It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (41 page)

My first day at work was interesting. My immediate boss, let's call her BITCH, was a new experience.  Bitch had all the warmth of a black widow and the tact of a charging pit bull. I'm sitting at my desk and she throws a set of keys in front of me. "Get us some coffee cups and paper towels."  Huh? She wanted me to go to the 99-cent store and pick up some coffee cups and paper towels.  Now you have to understand as much as I say I don't have an ego. I've got one. You have to remember for twenty years I was picked up in limos... now I'm going to the 99-cent store... I'M A EFFING MESSENGER.  So I get into my Mercedes and I head to the 99-cent store.  I feel like a complete failure.

By the time I get back I'm ready for a straight jacket. I put the paper towels down by the sink and I head back to my desk. About twenty minutes later BITCH yells across the room. "DON'T YOU EVER PUT PAPER TOWELS ON THE COUNTER AGAIN."  I don't turn around because I know she can't be talking to me. "HEY!" And I swing around in my chair. "Are you talking to me?" And BITCH says, "Yes" And from deep in my soul I got this surge of energy. "You can't talk to me that way! Don't you ever talk to me that way again." And her face goes beet red. "INTO MY OFFICE!" BITCH shouts.  And I go in ready to get fired.  She reads me the riot act telling me what I will and will not do. And I say to her. "I was hired to be production coordinator, not messenger. It does not make sense to send someone with an IQ of 128 to the 99 cent store in an effing Mercedes... that's what productions assistants are for."  The line had been drawn in the sand.

I walk back to my desk and get a round of applause from everyone in the office. It appears BITCH has been treating them like shit for years and no one ever spoke up to her. You see, I didn't care. If I got fired, big deal. I never wanted to be a production coordinator; I didn't even know what they were.

The next day I learned what my job really was. I was to hire the designers, hire the help, get all the materials, do all the financial planning, order the food, deal with the home owner, organize the shoot etc etc etc. OH! That's what a production coordinator does. I can do that. Piece o'cake.

The show had been on the air seven years. The premise was to go to someone's house and redo the garden in one day. This entailed new plants, new furniture, new pots...new everything. I asked them for the list of vendors who donated materials to the show. There was none. I said to BITCH... "You mean to tell me you've been paying for this shit?"  And BITCH says, "If you can get it for free be my guest."  Within five days I had over $100,000 dollars in donated materials. OSH was giving us $500 a show. Vendors were lined up to donate materials in exchange for airtime... much like Extreme Make Over does today.  Suddenly BITCH was warming up to me.  She was becoming MY BITCH.

So we do our first show and it was the hardest day I had ever spent in show business. The day started at five a.m. and didn't end until almost 10 p.m. The next day we had to be in the office to plan for the next week's shoot. It was a grind like I had never had before in my life.  However, once I got the first couple of shows under my belt, it was a snap. I got restaurants to give us food at a discounted price. BITCH was in seventh heaven. We were saving money by the truckload and she was actually starting to like me.

However, the show was a living hell. A lot of the staff had been there a few years and were burned out. One in particular was not only burned out but also bitter. This person did everything in their power to undermine my efforts to better the show. This person and I butted heads daily. For example, I had hired an artist to do a mural as I am handing him his money, this person comes up to the artist and says, "Just so you'll know they paid the artist $200 more last year". It made me look like a thief and I didn't appreciate it. My enemies were changing on the show. BITCH and I were getting along but this new BITCH was driving me insane.

On one weekend we were scheduled to do two gardens in two days. This was almost impossible and took a monumental amount of work. I had in place a network of suppliers who would take my call day or night and would deliver whatever I needed. And, finally, I had been given an assistant, Justin Lillge, who was a gift from God. This kid would do whatever I asked him to do. "Justin, climb that tree and spit at birds." "Yes, sir, Steve."  And being the kind of person I was, the more he worked, the more I wanted to protect him. After all he was protecting me. OK, so we do the first show of the double header and while we're shooting I get a call from the owner of tomorrow's garden. "Hello. Yes, we decided we don't want you to shoot here." Click. I have spent a week ordering materials, my budget is shot and now I have no garden to work on. I remained very calm; I started walking up the street knocking on doors. After about 3 tries I found the perfect backyard, one in which we could use all the materials we already had. I ran to the director and dragged him over there. I literally sold him on the yard... "We are here already. We don't have to move the trucks. The materials are here!" He smiled and we used the garden.... A savings of about $100,000.

At the end of the second days' shoot, BITCH calls and tells me to send Justin and the other production runner back to the office to do some work. These kids had worked 48 hours straight and were dead. I told BITCH that and she said, "They're young, they can take it." To which I said, "I'm not sending them back, it's inhumane."  And told the boys to go home.  The next day all hell broke lose. I just didn't care, let them fire me.

