Director's class creates community in Memphis

Steve Collins and Tom Shadyac in Shadyac’s storytelling class. (Photo by Joshua Cannon)

At the front of a classroom at the University of Memphis, Steve Collins looks out from his wheelchair to a sea of students. Many are crammed into rows, but some are sitting on the floor.

It’s 9 p.m. on Monday evening. Most classes have long since ended, but Tom Shadyac’s storytelling course is just wrapping up.

Shadyac is on his fourth semester as a visiting professor at the university, but has roots in Hollywood. He’s the director responsible for films like Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, The Nutty Professor, Bruce Almighty and Patch Adams. Collins, too, is on his fourth semester enrolled in the class. From the moment they met, the two formed a bond — one that has grown with each passing semester.

“It’s visceral with me,” Shadyac says.  “When I see someone in a wheelchair, I feel an immediate bond. It’s not mental. It’s not cerebral. It’s a deeply seeded intuitive connection and desire to know their story.”

While undergoing a heart transplant in 2011, Collins suffered a spinal cord injury that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Likewise, Shadyac’s mother, before dying from cancer in 1998, became semi-quadriplegic and spent her last years in a wheelchair.

“I can’t even look at a handicapped parking space without thinking of my mother and wanting to honor her courage,” Shadyac says. “If I have any sense of humor at all, it’s because of my mother. She faced a mountain of challenges with a keen sense of humor. That’s the way Steve deflects difficulty, too. He’s a stand up comic who joyfully tells you he can’t stand up.”

Collins, 57, doesn’t act like a man who has suffered a traumatic experience. A sticker on the back of his wheelchair reads, “Does this wheelchair make my butt look big?” He’s an avid Monty Python enthusiast, always cracking jokes.

“It [was] a life changing experience,” Collins said. “But I don’t think it’s changed me. I’ve still got the same personality. I still find humor in everything.”

When he rolled into class just minutes before 6 p.m., his blue eyes lit up at the sight of his fellow students, and his laughter filled the room.

“How are you doing this week,” Collins asked, reaching up from his wheelchair to hug a girl.

Aside from the familiar faces, first-time guests visit the class each week. A large facet of attendance is made up of people not enrolled in the course. Parents, spouses, local residents and many others often drop in to soak up what Collins calls, “Shadyac’s perspective.”

The first time he met Shadyac, Collins was greeted with a thought-provoking statement. As the longhaired director-turned-professor made his way to the front of his class, he said, “Hi, my name is Tom Shadyac, and this class is going to change your life.”

“That’s a pretty bold statement,” Collins says. “It takes a lot to change someone’s life.”

Shadyac is no stranger to change. In 2007, the filmmaker suffered an injury during a bicycle accident that left him with post-concussion syndrome. After recovering, he moved out of his 17,000 square-foot Los Angeles mansion into a trailer park. He then donated much of his fortune to organize a homeless shelter among other charities. Concern for others runs in Shadyac’s family: His father helped Danny Thomas found St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, and his brother is the current CEO of St. Jude’s fund-raising arm ALSAC.

The accident led him on a transformative journey, and the result was the 2010 documentary I Am. Shadyac met with scientists, environmentalists and religious leaders to ask two questions: “What’s wrong with the world?” and ”What can we do about it?”

His adventure inevitably led him to pursue higher education with hopes of sharing his experience and leading others to make positive marks on the world.

“The job of an educator is to teach students to see themselves,” Shadyac says. “That’s my highest hope — to awaken students to who they are, and to provide the tools to walk their own unique path with courage and conviction.”

On the first day of Shadyac’s class, as in all classes, he shares his course requirements. Students watch movies and documentaries, and after, they discuss them. No grades are given, but attendance is mandatory. The class was structured around a pass or fail system based on that attendance.

In order to teach his once-a-week course, Shadyac travels by plane from California. He supplies dinner, which consists of pizza, and, on occasion, fried chicken, so that students can get an atypical cinematic experience.

During the first class, Shadyac announced to the students’ surprise that at the end of the semester, he would be purchasing everyone a bicycle.

“I buy all of my students bikes, not to be Oprah, but to remind them that life is a celebration,” Shadyac says. “Even the difficult times have beauty and meaning.”

Soon after, he approached Collins at the beginning of a class.

“He said, ‘Steve, I had a dream about you — it was all good, everyone had their clothes on,'” Collins says. “He came up and got down on his knees to my level. He said, ‘You can’t ride a bike, right? Have you ever thought about one of those arm bikes? Let’s look into that.'”

Collins rushed home to share the news with his wife Vicki. Echoing her husband’s anticipation, she casually began attending the class here and there, experiencing Shadyac’s unorthodox teaching methods. After many visits, she started raising her hand and sharing her own personal stories. At the end of the semester, Shadyac not only purchased Collins a bicycle, but one for his wife, as well.

(Photo by Joshua Cannon)

For Collins, having a deep relationship with his classmates is one of the most significant aspects of Shadyac’s class — more so than receiving a bicycle. The weekly gatherings are more than just going to class. They bring together a community.

“To take the class just for the bike, you’re missing it,” Collins says. “You don’t know how meaningful it is to be the old guy in class and have 19 to 20 year olds come up and give me a hug. To be accepted, not for all of this, but for what I say.”

Nearly 35 years ago, Collins graduated from Louisiana State University with a degree in journalism. He was undecided on a major when he first returned to the University of Michigan to obtain a second degree, and took Shadyac’s course on a whim.

Collins expected to better learn how to shape a story, but he never anticipated Shadyac would affect his life in such a way that would bring him back for a second, third and fourth semester.

“I’ve never been in a class where you’re so involved with one another,” Collins said. “When you’re talking, you talk from the heart. You tell your fears. You tell what is going on this week. He’ll throw it right back at you. He’ll say, ‘You know, why do you think that happened?’ and give you a different perspective on things so you can take it out and help change and confront it.”

He has since declared film as his major.

Staring out from the front of the classroom, Collins and Shadyac are positioned like guiding lights to the students and visitors before them. They mirror each other’s passion to encourage people to find their bliss just as they have in their own lives.

“My respect and love for Steve has grown deeper and wider with every encounter, [and] with every comment he makes that challenges, uplifts and elevates,” Shadyac says.

Being inside of Shadyac’s classroom has radically changed Collins life in the outside world, he says. His reinforced positivity comes from lessons learned in the course.

“The bad news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I’m in a wheelchair,” Collins says. “The good news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I’m in a wheelchair. If it gets better, that’s great. If it doesn’t, I’m fine with that.”