The Man in the Mandalorian Armor: Brendan Wayne on Surviving Septic Shock, Stepping Out of John Wayne’s Shadow, and Sharing the Mask With Pedro Pascal
“About five days out of the hospital, barely able to stand for ten minutes at a time, I heard Timothy Olyphant was on set. I decided to drive from the Valley down to Manhattan Beach. After sitting in LA traffic for 45 minutes, I couldn’t stand up straight, so I rolled out of the car onto the ground in the parking lot to stretch.”
I had the pleasure of talking with Brendan Wayne. Five days after leaving the hospital, Brendan Wayne drove from the San Fernando Valley to Manhattan Beach because he had heard Timothy Olyphant was filming. Wayne had recently endured three surgeries, multiple septic infections, and 42 days in the hospital. His weight had fallen from 185 pounds to 142. An abdominal wound remained open beneath his bandages, and after 45 minutes in Los Angeles traffic, he could not stand upright. He rolled out of his car and stretched on the parking lot pavement until he could pull himself to his feet.
Then he walked onto the set of The Mandalorian.
The moment captures the contradiction at the center of Wayne’s career. His best-known performance is built around physical presence, yet his face is concealed. He carries one of Hollywood’s most recognizable family names, yet much of his work depends on disappearing inside someone else’s armor. On screen, Din Djarin communicates through restraint, measured turns, and the smallest shifts of the helmet. Behind that stillness is an actor who arrives hours early, trains until his body adjusts to the suit, memorizes every line, and studies the set before the crew begins filming.
Wayne is the youngest of eight children and the grandson of John Wayne, but storytelling reached him most intimately through his mother, Toni. They listened to radio plays and movies together while sitting in Los Angeles traffic. Athletics initially seemed like the more plausible future. He played basketball, football, and baseball and ran track, imagining, briefly, that professional sports might be possible. His mother eventually forced the decision he had avoided.
“I really need you to do something, Brendan,” she told him. “You need to make a choice on what you want to do in life.”
When he admitted that he wanted to act, she did not offer a romantic Hollywood prophecy. She told him to work. “You’re going to go to theater school and you’re going to learn,” she said. Wayne studied acting, singing, dance, and fencing, then found an important teacher in Nikolai Guzov, a Russian émigré whose approach emphasized imagination and natural human connection rather than mining personal pain for every scene. The method suited Wayne, who had spent childhood playing sheriff and absorbing stories about heroes complicated enough to make both good and bad choices.
His family inheritance brought access to a mythology, but it also brought scrutiny. Wayne’s mother warned him that audiences would expect more from John Wayne’s grandson. That expectation became literal while he was filming Cowboys & Aliens. Second-unit director Terry Leonard, whose first film as a stuntman had been with Wayne’s grandfather, volunteered to teach him how to ride for the camera.
“It is really important that you don’t embarrass yourself or him,” Leonard told him.
Wayne reported to the arena at 5:00 each morning. The training eventually helped him perform a stunt in which a ratchet system pulled him roughly 70 feet into the air from a galloping horse. The shot lasts only a moment in the finished film, but Wayne still returns to it when he doubts his ability to finish something difficult. More important, Leonard taught him that preparation and confidence were not opposing forces. He could respect the name he inherited without allowing it to dictate the limits of his own work.
That lesson became essential in The Mandalorian. Wayne delivers the dialogue on set and sustains the character’s emotional and physical continuity, while Lateef Crowder handles the most acrobatic stunt work and Pedro Pascal supplies the final voice performance and appears in unmasked scenes. Wayne describes the result without claiming ownership: “We created the character together.”
His particular task is to make intention readable through armor. Jon Favreau directed him toward the mechanical precision of Yul Brynner in Westworld and Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator. Dave Filoni emphasized the economy of a samurai. Unnecessary movement makes the character look like “a puppet on strings,” Wayne says. His former teachers gave him variations of the same instruction: keep it simple. Or, in the phrase he borrows from Bill Belichick, “Do your job.”
