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- Herausgeber: John Wiley & Sons
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
NATIONAL BESTSELLER
Hollywood Virgin has captured hearts, headlines, and high praise around the world—not just for its Hollywood insider revelations, but for its raw honesty, relatability, and universal truths about ambition, identity, success, and knowing when to walk away.
From small-town Texas to Hollywood power tables, Jason Felts chronicles his meteoric rise through the cutthroat entertainment industry—creating films, shows, and music festivals, launching global brand campaigns, building a Virgin-branded entertainment empire, while rubbing elbows and butting heads with A-listers before walking away at the height of it all. Jason elegantly removes the concealer off the powerful, fake, and dishonest power players at the same time he equally shines light on the authentic, selfless, or lesser-known stories in Hollywood.
This wildly entertaining and deeply honest book is packed with jaw-dropping celebrity encounters, untold industry stories, and hard-earned lessons on ambition, identity, and staying human in an industry that rewards anything but. Felts shares his rollercoaster ride of hustle and reinvention, revealing how he:
- Launched the very first show to feature a Kardashian
- Became the youngest CEO (after mentor, Sir Richard Branson) to run a Virgin company
- Built and ran a multi-million-dollar global company for Virgin
- Worked and built relationships with Bradley Coooper, Courteney Cox, Kate Winslet, Hugh Jackman, Jessica & Ashlee Simpson, Halle Berry, will.i.am, Oliver Stone and dozens more
- Came out publicly and helped found the PULSE foundation in the wake of tragedy
- Joined the Obamas on their first post-White House getaway—and received life-changing advice from the former President
And that’s just the beginning.
Hollywood Virgin is a story of ambition, fame, identity, burnout, reinvention—and learning that success isn’t always what it seems. More than a behind-the-scenes memoir from the founder and CEO of Virgin’s entertainment company, it’s a bold, unfiltered crash course in how to make it, take it, lose it, and leave it all behind before it costs you everything. Raw, hilarious, and unflinchingly real, this book is for anyone chasing a dream, surviving a grind, or looking for the courage to rewrite their own script.
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Seitenzahl: 430
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Foreword
PART I: Ready, Set, Action
1 Peaches
2 California, Here I Come
3 Do Better
4 Eight's Company
5 Ovitz and Favors
6 Who Are You Wearing?
7 Read the Tea Leaves
PART II: Take One
8 Meet a Kardashian
9 Searching for Greenlight
10 Scarf or Noose?
PART III: Take Two
11 Necker Island
12 Becoming Limitless
13 Glad Expression, Wrong Impression
14 One Pulse
PART IV: That's a Wrap
15 Kaaboom
16 What Matters
Epilogue
Where Are They Now?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
End User License Agreement
Guide
Cover
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Foreword
Begin Reading
Epilogue
Where Are They Now?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
End User License Agreement
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Praise for Hollywood Virgin
“I've always believed in the power of storytelling, with honesty and authenticity. Hollywood Virgin, along with its unique soundtrack, provides an inspiring and uplifting experience. I can't wait for y'all to meet the Jason I know and love.”
—Jessica Simpson singer, fashion designer
“Hollywood Virgin is a masterclass in resilience, offering an unfiltered look at an industry that many aspire to. A must‐read Hollywood love/hate letter for anyone desiring a little peek behind the curtain.”
—Christopher Gialanella publisher of LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE
“Hollywood Virgin is the unlikely success story of Jason Felts, who made all of his dreams come true and learned a lot of lessons in the process. I'm so proud of everything Jason has accomplished. But most of all, I'm proud to call him my friend.”
—Sir Richard Branson from the Foreword
“Felts captivates, detailing a (not always first‐class) journey filled with aspiration, struggle, self‐awareness, and super success. A masterclass in perseverance and authenticity in an industry that often lacks both. A must‐read for anyone looking to blaze their own trail and keep it real.”
—Lance Bass singer of N'SYNC
“A look back at the surreal life of one of my closest friends. His memoir made me laugh and cry. Hollywood chewed him up, but didn't spit him out.”
—Ashlee Simpson‐Ross singer, songwriter, and actress
“Hollywood Virgin is filled with laughs and a behind‐the scenes account of life working for one of the most iconic brands of our time.”
—Brian Kelly The Points Guy
“An executive's well‐written account of his journey through filmland, of which I had a small window into; never losing sight of the wonder and optimism that makes moviemaking exciting.”
—Oliver Stone director, screenwriter, producer, and author
“If you want to learn how to build, and how to lead, Jason Felts knows. Hollywood Virgin shows how dreams happen. FYI, this book will help you to ‘Focus Your Ideas.’”
