TALES FROM THE SCRIPT: THE BEHIND-THE-CAMERA ADVENTURES OF A TV COMEDY WRITER (7 page)

Being at the famous CBS studios, entering the building each morning through the “Artist Entrance,” passing celebrities in the corridors,
writing on a national television show, and working with veterans who
had written for legends like Jack Benny and George Burns was overwhelming to me. The writers’ meetings were especially intimidating.
i was hesitant to speak up.

Often, we discussed a problem with the script and i’d have an idea,
but was reluctant to verbalize it. Those guys picked on me enough for
my clothes; i didn’t want my ideas ridiculed, too.

The meeting continued with many suggestions offered and rejected.
Then, someone came up with the very idea that i had been
keeping locked securely in my private world. They said something like,
“Why don’t we let Jim nabors play the dummy role and have Frank
Sutton play the ventriloquist?” Everyone in the room shouted huzzahs.
“That’s a great idea. Reverse the roles. Wonderful idea! Brilliant idea!”

i wanted to stand and shout, “i thought of that twenty minutes
ago, but i was too shy to tell you guys.” it was too late for that, though.
All i could do was vow that next time i would speak up sooner, but i
didn’t for a long time.

Those first few months were difficult for me, a first time staff
writer. My cockiness kept me going, though. i knew i was funny and
a superb writer. i believed that firmly until i wrote something.

After i handed in my first complete sketch, the producers, Duke
Vincent and Bruce Johnson, called me into their office. i went expecting glorious kudos and a generous raise.

“This sketch needs a major rewrite,” is what i got.
i said, “Really? i think that sketch is very funny.”
“But it needs work,” Duke and Bruce insisted.
i said, “i don’t think i can make it much funnier than that. i

The producers were patient with me and very kind. They said,
“Do you really think it’s funny?”
i said, “Yes.”
They asked, “Do you think it’s perfect as is?”
i said, “i think it is.”
They said, “Fine, then let’s read it through.”
“All right,” i agreed. i was sure that once they heard this out loud
they would see the error of their initial judgment.
They each took certain parts to read and assigned me the role of
the star. i was to read the Jim nabors part.
We began.
The first joke got a nice laugh from them.
“That’s a good joke,” Duke said.
i accepted the compliment quietly and modestly because i knew
it was a very good joke.
We read some more and the script drew several more good laughs.
Then we read and we read and we read.
They stopped, and Bruce asked, “Have you noticed anything?”
i said, “Yes.”
Duke said, “What?”
i said, “i haven’t said anything for a very long time.”
Bruce said, “You haven’t spoken for twelve pages.”
Duke said, “Your sketch is very funny, but you have the star of the
show standing on stage ‘catching flies.’”
i then knew the sketch badly needed a major rewrite, so i gathered up the pages and went back to my office.
i learned a lot on that writing staff. Among other things, i learned
that the other writers were nuts. One time, i had lunch with my writing partner at the famous Joe Allen’s restaurant. As we were leaving, a
tourist couple stopped us at the front door and said to my partner, “Sir,
would you take a picture of my wife and me in front of this restaurant?”
Without missing a beat or a step, he said to them, “i would love to,
but i don’t have my camera with me,” and continued walking.
The gentleman stared after him with a look of bewilderment on
his face and, of course, his own instamatic in his hand.
The writers continued to kid me as the naïve newcomer to the
profession, but they also welcomed me to the fraternity. They allowed
me to become a part of their drinking group that met almost daily at
the City Slicker, a bar across the street from the CBS Television City
Studios, and they arranged for me to open up a running bar tab there.
it was very helpful because the home i rented, when i wearied of
motel living after about a week, was a good freeway ride away from
Hollywood. We quit work around six o’clock most evenings. if i
tried to journey home during that rush hour traffic, it took me over an
hour. However, if i went across to the City Slicker and sat there having a few drinks until eleven o’clock, there was hardly any traffic at all.
The City Slicker was a gathering spot for many show business
people working at CBS. My wife stayed home with the children when
i first came to Hollywood. They finished the school year and then unloaded our home back east, but the family didn’t join me until about
a month after my arrival.
When my wife got to town, i took her in to meet my fellow workers. We stopped at the City Slicker. The waitress came to our table
and said to me, “The usual, Gene?”
My wife noticed and kidded me about it. She said, “i see. i’ve
been home struggling with the kids and the sale of the house and
you’ve been out here getting yourself drunk, huh?”
The waitress didn’t realize my wife was joking, and she tried to
save me. She said to my spouse, “no. As much as i’ve seen Gene
drink, i’ve never seen him drunk.”
Being a writer, i felt she could have phrased that a little differently.
Maybe lose the phrase, “As much as i’ve seen Gene drink.”
Somehow, my fellow writers, the producers, and my wife allowed
me to survive the pre-production period. That’s the time when we
worked on the show, but we didn’t actually produce any shows. The
staff developed ideas and scripts to be ready for when the stars arrived
and we went into production. That would be when we started putting
the show on tape and over the airwaves.
However, the first week of production almost ended my brief
television writing career. During the first run-through rehearsal of