The simplicity is deceptive. Wayne arrives as much as two and a half hours before his call time, completes high-intensity training, sits in an ice bath, puts on the costume, and walks the set to understand how the armored body will move through it. He calls the adjustment period “10/11” because he typically loses 11 pounds during the first ten days of filming. When he holds Grogu, he is working with a functioning puppet animated by several operators, responding to another performer rather than an empty visual-effects marker.
For Wayne, the helmet also offers something his grandfather rarely possessed: anonymity. He can perform a globally recognized character and still move through daily life as a father, husband, and longtime girls’ soccer coach. Coaching has taken him into homes where he assures families that their daughters can participate without abandoning their religious or cultural practices. His larger argument is simple: “Whatever you are afraid of or prejudiced against, go learn about it.”
That belief now extends to Hats and Helmets, the podcast he produces with his daughter Celia. The title was hers. Wayne had suggested Everything Has a Story, which she correctly identified as a tagline. She pointed out that her father had spent his life in either a cowboy hat, a sports helmet, or Mandalorian armor.
The image fits him better than a famous surname ever could. The hat connects him to the mythology he inherited. The helmet conceals him inside a character created by many hands. Between them is Brendan Wayne’s actual work: showing up prepared, making room for other people, and discovering how much a performer can reveal while appearing to do almost nothing.
The Mandalorian & Grogu will come to streaming on Disney+ on Wednesday, September 2nd.
Yitzi: It is so amazing to meet you. Before we dive in and talk about your amazing work, our readers would love to learn about your personal origin story. Can you share the story of your childhood, how you grew up, and particularly the seeds and the genesis of all the amazing creativity that has come since then?
Brendan Wayne: I am the last of eight kids — I have five brothers and two sisters. I grew up in what was a very uncrowded San Fernando Valley. My upbringing was very community-based, whether it was my own family or the families surrounding us. We really protected each other and loved each other, and we all grew up very similar in that we loved storytelling. Of course, I have that icon in my background, John Wayne, so storytelling was always a way of life in my family.
My mom and I really connected over movies and radio plays. When I was younger, we would listen to them in the car while stuck in LA traffic, and it was a great way to fill time. Honestly, I didn’t know back then where I would end up. I was an athlete — I played basketball, football, and baseball, and ran track. My father played football in college and served in the Navy. Growing up in a very athletic family, I thought about acting, but I never believed I was actually going to pursue it as a career because I thought there was a chance I might go pro in sports. There wasn’t, but that is neither here nor there. I had spent so much time listening to the stories of my brothers, my mom, and my grandfather that storytelling became woven into the fabric of who I was. I just loved it. My mom passed away over two decades ago, but that love for audiobooks and stories was something we shared, and it was a deep connection between us.
I remember when she said to me, “I really need you to do something, Brendan. You need to make a choice on what you want to do in life.” Thank God she did, because I finally admitted, “I want to be an actor.” She replied, “Okay, well then you have to do some work.” I thought it was going to be an easy run where I could just play myself, but she laid down the law right from the start. She said, “My father took acting classes.” She explained that studios don’t tell you that because it’s Hollywood, and they want to sell a romanticized story. They want to tell you that Jane Russell was discovered working as a soda jerk. When you think about those stories now, you realize how bizarre they sound — some executive sees a girl and says, “I’m going to make you a movie star.”
She told me, “You’re going to go to theater school and you’re going to learn.” So I went, and I learned to dance, sing, fence, and master the basic foundations of acting. Later, my wife and I — whom I met in school — met an acting coach named Nikolai Guzov from St. Petersburg, Russia. He taught a approach that really captured how I wanted to craft my work. His philosophy was that you always relate to scenes the way we relate to people in natural conversation.
When approaching a script or character, I wondered how I was going to proceed. Was I going to pick out pieces of my actual life? I felt that would take me out of the moment, which would in turn take the audience out of it, so I couldn’t use that method. What I learned from Nikolai — who, funnily enough, emigrated from Russia for the safety of his religion and beliefs — was that he epitomized all those ideals my grandfather represented: the true American who stood up for everyone, wanting everyone to have safety, rights, and the ability to fight for those rights in a positive, non-invasive way.