—will.i.am, singer songwriter, producer, and entrepreneur
HOLLYWOOD VIRGIN
BREAKiNG iNTO AND OUT OF SHOW BUSiNESS
JASON FELTS
FOREWORD BY SIR RICHARD BRANSON
Copyright © 2025 by Red V Consulting, LLC. All rights reserved.
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.Published simultaneously in Canada.
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Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data is Available:
ISBN 9781394323838 (Cloth) ISBN 9781394323845 (ePub) ISBN 9781394323852 (ePDF)
Cover Design: Paul McCarthyBack Cover Photograph: Michelle Brody
You hold in your hands one of the last books to not be written by AI. Hopefully, that's not true. But know that, despite some name changes, everything in here is true and was written by a real person with a real sense of humor, in a real bathrobe. So, in that spirit, this book is dedicated to you, dear reader, and artificial bots everywhere, who only wish they could be like us.
Prologue
My entire life has been shaped by music. When I was little, the sounds of classic rock and Motown hits filled every room of our house. Road trips with my family included not just the radio but the entire evolution of music technology from 8‐tracks to cassette tapes, compact discs, and MP3. Despite where the music was coming from, it would always include quizzing by my dad—Quick … name this artist! After school, I was glued to MTV, and in high school I went through the requisite era of loving pop songs and most singles on Casey Kasem's Top 40. Every significant moment in my life is marked by a particular song or band I was into or heard at that time. Eventually, I ended up developing my own tastes and favorite genres, which are wide‐ranging. There isn't much music I don't like.
So it's no wonder I ended up working for one of the most iconic music brands in the world and then running music festivals. But more on that later. For now, all you need to know is that at the end of each chapter is a music cue to a song that correlates, to me, with that precise time in my life. I listened to these exact songs, in this order, as I wrote the book. From start to finish, they are a musical accompaniment to this book, and my entire life. I challenge you to figure out exactly who each song is dedicated to from my story. Regardless, I hope you'll use them to enhance your reading experience and take a journey with me that I never in a million years imagined I'd go on. I'm so grateful for every minute and wouldn't change a thing. So, as I sit here in this bathrobe, typing these last words, I invite you to hear the story of how I lost my virginity, in every way, in Hollywood.
The following QR codes will take you to the music cue listed at the end of each chapter. Each song either conveys how I was feeling at that point in my life OR is dedicated to someone from that chapter. I will leave it to you, and with any luck you will know.
Foreword
by Sir Richard Branson
Almost 20 years ago, I was at my home on Necker Island for what was going to be a wonderful celebration week. I've always made it a habit to invite old and new friends alike to come spend time on Necker and discuss the next big ideas, innovations, and movements. That particular week included a few accomplished entrepreneurs and a few kids (20‐ and 30‐something‐year‐olds) who were making moves in the entertainment industry. One of them was a tall, scrawny, blonde‐haired bloke named Jason Felts. I've always said that one of the most underrated keys to success is keeping it fun. One of the first things I noticed and immediately liked about Jason was that this kid sure knew how to have fun.
As my friendship with him grew in the coming months and years, I've learned that he really epitomizes the adage, “Work hard, play hard.” While we had a ton of fun, it also was clear to me that Jason had ambition and big dreams. So, of course, he would be invited back. One evening, on another trip to Necker, I put him on the spot in the middle of a dinner with more than 20 other guests. Around the huge, alligator‐shaped table sat some prominent founders in technology and other industries. Jason was substantially younger and earlier in their career than most of the other dinner guests. As all the other accomplished guests spent the majority of dinner sharing their recent achievements, awards, and pitched various ideas, I turned to the attentive (but quiet) young man adjacent to me and proclaimed, “Jason, why don't you get up” (motioning him with my hand to hop from his chair) “Go on … introduce yourself … tell us what you're up to.” He looked a little taken aback but stood up with a smile and began talking. But the table was just too big and not everyone could hear him.
Again, with the motion of my hand, now as I shoved the glassware to the sides, “Go on, get up on the table. A little louder so everyone can hear,” I suggested, springing attention onto him, as I am known to do. If he was nervous, he didn't show it. Without flinching he jumped up and began walking the table like a runway. What intrigued me was that he didn't just talk about what he'd accomplished in his career so far, but the future he envisioned within entertainment and how he dared to be different in such an ego‐driven industry. Later when I apologized for casting the spotlight onto him, he told me that he didn't think anyone around that table would be very impressed by his career, considering who the other guests were and what they had accomplished. He was much more interested in talking about what was possible in the future than what had happened in the past. We had that in common.
