Raiders of Light and Magic

A true account of dumpster diving during production of The Empire Strikes Back.

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When we heard the sound, we tensed. Bear moved quietly toward the fence and peered through the slats. His face went taut, and he motioned for us to hide ourselves in the trash bin. The Bearded Man had emerged. He was standing in the open doorway smoking a cigarette. We couldn’t tell if he’d seen us.

Thwuck! The door closed into its metal jam. Bear backed into the far corner of the enclosure while Gary, Greg, and I ducked below the dumpster opening. As footsteps approached we sat stock-still and held our breath. I imagined the worst. We heard the latch lift and the gate squeak as it opened. I clenched my teeth. There was an eternal silence, then suddenly...

Two hours earlier:

The soft yellow lights of the Golden Gate Bridge faded in my rear view mirror as we left San Francisco and headed north into the hilly darkness of Marin County. I pushed a button on my new watch, and the red LEDs lit up to show me it was 10:44 p.m. We’d gotten a later start than usual since one of our quartet had to finish his security guard shift. That happened sometimes, but it was okay. Made for lighter traffic. There were few cars traveling the bridge on this warm September night, and we sailed past the toll plaza with ease.

The golden summer of 1979 was winding down, and a new high school year was close at hand. In less than a week I was going to be a freshly minted senior, but at the moment I wasn’t thinking about that, because my cohorts and I had yet to wring the last bits of excitement out of these final carefree days. Yes indeed, shenanigans were in full swing on this toasty evening on the highway where air conditioning in my green AMC Hornet hatchback consisted of four rolled-down windows. This meant we had to shout over the road noise to sing along with Cheap Trick blaring from the AM speaker. “I waaaant youuuu to want meeee..!” 

I’d gotten my driver's license a couple months earlier with the help of my good friend Bear, who was older, wiser, and had a much better mustache than the rest of us. He liked that I could now share the duty of driving our less-mobile friends around town—though we did look much cooler in his Montego than in my green machine. The hand-me-down Hornet had been a birthday present and, while it hadn’t proven very good for attracting girls, it had expanded our travel horizons. 

No travel was more practiced than this. All summer long we’d been making our Saturday night trek north. Static replaced Cheap Trick as we entered the tunnel that ran through the hills above the sleepy town of Sausalito, the landmark that signaled we were approaching the final stretch. Famous for its painted rainbow arch, it wasn’t a long tunnel, but coming out the other side always felt far from home, like we’d crossed the frontier into some foreign land awaiting our conquest. 

Making our way through Mill Valley, I pushed my wind-whipped blond hair back up under my Nostromo cap—a replica of the baseball hat worn by Harry Dean Stanton in the movie Alien. Requisite adventure gear. We all had them, but only Greg and I were wearing ours that night. Made us look like best friends. Which we were. In our geekly pursuits Greg was the Starsky to my Hutch, the Apollo to my Starbuck. We often wore the same gear, and in the days before the Internet the only places to obtain said gear were those wretched hives of scum and villainy—sci-fi conventions. The four of us attended them regularly. We had become renowned up and down California because of Bear, Gary, and Greg’s ability to fabricate cool looking props, and for pulling off antics like we were up to tonight. We had also acquired the nickname “The Hoodlums,” but that’s a story for another day. 

We neared our turn-off and I gripped the wheel a little tighter. I could feel the familiar butterflies spinning in my stomach as I hit the blinker, and The Cars began singing our new anthem of the moment. “I like the nightlife, baby!”

For the last two years the four of us had been inseparable. We’d met due to our mutually overzealous enthusiasm for Star Wars, which in the summer of 1977 had swept through our young lives like a transformational tidal wave of geeky goodness. No mere movie, it was a cultural phenomenon that inspired us, surrounded us, and bound us together. We would do anything to immerse ourselves in it. 

One Saturday, when Greg and I had begged our parents to let us see it for something like the 27th time, we’d met Gary and Bear—who had already seen it more than we had. It was easy to spot them in the theater lobby holding court. Gary was the outgoing jokester whose fiery red hair poked from under his Giants hat. Bear preferred to hang back and be Fonzie cool. They were both big guys, but Bear was, in modern parlance, jacked. And he was loath to hide his perfectly coiffed Tony Manero hair under a hat. Yup, they were older and cooler, and we wanted to be like them. They had that successful facial hair and they knew stuff, bitchin’ stuff about the movie that we were dying to learn. They didn’t treat us like dweeby kids, either, but rather like little brothers in need of guidance so that we might tread the true path. Tonight, the path trod north. 