I was learning from a man whose background was so foreign to me, but he taught me how to use the imagination I had built since childhood — from the time I played sheriff with my snap-cap six-shooter, to watching great films about relatable heroes. They weren’t just guys in white hats, white pants, and white vests; they were men who made good and bad choices, but when it came down to brass tacks, they made choices for the greater good rather than just themselves.
Nick’s approach informed a deep love in me. That was when I knew I was in the right place and that I truly wanted to be an actor. You check in with yourself over the years as you grind away in the industry, but that was my foundation. My athletic background helped me physically find characters, because that was how my emotions came out most. If I lost a game, I hated it to the point of crying out of sheer frustration.
When I started acting, I wondered how I was ever going to cry on cue. While it isn’t often asked of you, it is something actors focus on. What I found was that the truth of commitment and teamwork informs your emotions. As a character, I had to commit fully to the people I was with. Even if I was playing a killer who wanted to murder someone, I had to find love in that commitment. It sounds completely insane, and it probably is, but that was my entry into the business.
I was following in the footsteps of my grandfather and learning from my mother that more would be expected of me because I am John Wayne’s grandson. Regardless of how long it had been since he passed, people were going to expect me to know things or carry myself a certain way. I walked into that responsibility, and I was fortunate to have a mother who understood and supported me. Since then, my wife, family, siblings, and the experience of loving people have truly informed everything I do.
Yitzi: Amazing. You are an amazing storyteller, Brendan. Truly, you are in the right business. Speaking of stories, you probably have some incredible experiences from your career, though I am sure it is difficult to single them out. Can you share two stories that stand out in your mind from your career in entertainment?
Brendan Wayne: As an actor, you struggle — or at least I have, along with many people I know — with trying to figure out how to validate yourself. If you are an accountant and you are good at what you do, people see that efficiency; it is numbers-based with quantifiable metrics. In acting, there are so many factors that have nothing to do with you. You hear that advice all the time, but finding the moment when you actually believe it is the most freeing thing that can happen to you. Otherwise, you hold yourself prisoner thinking, “They didn’t like me,” or “They didn’t call me back.” In reality, ninety percent of the time the casting director and production simply don’t know who you are yet. Like many things in life, you have to build up trust over time.
There comes a day when you start working, it hits you, and you realize you just have to focus on the craft. I used to hear actors say that an audition is your personal time where you simply get to act. Cowboys & Aliens was a massive turning point for me. I had no logical reason to feel that comfortable. We all grew up playing sheriffs, but I felt in my soul that I belonged in a movie alongside Sam Rockwell, Daniel Craig, and Harrison Ford.
When I booked that role and went out to New Mexico, I worked with Thel Reid on quick draws, and he told me I was a natural. I was the only actor out there practicing on those days because the bigger stars felt confident in their skills. But for me, I felt I had to put in that work. What stayed with me most was working with the second unit director, Terry Leonard, who is incredible. The very first movie Terry ever worked on as a stuntman was with my grandfather. He told me, “Look, I know you can ride a little and you have some Western in you, but I worked with your grandfather, and it is really important that you don’t embarrass yourself or him. So I am going to pick you up every morning at 5:00 AM, we are going to go to the arena, ride this horse, and I am going to show you how to ride for film.”
He was a big, strapping guy like my grandfather, so I wasn’t about to give him any argument. When he showed up the first morning, I was standing there waiting, and he said, “Good thing you weren’t late.” From that day on, I had someone to mentor me. I knew then that I was going to walk into every job with the confident attitude he asked me to carry. Before that, I might have been more timid, thinking I had to earn that level of confidence first. Terry taught me that while you must do the work and build your foundation, your path is entirely your own.
That experience culminated in me performing a major stunt. From then on, a lot of people labeled me a stuntman — I am not a stuntman and never have been, though production can credit me however they want since they pay me, which is what happened on The Mandalorian. But on Cowboys & Aliens, I wanted to do the stunt because of my athletic background. I rode a horse without closed stirrups — they used open “L” stirrups so I could fly off if needed. Not only did I fly off, but I was attached to a ratchet system that went underneath and in front of me, pulling me 70 feet into the air. While riding next to Harrison Ford, they pulled the ratchet and I executed a triple backflip 70 feet in the air while the horse was galloping. In the final movie, you see it for half a second, but whenever I doubt whether I can get something done in life, I anchor myself to that moment.