Conditions on the show grew worse. Morale was low. Nerves were shot. But we were coming to the end of the season...just four more shows to shoot. We all knew this would be the last season, word had come down from the network they were not happy with the product. So the writing was on the wall. My new pain in the ass drops a materials list off on my desk. It was six pages long. I couldn't understand and so I questioned. The answer I got was, "We have a balance left on donated materials so we should get it all." I was incensed. I had given my word to these vendors that their materials would be used on the show. What was happening here was, the materials would come in, the show would be cancelled and then the STAFF would take the materials home. This is not what I signed on for. I refused to do it. The two BITCHES got together and the list was reduced to four pages. I refused to send it in and my vendors knew not to accept orders from anyone but me.  It finally came to a head one day in the office when new bitch ridiculed me in front of everyone. Something clicked in my head and I quit right there on the spot. BITCH one, who was now my best friend and biggest supporter on the show, ran after me into the parking lot. "Don't do this to me. I need you." "Do something about (name)." She refused and I rolled up my window and drove out of the parking lot never to return.

In the car going home I broke down. I felt like a huge failure. If I had handled it differently, if I had been calmer, if I, if I. I crawled into bed and stayed there for almost three weeks. Not a single soul called me from the show with the exception of Dee Dee who was a production secretary. (Justin had left the show three weeks prior.) The staff was like a herd of Impala grazing. Suddenly lion kills one of the herd but the rest of the herd just continue to graze... "Thank God it wasn't me."

SEPTEMBER 22, 2006 -
THE PARTY

I was turning 30 and we all know how very old that is. Today I would give my left nut to be 30. Shit, I'd give both nuts to be 40.  But I was growing older, I had just come off the road with Melissa Manchester and the MGM Grand had just burned along with my dreams of working there as a regular.  My contract with them went up in smoke and my future looked bleak. My birthday rolled around and I thought, "Why not throw yourself a huge party." I pulled out all the stops. I ordered food, I had the best drinks, I hired a bar tender, we had music and dancing and lights but no valet parking. I had to draw the line somewhere. (And that's exactly what I said in the invitation)

I had a birthday cake made. It was a special cake. I told the baker this is what I want the cake to say, "Happy Birthday Sydney". Then I want you to put a big footprint on it like someone has stepped on the cake. Then put it on a doily and singe the edges like its been in a fire. Now on the edge of the paper write, "THE MGM GRAND WISHES YOU A HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY, STEVE" and cover the whole thing in coffee grounds to look like soot. I remember the expression on the baker's face when I explained it to her. She took one step back and grabbed for a knife. But she baked it exactly as I wanted it and it was the ironic hit of the party

I don't remember many things about that night. Why? I was stoned out of my mind. I'm trying to remember anything. I know the police didn't come. The one thing I do remember was that photos were taken by Lynn Turner, famed Beverly Hills shrink; the woman who saved my life on more than one occasion. By the way she's not MY shrink; she's my FRIEND. The photos were her gift to me, and a great one at that. It was a gift that has kept on giving for 30 years! See why I love her.

The guests that evening included Bruce Vilanch, Liz Torres and Roz Kelly. First Bruce.  Bruce and I worked together on "THE BRADY BUNCH VARIETY HOUR". Here is one of the smartest comedy minds in television, the man who created Bette Midler, and he's writing crap, "Hi, honey I'm home." If you know Bruce, you can't help but love him. He's just one of those people who has this endearing quality that draws you in and captures your heart. When I see him on Hollywood Squares or on the Broadway stage or accepting an Emmy, it just makes me feel good. He so deserves every single thing he's gotten.

Liz Torres, what can I say about someone who is show business history... and no one knows her. This woman was the first Hispanic to do stand up on national TV. She had been a regular on at least six TV Series, done hundreds of specials, been given triple Emmy nominations, Golden Globes, Comedy Awards, has been on numerous Presidential Councils, Hispanic Historical Committee and who taught me everything I know about comedy. To say that I love her would not be enough. Our love goes deeper than physical love (which we had at one point) and deeper than family love. Our love actually touches our souls. We have one mind and what I haven't learned she already has.  She took a kid from a small town (me) and made him worldly. She made me read. She introduced me to the real world but more importantly she introduced me to life. And when Liz tells me something, I listen because she is always right.  She was the first person to tell me my father was wonderful. She was the first person to tell me my mother had problems. She was the first person to say, "DO NOT MARRY THAT WOMAN".  Did I listen...no! But someday I will get a tattoo that reads... "Listen to Liz."