It was on that trip to Necker that I shared my story of Virgin Records,and we floated the idea of building out a Virgin production company. That was when I learned a second value Jason and I share: if you aren't sure how to accomplish something, just say yes and figure out how later. When I asked Jason to email me and Gordon McCallum a business plan to see if this could work, I later learned that he immediately went home and Googled “how to write a business plan.” I maybe knew he wasn't totally sure what he was doing. But I felt sure I'd found a partner who could figure out the “how.” And have fun along the way. You really can't ask for more in a friend and business partner.
You'll have to read on to learn about all the ups and downs of Jason's life thus far and his Hollywood career. Together we've sat in the Lincoln bedroom of the White House, sipped fireside martinis with President Obama, had our fair share of Hobie cat races, walked movie premiere red carpets, fundraised with purpose for Virgin Unite, and laughed our asses off along the way. I'm so proud of everything Jason has accomplished. But most of all, I'm proud to call him my friend.
Hollywood Virgin is the unlikely success story of a small‐town, Southern boy who made all of his dreams come true and learned a lot of lessons in the process. I happen to believe that his success is not mostly due to his talent or work ethic, though he has those in spades. No, I believe the biggest driver of Jason's success is his instinct to always do what is right. He's a person of integrity. That's the kind of person one should most want to be around. I'm honored to be a part of his story, be called his mentor, and excited for you to dive into these entertaining and enlightening pages. Like me, Jason certainly didn't learn by following the rules. He learned by doing, failing, getting up, and trying again. He trusted his gut and put other people first. If a secret to life exists, I'd say it's that.
PART IReady, Set, Action
1Peaches
“Peaches!” Doc Baker barked. “Get in here!”
By Peaches, he meant me. Doc Baker started calling me that during the first week of my tenure as the high school football team's trainer, when I was just a freshman. I didn't like the nickname, honestly. And I didn't quite understand it. Later in life I realized there was something obvious about me that I didn't see yet. I suppose, looking back, I was a “light in the loafers” teenage boy in the heart of rural Texas in the 1990s, working in the most macho setting imaginable. It was everything you're probably thinking – muscular boys who look more like men throwing each other around every day and being led by actual men who cursed and talked about women with a strong Southern drawl. I was different, a fish out of water. I guess … I was Peaches.
I didn't even care that much about sports; I preferred music. This was due in large part to my father's constant practice of educating me on not only who performed a certain Motown song but also the story behind the song. It was a trivia game we often played, and still do even to this day. But when we had moved from Memphis, Tennessee, to Rowlett, Texas, the year before, the band teacher wouldn't let me play alto saxophone anymore. I loved it, but apparently Lakeview Centennial High School had enough alto sax players. They wanted me to play tenor sax, which is a long, gigantic instrument, much bigger than the alto I loved. I was about 115 pounds (soaking wet) and wasn't strong enough to manhandle it, so I passed.
I was devastated and looking for something else to do in my new town at my new school when Doc Baker mentioned that they needed football trainers. He was my health teacher, and not even a doctor, but that's what we all called him anyway. I had no idea what being a trainer entailed, I just knew enough to know that high school football in Texas is A THING. It truly was the TV show Friday Night Lights come to life. I was intrigued. Brokenhearted by my saxophone rejection, and following a short, boring stint in FFA (Future Farmers of America), I figured maybe becoming a part of the cool thing would help.
During my first tour of the facilities, I realized that being a trainer, in a lot of ways, meant being in charge. I was responsible for making sure the players got what they needed to play their best. They were led by Coach Watkins, who at the time was the winningest high school football coach in Texas history, which meant the place was a well‐oiled machine with a lot of high expectations. Trainers were organized and attentive. They were responsible for ensuring the players operated at the highest level because they had the support behind them, whatever that meant. I remember thinking on that first day, these are the people who really make it happen on Friday night. They were leaders, not followers. And that was a feeling I aspired to.
I was psyched about the opportunity to become a trainer, until Doc broke the news that all the positions had been quickly filled, but I could work for the hardware room, reporting directly to Coach Watkins. That's where all the players go to get their chin straps adjusted, helmets fitted, jerseys tailored, and so on. I wasn't exactly thrilled by this – it didn't seem nearly as exciting as being a trainer, who ensured players were mentally and physically prepared to win. Teammates, parents, and spectators alike all expected a strong team, and trainers were vital to that.
So was the hardware guy, but I didn't see it that way yet. It was lower down the food chain and much less glamorous than the role of a trainer. But I came to enjoy it. I ran that hardware room. And the players loved me. They felt like I was the one truly taking care of them because I had to care about the seemingly smaller things – if their mouthguard fit right or their shoes were too tight. I did my job well and gained respect. The hardware room was where I was that day when Doc Baker yelled my name. Well, the name he and the entire team called me, anyway.