the show, we almost lost our star. We had a regular, weekly sketch on
the show in which Frank Sutton played Jim nabors’s brother-in-law.
They ran a boarding house together. in the sketch, Frank invariably
got upset with Jim over some plot twist or another. At that first rehearsal, he was to get so angry at the nabors character that he threatened him with a fireplace poker. Since that was only a rehearsal, the
prop guys got some old poker from somewhere. While Frank Sutton
was brandishing the weapon, the pointed head of it flew off and went
straight up in the air, came down, and embedded itself into the hardwood floor right next to the star of our show.

Six inches to the left, and i would have retrieved my pocket protector and been out looking for an electrical engineering job.
Run-throughs were sometimes exciting because the celebs were
there, but there was no pressure. The cameras weren’t on, and the audience wasn’t present. it was simply a rehearsal for the cast, staff, and
crew. The guest stars, who wanted to be crazy, could be.
We had a short talk spot written for guest, Don Rickles, and Jim
nabors. in the script, it ran less than three minutes. At the runthrough, Don, with his string of adlibs, kept it going for over twenty
minutes, and we laughed practically the entire time.
At one point, when there was a brief lull in the laughter, Don
turned to Jim nabors and said, “You sing beautifully? Are you sure
you’re not Gordon MacCrea’s long lost illegitimate son.” it got big
laughs. Everything Rickles said at that rehearsal got big laughs.
The producers had to end that thing so we could move on to our
writers meeting and get a revised script ready for shooting. They signaled
Frank Sutton to interrupt Don’s soliloquy with his scripted entrance.
Frank obediently walked on, but it didn’t stop Rickles. He looked
at Sutton and said, “What the hell are you doing out here? if i grab
your legs, you’ll turn into a waffle.”
Of course, that brought howls of laughter from all of us at the
rehearsal.
Don Rickles said, “What are you people laughing at? That didn’t
even make any sense to me.”
At another run-through, we were rehearsing a circus finale, a big musical number that featured the entire cast. At one point, Karen Morrow, one
of the co-stars of the show, was to ride an elephant. Since we used minimal
props at the run-through, the prop guys got some sort of life-sized papiermâché elephant on wheels. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very stable.
Karen rode the fake pachyderm for just a few beats before she and
the elephant tumbled over. For Karen it was a fall from a considerable
height, so everyone got up from their chairs and rushed to her aid.
She wasn’t seriously hurt, but certainly shaken up a bit.
Then, we had to decide whether to continue with the rehearsal
or end it there because of the mishap. One of the writers chipped in
with, “i’d continue. if she doesn’t get right back up there, she’ll never
ride a fake elephant again.”
The writers’ meeting following those rehearsals was sometimes
as bizarre as the rehearsal itself. We once wrote a sketch for Jim nabors and guest star, Tennessee Ernie Ford. it was a takeoff on a hit
show at that time,
Ironside
. That show was about a detective confined
to a wheelchair. Of course, ours was a hick version of that show, so
instead of sitting in a wheelchair, Ernie Ford sat in a wheelbarrow and
had Jim nabors, as his assistant, wheel him around.
The sketch died at the rehearsal. it needed drastic revisions, so
at the writers’ meeting immediately following the run-through, we
concentrated on fixing or replacing our sketch, called “ironbottom.”
Some wanted to replace it with another sketch that was scheduled for later in the season. Other writers felt that we could give it a
late-night rework and have a viable sketch ready for the next morning.
One writer, Al Gordon, thought the sketch was alright as it was
with one minor exception. He said, “Lose the wheelbarrow and get
a live donkey.”
none of us agreed with that fix, but he persisted.
Eventually Al said, “Look, get a live donkey. if the donkey urinates onstage, you’ve got a hit sketch.”
