In Such Good Company, page 2
CBS scheduled our show’s premiere for Monday, September 11, 1967, opposite I Spy and The Big Valley, both of which were among the top-watched shows on TV. It was pretty obvious the network didn’t think we’d last the whole season; otherwise they would have given us a more forgiving slot where we’d have had more of a chance to get some traction. In truth, we weren’t sure we’d last, either. We sighed and decided we’d at least get our thirty shows. We could start unpacking, because, for a year, the bills would get paid.
It was all a gamble, but despite everything, many of the original staff members from Garry’s show, like head writer Arnie Rosen, director Clark Jones, choreographer Ernie Flatt, lead dancer Don Crichton, and many more, took the plunge and followed us to California.
Lyle Waggoner came on board to be my handsome foil—I winced in embarrassment while rewatching the shows when I saw myself going gaga and swooning over him, which was a running gag for the first few seasons. Eventually, much to my relief, we deep-sixed the “swooning over Lyle” bit and he morphed from just being the show’s good-looking announcer to getting laughs as different nuanced characters. He turned into a very good sketch performer.
Vicki Lawrence had no professional experience when we brought her on. It was fascinating to watch her grow out of her awkward, young teenage stage and into a very clever and confident comedienne and singer/dancer.
Harvey Korman was a consummate comedic actor from the get-go, but I also saw him evolve over the years in ways that were astonishing. He never fancied himself a singer or a dancer. If our choreographer, Ernie Flatt, tried to give him a dance step to execute, he would freeze in his tracks, but if you gave Harvey the role of a dancer, he would improvise dance steps that made him look like Gene Kelly…well, I won’t go that far, but you’d swear the guy was born to move. It worked the same way with singing; he could sing up a storm if he was playing the part of someone who could sing!
We did a lot of movie takeoffs on the show, and I swear he seemed to channel those famous actors—Ronald Colman in our version of Random Harvest, Zachary Scott in Mildred Pierce, and who could ever forget his Clark Gable in our Gone With the Wind parody?
Tim Conway was a frequent guest in the early years and joined us every week in the ninth season! Much more about him—and the rest of our gang—later…
We all played together in our crazy, creative sandbox and delivered a fresh, Broadway-like musical comedy review each week, and boy did we have fun…for eleven years!
Going gaga over Lyle.
It was a great decade for variety. Some amazing shows were aired during our run: Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour, The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, The Dean Martin Show, Flip Wilson, The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour, The Jim Nabors Hour, Van Dyke and Company, The Andy Williams Show, and many more. I remember that some of the writers from Laugh-In, wanting to write longer sketches, would come on our show, while some of our writers, after a few seasons, opted to write for Laugh-In’s shorter form. There was a plethora of talented sketch writers, and that was one of the prime reasons it was a good time for comedy-variety hours.
As I’ve said, we premiered Monday night, September 11, 1967, at 10:00, opposite I Spy and The Big Valley, both immensely popular shows. We did well in that time slot, but in the fall of 1971, CBS moved us to an earlier slot, 8:00 p.m. on Wednesdays, opposite Adam-12 and Bewitched. I always felt we were a “ten o’clock show” and shouldn’t have been moved. A year later, CBS moved us again, to where we became part of a powerhouse Saturday night lineup at 10:00, following All in the Family, M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and The Bob Newhart Show. We happily remained there until the network moved us, yet again, to Sunday nights at 10:00 in December of 1977. During all those years, our ratings fluctuated from terrific to not so terrific, but CBS had faith in us and we held our own.
We taped our show on Fridays, in Studio 33 at Television City in Hollywood. Sonny and Cher were taping in the studio next door to us. The ladies’ and men’s rooms were shared by both studios, and sometimes during a tape stop, I would sneak through the ladies’ room to their set and watch them do a number or a sketch. Once in a while they would see me on the sidelines and call me out on stage to kid around in front of their audience. A couple of times, both Sonny and Cher (separately and together) would do a surprise walk-on while I was doing “Questions and Answers,” much to the delight of our audience. The Smothers Brothers also taped on Fridays, across the hall. During breaks, sometimes one of their young writers would come over and watch us block a musical number or a sketch—Steve Martin. Fridays at Television City was like one big dorm, buzzing with activity and unbelievable talent.