I see by the pictures Roz Kelly was at the party too. She was one of those show business types who came into my life, remained friends for about six minutes and then left. Roz played Pinky Tuscadero on HAPPY DAYS.  And here's the interesting part. Henry Winkler is the nicest person I know. What you see is what you get. I have never heard him say a bad thing about a single person. He hated Roz. His exact words to me were, "She's rude, crude and classless." I was shocked to hear him talk that way and wrote it off at the time as professional jealousy... she was coming on HAPPY DAYS as the female Fonzie. However, years later Henry would be proven right. Roz battled drugs and alcohol and was finally arrested for either brandishing a gun or firing one in public. But, at the party, that night she was nothing but funny and didn't shoot anyone.

Carole Ita White was a regular at The Comedy Store and her curly red hair was her signature. I went to Carole's last birthday party. We have remained close out of similar pain and would help each other through tough times. She's a wonderfully gifted actress who has not been given the time of day in this town. Her resume is as long as your arm but it means nothing in Hollywood. It's a town of stone hearts. Here's an interesting thing about Carole. Her father was character actor Jessie White (the Maytag repair man). When I was living in New York City, I saw Jessie standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change. I thought, “There is real show biz”. Fifteen months later I was having dinner at his house in Beverly Hills. Why? I had met his daughter, Carole, and she invited me for dinner.  I sat there in the wonder of how strange my life was.

Steve Love was there too. He grew up across the street from my aunt. I knew him my entire life and was surprised to learn he came to Hollywood to become hugely successful in the music industry. Steve and I lost touch but he remains a fond memory. Also there was Stephen Michael Schwartz, songwriter. My agent, Gary Weinberg, was there. Monty Aidem, writer for Rick Dees and hundreds of TV shows was there as well as Lynn Mitchell, my singer/mart showroom owner. As you can tell when I have a friend I keep them for life.... as long as they don't die on me, as did Champ McCollough, who was there, a casting director who gave me one of my first breaks on TV. And please note I did not get morose about his death. I'm improving.

The party was the best party I had ever thrown in my life. I haven't had one like it since nor do I plan to...unless I win a Tony. The jacket I wore was made for Michael Jackson and given to me by one of the dancers in his show. The booze and drugs flowed all night. I was totally wasted when the evening ended and my home looked like the inside of a Katrina shattered townhouse. It was totally and completely destroyed. I did not care. I actually enjoyed the freedom of not caring... besides in twelve hours the housekeeper had it all cleaned up. It was the end of a perfect memory.

                             SEPTEMBER 27, 2006 -
AMY HECKERLING

When I first started doing stand up at The Comedy Store, there were all kinds of people hanging out there. The most memorable were Craig T. Nelson, Barry Levinson, Ted Lange, Lou Rawls, Flip Wilson, Redd Foxx, Jack Reilly, Pat McCormick and so many, many, more. But there were also many people who you never heard of; people like Steve Lubetkin, who threw himself off the Hyatt Hotel because he wasn't getting the exposure he thought he needed at The Comedy Store. And Sasimo Hernandez who brought a cardboard tube on stage and while he did his act he would squeeze himself through the tube until he was all the way inside. It was the weirdest place on earth, those early years at The Comedy Store. The comedy club market had not been developed yet; it was being developed right before my eyes and I witnessed it all.

One day I was at The Store, as we called it, and was approached by a young filmmaker. Would I be interested in being in his student film? "Sure" I answered with glee, but I answered too quickly. The script was about a man in his late twenties who was getting circumcised. I was the shyest man on the face of the earth back then and the thought of shooting something of personal natural such as this made my blood run cold, but I said I would do it and I did it. I made sure there were no nude scenes. I wasn't going to show off my love handles for a student film.

I remember very little about the shoot except being consistently embarrassed and not getting any direction from the director. He was to direction what I am to piano concertos.  The shoot was long and tedious if not humiliating. I felt nothing in front of the camera and gave nothing back. The director also gave nothing. It was a nothing shoot and a waste of time. In my closet right now is a copy of that film, which I have not looked at in 35 years. I'm too embarrassed.  But there is a saying in show biz; no work is bad work as long as you're working. And this held true for this little piece of shit film.

About a month later I got a call from a young girl at A.F.I. (The American Film Institute) She had seen the film I had done for her classmate and she wanted to know if I would do HER film. She was shooting a scene from CARNAL KNOWLEGDE and she wanted me to play the Jack Nicholson part.  I agreed and we were to meet the very next day.

From our first meeting I knew this girl was special. We had long deep discussions about the characters. We talked about mood and tempo and timing of the piece. We discussed character background and make-up style and costume choices. She had thoroughly thought out this shoot and what she wanted of me.  She mapped out how the shots would be done. I felt there was guidance there, something I had not had on the first film and I looked forward to shooting this piece. 