Another very funny writer, Arnie Kogen, said, “Yeah, or even if
Ernie does.”
We revised the sketch, leaving the wheelbarrow in, and it still got
few laughs. Apparently, we were funnier at the meeting than we were
at the typewriter.
Al Gordon, a long-time Jack Benny writer with his partner, Hal Goldman, was famous for contradictory statements, often within the same sentence. One time, all the nabors writers were feeling paranoid. We were
complaining about something or another that happened in the offices.
Al cheered us up by reminding us that writers on every show
throughout the history of television complained. it was commonplace. “Except,” he corrected himself, “on
The Jack Benny Show
.”
He said, “Hal and i worked for twenty-five years on that show. We
shared an office with two other writers and we never had a problem.
There was never a complaint, never any backstabbing. For twentyfive years, we worked together with no problems at all.”
Then he added, “Except that Hal and i knew that we were doing
all the work.”
Al Gordon came into the writing offices one morning after having
attended a Writers Guild meeting the night before. At the meeting,
there was talk of a strike and feelings were running pretty high.
Those of us who didn’t attend the meeting had heard about a
writer, who got up to speak at the microphone the strike committee
had positioned at the front of the aisle so that each member’s questions and comments could be heard. That particular writer collapsed
at the microphone and was taken from the hall.
Since Al was at the meeting, we asked about the incident. Al
Gordon told us, “it was terrible. i was sitting right next to the microphone, you know. This guy got up to speak and in the middle of his
question he fell over, right at my feet. i got up and ran away.”
Then he added with disdain, “Do you think any of those other
writers would come to help him?”
i learned a lot that first year on writing staff. i learned, for instance,
that the creative people in Hollywood don’t give normal Christmas
gifts. Arnie Kogen spent one day calling banks to see if he could buy
a series of Polish war bonds as gifts for several of his business associates. One of the bank executives told him quite vigorously that he
should be ashamed of himself for contributing to Poland’s economy.
She said, “Don’t you know they’re at war with us?”
Arnie abandoned that shopping spree, not because of her admonition, but because he couldn’t find any place that sold Polish war
bonds. So, for each of his friends, all of whom lived in the pleasant
climate of Southern California, Arnie purchased and gift-wrapped
one snow tire.
We writers had a picture taken of ourselves surrounding the large
logo that we used to open the show each week. That was our Christmas present to Jim nabors. Jim enjoyed it and hung it over the couch
in his office.
The following year, though, the joke sort of backfired. We all
went over to nBC and had our picture taken with Flip Wilson. Flip’s
new show was on opposite the Jim nabors Hour. it seemed funny at
the time, but by the end of the year, Flip had outdrawn us in the ratings, and
The Jim Nabors Hour
was cancelled.
i wonder where those photos are today.
Another thing that i learned during my rookie year in Hollywood
was that i was not the big shot that i thought i was.
My wife convinced me that i should invite some neighbors to see
a taping of the nabors show. So, i arranged for ViP tickets—no waiting in line outside the studio. By giving my name to the page on duty,
my guests were escorted into the studio and given preferred seats.
After the taping, the writers had to meet for changes and rewrites
to get ready for the next taping, so i couldn’t join those folks for dinner. i did, though, arrange, with my new pre-approved credit, for
them to have cocktails and dinner on me at the City Slicker.
The next morning was Saturday, and that gentleman noticed me
sitting in my back yard, so he came down the street to join me. i presumed he wanted to thank me for an entertaining and exciting evening. i presumed wrong.
He pulled up a chair, got comfortable in my back yard, and the
first words out of his mouth were, “You know what’s wrong with that
show?”

