More stories from the world of making movies.

This one comes once again from my time with Warner Bros. shooting the feature movie “Just Cause,” a Sean Connery film.

We had been filming in Naples on the Florida west coast and the Everglades for two grueling months, then the rest of the production was moved to North Miami.

I was happy that I could see my family every night instead of just on the weekends, since it was “only” an hour commute at 6 a.m. and again at 9 p.m.

The company set up headquarters at Greenwich Studios, a sprawling 45,000-square-foot complex that had been the home base back in the ’60s for the TV show “Flipper.” Many titles were shot there, including “Miami Vice,” “There’s Something About Mary,” “Bad Boys” and many others.

You wouldn’t want to think it, but many film sets are cold, serious and humorless environments. There’s almost always the low hum of tension in the air. One serious boo-boo could have you walking out with a pink slip on the spot. There’s a lot of money on the line.

So, why would anyone want to work there? Because you’re being paid four to five times what the same work would pay outside of film. Plus insurance, other benefits and a retirement program. On Mondays, for instance, we would be handed an envelope with $300 cash “lunch money.” Off the books.

You work with the knowledge that there are 50 people waiting to eagerly take your job. Today. Mess up or fail to deliver, and it will happen. It can be stressful.

In that kind of workplace, it’s hard to connect much with your fellow indentured servants unless you already know them. And you have to be careful who you joke around with. I have a hard time living without humor, even very black humor.

I don’t care for overly serious people.

Daniel Finn O’Rourke wasn’t one of those tight-faced worrywarts. He was a fabulously funny and bombastic Irish-American from “Baaa-stunn.”

The only time he would be uptight at all is if you called him Daniel or Dan instead of his handpicked moniker of “Danny Boy.” (Yeah … like the song.)

Danny was a set carpenter and had been for many years. When he came onto the Warner crew, we ended up working on the same location sets quite a bit.

I originally met him on a set near Miami Beach, and we were on that one prepping things for a good week. We laughed and talked on breaks or if we were working nearby. He would make up nicknames — none of which can be printed here — for our immediate bosses and the bigwigs at the main office.

We talked about our families and our dogs and whatever new dumb*** decisions were being made that day by the big bosses.

Occasionally, after work, I would be waiting for Miami rush hour to clear before heading home. Danny and I would splurge with some of our $300 on a fancy meal at McDonald’s. Drive-thru.

One day, we were waiting on a set for one of the art directors to come check out what we’d been working on that day so we could move on. We found out that the limp-wristed dandy they were sending was a particularly irritating little dwarf named John Snow.

Danny would often do an impersonation of this twerp: “Oh, nooooooo!” — voice sweeping up, hands flailing in the air — “This staircase should be ‘Sultry Maple,’ not ‘Bone Alabaster!’ We must fix it immediately!”

Now, Snow had been told that everything on the set made of wood had been painted the day before. And that was true.

Danny was not supposed to pick up a brush. He was a carpenter. I was a sign writer. Someone from Set Painting had done that work the day before.

Then I saw Danny Boy look at his watch. Snow wouldn’t arrive for another 45 minutes or so. Spotting a gallon of paint and some brushes in the corner, he got a mischievous glint in his eyes and the hint of a smile.

“I think some of this needs another quick coat!” he said as he popped the can open and started repainting everything he could in the time allotted. Nice and sticky. Nice and wet. Then he hid the evidence.

When John Snow arrived, we knew all his moves. Like a 130-pound pink version of Patton inspecting the troops, he proceeded to give us a lukewarm inspirational lecture and then walked the set, touching every surface as he went on and on.

Apparently, the scotch he had consumed at lunch — every lunch — had made his fingers somewhat numb. He didn’t feel the wetness of the very white paint, and every time his hand brushed his $200 Hawaiian shirt, his fingerprints became part of the pattern. He had no clue.

Probably didn’t notice until he got in his BMW and gripped the very black steering wheel.

We waited five minutes and howled.

Unfortunately, in July, we had to work 12 to 14 hours a day for two weeks or so. I had to stay in a sleazy hotel down the street. No use trying to get home.

The entire production crew was beat up and tired beyond human limits. There were many small accidents. It was a tough time. I was sick from exhaustion, and after we wrapped, I took a month off to recuperate.

Danny got in his car one night to go home. He lived nearby in Miami. As he was on I-95 at about midnight, he fell asleep at the wheel and hit the side of an overpass. He died instantly, 10 minutes from his house.

I hope he’s giving ’em a hard time up there and giving the angels obscene nicknames. See ya on the other side, Danny Boy.

Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown.

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