The Nicest Guy In Show Business

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As more and more of my school chums began to take interest in this Rock-N-Roll music, I began to pay some attention too.  At first I hadn't thought much of it. I'd grown up with the jazz records my dad used to love, the Sousa marches my grand dad played over and over on his, little, burgundy, RCA 45 RPM record player, and the pop songs my mom would listen to on the radio. Songs like “Mermories Are Made of This” by Dean Martin, “Moments to Remember” by the Four Lads, “Love is a Many Splendored Thing” and “Three Coins in a Fountain” by the Four Aces.

Does it seem like every singing group in America at the time was a “Four Somethingorother?”

And my favorite “Gilly, Gilly, Ossenfeffer, Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea .” I kid you not... The Four Lads... look it up.

Anyway, I didn't think much of Elvis, he seemed a bit too exotic to me.  Then, right there in glorious black and white in my own living room, my opinion of Rock-N-Roll changed.

His name was Eric Hilliard Nelson, but everybody knew him as Ricky.   He played himself on “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” and, until one day in 1957, he was just another actor on TV.  On THIS particular day however, he changed the world.

Some back-story is in order here.  Rick was a tennis phenomenon in his teens and intended to become a professional, but one day he noticed his date going nuts over an Elvis song on the car radio.  To impress the girl, Rick casually mentioned that he too had cut a record.   Now he was on the spot, he HAD to come up with something, so with Ozzie's band backing him he cut a one single deal with Verve records and put out a cover of Fats Domino's “I'm Walkin'.”  Never one to miss a golden opportunity to rake in a buck or two, Ozzie wrote an episode for the show which featured Rick standing in for the drummer at a concert, and at the end...  at the end 16 year old Rick Nelson revolutionized the music industry.

He sang the song on national television, thereby not only legitimizing Rock-N-Roll to the millions of parents who LOVED Ricky, but by inventing the music video at the same time.

I was transfixed! Hell man, Rick was the boy next door  He had none of the outrageous clothes or outlandish stage antics of Elvis, he just stood there and sang and the audience went NUTS!   Part of that might have been due to the fact that they were actors who were PAID to go nuts, but who cares?  I KNEW I could do that!!!

I'd already joined the Lapeer High School band, and was a pretty good drummer, now I began to see what I could do with it.   I began to study Rock drummers, especially Billy Gussak, Bill Haley's drummer.  The way he slammed the rhythm home was unlike anything I'd ever heard. It's called “playing in the pocket” and this guy did it like no other.

I knew I was going to become a Rock-N-Roll musician.

Years later, in L.A., I got to know Rick Nelson.  Now to most of us in the broadcast industry “knowing” one of these celebrities actually means being acquainted.  You do concerts with them, you interview them and you come in constant contact with them, but they aint your BFF if you know what I mean.   They maintain their space, you maintain yours.

With Rick it was different.

Cap Cities Broadcasting had assigned a publicist to work with me on getting some ink for my radio show on KLAC.  We were driving through the Hollywood Hills when he suggested we drop in on a couple of his friends.   First we stopped by Rudee Vallee's place, then we drove over to the old Errol Flynn house... Rick lived there at the time.   I remember a huge portrait of Rick in his “Rio Bravo” costume hanging on the wall.  He and his girlfriend Helen were gracious and friendly, I felt as if I'd known the guy my entire life.

He really didn't mind being called “Ricky” by the way, he knew his fans grew up with him that way. What embarrassed him no end was having anyone refer to his status as a rock legend.  Rick was the most humble performer I've ever known.  To get a rise out of him, his band members came up with the nickname “leg...” short for legend.   He'd get a cockeyed smile on has face, and turn red when they called him that.   He didn't give a rat's ass about being a “legend,” what he wanted to be was a musician and a singer.

In 1985 I went to his “comeback” show at the Universal Ampitheater.  I sat right behind the family and couldn't help but notice how Harriet's eyes lit up when she saw her boy, now completely well from years of drug abuse, get up on stage and bring the house down.  I remember one of the Jordonaires referred to him as The Nicest Guy In Show Business.   “That's the truth” I thought.

Some time later, while on the air on New Years Eve I got a call from the publicist.  Rick's plane had gone down somewhere in Texas, and they didn't know anything more.  A little while later he called back, “Greg McDonald (Rick's manager) just called.  Rick, Helen and all the band members are dead!”  He was crying.