Sonny and Cher were our next-door neighbors at Studio 33.
Speaking of studios, as far as I’m concerned Studio 33 was the gem in Television City. Hands down, it was the best television studio I ever worked in, because the audience seats were arranged below the stage, like in a real theater, and the cameras didn’t come between the performers and the audience…whereas other studios featured bleacher seats—tiers—where the audience would be looking down on the stage and the actors, while the cameras blocked their view. Whenever I’ve worked in one of those venues, I’ve likened it to “the Christians vs. the Lions.” Also, some television shows prefer to rehearse in their sets from the get-go, and so many sitcoms have permanent sets that spread horizontally across the floor of the studio, like a choo-choo train. Some of these sets are spread out so far away, the audience has to watch the action on monitors to see what’s going on. They might as well have stayed home.
And when it comes time for a run-through, the writers and producers have to stand or sit facing the darkish, unlit set to watch the actors do the first scene. Then they have to get up and walk or scrape their chairs across the floor to watch the second scene, and when it is over, they have to walk yet again to the next set to watch the next scene, and so forth and so on.
I hate that way of doing things. Coming from Broadway rehearsals, and then from variety show rehearsals, I like working things out in a rehearsal hall first. Then when it was time for our run-through, the writers, the producers, and the crew would come into the main rehearsal hall, take their seats, and be able to watch all the sketches and musical numbers without having to interrupt the proceedings by getting up and moving after each bit!
We’d be in the rehearsal hall through Wednesday, and then be on our stage Thursday to block the show in the real sets for the cameras. Years later, when I was doing an anthology show for Disney, I asked them to let us do our rehearsals in a nice large sunny room on the lot. The first week’s run-through was attended by several studio “suits,” something that never happened when we were doing my variety show. It was a little intimidating, but that was the norm for Disney, so okay. However, to make matters worse, they took their seats in the front row and proceeded to bury their noses in the script—while we were performing—never looking up from the printed word to even watch what we were doing!
I politely halted the rehearsal. “Gentlemen, could you do us all a favor and sit on your scripts? That way, you can see the actors’ faces and watch what we think are some funny pieces of business that you’d otherwise miss, because they just might not be on the written page. Thanks, a lot!”
Looking somewhat chagrined, one by one they stood up, placed their scripts on their chairs, and sat back down again. It worked. We had their undivided attention.
What did they think we were doing? A radio show?
Our schedule never varied, week to week. It was like a “school schedule.” We always knew what “class” was next and when to report.
MONDAY
10:00–11:00 a.m. Script reading with principals and guests. Notes afterward.
11:00 a.m.–12:00 p.m. Music rehearsal with special material writers in music room.
12:00 p.m.–1:00 p.m. Lunch. (I would watch my favorite soap opera, All My Children—AMC.)
1:00 p.m.–3:00 p.m. Sketch rehearsals with director in small rehearsal hall.
(Dancers with choreographer in main rehearsal hall.)
(Finished for the day.)
TUESDAY
10:00 a.m.–12:00 p.m. Sketch rehearsals with director in the rehearsal hall.
12:00 p.m.-1:00 p.m. Lunch. (AMC)
1:00 p.m.–3:00 p.m. Principals and guests learn dance routines with choreographer and dancers in main rehearsal hall.
(Finished for the day.)
WEDNESDAY
10:00 a.m.–11:30 a.m. Costume fittings for Carol at Bob Mackie’s workplace.
Fittings for guests and dancers at other times.
12:00 p.m.–1:00 p.m. Lunch. (AMC)
1:00 p.m.–3:00 p.m. Sketch and dance rehearsals with principals, guests, and dancers.
