Here’s the best advice I ever got about working in the film industry.

Disclaimer: If you’re a friend, coworker or landscaper of mine, you’ve likely already heard this story. Knowing me, probably more than once. I’d suggest that you visit another website for the next 10 minutes. Perhaps you’d enjoy a story about ancient animal dung?

Carlo Conda is a blogger and aspiring screenwriter who visits and comments here on Burbanked, and he recently wrote a post on his site in which he contemplates the logistics of moving to Hollywood to seek fame and fortune in the movie industry. Conda has some greater issues at hand than I had to deal with when I moved to LA out of college, but his post reminded me of what was probably the biggest mental shove that I got when I was a young man wearing his shoes.

I majored in film and TV production at Syracuse University. A terrific school, a great experience and a defining time of my life – but we didn’t get to learn much about the film industry. The school was much better equipped to teach about television production – which was also great – but my dreams were pointed in a different direction.

In my senior year, the school gathered up a dozen film production majors and accompanied us out to Hollywood for a week where we got to meet Syracuse alumni who had showbiz positions and who had graciously agreed to sit down and chat with us snot-nosed kids. We had meetings with Peter Guber, the late Alan Rafkin, TV producer Mark Tinker, agent Rob Light and others.

But the thing that stuck with me that week, and all these many years later, was the bit of wisdom that came from writer-director-cinematographer Peter Hyams.

At several points in film history, Hyams seemed poised to break out as a celebrity director. This is a guy ballsy enough to make a sequel to one of Kubrick’s most celebrated films, and pull it off with not-too-bad results. Hyams also directed two Jean Claude Van-Damme movies at the height of the actor’s popularity, and for all of its cheesiness, Timecop has endured over the years, spawning comic books and a short-lived TV series and even modern-day remake talks.

But all of that pales in comparison to the fact that Peter Hyams made Running Scared, one of the best buddy-cop movies ever filmed. Pre-Lethal Weapon and many years before Ratner ever polluted the genre, Running Scared accomplished a great many narrative miracles, not the least of which was in casting diminutive Billy Crystal as a badass – an impressive feat, never replicated since. So prior to meeting Hyams, I’d been a long-time fan.

He was a gregarious, gracious host, entertaining us with stories and an open sense of enthusiasm. But the very best moment came when someone in our group suggested that we as Syracuse students were at a disadvantage in competing for jobs against our UCLA and USC contemporaries because we’d had only rare opportunities to work with actual film cameras, film stock, editing or other parts of the film production process.

Hyams laughed a little, and said something like this:

“Ok, let me ask you something. When you guys get out into the film industry, what do you think your first job will be?”

We all just looked at each other. For being on the cusp of college matriculation, I suppose we weren’t all that smart. He continued,

“I’ll tell you. You’re going to work on a film set and you’re probably going to be doing something stupid and menial, like making sandwiches. And once you’ve worked on that set for two or three months, you’re going to learn everything about film that everyone else has learned in school.”

We looked at each other again, this time with hope glimmering in our eyes.

“So what you have to ask yourselves is this: can you make sandwiches as well as those kids from USC and UCLA?”

Yes, we energetically nodded, we can make pretty good sandwiches.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Move out here and start making sandwiches.”

Almost two decades later, at least one of the SU students who was on that trip with me is working as a produced screenwriter. Another is a film producer. And if Rich, Vivian, Andrea or the others whose names have slipped away from me are still living the industry life, how wonderful for them.

Instead, I found my fame and fortune far away from Hyams’ office, with a stunning wife, three blessedly healthy little boys and a clumsy mutt that we named after a piece of meat. Ultimately I think that life, despite our best efforts, tends to combine it all together for us. Some sandwiches we choose to make, while others just kind of plop down onto our plates.