I was stunned.  How could this guy, who'd come through so much, and was so universally loved be dead?  I remember when Elvis died. It was a shock, but Rick was JUST LIKE US.  The guy next door.  I felt 10 years of my life slip away.  I went into the john and looked in the mirror.  I'd changed... I'd gotten older.

I was now a middle aged man.

Pa, Ma and Elmer... The Dachshund From Hell

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I never, really knew much about my great grandparents either come to think about it.  Ernest (Pa) had apparently been a rough, tough lumberjack in his day, and had apparently bitten off some dude's ear in a fight.  The Mike Tyson side of Pa was lost on us kids, we knew him as a affable, kindly, tobacca' chewin' guy who used to bring us candy and cheap penny gum.  Ma (Mandy) was always in the kitchen, stewing a chicken or making some other country delicacy.  They were farmers, and all the food came from their farm, including the “raisins” I used to find on the ground. When my mom found out I'd been eating the “raisins” she damned near fainted!

Pa was a crack shot with a scattergun, and could bring down a pheasant from a mile away. Hunting was big with the Bergin clan, and pheasant season was anxiously awaited every year. We'd clean the shotguns, 4-10s, 20 gauges, 16 gauges and 12 gauges.  Some were semi-autos, some were pumps and some were single shot. Pa's was an old, old double barrel, 12 gauge.

I distinctly remember going out hunting with the clan.  The dog put a bird up and BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM...  

That's a lot of BLAMS! Problem was... the bird was still flying.  Then we heard a 'click' as Pa chambered a round. He NEVER carried the gun unless it was broken down, and he NEVER carried it with a round in the chamber.  He slowly raised the gun to his shoulder and... BLAM!

Dinner was served at 6. Which brings me to Elmer.

Elmer The 7^th was a purebred Dachshund from champion stock.  His ancestors had won many a highfalutin dog show in the past, which must've been the reason that damned dog was so mean! When he came to us, we made him live in a tar-papered doghouse, outside of a lousy, remodeled chicken coop.  That had to SERIOUSLY piss him off.  And he was SERIOUSLY mean too, I still have a scar on my hand from when he took a chunk out of it.  He'd strike without warning.   You'd hear a quick “rrrrrrrrr” then “ROW, ROW, ROW” and CHOMP... you'd be looking for a band aid.

Elmer especially hated water.  The word “bath” would send him into conniptions.  His eye's would get wide, his ears would perk up and he'd high-tail it through the field...   “ROW, ROW, ROW”   Now this, particular aspect of Elmer's behavior played into our devious little hands.  Our cousin... let's call her Shirley, shall we?  Shirley was scared to DEATH of Elmer, so whenever she came to visit we'd spray him with water then jump up on the dog house. Shirley, being a tad shorter than us couldn't make it up there, and since she was the only human within Elmer's jaw range, he'd light out after her.  She'd be screaming like a banshee, running around and around the dog house with Elmer hot on her heels.

“AAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

“ROW, ROW, ROW ROW, ROW, ROW...”

TONS of fun!

But here's the thing about Elmer... he was the best bird dog we'd ever seen.  I remember going hunting with my dad.  All the other hunters would have expensive bird dogs.  We had Elmer.  It was hard not to notice the condescending glances until we turned him loose.  He'd spot a bird hiding in the field and stop dead... tail out, paw up just like the most expensive bird dogs on the planet.  “Put 'im up boy” my dad would yell and...

“ROW, ROW, ROW ROW, ROW, ROW...”  BLAM!!! Dinner was at 6.

Eventually our relationship matured.  We understood our need for private space, Elmer and me. I'd walk by him, and he'd let out a growl.  I'd simply continue on, and he'd fall back to sleep.   We both knew our place.

Elmer loved to chase cars.  He'd gotten hit more than once, and more than once we thought we'd have to bury him.  He always made it through though, except for the last chase.  Maybe he was just too old, and his speed was gone.  Whatever it was, he was not going to get up and walk home this time.

I buried Elmer the next morning, and as I did I remembered a scene from a movie.  I don't recall the movie, but I think it starred Burl Ives who was attempting to help an old man with whom he'd had a very difficult relationship.   Burl's line was something like “...after all these years it's not whether you hate or love someone.  It's the relationship that counts.”

I felt that way about Elmer.

Elvis and my Dad

 

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About 1955 or so we began to catch wind of a new kind of music making it's way north from Tennessee. It was a hybrid of Hillbilly and R&B called Rock-N-Roll... or something like that.  I'd heard some of this music played on the juke box at a diner located near the AC Spark Plug Division of GM, where my dad worked at the time. 