“Peaches! Get in here!” he hollered as I walked to his office. “You're up.”
“What?” I replied.
“There's an open trainer position and you're taking it. You're going to learn how to wrap ankles and do electrotherapy. We practice every day, and two‐a‐days in summer. Games on Fridays, during season. You need to be at all of it,” he replied. “Tell your parents you won't make any family vacation this year.”
I was ready, and nervous, but also a little relieved. The training room was farther from the showers than the hardware room. I was already having a hard enough time not walking by more than I needed to. My confused 14‐year‐old brain had no idea what was even happening. As far as I knew, I had no interest in anyone. I didn't know the term for it at the time, but I considered myself to be asexual. I wasn't interested in girls, but being interested in boys was something I couldn't conceptualize. In my conservative, smaller town, Southern Baptist world, men married women. End of story. I didn't want to marry a woman, so I must want to be married to no one. That's all I could understand at the time. My curiosity to compare my skinny, hairless body to naked, hairier, muscular boys would be easier kept at bay if I were farther from the showers. Plus, now I had some real responsibility, and I've always liked that.
At school, that was my identity: football trainer. But at home, I was doing one of two things – either researching anything related to entertainment or watching recorded copies of Entertainment Tonight. With the invention of the DVD on the horizon, videocassette recorders were lower in price, and I managed to buy one with my babysitting money. For $109, at Circuit City, it was my first purchase with my own money. I also had signed up for something called Columbia House, which was a music and video subscription program. For 1¢ and then the low, low price of $19/month they'd send you six videos a month. I built up my own little movie collection by also buying blank tapes to record and watch Entertainment Tonight, Star Search, and other shows that gave me a peek into Hollywood, a world very far from my own existence. To me, Hollywood had everything. Movie stars! Money! Culture! Beautiful people!
Don't get me wrong, I had a fantastic childhood. My parents deeply care for me and my three younger brothers, and our house was full to the brim with love. This love came in many forms: listening, encouraging, teaching, reprimanding. As an adult I see now that it also came judgement‐free and with unwavering understanding that although we were all dealt the same deck of cards, we were different, and they loved that about us. They supported us, and still do, in anything we've ever wanted to do. At the risk of sounding cliché, I truly owe them everything. Still, it was becoming clear that I wanted something more than what small‐town Texas could offer.
I enjoyed watching celebrities and entertainers on these shows, but soon I was curious about more than what I could see on TV. I was interested in the behind‐the‐scenes stuff, the gigantic complex engine that is the entertainment industry. I dreamed of Hollywood, but not to be a celebrity. There's a famous scene from the movie Pretty Woman, where a man walks down Hollywood Boulevard screaming, “What's your dream? Everybody's got a dream. What's your dream?” The first time I saw that film it was on one of those video home system tapes Columbia House sent me. I heard that line and rewound it to watch again. I knew my dream was to move to Hollywood and do something. I just didn't know exactly what.
Many days after school, my best friend Melissa and I would rush home and begin filming our own homemade videos. We'd been best friends ever since we met at the bus stop on our first day in high school. Confidently swinging her red purse, she had offered me a Tic Tac and told me I had Oreos in my teeth. Turns out I didn't, it was 8:00 a.m. But what I did have was old school metal braces and the week before had made the unfortunate decision to go with black rubber bands. I thought black was cool, and as the new kid, was trying to make a big impression on the first day. The only impression it seemed to leave on people was that I likely snacked on Oreos all day. But Melissa is kind and one of my best friends still to this day. She and I recorded many “music videos” together, as well as the “Melissa Winfrey Show,” in which we mimicked the interviewees and celebrities we'd seen on The Oprah Winfrey Show, then at the height of its popularity. Occasionally, because of our casting needs, I'd be on camera, but I never enjoyed it. One need only briefly watch those old episodes we made (and we recently have!) to strongly affirm that I was, without a doubt, an innocent, naive, closeted gay kid. I liked the planning and execution of the videos, not the acting. I liked producing them. I was far more interested in the people behind the scenes. I wanted to be one of the people who actually made things happen.