Going into Season 2 of The Mandalorian — which we all love — it helps to set the stage with Season 1. During Season 1, I only had one day off the entire time we shot. I was in the suit every day, averaging 13 to 15 hours daily. I would only take the top off for lunch so I wouldn’t get it dirty. I usually only had a half-hour break out of the suit, but I chose to stay in it. It wasn’t method acting; I wanted to be there for the crew and be ready whenever they were. The crew sets up the moments that allow me to step in for 30 seconds and perform, and they work hard two hours before I arrive and two hours after I leave. I never want them waiting on me.
Going into Season 2, I had signed a contract, but I had no guarantees — which is unusual in this business, where you normally have an eight-day guarantee per episode. This was new, and they didn’t know yet if I had the mettle to pull off what they wanted. I worked hard and earned my spot.
By late September, principal photography was set to start on October 12th, but no one had called me. On September 26th, I was at Disneyland with my daughter. I had been experiencing pain that I thought was gut-related or perhaps kidney stones from drinking Coca-Cola heavily. Little did I know, I had been self-medicating my undiagnosed ADD with caffeine.
While at Disneyland for my daughter’s 10th birthday, nobody had reached out. I began to worry that they weren’t going to use me in Season 2, despite working every day in Season 1 and rehearsing with all the directors. To make ends meet, I was still bartending on weekends during Season 1 because in Hollywood, you never know, and I needed to ensure I could feed my family.
The next morning, I was supposed to coach my daughter’s soccer game, which I love doing. At 6:00 AM, I woke up on the couch after a full day at Disneyland and could barely stand up straight from the pain. I texted my wife that I was running over to urgent care at St. Joe’s, assuming it was kidney stones, hoping for a painkiller so I could meet them at the soccer field by 10:00 AM for warm-ups.
By the time they were about to call me in at urgent care, I was bent over a chair in extreme pain. Fortunately, my doctor happened to be doing rounds, saw my name on the list, and brought me right in. I told her I thought it was kidney stones, and she pointed out that kidneys aren’t located in the front.
Four hours later, I woke up in a gown after emergency surgery for severe appendicitis that had gone septic. When I asked if I missed the game, they told me I had. I ended up spending 42 days in the hospital, undergoing three surgeries, flatlining three times, and suffering multiple septic infections because an old hernia patch had torn open an intestine.
I went into the hospital weighing 185 pounds and walked out at 142 pounds. Beyond wanting to live for my family, once I knew I was going to survive, I worried about my physical condition and whether I would ever get back on set for The Mandalorian.
They started texting me while I was in the hospital asking when I could come in. At first, I asked my wife not to explain how severe it was, though eventually she told them. Once I was finally discharged, they told me to take time to recover and do physical therapy. However, I cared deeply about the crew and wanted to get back.
About five days out of the hospital, barely able to stand for ten minutes at a time, I heard Timothy Olyphant was on set. I decided to drive from the Valley down to Manhattan Beach. After sitting in LA traffic for 45 minutes, I couldn’t stand up straight, so I rolled out of the car onto the ground in the parking lot to stretch.
A security guard came over, recognized me, and asked if I was okay, noting how thin I looked. I looked like Christian Bale in The Machinist. After about five minutes, I dragged myself up. I had an open wound on my abdomen wrapped in bandages, but I walked out onto the backlot where they were filming with the Tusken Raiders.
When I walked out, Cobb Vanth (Timothy Olyphant) was there, and the crew greeted me warmly. Seeing the crew lifted my spirits tremendously. Five days later, I was back on set working. On my first day back, I ended up working 15 hours, changing my bandages throughout the day.
That experience taught me a profound lesson about my own value and resilience. I didn’t want to just survive; I wanted to succeed. Season 2 allowed me to do that. A friend of mine, Jay Harrington, once gave me advice when I booked Cowboys & Aliens: “It’s the journey, not the destination.” That moment really exemplified his words.
