The Guv'nor (25 page)

I passed over the script. It was flicked through and put down. I stuck it in another geezer's hand and down it went again. All they're talking about is Stallone, Stallone. Three-and-a-half hours I listened to this shit, then I got Jackie on one side and said, ‘Look, fuck this – they're giving us the run around.'

His eyes popped out like Freddie Starr's when he had the springs on. ‘Steady on, Len, we don't want any trouble.'

‘Forget trouble, I'm giving them a tug.'

I went back and raised my voice a bit. ‘What I'm here for is to raise money for my movie and all you lot want to talk about is other films and Rocky and Stallone.'

‘Hey,' one of them said, ‘hold it down, big fella, we can get you a starring part in Stallone's next big film.'

‘Well, you can stick it up your arse,' I said. ‘I'm not interested. I'm tired, I'm fucking worn out, shagged and jet-lagged. Gimme the phone, I want to get in touch with the guy who sent us here.'

It was four in the morning back in England and I got the old guy out of bed and bollocked him. I shouldn't have done it to him, but I was wild. I told him, ‘Your people are taking the piss out of me. I've come halfway round the world to listen to a load of shit. All they want to do is talk about making me a film star. They haven't even looked at the script yet, just rabbited on about the film game.'

He talked a bit of sense and calmed me down. ‘Lenny, my friend, don't take their attitude personally, remember their culture is different from yours, even though it seems the same.'

One of the Americans took the phone, then he hollered down the line, ‘Your big friend is being unreasonable, we can't talk to him. We're trying to help him and he's lost his manners. He's a nice guy but he doesn't appreciate how we work.'

When the phone went down, I said to him, ‘Listen, you fucking Yankee mug, don't talk about my manners like I wasn't here. I don't care who you've got behind you, any more of your lip and I'll unload you.' I'm steaming, so I turned on the others. ‘You lot are all too long-winded for me. If you ever get round to reading the script and
want to come aboard that's fine. Get in touch with our friend in Canterbury, but right now me and my pal are going home.' With that we walked out, leaving them all with their mouths open.

We were both gutted. All that dough on the fares and hotel down the pan for nothing. Before we parted company at Heathrow Airport, Jack said, ‘While you were asleep on the plane, Len, I gave all this business a lot of thought. This film's going nowhere so I'm going to write a book about you instead.'

At that moment, I didn't give a bollocks either way. ‘You do that, pal,' I said, ‘it'll be a bestseller.'

I'm not the sort of bloke who mopes around thinking about what might have been. Like I said at the beginning, I don't look back. Of course I was pissed off with the way things were going, but that didn't mean I was going to give up.

I've got to give young Craig Fairbrass a gee. Everybody else was starting to look the other way, but he was still there for the part. When Sheena Perkins pointed him out at the audition and said, ‘You're Lenny McLean,' she was dead right. She couldn't see it, but inside he's made of the same stuff as me; you've got to keep going, keep punching, don't give up.

When we thought everything was going ahead, he'd put his heart and soul into getting fit. I'd said to him, ‘Look, son, your weight's about right but you're carrying a bit of puppy fat so I'm going to get you trained up like a fighter.' That made him pull a face.

‘Len,' he said, ‘I'm an actor, I'll just be pretending when I'm on the screen.'

I said, ‘Don't matter, you've got to look the part.'

I got hold of my cousin, Johnny Wall, and he took Craig under his wing. Good stuff, John. He was Lightweight Champion of the South once, but when his dad died it seemed to take something out of him and he gave up the ring. He kept himself up to scratch, though, so he was just the bloke to get Craig in shape.

The three of us would get ourselves over Hampstead Heath and do what they called the boxer's run, seven miles in all. I reckoned I was fit enough so I rode a bike behind the pair of them giving encouragement like, ‘Come on, you lazy bastards, step it out.' It was the middle of winter and all I could see were these two clouds of steam puffing along in front of me. When that was out of the way, Craig would break the ice on the reservoir and jump in. Looking back, it's a wonder the shock didn't kill him, but he was a tough boy
and he'd get out blue with cold, put on a dressing gown and do press-ups and shadow boxing until he was warmed up.

