 |
| Lee Charles Kelley |
|
Here are some kind things a few people have said about me.
"Few trainers know more about dogs and training than Lee Charles Kelley." - Kevin Behan
"New York dog trainer Lee Charles Kelley knows his stuff." - DogWorld Magazine
"Simply the best dog trainer in New York City." - Whiskers Holistic Pet Store
I started training dogs part-time in New York in 1987 and began doing it professionally in 1990.
I'm
one of only a small number of pet dog trainers in the world who've
rigorously studied, tested, and applied dominance techniques, the
Koehler Method, Tellington Touch, all aspects of the behavioral science
paradigm, a few other odd things that came up along the way (some of
which turned out to be useful), plus Natural Dog Training. In fact I don't know of any other trainer who can say that.
In 1992 I read Kevin Behan's book, Natural Dog Training.
Initially I disagreed with almost everything in it. Sadly, I had become
disillusioned to the idea that anyone out there knew what they were
talking about, so I tossed Kevin Behan into that same category. But the
next day I decided to be scientific and just try a few of
Kevin's techniques. And each time I did, I was blown away by the
results. (Is "blown away" a scientific term?) Dogs love this stuff! I
was hooked! This is what I had been looking for! And if you've been to
a trainer but your doggie isn't 100% happy or reliable, this may be
what you're looking for too.
If you're interested in a longer version of my life story, here it is:
Childhood. I grew up mostly in West Covina, California. In 1966 my family and I spent six months living in
Tunbridge Wells (Kent County) and Hailsham
(Sussex County), England, where I went to school, wore the blue blazer,
the "old school tie," played soccer, ate bangers and mash, fish and
chips the whole bit. After we left England we settled in Boise, Idaho (pronounced "boy - cee," not "boy
- zee"), where I finished my last year of high school at the age of 16.
(Incidentally, Provo, West Covina, Tunbridge Wells, and Boise have all
been used for years as punchlines for a certain type of put down.)
Parents.
My father, John Steele Kelley (Jack), grew up in San Francisco,
Oakland, and Idaho Falls. He was a non-fiction writer and photographer
whose hobbies included playing jazz piano completely by ear. He
couldn't read music but he could sit down and play any song he wanted
to, even if he'd heard it only once. He also enjoyed playing basketball
with the neighborhood kids. My mother, Louise Morris Kelley, grew up on
a potato farm near Idaho Falls. She was a homemaker, part-time piano
teacher, prize-winning poet, geneaologist, and wrote one quite
wonderful novel for kids, 10 - 14 years of age, about a young prince
living at the height of the Mayan Civilization. Sadly, it's never been
published.
Siblings. I had 3 brothers and 1
sister growing up. My oldest brother Frank started out as a folksinger,
of the Kingston Trio variety when he was a senior in high school. He
played guitar, banjo, and mandolin. He studied art in college and
became a much-beloved art and photography teacher in Sandy, Utah. He
was also a colonel in the Utah National Guard. Frank died of a sudden
heart attack in September, 2001, shortly after the attack on the World
Trade Center. He had 4 children with his wife Chris. My older brother
Del is a retired dentist. He studied chemistry and pharmacology in
college, and worked as a pharmacist to put himself through dental
school. He and his wife Jody also have 4 kids. My younger brother James
was an air traffic controller until that bastard Ronald Reagan fired
him and nearly every other air traffic controller in America. Then
James went back to school and studied business, which he's a genius at.
He now works for a major power company. He and his wife Lorrie also
have 4 kids. My little sister Sue is also a mother of 4. Besides being
a homemaker she freelances as a copy editor/proofreader. Her husband
Barry Nay works for a major software company.
Kicking Around the Edges of Show Business. I
got my first job right out of high school as a disc-jockey at KFXD, which was a
Top 40 radio station at the time near Boise, Idaho. I continued my “career” in radio for
the next 15 years. During part of that time I went to college, where I
majored in film and theater (as an actor and director). Then I enrolled
in film school in the mid-1970s, where I wrote, produced, and directed
several student films.
