Grow up around any creative industry, and chances are you won’t see it like everyone else. For example, if your Dad is a football coach for an NFL team, the chances of you not meeting a famous player are very low. If your Mom works as a CPA for an accounting firm that only deals with the wealthiest people in America, I’d be willing to bet she’s met Melinda Gates. But if you grew up in the suburbs outside San Francisco and your Dad works for the man who was the creator of Star Wars? Chances are you will, at the very least, see George Lucas standing a few feet away from you.

Moving to San Ramon, California, after growing up in Burien, Washington, was tough for an eight-year-old boy who was losing the connection with his best friend, Mark Driscoll. We told each other we’d write, and we did for a few weeks.

We moved to California because the film lab Dad worked at wanted to build a relationship with Industrial, Light, and Magic, George Lucas’s newly created special effects company in San Rafael. I saw Star Wars two years earlier in Hollywood at Grauma’s Chinese Theatre the week the film opened. I had no idea what impact the film would have on my young life. All I knew then was that I loved Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon.

Trying to make new friends in a new school was tough enough. But it’s rough when you aren’t wearing the same clothes and can’t afford the same kinds of toys the other kids can. So you do what you can, when you can, to try to impress the other kids. I figured that working for the creator of Star Wars would increase my street cred. Even though Dad didn’t technically work on the movies, he did gain their business with the film laboratory in Seattle. Dad also continued his courier service business, which originated in Seattle. Thanks to his quick thinking and an exclusive contract he wrote for ILM, his courier service became the sole courier for ILM. If ILM wanted to use any outside carrier, like FedEx, UPS, or DHL, they were required to check with us first. And only if we agreed could they use an external courier. Sometimes, the hours were brutal, especially during post-production when negatives were being shipped back and forth between Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle.   

For five years, I tried to convince the kids at school that Dad really did work for George Lucas. The Empire Strikes Back came out, and nowhere in the film was Dad’s name. Therefore, he didn’t really work on the movie. Raiders of the Lost Ark came out again, same thing. Dad’s name? Not in the movie credits. I must be lying. E.T. the Extraterrestrial was released, and right before the movie came out, we got t-shirts. The title of the movie? E.T. and Me. And, just like before, no one believed me – especially when the film came out at E.T. the Extraterrestrial, and not E.T. and Me, as I had claimed.

After two years of working in the courier service, Lucas asked if he wanted to come to work as an assistant visual effects editor. Dad agreed and went to work after signing a long, elaborate contract.

So in 1983, when Revenge of the Jedi was ready to make its blockbuster debut, my brothers and I were prepared to watch the cast and crew screening. We also knew no one would believe us, so we’d given up on getting any credit for knowing what the real name of the movie was ahead of time. Lucas brought everyone together to watch the first run collectively, waiting with bated breath to see the cast and crew’s reaction. No cast or crew member knew what the final product would look like. And getting to watch it with everyone you worked with? That was priceless. I think George knew it would win over audiences if the crew enjoyed it. After all, these people saw hours and hours of edits and cuts over months to pick the right shots for specific scenes.

We enter the theatre, a sizeable one-audience cinema with state-of-the-art THX-surround sound, the first time anyone would experience sound in every direction. Speakers line the north-south walls of the theatre, with massive speakers behind us and, I think, one giant one behind the screen itself.  

Lucas, per usual, did not disappoint. But we watched the entire film and didn’t see Dad’s name in the credits. Oh well. What’s one more time?

So, a few weeks later, after seeing this movie three times, I went with some friends to watch it again. This is my fourth viewing. Three times, I’ve sat through the credits. Three times, I’ve waited to see the names of those I met who worked on the film.

When I go to the movies and see a film, I will sit my butt in that seat and wait until every name has passed. Someone asked me years ago why. Why do you do this? You are honoring the work those names put into the film. I think it’s disrespectful to not wait until their names clear the screen.

So, after seeing this movie four times, my friends decided I needed to stay and watch the credits with them. They want to see if my Dad’s name is there. Why this time? Who knows.

“Guys,” I told my four friends, “It’s not there. This is a waste of time.”

“Humor us,” Jason Livermore said.

“Suit yourself,” I said to Jason, returning to my conversation with my best friend, Tim Fritsch.

“Dude!” Jason was shouting at me, rudely interrupting my conversation with Tim.

“What?” I shouted back (we were barely teenagers, remember).

“Your name! It’s there! Look!” Jason pointed to the screen.

That’s when I saw it. I saw Assistant Visual Effects Editors in bold, block lettering and then one, two, three, and four names. But the last one? The name on the next line down? Joe Class. Right there. In the movie credits for the first time.

Shock and surprise was my reaction. My friends? They looked at me differently, almost as if a veil had been lifted and they were seeing for the first time. I was telling the truth – the whole time.

They never doubted me again.