What impressed me was seeing these guys of color walking up to the juke-box and playing 16 Tons.  Even I knew that Tennessee Ernie Ford was a country singer, what were these guys doing playing that record?  Then it hit me. It was the lyrics. Like the R&B songs, 16 Tons told a story. That's a lesson that I've never forgotten.

At any rate, sometime in 1956 as the family was watching Uncle Miltie, the damnedest thing happened.  Uncle Miltie introduced a singer named Elvis Presley, who proceeded to sing a song called “Hound Dog” and wiggle, shake, and hump his mike stand.  We all sat there with our mouths hanging open. My father was enraged.

“If you EVER bring home a record by that IDIOT I'll throw you out of the HOUSE!!”

My mom, ever the diplomat squeaked up quietly:

“Oh I don't know Bud, I don't think he sings so badly.”

My father's face turned purple, blue, then a shade of Puce which I'd never seen before or since. He stared at her as if she'd chomped on the forbidden apple, quietly stood up from the couch, and left the room.

I looked at Elvis.  What was that?  It was a glance, a facial expression... wait, there it was again! A cock-eyed grin, and a knowing look in his eyes.  I knew... he knew... and he knew that all of us teens and pre-teens knew. This whole thing was a joke!!!!

Shhhhh... don't tell the adults!

Monsters in the Toilet

Leslie Nielson strikes heroic pose, but unfortunately looks just like  Lt. Frank Drebin with a ray gun

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Sci-Fi movies, I'm certain, contributed mightily to my delicate mental state.

Growing up in the 50's was unlike any other period in history.  The Russians had exploded a hydrogen bomb and had, for all practical intents and purposes, closed the weapons gap between our countries. Khrushchev had declared “We will bury you” at the U.N., and we all believed that they might.  Additionally, Sen. Joe McCarty went on a rampage and, with the help of a compliant and willing congress, began to root out “Communist Sympathizers” both in and out of government.

The movie community came under close scrutiny since they were weirdos anyway.  Huge numbers of fine screenwriters were driven out of the biz by these morons, and had to support themselves writing scripts for “B” movies under assumed names.  They took their politics with them, and wrote thinly disguised political commentaries under the guise of monster flicks.  Think about it, the giant ants in “Them” were a result of nuclear testing.  “The Day The Earth Stood Still” was a commentary on nuclear testing and warfare and bore no resemblance to the great short story that inspired it, “Farewell To the Master.”  The greatest of them all was a clever allegory on The Ugly American, our tendency to intervene in the affairs of sovereign nations,   “The Creature From The Black Lagoon.”

The Creature lived in the dark regions of the Amazon River and was more than content to stay right there, until some nasty old researchers (one of whom possessed no scruples whatsoever) dropped in uninvited, and proceeded to make his life miserable.  They shot him with a spear gun, drugged him with Rotenone, and chased him all over the river.  To make matters worse, they brought a woman with them.  A GOOD LOOKING woman! Now remember, the creature was the last of his kind and not the best looking gent on the planet. The fact that she looked pretty good to him should come as no great surprise, hell JOAN RIVERS would've looked good to him!
 

Maybe not.  Actually Joan looks just like him, see the above pictures.  The Creature is the green one, but I digress...

The thing is, The Creature scared the living crap out of me!  I damned near had an accident in the theater, and my mom swore she'd never take me to one of those movies again.  Come to think of it, she actually LIKED The Creature.  She got the whole “Hey, we invaded HIS space” thing. Not me. I knew that sombitch was out to get me.

For a looooooooong time I was afraid to go to the john.  I just knew that, if I sat down, the damned thing would reach up and grab my ass! Hey it's water down there right?  If he can live in the Amazon river he can live in the crapper!

Years later, in L.A. I met Ben Chapman.  Ben played The Creature in all the above water scenes. He was a gregarious goof, who loved to talk about wearing the costume in the commissary, and jumping out from behind buildings, scaring the bejeepers out of people touring the lot.

Ben died a couple of years ago, but not before I got a chance to get acquainted with yet another wacko.   LIFE IS GOOD!!!

Soupy Sales... how could anyone have this much fun and get paid for it?

 

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People who know me have often asked me over the years, why in the daylights did I spend 40 years... years that could've been put to a productive and worthwhile cause acting like a moron on the radio?

Two reasons... Soupy Sales and Buffalo Bob.

Yup, they're to blame for a wasted life of idiotic jokes and moronic publicity stunts. I belong in REHAB!!!