Now we have The Mandalorian & Grogu, and I have had the privilege of playing an iconic character in a galaxy I grew up loving. When people ask if having John Wayne as a grandfather is tough, I tell them that living and succeeding are what is tough. My definition of success as an actor has evolved. You can do everything in your power and be incredible, but success often depends on choices made by others. All you can do is your absolute best without shortchanging yourself. That is how I lived, survived, and succeeded.
Yitzi: Let us talk about The Mandalorian. It has become one of the most beloved characters of all time. What do you think it was that captured people’s hearts and minds?
Brendan Wayne: When I first read the script, I saw the cowboy influence everywhere. Jon Favreau explained to me that he wanted Mando to feel like Yul Brynner in Westworld and Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator — a measured, mechanical approach before he begins to connect with the child and grow.
I studied Kabuki theater to understand Mando’s deliberate movement. I am 6’1″ and 180 pounds, whereas my grandfather was 6’5″ and 260 pounds, so I was never going to replicate his physical presence. I used to think screen presence was something only guys like my grandfather could pull off — he could stand in a doorway for 30 seconds and tell a whole story. My mom corrected that thinking when I was starting out. She pointed out that actors like Danny DeVito became leading men because they were willing and present, regardless of height.
The Mandalorian was a unique opportunity. It combined Star Wars with Westerns, action, and the rugged individualism that many of us grew up admiring: the idea that you fight for what is right, and when given the chance, you stand up for something bigger than yourself.
Initially, Mando is a guy who operates strictly for the Foundlings and the Creed. Then he meets this child, and as a parent, that connection is deeply relatable. My children have taught me why I hold my beliefs. When you are younger, you often accept beliefs simply because they were taught to you by rote. As you mature, you learn why you believe in them. Raising three daughters made me realize the importance of community and giving more than you take. When you give back, it fills you up. That is who Mando is: he is about giving, and when he connects with Grogu, he receives pure, unfiltered connection in return.
There is also the classic appeal of the cowboy mythos. When Mando walks into the Ice Bar in the opening scene, framed in the doorway, and then lassos a bounty, it announced the show in a distinct way. The Mandalorian touches on timeless mythological themes. I studied Joseph Campbell, whose work on mythology heavily influenced George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Akira Kurosawa, and John Ford. We tell these stories because they bring value to us as a community. The collective “us” is more important than “me,” and that is the core of Mando.
Yitzi: Unbelievable. Are you the same height as Pedro Pascal? To me, it is a fascinating dynamic. Everyone in the audience pictures Pedro Pascal in their mind, but in reality, it is you in the suit the entire time. What is that experience like?
Brendan Wayne: I don’t know any other context for it. I grew up knowing that David Prowse was inside the Darth Vader suit while James Earl Jones provided the voice — and James Earl Jones didn’t even put his name on the original film credits. From a business standpoint, it can be tricky because people ask, “Wait, what do you do? Are you his double?” But in my personal life as a father, it is wonderful. It gives me a level of anonymity. I can walk around without being constantly swarmed, which was something my grandfather couldn’t do and Pedro can’t do.
I love what I do. Any chance I get to put on the suit and perform, I am grateful for it. Decisions regarding billing and publicity are up to the producers, Jon Favreau, Dave Filoni, Disney, and Lucasfilm. Job security and doing the work well are what matter most to me, so I give it everything I have.
Yitzi: What is it like inside the suit? Is it very hot or stiff?
Brendan Wayne: The suit is not overly stiff. Stunt work is probably harder for Lateef Crowder, the two-time Emmy-winning stuntman, because he handles the high-flying Capoeira moves and complex rolls. I handle fighting and physical acting, but when it comes to explosive acrobatics, Lateef is the master. That is why I had him as a Brendan Wayne on my podcast, Hats and Helmets.