He used to say, ‘You're sure I have to do all this to play you in the film? I'll be knackered by the time we start filming.'

I'd say, ‘Yeah, I'm sure and, no, you won't be knackered. You'll be as tough as I was then, and look where it got me.' Good kid, he kept up that punishment for two months, then, like I said, the film sort of ground to a halt. Craig got tied up in film and TV work and had to let it slide. But he never let go of the idea of playing the Guv'nor, he's always lived and breathed it.

In the time since he was first offered the part, some years have passed and he's grown physically and mentally, and become a
well-respected
actor. It gives you some idea how much when I say that Sylvester Stallone chose him out of thousands to play alongside him in
Cliffhanger
. Always looking out for our film, when he got the chance he slipped the script in to Stallone who reckoned that Lenny McLean was like a real-life Rocky, and that he'd like to meet me some time. That's a good gee from a big star.

One night, Craig came down the club with an actor mate of his and got an idea what it's like for me being the Guv'nor. I saw them come through the door. Craig introduced me to his mate Dave, we shook hands, and I suggested we went upstairs to the restaurant. As we opened the double doors, two big drunks came barging their way through, shoving us out of the way – no excuse me, nothing. ‘Excuse me,' I said, ‘do you mind?'

One of these mugs said to his mate, ‘Look up, it's McLean – the fucking Guv'nor,' and he made to throw a right hander. Craig stepped back, Dave went as white as a ghost, and I unloaded the pair of them. One left hook, one right, and they're on the deck. In the same breath, I said, ‘Carry on, boys, quick, it's a bit quieter upstairs.'

Craig said, ‘Len, that was brilliant – like something out of a John Wayne movie.'

I said, ‘Never mind that, step over them. They'll be all right in a bit.'

We got up to the restaurant and we had only just sat down when Denzil Washington walked in and he was all excited. ‘There's an ambulance downstairs and the police.'

‘Oh yeah,' I said, ‘someone must have got run over.' Then I gave Craig a wink and he burst out laughing. ‘Ain't you glad you're just acting the part? That's what I have to put up with nearly every night.'

At about this time, I moved on to look after another club – the
Hippodrome. It was a right fancy gaff, so I reckoned I was on a cushy number, good dough and no aggravation – or so I thought. I was what they call a Reception Manager, or as one comical prat once told me, Door Policy Mediator. What I had to do was tuck myself away in my office upstairs and leave the donkey work to the new breed of doormen, big lads squeezed into dress suits and bow ties, looking like they should be in a circus ring. They handled all the little bits of trouble, but at the first sign of anything heavy, I got a buzz and I'd be downstairs in seconds.

I was in the office having a bit of dinner when John came in to tell me there was a bit of a problem. I looked at my steak and said, ‘For fuck's sake,' but I shoved it back and led the way down. On the stairs we met up with Peter, another minder. He was black, and as good as gold and a perfect gentleman – a good man to have on your side. He said to me, ‘Len, there's an eight-handed mob of blacks off the Broadwater Estate and they're looking for trouble. Why don't you let me talk to them – might save a bit of damage.'

‘Good thinking, Peter,' I said, ‘we'll stand back and let you brother them up a bit. See if you can nip it in the bud.'

So he went up to them and did a bit of the old high fives, and it started to smooth down. Then one of them looked past Pete, clocked me, and screamed, ‘Who you looking at, honky bastard?'

Now I don't take that sort of shit from anybody. I dived at him and smashed him to the floor. All hell broke loose. I hurt four or five of them and John and Peter sorted the rest. Then we slung them all out of the door on to the pavement and left them in a heap. Nice bit of teamwork. Peter said to me, ‘Len, you went at that lot like a maniac. I thought you was going to kill them.'

I said, ‘What do you expect? Them slags took a liberty – they ruined my steak.'

