Sooo cool
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While filming Planes, Trains and Automobiles in the brutal Midwest winter of 1987, Steve Martin noticed something special about John Candy. Amidst biting winds and endless snow, Candy’s quiet kindness transformed the set’s mood. Unlike most stars, who took shelter in heated trailers between takes, John often stayed outside—chatting with crew, lifting spirits, and passing out cups of fresh coffee he’d arranged himself (after realizing the catering truck only had lukewarm brew).
But John Candy’s compassion wasn’t a one-time act. During *Uncle Buck* (1989), he realized that younger crew members were surviving on vending machine snacks because the meal budget focused on lead talent. Candy, without fanfare or seeking praise, hired a hot food truck at his own expense—making sure everyone ate a warm meal on those long days.
When Chris Columbus directed Candy in Only the Lonely (1991), he saw the same empathy in action. Candy would learn every crew member’s name by day three, starting each morning with a personal greeting and ending each night with a handshake and thanks. If a birthday was overlooked, Candy would quietly arrange a cake and music so no one felt invisible.
His humility was forged in Toronto’s Second City during the 1970s, when John juggled every backstage job imaginable—hauling equipment, cleaning stages, helping wherever needed. That experience grounded him for life: no job was too small or person unworthy of respect.
On the set of Splash (1984), a sudden downpour sent everyone scrambling for shelter. Except Candy—he stayed behind, helping the crew save valuable gear, joking to keep morale up, and literally saving thousands in equipment with his hands-on help.
The Great Outdoors (1988) brought another test: as a late-night shoot stretched into the early hours, Candy noticed shivering crew members. He quietly ordered heaters and blankets at his own expense, making sure no one suffered when there was a solution at hand.
He never believed in special treatment, either. On a remote shoot, when he learned the crew was stuck in coach while stars flew first class, Candy swapped his seat for a tired camera assistant—never announcing it, just doing the right thing.
John Candy’s legacy isn’t just about comedy or memorable movies. It’s about the warmth, generosity, and humanity he brought to the people around him—especially those Hollywood often overlooks. He gave up his trailer if wardrobe needed it, paid for overtime if the crew was exhausted, and always uplifted those who made the magic happen.
He never sought headlines, never mentioned these acts in interviews. For John, it was simple: true success is lifting others as you climb.
In an industry obsessed with stars, John Candy made everyone on the team feel like one.