Back then, directors, producers, and celebrities were easier to reach. I literally bought a book at a bookfair that listed the celebrity fan club addresses and phone numbers. Fan clubs, that's not too impressive, you might be thinking. But in the 1990s, many celebrities ran their own fan clubs. I swear to God, one time I called up Jason Bateman's fan club and he actually answered. Worst‐case scenario, or perhaps best case for me, you could reach their manager or assistant. Because I could often get these assistants and managers on the phone via fan clubs and publicly listed phone numbers – and I was more interested in them than the actors anyway – I'd ask them millions of questions in my squeaky drawl. How did you get that job? What's it like working with Wesley Snipes? What should I be doing now? What job should I look for? What skills are important? Should I go to college? It was a gold mine! Somehow I even convinced my parents to let me have a phone in my room with my own phone line. I even still remember the number: 412‐3530. I was, after all, a football trainer for the Lakeview Centennial Patriots and had a booming babysitting empire in Lake Bend Estates. I needed to be reachable. I used it to make these long‐distance calls to actors' fan clubs and their management, and when that first month's bill came due my parents were up in arms. I didn't know long‐distance calls cost money; I was just a kid. It was hundreds of dollars. From then on out, I was only allowed 10 calls per month, so I used them wisely. I'm at my limit, so the Tim Allen (aka Tim the Tool Man Taylor) fan club will just have to wait until next month.
No matter, though, because I could write as many letters as my heart desired. Stamps were cheap, and my determination was strong. I wrote to entertainers, executives, and even iconic cultural figures. I told them how much I admired them and, of course, asked for advice. Frequently in return, I received handwritten letters and signed headshots. I still have them all, somewhere deep in storage, including a handwritten letter from former First Lady Jackie Kennedy Onassis. At the time, for reasons I could not explain then, the entertainer I was most fixated on was John Ritter from Three's Company. In that beloved 1970s and 1980s sitcom, John portrayed the struggling culinary student Jack Tripper, who spent most of the time pretending to be gay so he could live with his two female roommates and keep the old‐fashioned landlords appeased. I'd record the reruns most days after school, and it was on that show that I heard the word gay for the first time. Hell, it was the first time I was introduced to the concept of homosexuality. Jack had a switch he would flip. With his female roommates, he was traditionally masculine and spoke with a deeper voice. He stepped heavy and drank beer. But when the older landlords were around, he had to act gay. This meant talking with a higher voice, a lighter step, and being a bit flamboyant. When Doc Baker called me Peaches, I worried that he saw a little Jack in me. Gay Jack seemed like someone they'd call Peaches. Do I act like that? But I related to him. His character was also just fun, happy, and the life of the party.
Because John Ritter was my breakout favorite entertainer at the time, I wanted to get in touch and was extra dogged in my efforts. When my family happened to be taking a cross‐country vacation (not during football season, of course), we found ourselves in Los Angeles for a few nights. I took the opportunity to call and leave a message for John's assistant, Susan Wilcox, and let her know I'd be in the area and would love to meet her and John. I was too naive to even know how crazy this was at the time. All I knew was, in a previous call, she had offered me sound advice, and it was a shot. I told her what motel we were staying at in nearby Marina Del Rey, hung up the phone, and went about my way. On our last afternoon in LA, as our family returned from Venice Beach, the front desk attendant told me I had a message waiting. My mom, surprised, asked the attendant, “You have a message for Jason Felts?” Oh my god, I thought. I knew exactly who it was. It had to be! The attendant handed me the message she had transcribed on my behalf: “Call Susan from John Ritter's office … invite you and your family out to come visit the set tomorrow.” Tomorrow?! We were leaving tomorrow! We were on a tightly packed schedule, a cross‐country vacation with our closest family friends. There were two dozen of us, and I knew my schedule wasn't going to be a priority. I was devastated. Although hopeful because Susan had returned my call, my dreams of meeting John Ritter soon were slipping through my fingers. Why did I have to go back to Texas? It just felt so right in Los Angeles.
I called Susan back and told her as much. As a credit to how wonderful she is, she invited my mom and me to come back in a few months and ensured us spots at a taping of Hearts Afire, John's then‐current show. My hopes of meeting John were still alive, but getting out to LA again was no easy feat. I didn't have a lot of wants as a kid, and we certainly weren't rich. I would define my upbringing as economy class financially and upper class emotionally, with plenty of coupons and SkyMiles as my parents' ancillary currency. My mom used a coupon to get a discount on my new pair of pants, and my dad used all of his frequent flier miles from traveling for work as a beverage salesman to get us back out to Los Angeles for the taping. Several months later, my mom and I attended and sat right next to Bill Clinton's brother, Roger, and his family. (Apparently he was an actor and musician. Who knew?) Though I idolized John Ritter, and seeing him in person was amazing, he wasn't the main object of my focus during the taping. My eyes were on the producers, the suited‐up executives, the director in the chair yelling “Cut!” and plenty of other people whose job titles I certainly didn't know. They were important in my young mind because they were busy pointing and instructing and concerned with the bigger picture of it all. I wanted to know how the production crew made it all come together. How did they actually make it happen?