After leaving school I wrote
educational scripts for the VA Hospital in Salt Lake City. I also
worked at an oldies station, KCPX-AM. The last year I worked there I
had the top-rated radio show in my particular time slot (7 - Midnight).
They fired me anyway. I was kind of glad to go and got another job right away at KALL-FM, where I ended my "career" a few months later.
Pointless trivia: The first song I ever played on the radio was "Born to Be Wild." The last was "Little Jeannie" by Elton John.
In
1982, while I was still a DJ in Salt Lake, I also acted in local TV
commercials. And since my acting agents also handled models, I did a
little of that too. (I know; me a male model - hard to believe, right?) It was during this period that I met Tierney Gearon,
who modeled with the same agency. She soon left Utah and went on to
become a cover girl in Europe. Now she's a famous photographer. We're
still very good friends. In fact you can see and hear me in the
background of The Mother Project, a documentary on Tierney's work that was first shown at the 2006 Tribeca Film Festival.
It was also during this time that I got my first national acting job playing opposite
Rosanna Arquette and Tommy Lee Jones in the NBC production of Norman
Mailer’s The Executioner’s Song, the story of Gary Gilmore,
which was intended as an 8-hour mini-series but got cut down to a 2
hour TV movie. As a result, my scenes were cut. What's still
interesting today, though, is that
I'd been living in Provo when Gilmore committed the two murders that
led to his execution and Mailer's subsequent novel. And I'd had
actually had a
run-in with Gilmore once at a diner on the "wrong side of town."
I
was sitting at the counter and Gilmore, like most ex-cons, felt more
comfortable sitting with his back to the wall, giving him a clear view
of the exit.
I was trying to eat my chicken-fried steak but
felt someone's eyes on me. I glanced over and saw his hate-filled face
staring a hole through me, a cigarette in his mouth, his coffee cooling
in front of him. Every time I glanced back I saw that he hadn't moved
an inch. He was giving me the prison-yard stare, telling me I didn't
belong, and that if he had the chance he would kill me.
I didn't finish my meal.
A
few weeks later I saw Gilmore's picture in the newspapers and on TV and
realized the true depth of that encounter; if I'd met him alone late
some night at a gas station or 7-11 I could have very easily been one
of his victims.
When we filmed The Executioner's Song I
had a chance to talk to Mailer after what's called the "table
read." I told him that I'd lived in Provo at the time, and that I'd
grown up in and around the local Mormon culture. Then I asked him if he
minded me pointing out a few problems with the script. I was very nervous about asking this, but he taught me a
great lesson:
"Hell, no!" he said. "I hate it when I get things wrong. Tell me!"
So
I told him, and he not only took
my suggestions seriously he asked the producer, Larry Schiller, to hire
me as a consultant. (The problem there was I'd been hired to play a part that
Mailer wanted his son to play, and Schiller hadn't told him that yet.)
In
August of 1983 I left Utah and moved to New York City. Within a year I was making
a living primarily as an actor, doing TV and radio commercials,
voiceovers, Off-Broadway plays, and bit parts on soap operas. I also
supplemented my income as a writer: I sold options on two screenplays
and sold another outright. (None of them have been produced. Yet.) In
1988 I wrote the book and lyrics to It’s Only Money, a musical
comedy about corruption and greed at a big Wall Street investment bank.
I also made a little money playing guitar and singing my own songs at
folk clubs in Greenwich Village.
In 1989 my life changed completely when I got a dog and fell madly in love with all things canine.
Besides being a professional dog trainer I’m also a mystery novelist. My first novel, A Nose for Murder, was published by Harper Collins/Avon in 2002. I’ve published five more since then, one of which ('Twas the Bite Before Christmas) was an IMBA bestseller in 2005. I also contributed to an anthology featuring stories by J.A. Jance and Virginia Lanier.
I'm
currently working on a number of projects, including a memoir of my dog
Fred, a CD of some of my "Sinatra songs," and a possible TV series based on my
novels. I also write a dog training blog for Psychology Today online called "My Puppy, My Self."