Taking our usual offramp, we were plunged into the darkness of San Rafael. We passed through an unlit industrial area, then looped back under the freeway, where we came upon the familiar and dilapidated drive-in movie theater, its enormous sentinel screen silhouetted against the ambient light of the night sky. Closed since last summer, the marquee still beckoned one and all to enjoy a double feature of Animal House and The Deer Hunter. Coming soon, Grease and Jaws II. Just when you thought it was safe... 

A left turn, a right, another left, and into the brightly lit parking lot of the convenience store which was the only illuminated building in the whole area. An odd oasis of fluorescent life in the middle of the wasteland. Here, we’d stock up on the supplies we would need to see us through our evening’s escapades. Pepsi. Chocolate milk. Candy bars. Dolly Madison Zingers. The raspberry ones. With the coconut. Very important. 

We sat on the hood of my car, devouring our snacks and reveling in the warmth of the evening, anticipating the adventure to come with the air of experienced men. From our vantage point in the parking lot we could see down the darkened stretch of road to our final destination—an unmarked, unassuming structure in the midst of an industrial park. Xanadu. El Dorado. Where they made the magic.“She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.” 

How had Bear and Gary discovered it? They never would say. Information gleaned from another secret mission, perhaps? In the end, it didn’t matter. All we cared about were its treasures, the coveted spoils that made us the talk of two towns. We were the kings of the geeks, telling no one lest our claim to the gold mine be challenged. No one but Lance. Lance was our fifth Beatle, the one who had to work late at the comic book store and couldn’t come tonight. He was gonna miss out, we all thought. How right we were.

We piled back into the Hornet, then cruised out of the parking lot and down the lonely street. Per Protocol, we would drive past the building to make sure the coast was clear, then loop back around and begin our activities. As we made our slow-roll approach, however, we noticed that something was different. The large metal door on the east side of the building was... OPEN!

This had never happened before. I pulled the car next to the adjacent tract of warehouses and we pondered. What were we going to do? Were we brazen enough to go through with it under these conditions? We had to! It was the last Saturday night of the summer. We couldn’t go back empty handed. So it was decided. We’d alter our procedures to account for the surprise, but we were sure as hell going through with it. 

We left the car and ambled down the sidewalk, trying to act nonchalant as we devised our plan. Two of us would double back behind the adjacent warehouses. The other two were to loop around the main building and see if there was anybody home. We’d meet at the far side. I watched Greg and Gary disappear into the shadows, then Bear motioned me forward and we crept toward the front.

We rounded the corner of the building to see that the roll-up doors on the opposite side were closed as usual. What a relief. As we passed the front window, I peered in. All was dark down the long hall that extended back from the lobby, but by the dim light of the ‘EXIT’ sign I could barely make out the company logo above the reception desk—a mustachioed magician with a top hat and wand conjuring a ball of light from the middle of a machine gear. 

We regrouped with Greg and Gary in an impressively dark corner of the driveway. It provided a good angle from which to survey the area. Ahead and to the right lay the warehouse, with gaping doors that threatened exposure and peril. To the left, hidden behind a small rectangle of protective chain-link fencing, stood our objective.

I checked my watch again. 11:39. Normally we’d be gleefully hauling away bagfuls of booty by now, but tonight we were stymied. Unseen forces stood guard, alert, across the driveway. From our hiding place we could hear no sound or see any movement within, only a strange blue glow that emanated from the wide opening. It was too much for us. We had to see inside. So, Bear stood up, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strode from our concealment as though he was exactly where he was supposed to be. 

We held our breath and watched as he ambled the thirty or so yards down the drive, each casual step bringing him closer to the yawning doorways. At first it looked like he would just stroll on by, but at the last second he darted back and positioned himself to the left of the doors, pressing tightly against the wall. For several pregnant minutes we stared at him as he stared into the building, his form illuminated by blue light. What did he see?!

Then Bear held up a finger, signaling that one of us should follow his lead. Gary was the next to cross the pavement. After a few minutes of viewing, he stepped aside and it was my turn. I stood up, and repeated the act of casual bravado that had proven so successful. Suddenly I was standing next to the opening, and I felt my jaw hit the ground, barely missing the collection of cigarette butts clustered at my feet. 

The glow was coming from motion picture lights reflecting off a screen a rich shade of blue. This was what gave the vast warehouse interior its otherworldly glow. On the ground in front of the blue screen was a metal track, upon which sat a complex camera system. This itself would have been cool enough, had it not been for the object that eclipsed all else for ultimate cool-ness. In front of the blue screen, a sturdy pole had been anchored into the concrete floor, and atop that pole sat the most awesome sight my teenage eyes had ever beheld. It was ten feet long and gleaming white. I recognized it immediately, its triangular shape having been seared into my consciousness as it lumbered across the screen in pursuit of the fleeing blockade runner. It was majestic. It was iconic. It was the Imperial Star Destroyer from Star Wars.

