to SAG
To join SAG (the Screen Actors Guild) back then, you needed three waivers from SAG productions. The catch? You couldn’t work on SAG productions unless you were already in SAG. Classic Catch-22. As a racially ambiguous actor who didn’t fit Boston’s stereotypical “type,” my chances of being chosen for waivers were slim.
But I discovered another way: the Taft-Hartley Act. By joining AFTRA (the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists), which had open enrollment if you could pay the fee, I created a pathway. If you were called to work on a SAG production as an AFTRA member, they had to waiver you. No exceptions. I paid my dues to both unions, and it was worth every penny. I didn’t wait to be chosen; I made my way in.
The Reality of Representation
Opportunities for racially ambiguous actors in Boston were rare. The industry prioritized white actors and occasionally included Black actors if they fit a specific mold. People like me—too ambiguous to fit neatly into one box—were often overlooked. I was called in to audition for Latino roles but was repeatedly asked, “Can you sound more… Latino?” It felt like being invited to a party where I wasn’t truly welcome.
My Latinx friends encouraged me to take those roles, saying, “Get that money and sort it out later.” But I resolved only to play Latinx characters in roles that painted the community positively, as so many were steeped in stereotypes.
Shifting Perspectives
Despite the challenges, there were bright spots. Anne Mulhall at LDI stood out as a progressive and inclusive casting director, offering me roles as Portuguese and even Italian. But the reality was stark: I was never called to audition for roles that matched who I truly was. I didn’t fit the mold for Black or white roles, leaving me adrift in an industry obsessed with labels.
Today, as I contemplate returning to acting, I’m determined to do so as myself. Age and experience have given me confidence in who I am. Perhaps the industry has evolved enough to embrace authenticity. Imagine a world where actors are cast for who they truly are—it must feel incredible to have that freedom.
For those tempted to comment on what I look like, save it. I’ve owned a mirror my entire life. I know who and what I am. And for every “What about Trevor Noah, Jesse Williams, or Halle Berry?”—those are exceptions, not the norm. They’re also extraordinarily talented and beautiful outliers. I’m just me, navigating a system that wasn’t designed for people like me.
But thanks to the kindness of strangers, I’ve made it this far. Here’s to all the people who saw something in me when others didn’t. You changed my life.