I don't want to leave you with the impression that my only stories
about famous people involve a brutal killer. For instance, I once spent
New Year's Eve at Robert Redford's cabin at Sundance (my friend Betsy Fillmore was the assistant manager of the resort), and had a long
conversation with lyricist Marilyn Bergman about my favorite
lyricist (and hers), Johnny Mercer. In the early 70s the members of
NRBQ took over my radio show every night for two weeks and drove me nuts. And since I
liive in New York City I've had many a short but very pleasant sidewalk
conversation with the likes of Paul Simon, Roberta Flack, Kurt
Vonnegut, Carol Kane, Henry Kissinger, Bernadette Peters,
and many others. And almost all of these conversations were about dogs.
The following is the best story of all, though, because it involves my first dog, Charley, and a now famous movie star...
Charley was a black-and-white English setter named for the lead character in one of my screenplays: The Legend of Charley Maine. He was a regular for a while on Late Night with David Letterman in 1989 & 1990 where he was known as "Charlie [sic], the Bubble-Eating Dog" (who never ate bubbles except in
rehearsal). His first night on Dave's show coincided with the first ever talk
show appearance of a young unknown actress named Julia Roberts.
She was very nervous that night, so for some reason
she'd brought a pink wind-up pig to give to Dave as a thank-you gift.
Meanwhile, I'd been told by Biff Henderson, the stage manager, to let
Charley roam around the
studio and do whatever he wanted (that's what Dave's show was like in
those days). So naturally, as soon as Julia came on-stage with the
wind-up pig, this poor young actress had an excitable English setter
pup jumping
all over her, doing everything he could to bite that pig.
Me? I just stood backstage and did nothing, as per Biff's instructions.
Dave and Julia eventually got the pig out of Charley's reach, then had a great time talking on camera. Instant chemistry.
A few nights later I was invited to a screening of Steel Magnoiias.
As I was coming out of the theater I saw Julia in the lobby,
surrounded by an entourage of agents and publicity people.
I went over
and complemented her performance. Then I said, "And I'm sorry about my dog the other night."
"Your dog?"
"Yeah. Charley? He jumped all over you when you were on Letterman?"
She gave me her (now) famous Julia Roberts laugh and said, "Are you
kidding? That was great! I was so nervous, and had all these stupid
things I'd planned to say, but that dog helped me forget all that, and
I was able to just relax and be myself."
Then she hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
See? That's a much nicer story than the one about Gary Gilmore.
As
a kid I wanted to be famous when I grew up. In fact, I wanted to be
Johnny Carson. But when JFK was assassinated all that changed. I
realized that being famous could be kind of dangerous. (I think Johnny
was having some personal troubles with a stalker around that time too.)
So I decided I'd rather be behind the scenes, like a novelist or a
songwriter. Less risky. So as I look back while writing this, I
remember that I was extremely uncomfortable shooting my scenes with
Rosanna Arquette and Tommy Lee Jones. And though a certain part of me
always wanted to be in a band, and go out on the road, the two weeks I
spent with NRBQ kind of cured me of that idea. I mean, I love those
guys and their music, but that's not the life for me. And even when
Charley was on the Letterman show, I never wanted to be the one on
camera. I was more comfortable backstage. I guess I've always been more
at ease there, like when Tierney Gearon was taking pictures of her
mother, and especially when I had the honor of talking to Norman
Mailer. Now that was cool. That was worth all the
anxiety and tension I felt later when I was stupidly blabbing my lines
to Rosanna or sitting alone in the car being stared at by Tommy Lee. (I
played the guy who broke up Gilmore and his girlfriend, which is what
caused him to lose it and commit the murders.) And I think a part of me
was kind of relieved when I found out that the original full-length,
8-hour mini-series had been chopped down to a 2-hour movie and that all
my scenes had been cut.
But still, whenever I see Julia Roberts on Letterman,
and watch them laugh and reminisce about her first appearance (which for some reason they do pretty often), I always kind of
hope that one of these days they'll also remember "Charley, the
Bubble-Eating Dog." I wouldn't expect, or even want them to remember me.
Why should they? I was just the guy in the shadows holding the leash.
That's my metier: standing just off camera, watching the action.
But Charley was a great dog. He should be remembered (even though he never did eat bubbles except during rehearsal).
|
|