The next night, somebody come in and told me that something seemed to be going down outside because there were a couple of blacks on every corner watching the place. I got the others together and another bloke, Brian Gregson, and told them it looked like we was getting a comeback from last night. So what we'd do was to slip out the back way, come round from behind, and spring them. So that's what we did. They were spark out before they knew what was coming. They were all carrying guns, so we dumped them down the drain, carried these fellas down an alley, brought them round so they'd know what was coming, then beat them unconscious again. Lovely result.

Another time, I was standing outside the club getting a bit of fresh air, and a motor slowed down and parked up about 50 yards away. It wasn't until the geezer in the car got closer that I recognised my good pal Dave Lee. Nice bloke, Dave, and a top stunt man to all the major stars all over the world – Stallone, Van Damme, Bruce Willis. Think of a star – he's worked with them. He was just shaking my hand and saying, ‘Nice to see you, Len,' when there was a scream from down the road. I looked up and there were three blokes with their heads through the windows of Dave's motor, and he had a couple of lady friends sitting waiting for him. I ran down the road and gave them the lot – feet, fists and a couple of head butts. Dave came up and the three of them were lying in the road, crying and moaning. I said, ‘Nice to see you mate, but fuck off quick before Old Bill turns up.'

He said, ‘I owe you, Len,' and drove off.

I slipped back into the club and went upstairs. The law came and questioned a few minders, but they couldn't pick out anyone, so they had to go off without a nicking. Good stuff, my lads, none of them grassed. I found out later that one of the blokes was a presenter on children's television, a lovely example for little kids who think he's the business.

Over the years, I've minded some of the roughest and toughest clubs and pubs in town. I've worked with hundreds of doormen and, to be honest, I don't give any of them much room. Whenever there was trouble I was always the front man, though, to be fair, I suppose I stuck myself at the sharp end – I never was one to follow anybody else.

If I'm giving gees out it would be for one man, and that's John, one of the craftiest, most cunning minders I've ever worked with. We've been together at different clubs for years, and whenever there was a problem he'd take the long way round. I used to say, ‘Hold up, John, come this way, it's quicker.' He'd just say, ‘Quicker or slower, we're still getting the same money and won't get thought of no better.' It wasn't my way, but perhaps he was right because a while later he went round the houses while I rushed at a bit of bother and got nicked for murder. I'll come to that in a bit.

A lot of people think that minders are suited-up thugs, and when something goes down it's them who've started it. Well, that's all bollocks. The bottom line is that we get our wages from the place we're minding. The idea is that we make sure everybody behaves so
the property isn't damaged and ordinary people don't get hurt. After all, it's their money that keeps the place going. None of us would have a job very long if we smashed up the customers every time we got annoyed. We try and avoid trouble, not cause it. The problem is the booze.

Let me tell you about Albert, a good pal of mine. He's a very big black guy, well over 20 stone and about 6ft 8in. He's very powerful and menacing, but when you talk to him he's as placid as a teddy bear. A nice person, and very intelligent as well.

At the time I'm talking about, he was at university studying for a master's degree. He was in a club one night having a quiet drink when he got a tug from some loud-mouthed, white Afrikaan bloke, who probably had the hump because of Albert's colour. Another three geezers joined in, taking the piss and digging him out, so he did them with a champagne bottle. Fucking carnage. Anyway, he was nicked, went to court and got a seven for GBH. He sat behind the door for 15 months, then the system saw sense and let him out on appeal. So he's happy; he carried on with his studies and put it all behind him. Don't forget, though, he's a ‘ticket of leave' man. One slip and he finishes his seven.

So he came down to see me at Cairo Jacks in Soho. I said, ‘Good to see you, Albert. Tell you what, nip over and get a drink for yourself and a coffee for me and we'll sit over in the cubbyhole away from all these mugs.' So off he went. While he was waiting to be served, there were five muggy office workers standing round him. They'd been in the club since five, now it's half-nine and they're drunk as sacks. One of them gave him a pinch on the chest and said, ‘Cor, you're a big lump, show us your muscles.' Albert stepped back, said, ‘'Scuse me,' and walked away, leaving these mugs laughing like drains. When you've got a seven hanging over your head you've got to be very careful.

When he brought the drinks back, I could see the look on his face, so I said, ‘What's up, mate?'