The film was going to be shot at A.F.I. I arrived there early and got into make-up. The directors thought we should shoot the simple scenes first and end the day with the hardest scene, the most emotional.  The first scene was a two shot of me and another character talking over breakfast. We did a take and I wanted to die inside. I knew it was crap. The director came in and talked with me. She gave me insight and direction, a sub-text to work with. We shot it again and it was like night and day, I became that character. She yelled, "cut" and came running over to me. "You got it." Then she told me that one of her professors had come in and watched on the monitor. He asked her if I was a soap opera actor because he thought he recognized me. (I had just been fired from The May Company six months prior.)   The director put her arm around my shoulder and said, "Congratulations, you're an actor."

Those of you who know me know how insecure I am. But those words of kindness from the director did something to me; they filled me with confidence. I was not afraid to emote, I was not afraid to look silly. All I wanted to do was become that character and make it believable on film.

We got to the last scene and I was totally prepared. My heart was pounding but my head was screwed on straight and ready to go. I hit my marks, I remembered my lines but most importantly I found the emotions to portray the character. We did it in two takes.  The director yelled, "it's a wrap" (we're done) and I gathered my stuff and left.

The director called me about a week or so later. The scene was looking good and she would tell me what the professor thought. Being who I am, I waited for that validating call.  I never heard from her again, never knew what my acting debut looked like, never got a copy of the film.  I never gave it another thought. I just accepted it as "that's how show biz is" and moved on.

It must have been ten or twelve years later when FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH came out. The film was a hit and everyone was talking about the new female director, my director, and the person who guided me through her class project... Amy Heckerling.  To give you an idea who Amy Heckerling is and what's she's done, here's a list of her films:

"The Office" ,Hot Girl ,Loser ,A Night at the Roxbury ,"Clueless", Clueless  the TV series, Look Who's Talking Too, Look Who's Talking the TV series, “Fast Times", European Vacation  , Johnny Dangerously ,Fast Times at Ridgemont High , Getting It Over With.

When you work in the business for a while you can tell the ones that are going to cross over. I knew that day when Amy was directing me that this girl had something special, that she was going to cross over into the big time. There was intelligence to her work, thoughtfulness to her craft. She was a real director not just a kid doing an assignment for A.F.I..

Most actors would have called Amy and said. "Hey remember me, I did your student film?" but not me. I sat back thinking, "If she really liked my work, she would have called me."  I watched as she became famous never once thinking of intruding on her success. Somehow in my soul I think success is for others, not for me. How fucked is that?

We can go back to the NY stories now. No flowers were delivered today! Yet.

SEPTEMBER 28, 2006 -
MILLS BROTHERS

First, the back-story.

I was raised Jewish but I am not. Here's why. My mother and I had been invited to a friend's son's Bar Mitzvah. I must have been about 9 at the time. After the ceremony there is always a dinner to celebrate the confirmation. It's usually a catered affair for about 200 people and that's where we were on this day. I can remember it like it was yesterday. My mother said, "Come with me." And I followed her as she demanded. She approached the Cantor and said, "Cantor, I would like to enroll my son in Hebrew School." And I said, "I don't want to go to Hebrew School." Without missing a beat  my mother hauled off and  backhanded me across the face. That was it for religion and me. I shut down, I closed off and there was no way I was going to take part in that antiquated ceremony which meant nothing to me.

The next year I was enrolled in Hebrew School. To say I detested it would be an understatement. I loathed it. I resented having to go. I resented the teacher. I resented everything that it represented and stood for. On Saturday mornings they held services for the children. I was forced to go. The more I was forced the more I resented going. I remember one morning refusing to go and my mother taking a mop handle and beating me with it. I was so young I slid under my bed. She got on her hands and knees and continued to beat me with the stick.  Isn't that a nice Kodak moment? But instead of beating me into submission, she only heightened my stance and my hatred for anything religious.

In public school I was a model student; A's in effort and behavior, B's and C's in the rest of my studies. In religious school it was straight F's in everything. Not only did I not try, but I also went out of my way to cause trouble. I threw firecrackers at the Rabbi, I made phone calls to the school telling them to cancel classes, I was disruptive and I was incorrigible. I effing hated it there. This went on for three years and each year I was forced to come back to that school I hated it more.  At one point I was thrown out of school, expelled... the happiest day of my life. My mother used her powers as a town big shot to get me back in school. And like an escaped prisoner, I was forced back, humiliated by the other students.

It was coming time for my Bar Mitzvah and I couldn't read a word of Hebrew.  The entire service was to be said in Hebrew and conducted by me; I was unable and ill prepared to do this. And so I needed private tutoring from the Cantor. If I thought Hebrew School was hell, this private tutoring was hell plus ten. The Cantor was an 86-year-old European who spoke with a thick Yiddish accent. (One that I can do perfectly to this day...and used when I was Abe From Fairfax on the Rick Dees Show.) This man hated me more than I hate him and when we were together it was fire and water. If I got something wrong he would pinch my cheek so hard at one point it turned black and blue. This went on for months, after each session my hatred for the religion grew more and more but it was only preceded by my hatred of this torturous old man.