On my first LA trip earlier that year, I had insisted on going on one of those double decker bus tours around the city. I wanted to see all the gorgeous Hollywood houses and people from atop the famous giant bus! I thought it would be like all of those pictures in my tiny Texas bedroom coming to life. And it really was. We drove down Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, and my family likes to remind me that I actually spoke out loud, “God, they all look so rich and tan!” A little gauche, I know. But hey, I was a teenage boy from the South. I had strong values and a moral compass, but I wouldn't have minded being rich and tan. Over the course of my career, a lot about Hollywood ended up not being how I thought it would be. But the abundance of tan and rich people has never disappointed.
As we drove through Hollywood, the guy on the mic pointed out all of the celebrity homes. Lucille Ball, Michael Jackson, Al Pacino. Of course, I recognized all of these names. Until we got to the biggest house on the tour. It belonged to someone named Aaron Spelling, a name I'd never heard before. And believe me, there weren't too many celebrity names I hadn't heard before. The tour guide informed us eager passengers that Spelling was a producer, famous for so many of the big TV hits around that time: Charlie's Angels, The Love Boat, Dynasty, Beverly Hills 90210, and Melrose Place to name a few. A producer, I thought. A producer has the biggest house on the block! I had assumed the most successful people were actors because they were the famous ones. Working behind the scenes in movies had appealed to me for a long time, and now this trip solidified my calling further. In a lot of ways, I felt my experience as the high school football trainer was grooming me for it.
I also learned that producers had a much longer project list than actors. Actors are time‐limited in the projects they choose. They have to be there, all day, almost always because their job is to be on screen. But producers can do a lot more. They can have their hands in many different creative projects. That “jack‐of‐many‐trades” aspect of the job interested me. I knew early in life that I didn't want to be a one‐trick pony. I loved movies, many genres of shows, and all types of entertainment. I didn't want to be put in a box. My interests varied; I wanted my life to as well.
With my illusions of grandeur firmly cemented and my mind made up after my short flirtations with LA, I was more determined than ever to get to Hollywood. Though I knew I had to finish high school first, I still felt I needed to make connections and perhaps even find a job that put me in the company of “entertainment people.” Meet the right people and learn more. That was my main aim. I was going to convert those calls I'd been making into knowledge and relationships. I knew if I kept doing that, I was moving in the right direction and would eventually get somewhere. In fact, I had a poster hanging on my closet door at home that illustrated a perfect California setting: a big mansion, a few cars, and an ocean view. It read JUSTIFICATION FOR HIGHER EDUCATION. But I don't want to go to school, I often thought. I want to be creative.
Living in Texas, though, those right people and right rooms were pretty damn hard to come by. There aren't any gateway jobs to Hollywood in Rowlett, Texas. I regularly scoured the newspaper and the community board at my school for any kind of job even remotely connected to entertainment. Any flavor of low‐level interning or assisting I'd take it. But alas, there was nothing. That is, until one day I was doing my normal exploration, and saw that the television show Walker, Texas Ranger was going into production for another season. It would be returning to a neighboring suburb, Las Colinas. Perfect! Chuck Norris wasn't my favorite actor and Walker, Texas Ranger wasn't my type of show, but beggars can't be choosers. This, and the children's show Barney, were the only two things shooting in my area. And Barney was one of the only shows I was less interested in than Walker, Texas Ranger. If this was my only way in, I'd do it. I really, really wanted to work in casting or production, so I relentlessly called the casting director, Barbara Brinkley. Have you ever heard a more Hollywood name than Barbara Brinkley? She seemed straight out of central casting herself and was very tough to get a hold of. But I was resolute. Eventually, I managed to actually get her on the phone.
“I want to learn,” I said. “Put me anywhere behind the scenes and I swear I'll be a help.”
“No,” she said briskly. “All we need are extras at this time. If you want to be in the show, send me your headshot.” And she abruptly hung up.
I didn't want to be on screen, but now I desperately wanted to meet Barbara Brinkley. So, if this was the only way to do it, then so be it. At the time, I didn't even know what a headshot was. Without explaining why, I had Melissa take a few pictures of me leaning against a tree in my front yard. I got to one‐hour photo quickly to develop the roll and mailed the picture off to Barbara Brinkley. I just love saying her first and last name together each time. Of course, my “headshot” was accompanied by what I felt was the most inspired letter about why I should be picked for the show. It was absolutely cringeworthy, but the naive intent was genuine. Within a few months, I got word that I would be a single‐scene extra cast member in one episode of Walker, Texas Ranger. The rest of the details would be revealed when I got there.
