When most people remember Planes, Trains and Automobiles, they think of the laughs. But what really happened behind the scenes in that 1987 winter shoot would melt even the coldest heart.
The bitter Midwest weather was relentless. Long days, icy winds, and snow deep enough to swallow boots whole. While most actors fled to the comfort of heated trailers, one man stayed out in the cold—not because he had to, but because of who he was.
John Candy.
While others warmed up, Candy was outside chatting with crew, handing out fresh coffee he arranged himself after realizing the catering truck’s brew was barely drinkable. And this wasn’t a one-time thing.
During Uncle Buck (1989), Candy quietly noticed young crew members eating nothing but vending machine snacks. Without asking for credit—or alerting the producers—he hired a hot food truck at his own expense. He made sure no one worked hungry.
By 1991, on Only the Lonely, director Chris Columbus shared that Candy learned every crew member’s name by the third day. Each morning began with a personal “hello,” each night ended with a handshake. One day, when a birthday was forgotten, Candy surprised the crew member with a cake and music—between takes.
That kindness came from humble beginnings. Back in Toronto’s Second City in the ’70s, Candy did it all—carrying equipment, cleaning, even setting up chairs. He never forgot what it meant to be “the little guy” on set.
And he proved it—again and again.
On the 1984 set of Splash, a sudden rainstorm hit. While the cast ran for cover, Candy stayed behind helping save soaked camera gear. Daryl Hannah would later say his calm and laughter helped the crew get through the chaos—and saved thousands in equipment.
In The Great Outdoors (1988), when he saw freezing crew members in thin jackets during a late-night shoot, Candy ordered portable heaters and blankets—and paid for them himself. No one even knew until years later.
Flying to a remote shoot, he found out the crew had to sit cramped in economy while the stars had first class. Candy gave up his seat to a tired camera assistant—no cameras, no announcement. He just did it, then quietly sat in the back of the plane.
He never wanted attention.
If wardrobe needed space, he gave up his trailer. If the crew needed extra hours, he helped cover the overtime. For Candy, real success wasn’t about fame—it was about how you treat the people nobody sees.
He never mentioned any of this in interviews. Never posted, never bragged. Just did what he felt was right.
John Candy’s legacy isn’t just in the movies—it’s in the people he lifted up when no one was looking.