Around 1959, i first decided that i might try comedy writing as a livelihood. i figured i should learn a little bit about the craft. Bob Hope’s
material seemed to be the best to study. it was good performance
comedy, but it also translated well to the written word. Even though
Hope’s expert timing and delivery helped each gag, the material was
still funny when you read quotes of it in the paper. Other comics
could be hilarious, but much of their effectiveness depended on their
stage antics. Jerry Lewis, for instance, was not very quotable.

So i decided to study Bob Hope. He and his writers became my
mentors. i made an audio tape of each one of Bob Hope’s opening
monologues from his television specials. i typed out the material and
studied it to learn the form of gags he used, their sequences, and how
he worded the jokes. i became very familiar with Hope’s rapid-fire
style of one-line comedy.

Then, i put the monologue away for a while. After a few weeks, i
picked several current topics from the newspapers and tried to write
new material on those topical items using the format and style that
was in the Bob Hope monologue. That was my homemade course in
comedy writing.

Flash forward to one weekend late in March 1970. i had just finished doing some yard work. After a shower, i planned to simply relax
for the remainder of the weekend, preparing for another tough week
of work on the nabors show. While i was in the shower, my wife
answered the phone.

“Gene,” she hollered, “it’s for you.”
interrupting my musical numbers in the shower irritated me. i
shouted loudly, “Find out who it is and tell them i’ll call back.” My
melodious vocal continued.
She hollered again, “it’s Bob Hope.”
i zoomed past her and picked up the phone. i didn’t towel off, i
didn’t even grab a towel. i stood dripping wet, naked, in the kitchen
talking to my idol and mentor.
“Hello,” i adlibbed.
“Gene?” Bob Hope said.
“Yes,” i further quipped.
“This is Bob Hope.”
And it was. it sounded as though i was listening to one of my
taped monologues from my comedy writing formative years.
“Right,” i said. i was, in effect, telling Bob Hope that he knew
who he was.
He said, “i’ve heard that you write some pretty funny stuff.”
“i do,” i said.
“How’d you like to write some stuff for me?”
“i’d love to,” i said.
“Listen, i’m emceeing the Academy Awards next week and i could
use a few jokes. Could you write some and get them to me in a hurry?”
“Sure,” i said. “is tomorrow OK?”
He said, “Yeah, or Monday’s all right.”
“OK,” i said.
Click . . . dial tone.
i was so excited. i told my wife the good news.
“i’m going to get some paper and sit out back and start working
on this right away.”
My wife said, “Maybe you ought to put some clothes on first and
then mop up the mess you made on the kitchen floor.”
i did and i did, and then i sat in my special writing place in the
back yard and wrote out 130 jokes in longhand on a yellow legal pad.
i arranged them into a routine and typed them later.
John Wayne was nominated for an Academy Award that year for
his portrayal of Rooster Cogburn in
True Grit.
So, i had Bob Hope
walk onstage wearing an eye patch and i wrote several jokes off that.
One was: “You were right, John. This does go well with a pot belly.”
He didn’t do that one.
Another one was: “i just wear this when i watch reruns of my
road pictures.” Then, pointing to the patch, he added, “This eye is for
Crosby.”
He didn’t do that one, either.
He opened with a variation of one of my suggestions. Wearing
the patch when he walked onstage, he said, “You remember me . . .
Moshe.”
That, of course, was a reference to Moshe Dayan, a famous israeli
General, who wore an eye patch before John Wayne did.
Another nominated film that year was
The Sterile Cuckoo.
in my
material, i had Bob Hope say, “i went to see
The Sterile Cuckoo.
i
thought it was the life of Tiny Tim.”
Hope did that one.
He did ten of my lines in his opening monologue that night. Since
he only did thirty lines in the entire monologue, i felt that, for a beginner, i had a pretty good percentage.
Hope agreed. The next morning, he called me and said, “i liked
your stuff. it looks like you’ve been writing for me all your life.”
i said, “i have, Mr. Hope, only you didn’t know about it.”
We agreed to a writing arrangement there on the phone and i
wrote for Bob Hope from then until he retired from performing in
1997.
i did check with the nabors producers. no sense ruining a career
at the outset by doing something unethical. They gave me permission
to write for Hope, but asked that i refrain from taking screen credit
because the Hope show often aired opposite the nabors show. That
was all right with me. i was still writing for Bob Hope.
Circumstances almost destroyed that gig for me, though. i had
told Phyllis Diller about Hope’s phone call and she was delighted.
She also idolized Bob Hope and considered him a mentor. She said
to me, “Honey, if there’s any material you’ve given me that you want
to give to Bob, go right ahead. it’s perfectly all right with me.”
There were a few lines that i had written for Phyllis’s act that could
be used at the Academy Awards. in fact, the
Sterile Cuckoo
line was
first written for Phyllis. i sent it to Bob, and there were a few others.
The problem was that Phyllis was to co-host a pre-Oscar show.
in Los Angeles, it aired several days before the Academy Awards telecast. Of course, i watched the show. Phyllis did many of the lines that
i had sent to Bob Hope.
i panicked.
That show was scheduled to air in most other cities immediately
before the Academy Awards show. That meant that Phyllis would be
seen doing a line on national television, and minutes later, Bob would
be seen onstage at the Oscar show doing the same line. Someone
would surely notice. Someone would surely comment. Someone
would surely get fired—perhaps by both Phyllis and Bob.
i tried to reach Bob, but couldn’t. He was busy preparing for his
emceeing chores. On the day of the Oscar telecast, my family was
enjoying an outing to Disneyland. i wasn’t. i was there, but i wasn’t
really enjoying it.
i had to reach Bob before he went onstage.
Every time we passed a public phone at Disneyland, i called Bob’s
house. “He can’t be disturbed right now,” the secretary would say.
“Can i have him call you back?”
“no, i can’t be reached. i’ll try again.”
i called again, but couldn’t get through.
i called again, and again, and again. All the while, i was getting
more and more depressed because i fantasized a major scandal about
two comedians doing the same joke. Hollywood would blacklist me.
The writing community would disown me. The Writer’s Guild of
America would burn my membership card.
Finally, i got through. i explained to Bob, “i wrote for Phyllis and
she invited me, gave me permission, said it was OK, told me there’d
be no problem if i sent a few of the jokes i’d given her to you.” Then,
i told him about the television show she did and that she did some of
the jokes that i sent to him. i was prepared to be scolded and perhaps
punished. it was fitting and proper that i should be. i fully expected
never to write for Bob again.
Calmly, Hope said, “
Which jokes
?”
i read him a list of them and he said, “OK, i’ll take them out.
Thanks for calling.”
He understood and handled the situation like a true gentleman.
He was a gentleman for all the years i worked for him.