TALES FROM THE SCRIPT: THE BEHIND-THE-CAMERA ADVENTURES OF A TV COMEDY WRITER (11 page)

The New Comedy Writing Step by Step
(Quill Driver Books, 2007)]
Of course, the most memorable sketch from
The Carol Burnett
Show
was “Went with the Wind.” it was a take-off on the classic film,
Gone with the Wind
, and featured that bit that’s shown on television
anytime there’s a documentary about Carol Burnett or the show. it
shows Carol coming down the stairs wearing not only the drapes
from the window, but also the curtain rod that came with them. Rick
Hawkins and Liz Sage wrote that sketch entirely and it was brilliant.
i had nothing to do with it except to enjoy it as we watched it being
taped. i also enjoy cashing the residual checks that arrive each time a
clip from it airs on television.
Another memorable facet of
The Carol Burnett Show
was the
laughter between Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. People want to
know if it was real or if we wrote it into the script. it was always real.
Tim Conway’s purpose in life was to make Harvey Korman laugh.
One notable example was a sketch called “The Drum Out.” Korman was to be expelled from the military. in disgrace, as the drums
rolled, he would be stripped of all military insignias and banished
from service. Tim Conway, his commanding officer, was to say to
him, “For conduct unbecoming an officer, you are to be expelled from
military service.” With that one sentence, he would then begin to tear
off Harvey’s insignias. The fun of the sketch came when Harvey’s insignias would not come off. His buttons could not be ripped from his
uniform. However, Tim would then test it on his own uniform and
his insignias, buttons, brass, and everything else came off easily. The
end result was Harvey standing at attention perfectly dressed while
Tim was in his underwear.
During that sketch, Harvey had only to stand at perfect attention.
He had no words to speak, no actions to perform. He simply had to
stand at attention.
So, at the taping, Tim went into a wacky discourse on why he was
being drummed out of the corps. it went on and on and got wackier
and crazier and poor Harvey could do nothing but try to stifle the
laughter.
The laughter was always real, though, because Carol would not permit any phoniness on the show; that would be too transparent. if something goofy happened, that was fine. The cast could go with it. However, it could never be written in as a planned flub. That was verboten.
A big part of the show’s success was Carol Burnett’s opening
talk with the audience. it established her as a real person, warm and
friendly. From that basis sprang all the goofiness on the show. Again,
Carol was fiercely honest with that segment. The questions were never
planted and Carol never had pre-arranged responses . . . except once.
in a moment of weakness, Carol allowed one of the writers to be a
plant. it was a phony question with a planned bit to accompany it. it
was a mistake. it worked horribly because the audience saw through
it. Carol vowed after that, to never allow anything phony on the show.
The list of guests on
The Carol Burnett Show
read like a Who’s
Who of Hollywood and television. it seemed like everyone appeared
on the show sooner or later. We used to do a take-off of
Sunset Boulevard
with Carol playing the Gloria Swanson part. She played it absolutely wacky. nevertheless, Gloria Swanson wrote and suggested that
they have the original norma Desmond on the show.
We booked her. She was about ninety-years-old when she was a
guest on the show and she did a dance number. She sang and danced.
Well, she sang and the guys in the dance line
carried
her around the
stage. We kidded the costume department afterwards at how well
they did at designing a dress with handles.
One of our guests enjoyed the week of rehearsals and tapings so
much that he gave us a gift. Sammy Davis performed his whole nightclub act for the cast and crew, hiring the musicians on his own. We
weren’t really that thrilled with it.
After the Wednesday rehearsal, Joe Hamilton announced that the
post-rehearsal writers’ meeting was cancelled. instead, we were all to
report to studio 33. On Wednesday after rehearsal, we were happy to
get the meeting out of the way, do any rewrites that need to be done,
stop for an after-work cocktail, and then get on home.
When we got to studio 33, we looked at a bare stage. Then, a few
musicians walked onstage with their instruments and began setting
up. Then, a few more. it began to dawn on us that we were going to
see a show. We didn’t want to see a show. We wanted to go home.
Sammy came out and announced that he had so much fun working with all of us that he would pay us back the only way he knew how.
With that, he signaled the orchestra and they began the music for his
first number.
Sammy did an hour of singing, dancing, impersonating, and joke
telling. Even though we didn’t want to be there, it was great entertainment. During the show i leaned over to Carol Burnett and whispered,
“This is going to put a lot of pressure on Roddy McDowell.” Roddy
was our guest for the upcoming week.
Carol used that line when she thanked Sammy Davis after the
show. it worked well. When the studio was clearing, Carol rushed
over to my partner, Bill Richmond
,
gave him a hug and a kiss, and
thanked him for the wonderful line to end the show.
it was my line, but that happens often with writing partners.
Some of the guests were not too happy with the material. Telly
Savalas was featured in a sketch with Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. it was about three businessmen meeting in a restaurant and discussing a client who had switched from one company to another. However, it was written very cleverly by Gary Belkin so that it sounded like
a woman was leaving one lover for another. it was a nice sketch, but
Savalas didn’t like it. He wanted out of it. Carol Burnett, though, convinced him to keep rehearsing it. She assured him it would play well.
Telly agreed to continue, but wasn’t sold on the material. He read
the lines reluctantly throughout the rehearsals. When we taped the
show, he was still hesitant. He came onstage to nice applause, and
then spoke his first line with absolutely no conviction. However, the
audience laughed uproariously. it really was a funny sketch.
Telly heard that laughter. He looked out into the audience and
his eyes lit up. He was funny. The audience loved his lines. From
then on, he played the sketch like the biggest comedy ham in the
world. He was getting laughs, and he loved it.
When we were about to open the tenth season of the show, Joe Hamilton and Carol wanted a grand opening. They wanted someone with stature to open the show. it was hard to find someone with more stature than
Carol. We got some interest from Jack Benny, one of Carol’s comedy idols.
Bill Richmond and i wrote a short two or three-page bit in which
Jack Benny would wander onto stage 33 at CBS, and from that starting point, would introduce Carol for her tenth season.
Joe Hamilton called us into his office and said, “Jack loves the
piece.” That was good news to us. “However,” Joe said, “he would
like to meet with you guys to discuss some changes.”
Joe advised us, “When you meet with Jack Benny, give him anything he asks for. We really want him to open the show.”
We met with Jack and his manager, irving Fein.
Jack said, “i love the piece. it’s very clever, very funny.”
Our hat sizes got bigger.
Jack said, “However, there are just a few things i’d like to know
about it.”
We said, “Okay.”
He said, “Why do i wander onto the stage?”
We said, “Well, you’re in CBS and you’re lost.”
He said, “But i wouldn’t walk onto a lighted stage with an audience.”
We said, “Well, maybe you think it’s another show and you walk
out . . . .”
He said, “i’d always check with a stage manager even if i was
booked on another show.”
Whatever reason we’d offer, Jack would counter with a reason
why it wasn’t valid.
Finally irving Fein said, “Look, Jack, it’s only a two-minute bit.
Why don’t you just do it as written?”
Jack said, “How many times do i have to tell you, irving? When
i’m doing a joke about my Stradivarius,
I have to be holding my Stradivarius
.”
Jack never did the show and Bill and i got kidded for the next few
weeks as the guys who talked Jack Benny out of being our opening act.
There were some sour points during the five years we worked on
the Burnett staff. They were normal; there were always disagreements
over jokes and which sketches by which writers were picked for which
performers. Overall, though, it was a great, five-year assignment. We
wrote some terrific material and had lots of fun. We also collected a
few Emmy Awards for our efforts. in five years, the staff was nominated six times. Once, we had two different staffs in one season and
both were nominated. We won three of those Emmy Awards.