3:00 p.m.–4:00 p.m. Run-through of entire show for writers, producers, and crew in main rehearsal hall.
4:15 p.m.–5:00 p.m. Notes with Carol, producers, and writers in producer’s office.
(Finished for the day.)
THURSDAY
2:00 p.m.–6:00 p.m. Blocking in Studio 33 with camera crew and scenery. No costumes.
6:00 p.m.–7:00 p.m. Dinner.
7:00 p.m.–8:00 p.m. Orchestra rehearsal with principals and guests (as needed).
(Finished for the day.)
FRIDAY (TAPE DAY)
11:00 a.m.–1:00 p.m. Complete run-through (stop and start) in studio with orchestra and costumes. No makeup.
12:00 p.m.–1:00 p.m. Lunch. (AMC)
1:00 p.m.–2:00 p.m. Notes. Any changes since the run-through are gone over with the principals.
2:00 p.m.–3:00 p.m. Hair and makeup.
(Audience arrives for the dress rehearsal, which will be taped.)
4:00 p.m.–5:30 p.m. Dress rehearsal. (My daughters would come when they were old enough, and after the show they often had their picture taken with our guest stars!)
6:00 p.m.–7:00 p.m. Notes. Any line changes or cuts made since the dress rehearsal are gone over with the principals, plus final touch-ups for principals and dancers.
(Audience arrives for the air show.)
7:30 p.m.–9:00 p.m. Air show, with Carol’s Q&A at the top of the show.
We were usually out early enough, so that after the show Joe and I would take our guest stars to dinner at Chasen’s restaurant.
This schedule often allowed me to take my kids to school most mornings, and even pick them up after school if I finished rehearsing early enough. With the exception of Thursdays and Fridays, we’d have dinner at home every night at 6:30.
We averaged one week off every four weeks. Two weeks off at Christmas. One week off at Easter. Summers off. It was THE perfect schedule.
Many people in our business can’t believe that we could tape our entire show, with all the sketches, musical numbers, scenery, and costume changes, plus special effects, in less than two hours. We did very few retakes because I wanted our show to have a spontaneous feel. I used to make bets with our crew that I could make a “skin-out” costume change (complete with different wigs and makeup) before they could change the scenery, because I didn’t want our studio audience to have to sit a long time between scenes. We needed their energy and enthusiasm! Their positive responses made us better. It was as close as we could get to live theater.
I have been a guest on a few sitcoms where they took as many as four hours to tape twenty-two minutes! AND in front of a captive and increasingly bored audience! Needless to say, that drove me nuts.
One time when I was a guest on a sitcom, I actually wanted to kill the director. This is why: The other actors and I were in the middle of a scene and the audience was howling with laughter. I mean we were definitely on a roll, when out of the blue, we hear from the director’s booth, “CUT!”—totally killing the momentum of the scene. We had no idea what had gone wrong. And then we found out. It seems a picture on the wall behind us was a bit crooked, and the stage manager was told to come out and straighten it!
Lord!
Usually a television show hires a comedian to warm up the audience before the cameras start turning, telling jokes to get the audience excited and happy. However, Garry Moore would have none of it because he wanted to be the warm-up guy himself, and he was wonderful at it. He would go out on stage and ask the folks in the audience if they had any questions. They always had plenty, and Garry would answer them, getting lots of laughs…without having any plants. No questions were planned. It was entirely off the cuff. He was funny, accessible, and always genuinely warm. His homey approach made the audience feel like they knew him. I would hang backstage and listen in awe.
In the summer of 1967, Joe, Bob Banner (our co–executive producer), and I were playing around with some ideas for our show over dinner. We were premiering in a few weeks and we were trying to nail everything down. We had already determined that we wanted music, dancing, comedy sketches, a rep company, and guest stars each week. We also knew the value of returning characters like Sid Caesar’s German Professor, Red Skelton’s Clem Kadiddlehopper, and Jackie Gleason’s Poor Soul and Ralph Kramden.