I call the suit “10/11” because during the first ten days of shooting, I consistently lose eleven pounds while my body adjusts to the physical demand. To prepare, I build up as much productive weight as possible before filming starts. I set up a functional gym in my trailer on set — complete with a boxing setup and weights — built with the help of my wife, who grew up on a goat farm in Michigan and knows how to build things.
On shoot days, I arrive two to two-and-a-half hours early — around 3:30 AM if call time is 6:00 AM. I do high-intensity interval training, followed by a 15-minute ice bath in a portable tub to recover. Then I shower, get into costume, and walk the set to familiarize myself with the space before the rest of the crew arrives so I won’t trip or stumble during takes.
The suit itself was built by Legacy Effects, who are absolute masters at function and design. They created Grogu, the Anzellans, and many of the creatures. Because of their expertise, we can easily make adjustments on the fly if something needs tweaking.
Yitzi: Tell us about the skill that goes into playing the Mandalorian. Someone might ask, “Well, if you aren’t delivering the final voice lines…”
Brendan Wayne: But I am delivering the lines on set! They brought me in because I am an actor. While a stunt performer can handle complex falls, you need an actor in the suit to deliver the dialogue and drive the emotional beats of the scene with the co-stars. I know every line, I know how the scene moves, and I deliver the dialogue during filming.
During my morning walkthroughs, I prep the environment and emotional beats of the scene. The biggest acting challenge with Mando is his stillness. If he fidgets or moves unnecessarily, he looks like a puppet on strings. Jon Favreau emphasized looking at Yul Brynner and Arnold Schwarzenegger because they never waste a movement. Dave Filoni also reminded me that Mando moves with the economy of a samurai: every movement matters, and the less you move, the more presence you radiate.
Presence comes from the ability to radiate the intent and emotion of the scene while remaining fully committed to the moment. When I hold Grogu, he isn’t CGI — it is a fully functioning animatronic operated by six or seven puppeteers controlling his eyes, mouth, and ears. We build a real scene together.
My preparation involves memorizing the scripts and mapping out Mando’s physical evolution across the entire season. The stunt team handles explosive physical moments, while I sustain the emotional beats, character presence, and narrative continuity.
The key challenge of playing Mando was trusting that I was enough — that I didn’t need to overact, and that every department was working together to create the final performance. As Bill Belichick says, “Do your job.” A former teacher of mine at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Harvey Solin, once told me to keep things simple. He asked if I tried to control everything when playing basketball, or if I brought a plan and adapted as conditions changed. Playing Mando taught me that same lesson: trusting that doing a little can express a lot.
Yitzi: Was Pedro on set at all, or did he record his lines elsewhere?
Brendan Wayne: He would be on set, though I think in the first season it was later on because he was filming King Henry. He also recorded dialogue in ADR. Sigourney Weaver was just talking about that — how much work actually happens in ADR.
The guy is the busiest actor in Hollywood. He was doing Gladiator II (or Behemoth), The Last of Us, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with Nic Cage, The Last of Us Season 2, and Fantastic Four. I can name so many projects. How could anyone manage all of that? I don’t know how he does it.
Yitzi: It all started because of you. You really helped make his career.
Brendan Wayne: I don’t know about that. We created the character together, and I am completely fine with that. I won’t take credit for his career.
Yitzi: I think The Mandalorian is what truly made him famous.
Brendan Wayne: He also had Game of Thrones and Narcos. Jon Favreau understood that he was going to be something special. When you watch him perform, you can’t miss his talent. If I contributed to his success, I am honored.
Honestly, I am just thrilled to be in Star Wars. Lateef and I were talking about it, and I said that if they wanted to do four more seasons of the show or three more movies and then asked me to retire afterward, I would be completely happy. Playing Mando requires more thought than any other character I have ever played, and it is as deeply rewarding as you would imagine.
Yitzi: This is our final aspirational question. Brendan, because of your amazing work and the platform you have built, you are a person of enormous influence. If you could spread an idea or inspire a movement that would bring the greatest amount of good to the most people, what would that be? You never know what your idea might inspire.
Brendan Wayne: For most of my life — and this is going to sound crazy where I am starting, so bear with me — I thought soccer was a communist sport and that no one should ever play it. I kid you not.