Chapter Fourteen
The Emmy Awards

The first thought that popped into my head when they handed me
the Emmy onstage at the Pantages Theatre was,
“Boy, this thing is
heavier than I thought.”
The second thought, though, as i held the
statue and faced the black-tie audience was,
“This is the peak. After all
the hard work I’ve done building a comedy writing career, this is the seal
of approval.”
The Emmy was awarded not just to me, of course, but
to a team of writers—Gary Belkin, Roger Beatty, Arnie Kogen, Bill
Richmond, Rudy DeLuca and Barry Levinson, Dick Clair and Jenna
McMahon, and Barry Harman. Still, it was a symbol that i was part of
the best writing team of the 1973-1974 television seasons.

There was no pressure to attend the awards show that season, either. We knew we had won. it had never happened before and it probably wouldn’t happen again. For some reason, the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences changed their format that year. Our writing
staff was notified that the show that had been broadcast on February
16, 1974 had been nominated for an Emmy. Later, the Academy announced that only one writing Emmy would be awarded for the best
overall writing of the season. it could be for a variety show or a sitcom,
it didn’t matter. Only one writer or writing team would win the Emmy.

137
All other winners in the various categories would not receive statues
and would be considered merely as nominees—losing nominees..

The industry wasn’t pleased with that format. Performers, including Carol Burnett, announced that they would not attend the show if
that system prevailed. The Academy relented and announced that all
nominees in the various categories would receive Emmys. Then, there
would be an overall winner, who would receive an additional Emmy.

Since we were already the nominee in the Comedy-Variety or
Music Series category, we knew we would be awarded a statue.
We didn’t win the overall category, though, and that unusual format was dropped after that season.
When the winners walk onstage, someone hands each one an
Emmy to hold.
As they walk offstage, someone takes it away from
them.
Then backstage, they run the gantlet of press rooms.
Each
network news department has a room where the winners stand on a
makeshift stage and answers questions. There are several rooms for
the newspaper reporters, also. As the winners walk into each of those
rooms, someone hands each an Emmy. As they leave, someone takes
it away from them.
Of course, the writers were marched through those rooms expeditiously because the press wanted famous faces, not behind-thescenes writers. We were treated courteously, for the most part, but
dismissed quickly. Writers didn’t generate much interest.
We left the auditorium without our Emmys. The Academy had
to have all the statues engraved with the winners’ names and details.
They couldn’t do it beforehand since they supposedly didn’t know
who the winners were.
We all tried to be blasé about the win. Ed Simmons, in his acceptance remarks, stated that the real reward for our year of work was not
the Emmy, but the privilege of working with Carol Burnett. it was a
nice sentiment, but not really true. We were all thrilled with the Emmy.
Our false blasé attitude was exposed when the Academy finally
called to tell us that the statuettes were available to be picked up at the
Writers Guild offices. All of us skipped lunch to go get our awards.
We walked into a room full of typists. One of them stopped typing long enough to ask how she could help us. We told her we were
there to pick up our Emmys. She asked our names and told each of
us our assigned number. Then, she directed us to a room in the back
of the suite of offices.
That room was a small office with hundreds of Emmy statues
wrapped in newspapers like supermarket fish. Each had a small piece
of masking tape with a number written on it. The Emmys were on
desks, under desks, on shelves, and in drawers, in no particular order.
We began our hunt.
“is anybody number 237?”
“i have 135. is that anybody?”
“i’m 147. Holler if you see that number.”
Finally, after climbing over the desks and shimmying along the
floor, we all located our paper-wrapped statues. As we went to leave,
the typists ignored us and concentrated on their keyboard tasks.
Bill Richmond couldn’t let it go at that. He climbed on top of
one desk, straddled the young lady’s typewriter, held his newspapercovered trophy aloft, and announced, “i’d like to thank all the little
people . . . .”