As kids growing up near Detroit, Soupy was the closest thing we had to Uncle Miltie. He was a fruitcake, but he was OUR fruitcake!

At least we thought he was. There were always those goofy grins, and offstage chuckles that occurred on his show right after he'd made some remark that none of us quite "got." Oh well, he was after all an adult. Sort of anyway.

Inevitably, on his show, he'd be talking to the "birdbaths" at home... that's how he referred to his viewers... when a blood curdling scream would rattle the speaker. He'd look quizzically at the camera, go to the door and WHAM, get a face full of whipped cream pie. There was a hole on the wall with a cork in it, and a sign that said "DO NOT TOUCH." Naturally he'd pull out the cork, peek into the hole and get a face full of seltzer water.

His dog White Fang ("BLEWWWWW, Reh-O-Reh-Oh-Reh-Oh”) was the "meanest dog in all of Deeee-troit." His pal Willie the Worm was ("HAAAAAH-CHOOOO") "the sickest worm in all of Deeee-troit," and Pookie the lion used to love to sit on the window sill and sing "C-O-W spells a coooooooww." I have no idea why.

REALLY sophisticated stuff to a 6 year old!

He died a couple of years ago, but I did get to know him a little. He did a radio show downstairs at 30 Rock when I worked in NY, and guess what... he was just the same in real life as he was on TV, a total FRUITCAKE! I was THRILLED!!!

That's a major facet of how I became a... well... a fruitcake!

Say Kids, What Time Is It?

 

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That's the way he always started the show. Then the boys and girls in the Peanut gallery and kids at home would sit in front of the TV and sing along. “It's Howdy Doody time, it's Howdy Doody time...”

“He” was Buffalo Bob Smith.

Bob Schmidt was from Buffalo, NY.  He started out as a singer, worked his way into radio and at one point beat the almighty Arthur Godfrey in New York. On a fluke in 1947, he performed a one-time TV puppet show during a blizzard which shut down the entire east coast. With nothing else to do, kids sat in front of the TV and The Howdy Doody Show was born.

Like many kids of the era, I watched the show. It was a bawdy, raucous hodgepodge of vaudeville style comedy, old movies and Bob getting squirted in the face by Clarabell the clown played by Bob Keeshan... later Captain Kangaroo. Little boys wanted to be Buffalo Bob, little girls wanted to marry him.

There was a cast of puppets a mile long, Dilly Dally, Mr Bluster, Flub-A-Dub, Inspector John J Fadoozle, Amerca's Number One (BOIIIING) Private Eye.  The live cast included Chief Thunderthud of the Sigafoose Indian tribe, Corny Cobb the town store keeper, and Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring, the most wonderful creature I'd ever seen.  She was played by Judy Tyler, who later went on to co-star with Elvis in "Jailhouse Rock."  She and her husband were killed in a car accident on the way back to New York from L.A.  Elvis would never watch that movie, he thought the world of her and just couldn't stand to see it.

Here's the thing about Judy, like Annette Funicello and even Darla of "Our Gang" fame, and completely contrary to the conventional wisdom of the day,  it wasn't some pseudo sexual appeal that had little boys captivated, it was the idea that these girls wouldn't hesitate a second to light a bag full of dog poop and throw it on the town busy-body's doorstep.  In other words, they weren't just beautiful, they could easily be your best pal.   

I imagined myself, in front of the cameras doing my OWN show. WOW, what a gig!

Years later, in the 70's, I was assigned to MC a show at the Canadian National Exhibition with Buffalo Bob. By this time I was a CHUM DJ. There was no higher calling. I drove a Mercedes sports car, I had my own wine stash at George's Spaghetti House, I had my hair styled at Salon Afif... the hippest clip joint in Toronto. Looking back at pictures from that era, I think I should've SHOT that guy! At any rate, what in the hell was I doing on stage with an old, washed up character like Buffalo Bob?

Looking out from the CNE band shell I noticed quite a crowd beginning to assemble. Hippies, little kids, parents... all ages and types. “How's the crowd buddy?” Buf asked me. “Pretty good I guess” I replied. “Tell you what buddy... get the hands to go down and set up about 30 chairs in front of the stage, we're going to have a PEANUT GALLERY!!”

Oh brother, a peanut gallery... PUL-EEZE just shoot me now!!!!