When my first daughter was born, a friend from Sheffield, England, said to me, “You have a daughter, you are very team-oriented, would you care to watch some soccer?” I told him, “No, I played soccer once. A guy kicked me in the shins, so I punched him. My dad said we were switching to American football, and that was the end of it.” I could not have been more prejudiced against soccer.
I was a really good basketball player, but there was no way I had the patience to coach my daughter in basketball, let alone three of them — I didn’t know yet that I would eventually have three daughters. I didn’t remember not being good at basketball, so I lacked the patience for it. I told my buddy I needed to figure something out, and he kept pressing me about soccer. He said, “Just pick a Premier League team right now and we’ll watch.” I was leaning into being overly American just to annoy him because he was English.
I asked him who his team was, and he said Manchester United — this was in the early 2000s. He told me to pick a team, so I went down the list looking at mascots until I saw a cannon. I thought, “What is more American than a weapon?” So I picked Arsenal. That was the year of the Invincibles; they went undefeated. Arsène Wenger coached them with a movement style that felt like basketball weaving. By the end of that season, I was completely hooked.
Now I have coached girls’ soccer for 24 years. When I decided I wanted to do more than just donate to cancer foundations or show up to raise money, I wanted to take action in my community. I went to a local high school coming out of COVID, right between filming seasons, and asked if they needed a coach. They said they did. I took over the girls’ soccer program at Grant High School in the Valley, and I haven’t looked back. I coach club teams for my daughters and high school teams at schools they don’t even attend.
Here is my message: whatever you are afraid of or prejudiced against, go learn about it. Truly learn about it from their perspective, not just your own. Find their materials and see how they view the world, then ask yourself, “Am I really that different? How do we bridge the gap?” Storytelling is the best way to do that. Media holds immense power — more than it should — and as parents, we sometimes fail in how much we allow.
Get out of your comfort zone. I was fortunate to grow up in a household that never pitted me against anyone based on color, gender, or religion. My mom had dinner with Pope John Paul II, and I have a cousin who is a priest, but my school, St. Cyril’s, had a sharing day with a local synagogue. I went over and learned because I wanted to understand rather than sit behind a fence thinking, “They are different, so they are bad.” There are too many hollow pockets where people hide away, but humanity is about what draws us together.
The more you get out of your comfort zone, the more you give of yourself. I don’t mean just handing out money; I mean giving your time and energy. I give myself to this high school, helping kids who don’t have cleats. I go into homes to explain to families from various cultural backgrounds that it is okay for these young women to play sports. They can play in a hijab, and I will protect them as if they were my own daughters, respecting their customs, values, and needs. Participating makes them part of something bigger than themselves.
Get out there and find a way to be part of something positive and greater than yourself, rather than something that merely validates your need to be right. Challenge yourself to be wrong and learn from it, because otherwise, you wither on the vine.
Yitzi: Unbelievable. I could talk to you for so much longer; this has been amazing. How can our readers continue to follow your work, watch The Mandalorian and The Mandalorian & Grogu, and support what you do?
Brendan Wayne: My oldest daughter, who originally got me into soccer, demanded that I start a podcast called Hats and Helmets. It explores the real-life stories that lead people to movies and books. I host authors and athletes — my first Brendan Wayne was Lateef Crowder, and Hall of Fame fighter Frank Trigg is coming up next.
The podcast aligns directly with what I just said about taking action. It isn’t about glorifying celebrity or asking superficial questions. It explores how someone went from wrestling at Oklahoma to letting people punch him in the face until he became a Hall of Famer. It is about where you started, how you got there, and what matters to you now. Good, bad, or indifferent, those stories are relatable because nobody — not even me with John Wayne as a grandfather — starts at the top. Even if someone has financial advantages, capability requires effort; without it, skill deteriorates.
You can find Hats and Helmets on Spotify, Apple, and YouTube, and follow me at @TheRealBrendanWayne on Instagram. Please like and subscribe.