A different scene sat off to the left—two smaller ships against an identical blue background. But these weren’t from Star Wars, per se. These ships were called Snow Speeders, and would feature prominently in next year’s upcoming sequel The Empire Strikes Back. How did I know all this? Because the building I was cozying up to was Industrial Light and Magic, the shop responsible for the groundbreaking special effects in the George Lucas space epics, and for almost three months the boys and I had been digging through their garbage. We’d come away with everything from film clips and storyboards to script segments and original artwork. Along with coveted artifacts, this plundering gave us highly precious information we could use to seem omniscient to our peers. One man’s trash… 

Now it was my turn to give up the vantage point, since Greg was actively crossing the driveway without even waiting for me to move. I took my cue and high-tailed it behind the low wall where Gary and Bear were now hiding. We talked over each other in adrenalized whispers, and our palpable excitement almost kept us from hearing the sound of heavy footsteps running toward us. Suddenly Greg’s gawky form came flying over the wall, landing in a heap in our midst. Someone had come out of the doors! We peered nervously over the cinder blocks, expecting to see an army of pitchfork-wielding effects technicians in hot pursuit of our boy. Instead we saw only one Bearded Man leaning against the spot where we had all been. With a glance in our direction he took a final sip of coffee, snuffed out his cigarette on the ground, and went back inside. 

We heard the grating whine of metal on metal, and the corrugated garage door rolled slowly down, blocking the stage interior from our view. At first we were disappointed, until we realized that what blocked us from them also blocked them from us. We now had our usual unfettered access to the treasure that lay just fifty yards from those once-open doors. Fools! They had played right into our hands.

We didn’t know when the doors might roll back up, so we wasted no time in racing over to the dumpster which had been taunting us all evening. Slats of wood laced through the cyclone fencing would safely shield us from sight once we were inside the enclosure. Greg gingerly lifted the metal gate latch and the four of us pushed inside. On entry we startled a host of moths that fluttered erratically around the single fluorescent light, casting abnormally large shadows across our tight workspace and adding to our already heightened anxiety. Some of the moths preferred to flutter around Greg’s head. 

Before hoisting myself into the bin I handed my keys to Bear, since he and Gary would be running to the car with plastic bags full of bounty while Greg and I did the actual rummaging. Provided, of course, that all the trash was contained in bags. Sometimes it was loose, and that made for messy business. It meant we’d have to sort the contents right on the spot, in poor light, and under constant pressure of being caught. This was how we’d done it at first. Then after a couple outings we devised a better plan—indiscriminately stuff the car with trash, then drive to a safer, better lit dumpster for inspection and disposal of all non-desirable items. With its larger trash capacity, my Hornet proved more effective than either Bear’s Montego or Gary’s Pinto.

Gary stood watch until Bear returned, then it was his turn to carry a bag to the car. We kept this pattern up for three or four more rounds and still hadn’t reached the bottom of the bin. We’d only have room for two or three more sacks, meaning we could either leave and come back or begin sifting through the trash bags there on site. I looked at my watch. 12:28. Since Greg’s mom would be mad and restrict his outings if he got home too late, we opted for choice number two.

Gary joined us in the dumpster, as moths continued to bat Greg in the head.  We started tearing into the large black sacks, and the smell of old coffee wafted up to meet us. Coffee grounds. Coffee filters. Coffee cups. More coffee grounds. Coffee-soaked napkins and desk papers. Still more coffee grounds. Sometimes entire pots of coffee dumped into the trash, collecting at the bottom. What an incredible smell you've discovered!

The sifting went well, and produced items we'd come to expect. Mostly camera slates, and composite effects footage of the Millennium Falcon, Star Destroyers, and asteroids, as well as the occasional snow battle sequence. Nothing we hadn't seen before. But as we worked our way through another layer, Greg tore into a bag that yielded numerous pre-production sketches of unfamiliar droids and ships. We all stared over his shoulder in wonderment. Then Gary extracted a reel of film which included the title crawl that would start the movie. I dug in and pulled out a handful of coffee-stained storyboards. 

We were so excited by our discoveries that we forgot ourselves. Forgot that we weren’t at the safety of some neutral dumpster far from the scene of the crime. We laughed and joked and tossed wet coffee filters at each other. When we heard the sound, we tensed. 