A few minutes go by, Buf is quietly tooting on his clarinet, Lew Anderson (the last Clarabell) has his costume and makeup on and looks like... well... Clarabell. Suddenly it's show-time! Buff goes out, sits behind the piano and cuts loose with the Howdy Doody theme. Now the crowd, which by this time has grown to several hundred, is singing along at the top of their lungs “It's Howdy Doody time, it's Howdy Doody time...” Then it's “Who's the funniest clown you know?” “CLARABELL” “And who's the clown on Howdy's show?” “CLARABELL.”

From behind the wings, up sneaks Clarabell with a seltzer bottle. The crowd is screaming “Look out Buffalo Bob... Look out Buffalo Bob!” and WHAM Buf gets it right in the kisser!!

“OH YOU SILLY CLOWN!!”

The audience goes NUTS. Hippies, parents, little kids... all of 'em laughing like crazoids. I sure learned a lot about show biz that day!!

I Grew Up In A Small Town...

 

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Small Town USA

I grew up in Lapeer, MI, a small town about 20 miles outside of Flint.  It was a bedroom community for many GM factory workers.  It proudly boasted of the 'Oldest Operating Courthouse in Michigan."  There was a main street no more than 1/2 mi. from start to finish, you could easily walk from one end of town to the other in a few minutes.

There was "Goodel's Sweet Shop", an honest to goodness soda fountain.  You'd go in, sit at the counter and order up a cherry-coke which the "soda jerk" would mix up on the spot, and serve in one of those Mae West inspired Coke glasses (no bottles here) for a nickel.  You could get an ice cream sundae or soda for 25 cents.

If you wanted to buy a the latest record from Perry Como, Dean Martin or The Four Preps you'd go to "Walter's Music Store," the only place in town that carried them.  They'd play one for you on a turntable, just to make sure you REALLY liked it, then sell it to you for 80 cents.  They also sold those little, cardboard carrying cases that the girls used to tote their records around in.  They were a buck.

There was the Western Auto store, where you'd go to pick up a snazzy headlight, horn, carrier or some other accessory for your bike.  You could buy the bike there too.

Or you'd go to the "Bike Store."  The owner would sell you a new Schwinn (top-o'-the-line) or one that he'd rebuilt, and looked like new.  Your bike told the world the kind of person you were, it was an extension of your inner self. 

There was "Billy's News Stand" where you could browse the magazine rack for the latest copy of 'Famous Monsters of Filmland" or "Mad."  He also sold those Duncan Yo-Yos which became a MAJOR rage back then.  I can STILL "walk the dog," "make it sleep," and "go around the world" with one of those.  If you see me with a Yo-Yo don't get me started!

There was "Crampton Park" THE destination in the summertime.  The parks and rec service pulled out the stops on this one.  Every day in the summer I'd ride my bike down there and play ping-pong, tetherball, tennis, baseball and generally hang wit' me homies until dusk, at which time I'd jump on my bike and head home only to do it all again the next day.

There was "Bare-ass Beach" where we'd... well, you figure that one out.

Up until I was 6 I lived downtown, and attended the 2nd Ward School.  We lived next door to the firehouse, and every night at 10pm they'd fire up the town siren, a monster air raid siren powered by a Chrysler Hemi engine, and sound the curfew.  You could hear it for miles around.  No one, I mean NO ONE under the age of 16 was supposed to be out after 10, and they made damn sure you knew!!!

When I was about to go into the 2nd grade we moved out to the country, to a tiny cottage that had once been a chicken coop.  It had no central heat, only an oil furnace in the living room.  In the winter my dad would fire that bugger up and the living room would be 80 degrees.  The rest of the house... about 40!!!  When it was REALLY cold there would be as much ice on the inside of the windows as there was on the outside.  That could be unpleasant, but what I remember is the acre of open field behind the house, and the wild berries that grew there. Riding horses bareback at McGregor's place about a quarter mile up the road.  Playing tricks on 'Old Lady Merz," the land lady, and her kindly husband old "Doc Merz" who would grab his medical bag and high tail it over to the house whenever one of us kids got sick.

One day my dad decided that we needed a television.  I'd seen TV before at my uncle's place.  It was a HUGE cabinet with a picture tube about the size of a cereal box.  It was a seriously amazing gadget, but what really got my attention one day was the goofy looking face in the middle of a test pattern. 

There was no way we could receive strong enough signals from our little place in the country, so my dad bought a telephone pole, and put up a HUGE antennae.  Once the thing was hooked up, we anxiously went inside to see what was on, and lo and behold there was the goofy looking face in the middle of a test pattern again.  Howdy Doody.

For me, that was the beginning of it all.