I want to take listeners on a journey, and I would love to have you on as a Brendan Wayne on my show as well. A man of faith who wears a yarmulke proudly in a time when people face persecution displays courage, heart, love, and belief. Those are qualities everyone should respect, regardless of theological differences. Standing up, being true to yourself, and refusing to conform is one of the most admirable things a person can do.
My grandmother was deeply Catholic, and her favorite place on earth was Israel. She traveled all over the world, but she always said there was no place on Earth as magical as Israel.
Those are the stories that matter. My manager, Jerry Silverhart, rekindled his faith at Temple Beth Am in Los Angeles. Watching him navigate the highs and lows of Hollywood while anchoring himself in faith was inspiring. He attends Rockin’ Shabbat with Rabbi Jonathan, who happens to be a big fan of The Mandalorian and Star Wars.
These shared human stories matter most. Our differences in faith highlight our similarities rather than divide us. If we focus on fractures, we risk falling through the ice. As a father of three, I feel we are at a real turning point. I deeply appreciate you having me on and taking the time to listen.
Yitzi: It is my complete pleasure. As you were talking, the title Hats and Helmets clicked for me. That is a brilliant name.
Brendan Wayne: My daughter came up with the title — she is a genius. I suggested Everything Has a Story, and she pointed out that was a tagline, not a title. She said, “Dad, you are always in a hat or a helmet, and you have been your whole life through sports.” She was right. I grew up wanting to wear a cowboy hat, and now I wear a helmet where the visor acts as the brim. What an incredible life I have been able to live. Do you have children?
Yitzi: I am very blessed to have a son and six daughters.
Brendan Wayne: You beat me! I have three daughters, and you have seven children?
Yitzi: Seven children. I am very blessed.
Brendan Wayne: Growing up in Encino, most families had two or three kids. But you’re right — the Orthodox community in the Valley on Chandler near Coldwater has large families. My daughters’ pediatrician growing up, Dr. Sheldon Kishniff, was part of that community. He was incredible during COVID — fearless, smart, and guided by both his faith and intelligence.
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Yitzi: You are so kind; that means a lot. My oldest daughter got married last year and moved to Israel, where she recently had a baby. I am now a grandfather!
Brendan Wayne: Mazel tov! Many of my friends’ children have moved to Israel as well. As a father, I admire the dedication. My grandmother said it was a unique, powerful place, and it is incredible to see young people make that choice to build their lives there.
Yitzi: There is an old story where Golda Meir allegedly told Richard Nixon, “The difference between America and Israel is that Israel’s borders are as safe as America’s cities, and America’s borders are as safe as Israel’s cities.” The point being that daily life in major cities like Jerusalem or Tel Aviv is vibrant and secure.
Brendan Wayne: That sense of community in Israel is powerful. When people live there, they choose to be part of something larger. In modern society, we sometimes lose sight of being our brother’s keeper, and that mutual commitment is something we need to reclaim.
Growing up, neighbors would call my mom directly if they saw us speeding down Ventura Boulevard rather than posting on social media or judging. That strong neighborhood network created accountability.
That rich mix of cultures reminds me of my grandparents immigrating to New York from Calabria and Catania in 1898 and 1904 as young teenagers with no family here. They settled into an Italian community surrounded by Irish immigrants, creating a vibrant melting pot.
Yitzi: Brendan, it has been such a joy meeting you. I feel like I made a friend.
Brendan Wayne: You did! Thank you.
Yitzi: I hope we stay in touch and do this again in the future. Wishing you continued success, blessings, and good health.
Brendan Wayne: Thank you, and the same to you and your daughters! My oldest daughter is 27, my 18-year-old is starting pre-med at Tulane soon, and my youngest is almost 17. I promised them trips to Greece, Israel, and the Maldives.
Yitzi: You can easily combine those trips since Greece and Israel are quite close geographically.
Brendan Wayne: That sounds amazing. Thank you for your time today; I really appreciate it.
Yitzi: My absolute pleasure. Thank you, my friend. See you soon!
Brendan Wayne: Have a great one! Bye-bye.
The Man in the Mandalorian Armor: Brendan Wayne on Surviving Septic Shock, Stepping Out of John… was originally published in Authority Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.