When I showed up on set that day, it turned out that my role was to be Prisoner 3, one of a few prisoners sitting behind bars in a juvenile detention center. This was as Texas as Ranger Walker got. They had me dress in baggy jeans and a T‐shirt. I greeted the fellow extras and got into position. “Action!” they yelled, and the producers and the actors with lines did their thing outside the jail cell, while I sat there silently in the background. I want to get to Hollywood, I thought, what am I doing here? It didn't feel right, and I hated it. But I still had hopes of meeting Barbara Brinkley. This could still be worth it.
After my short scene was over, I ran up to the casting assistant whom I had checked in with earlier that morning. “Hi, I'm Jason Felts,” I said with confidence, as if they would remember. “I wrote Mrs. Brinkley a letter, and I'd like to meet her. We even spoke on the phone,” I proclaimed, as if that carried weight.
“Oh, Brinkley? She's in LA. She works in LA,” the assistant replied. She'd been there the whole time. Barbara Brinkley wasn't even on that set. She was the boss, and she was in LA. I felt just as far from my dreams as I'd ever been. I had to get to a babysitting job, so I hopped in the car, and slammed the door. As my mom drove away from the studio, I vividly remember the LeAnn Rhimes song, “One Way Ticket” playing on the radio.
It was at that moment that I thought, I gotta get the heck outta here.
And buy a one‐way ticket on a westbound train. . .
See how far I can go. . .
CUE: “One Way Ticket” by LeAnn Rhimes
2California, Here I Come
Needless to say, Walker, Texas Ranger was the end of my acting career, but it certainly wasn't the end of my pursuit of Hollywood. Right before the final semester of my senior year of high school, my father unexpectedly and devastatingly lost his job – the very corporate job that had moved us to Texas many years prior. It felt like we were going to lose everything: our home, our cars, our family livelihood. And we basically did. My father is quite literally my hero and the most honest and hardest worker I know. Well, tied with my mom. She worked tirelessly raising us and taking care of just about every detail in our lives. I inherited my work ethic from them both equally.
It felt so unfair that dad had lost his job, and I remember wondering, How could it even be possible that a company just fires someone after so many years and so much dedication? I didn't understand corporate politics at the time, or how leadership changes often have a domino effect creating full regime shifts, and with it, merciless job cuts. All I knew was, my father was a dedicated company man, and worked tirelessly zigzagging across the country for that company. And just like that, he was written off.
Although my mother also worked tirelessly at home raising us, my dad was the primary income earner. I lay awake wondering how our family would survive with no substantial income. Should I get my GED and go to work to help my family? The thought crossed my mind. It felt like an option, though my parents would never allow it. They made the tough decision to let our home go back to the bank, sell our prized family van, and move back to Virginia where my father could more easily get a new job and start over. Yet I was happy and thriving at my high school and had everything going for me. Starting over at a new school when I was so deeply enmeshed in my final year and with so much opportunity ahead would certainly stifle my spirit and dreams. Fortunately, our family friends, the Blairs, offered to host me for my last semester of high school and get me set up with a job. My parents were supportive, and so it was decided. I was to stay behind in Texas while my family moved back across the country. It was bittersweet. I missed my parents and little brothers terribly but was so grateful for my time with the Blairs.
It was my senior year of high school, and I was now a head student trainer of the football team. By then, Doc Baker had taken a liking to me and said I should go to Southern Methodist University (SMU) to study sports medicine. This did have some appeal; I knew SMU as the place where many successful people I knew in Texas went to school, and although I didn't have the grades or money to get in on my own, it wouldn't matter. This is when I first learned that “it's who you know, not what you know.” SMU is in the heart of Dallas and had a strong local alumni network, which presented plenty of opportunity for me. In fact, Doc knew the head trainer, Cash Birdwell (you can't make these names up), for the football team and said he could get me in to work under him. No problem. I mean, we were in Texas and the good ole boys' network does govern most decisions. Occasionally I mentioned to Doc that actually, I was considering moving out to Hollywood instead. “Peaches goes to Hollywood,” he said in his Southern drawl, as I confessed my dream. He thought that was just crazy. So I was seriously considering his offer. I still had no idea how I was going to get to Hollywood, and SMU was a sure thing. The easy path. Plus, I liked being a trainer well enough. Do I make a career out of it? I often wondered.