We looked at each other, unsure if we’d actually heard anything. As quietly as possible, Bear moved toward the fence and peered through the slats. His face went taut and he motioned for us to be quiet. The Bearded Man had come outside. Not through one of the slow, noisy, roll-up doors, but from a quieter normal-sized door to the left of the larger ones. Standing in the doorway, backlit from inside, he surveyed the area and smoked a cigarette. 

What should we do?! Was dumpster diving a crime? None of us knew. Then there was the whole trespassing thing. So yeah, we could probably get into trouble. But only if we got caught. We could make a dash for the car and hopefully get away before any of the crew caught us, but we wouldn't be able to take the awesome artifacts we’d just found, relics that far outshone anything we’d uncovered before. And I for one didn’t want to give them up.

Thwuck! The door closed into its metal jam and we heard the approach of footsteps. I ducked below the level of the dumpster opening and covered myself with trash. Gary and Greg followed suit with limited success. Bear backed into the far corner of the enclosure. As the footsteps grew closer we sat stock-still and held our breath. I imagined the worst. We would be arrested. Gary would lose his security job. My mom would have to bail me out of jail. And worst of all... they'd make us give back all our cool stuff! We heard the latch lift and the gate squeak as it was opened. I clenched my teeth. There was an eternal silence, then suddenly—BAM! BAM! BAM!—came the sound of the Bearded Man’s fist against the side of the can. 

We didn’t move. Maybe he didn't really know we were there. Maybe he… “Hey you guys!” came his booming voice. Another eternal pause. “Find anything good? Huh, huh, huh.”

With that short chuckle he turned on his heels and walked out of the enclosure. Bear watched him as he crossed the parking lot, got into his car, and drove off. Only then did we dare to breathe. Slowly. When realization hit us that we'd actually survived the encounter, we leapt out of the rusty bin and raced to my car with the last of the Hefty bags. 

Reeking of coffee grounds, we all piled into the Hornet. I started the engine while the boys squeezed in between the precious loot. The last raspberry Zinger taunted me from the dashboard, and I inhaled it. Driving cautiously, I guided us back past the convenience store and the drive-in, through the dark industrial tract, and onto the freeway heading home.

The talk that night was not the excited banter that usually accompanied our drive back. As the adrenaline rush of our evening ebbed, we were sobered at having successfully escaped what felt like a very close call. We'd also bonded in a way that had eluded us until now. Eluded us during those early months of easy pickings. Tonight we'd shared an adventure that we'd look back on as a highlight of our young lives, and tell tales of for years to come. It was a flash of lightning across the silver screen of our formative memories. 

Heading south toward the tunnel and the lights of San Francisco we noticed an upscale sedan driving next to us. Had the driver looked over, he might have found it curious to see a hatchback stuffed with trash at—I checked my watch—1:46 in the morning, but he paid us no mind. He signaled, and took the next exit into the little town of San Anselmo. As he did, we noticed that the license plate on his car read DAGOBAH – which is a Sinhala word meaning ‘shrine.’ Because of our excavations, we knew it was also the home planet of a brand new character named “Yoda.” 

The relics we got from our nights of plunder enabled us to put together a truly spectacular slide show to impress our friends and, yes, even attract girls. But it couldn’t last forever. The well eventually ran dry. A rival faction learned the location, and suddenly we were in the position of having to schedule alternate raiding nights. We even took it upon ourselves to try during the day... with disastrous results. At one point, George Lucas himself stared us down. Shortly after that, ILM began shredding all its trash. 

From a production photograph we learned the identity of the Bearded Man. He was pretty prominent on the night crew, and a lot of the best stuff seemed to have come from his desk. We liked to think he put it there just for us. 

Our merry band would have other adventures, but the pursuit of dreams eventually sent us our separate ways. Greg was to become a model maker and art director for motion pictures. His first effort was a small film released in 1983 called Return of the Jedi. He would win an Oscar ten years later. Bear would go on to become a sought-after prop maker for projects like Star Trek and Babylon Five, while Gary would move to the Gulf Coast to work in the burgeoning computer field. Lance, who finally got his look inside the doors, would become a successful animator. As for me, I realized my childhood ambition of working in cartoons, voicing characters like Superman, The Joker, and even Luke Skywalker himself. 

We came together at a time in life that lasts no longer than a breath, but it left indelible impressions on each of us. We aren't really in touch anymore, so I don't know if anyone but me still gets butterflies when they smell coffee grounds. But I'm pretty sure that, from time to time at least, we all think back fondly to that summer of '79, when trash was treasure, and we were the kings of the geeks. 

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Christopher Corey Smith is an actor living in Los Angeles. You can hear his voice and see his motion capture performances in hundreds of animated series and video games. For more work like this, consider subscribing to Futurist Letters.

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