Bob Banner suggested that I do the warm-up just like Garry did…only we would actually tape it and show it on the air! I balked at the idea big-time, feeling that I would be at a loss to come up with any kind of a snappy answer and wind up with egg on my face.
We did know how we’d close the show: The cast, the guest stars, and the dancers would all be on camera taking bows. I would sing our theme song, “I’m So Glad We Had This Time Together,” which Joe wrote (having been a songwriter and musician before becoming a producer). I would then have my guests for that week sign an autograph book, and after having pulled my left ear as a signal for Nanny, my grandmother who raised me, we’d all wave good night.
Put me in a fat suit or a fright wig or black out my two front teeth and I’m in hog heaven. But Bob was convinced that I should be myself and let the audience get to know me first before I jumped into the various characters who would dominate the rest of the show. He kept saying that interacting with the audience would be “the perfect opening,” and I kept saying that I was only comfortable hiding behind a character. I didn’t have a clue as to how I could “be myself.” But Bob was like a dog on a bone. He wouldn’t give up. Finally, and very reluctantly, I gave in and agreed to try it a couple of times. I made him promise that if it didn’t work, we’d deep-six the idea—forever!
The First Q&As.
I came out on stage that first show and I was absolutely scared stiff. It wasn’t stage fright exactly; I had been on stage lots of times before a live audience, but this wasn’t scripted! I looked out at all of those people, sitting in their seats waiting for me to say something that would amuse them, and I felt naked. What if no one had a question? Or worse, what if they did and I didn’t have an answer?
“Hi, and welcome to our show. Um…let’s see if you have anything to say…I mean, if you have any questions…er…about our show…or whatever. Let’s bump up the lights…”
The lights went up and the audience was staring at me politely.
“Anything at all? Just raise your hands.”
No hands. Nada.
“I mean whatever you have in mind…Anything?”
(Hello, flop sweat.)
FINALLY, a hand shot up. “Yes?” I squeaked, relieved beyond measure.
“Who’s on?” a kind soul asked.
I told them about our rep players, Harvey and Vicki and Lyle. Jim Nabors, my buddy and the godfather of my daughter Jody, was our premiere guest star that night, so when I mentioned this, the audience went wild! Jim was one of the most popular performers in the country then. They were warming up and I was breathing again!
I did the same opening again the next week and things went a little better. By the third week the audience had seen the first two airings and knew what to expect and were not nearly so shy about raising their hands. The questions got funnier and I began to have fun. Some people thought we should have some “planted” questions occasionally, but I didn’t want to do that. I figured it would be more fun if I flew without a net.
Naturally it was a little different from week to week and season to season—but after that first night it became a tradition that would last for the entire eleven years.
A boy in the audience wants to read a poem he wrote. I ask him what his name is.
“Danny Kruger.”
I’m in love with a wonderful girl,
But there’s a catch, oh brother!
The girl I love, this glorious girl,
Is old enough to be my mother!
I scream with laughter, and then say, “Sit down, Danny!”
—
A lady in pink asks, “What has been your most embarrassing question?”
“I think my most embarrassing question was whether or not I’d had a sex change.
(Laughter) “Yep, I think that takes the cake.” (Immediately pointing to another audience member) “Yes?”
“Did you?” (Much laughter)
—
“Did you ever take acting lessons?”
“Yes, I did…when I was at UCLA, I studied for a while.”
“Think it did you any good?”
—
A woman asks, “What kind of soap do you use to clean the floor?” I tell her, “I think that’s a little personal.” Over the laughter from the audience, I ask a stagehand, and he says “vinyl cleaner.”
I ask the woman where in her house does she have vinyl, “In the kitchen? Bathroom?” The woman nods and I say, “You have vinyl all over your house?”
The woman replies dryly, “Just on the floor.”