I was almost at graduation, and money wasn't growing on trees. Times were tight, and I needed to figure out what path to take: SMU to be a trainer, or something else? Hollywood after graduation just wasn't in the cards … yet. That year, I had a few different jobs. I had worked at a one‐hour photo lab, which my curious self enjoyed as it gave me a glimpse into what was going on with everybody's lives. Call me nosy, but this was fun and sometimes gave me juicy food for thought. I would make up captions and stories in my head, almost as if I was writing a script from someone's pack of developed photos. I also worked at a telemarketing firm where I basically called people up all evening, reading a transcript soliciting them to refinance their mortgages. I was almost 18 and barely even knew what a mortgage was! It was miserable, but I was saving for my future. Whatever that might be.
My last semester of high school, after a brief stint working in the file room at Yellow Rose landscape company, Mrs. Blair got me hired by her real estate broker. The office happened to be right down the street from SMU. Often, I'd sit at my workstation looking toward the campus and daydream about what it'd be like to go to college there, study sports medicine, and stay with Henry S. Miller Real Estate. I mean, I was getting pretty good at it. That is, being the young buck who was installing and training middle‐aged agents how to work computer programs. Those big‐haired Southern ladies loved me, and I loved them. Mrs. Blair also regularly tried to talk me into staying rather than entertaining my Hollywood ambitions. It seemed like everyone was invested in keeping me in Texas.
Occasionally, I was still babysitting on nights and weekends. One of my regular clients had turned into more of a nannying gig. The mother's name was Mary. Mary was unlike anyone I'd met before. Originally from Boston, she was refined, well mannered, and had exquisite taste. She liked the finer things in life including unique foods, the theater, and fashion brands I'd never even heard of. She was different and interesting, and I liked her instantly. My Gran (my mom's mother) had once given me a copy of the book Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, and Mary was someone who actually appreciated my intimate knowledge of where salad forks should go and how to properly leave a table. But more than anything else, Mary took my dreams of Hollywood seriously. She asked lots of questions, and she never encouraged me to stay in Texas like everyone else.
So there I was working the real estate job whenever I could, going to school during the day, and nannying Mary's kids many nights and weekends. One afternoon, I arrived at Mary's house, and the kids were back in their rooms watching television and doing homework. Mary's husband said “Hi” quickly as he shot out the door to catch a flight, something they were both often doing as I arrived. As I put my jacket on a hook and walked toward the refrigerator, a note caught my eye. Mary's family fridge, otherwise pristine, had a Post‐it note stuck squarely at eye level. As I approached I saw that it read, “Jason—We're moving to Cali. You're coming with us. Pick a school.”
That was it. No further information. Instantly my mind was racing. I went about my normal duties and took care of the kids. What did this mean? They're moving to California? And I'm coming? But why? Is this for real? Couldn't they have possibly left me some more information?!
When Mary came home later that night she said, “The kids are going to their friend's house; do you want to go grab some dinner?” We went to a local Italian place and when we arrived she said, “I'm not very hungry, do you want to split a pizza?” I'd never split a meal with an adult before. I felt cool and like an equal. I left it to Mary to choose, and I recall being a little troubled because it had leaves (basil) all over it. She explained that it was “gourmet.” Then we launched into a conversation about our collective futures, and we were splitting food. This was the start of our friendship. I could already tell that she was going to be more important to me than just an employer.
“Are you guys really moving to California?” I asked.
“Yes. I've wanted to move for a while, and I've always wanted to live in San Diego. I've been there a few times and loved it.”
“Where is San Diego?” I asked immediately.
“It's about an hour and a half south of Los Angeles,” she replied.
Oh my God, I thought, that's so close to LA! Presently I'm 24 whole hours away, but I could be only one and a half! But where would I go to school? Would I like San Diego? What would I tell my parents?
“But you are so great with the kids, and we'd love for you to come. What do you think?” she asked.
“I don't know,” I answered honestly. The offer sounded great and something inside me leaped at the thought of moving to California, of course. But I could hear Doc Baker and Mrs. Blair in my head, telling me to stay put. I told Mary I'd think about it.
The next week, Mary started defining what the California nanny job would entail. I'd live in their home, and ensure they all had dinner and got to their various obligations. I could go to college during the day once the kids were off to school, and they would pay me a small fee. Outside of that, my time was my own with no restrictions. They would even provide a Mercedes for me to use. I had a great offer on the table to do something I knew I could do, and most important, I could be in California. It felt irresponsible and even ungrateful to walk away from it. But Texas was what I knew. It had stability. It's where my friends were. It was my comfort zone. I was on a fence and did not know on which side to jump.
The following day, I was back babysitting and took Trevor, their youngest son, through a drive‐thru to get some food. We were sitting in the line staring straight ahead, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Trevor turn toward me and say, “J?”
I turned to look down at his little cheeky face and said, “Yeah?”
“You're coming to California with us, right?” he asked.
