It was strange that I even got the job at the Tonight Show, as I'd never watched it much (preferring to go to bed before its 11:30 start -- my, how times have changed). But my sister was a true fan. She's the one who used to sneak downstairs to watch when the rest of the family was asleep. She was also the first in the family to catch on to Letterman -- she just loved that humor. And when I informed her that I would be working for Johnny, she indicated that she thought I'd finally arrived.
This bothered me a bit, because as nice as the new job was going to be, it was basically a secretarial gig... and I had this big chip on my shoulder about being a secretary. I did not go to college to become a secretary. I'd produced a radio show, by golly -- and interviewed one of the Beatles. (OK, it was Ringo, but a Beatle nonetheless). No way was this going to be the apex of my career.
But after three years of freelancing -- which meant a few six-week production jobs interspersed with temping and <ugh!> unemployment, the security of being on the staff of an institution like the Tonight Show was a refreshing change.
The previous writers' assistant, Janice, had been an acquaintance of mine, a friend of a friend of a friend who had taken a job on a new sitcom that was to debut that fall, called Roseanne. I was hired pretty much on Janice's word that I'd be good. For my typing test, they led me to an IBM Selectric (which is what we used back then), handed me a script and then left me alone to type it. After what seemed like just a few seconds, Denise (the researcher) told me to stop. "OK, you can type," she said.
I then met with Ray, the head writer. I don't remember what we talked about, but the gist of it was that if Janice recommended me, that's all that mattered. They asked me to come back in on Friday so she could show me the ropes (and do some quick introductions to key staff people, like the producers, director, booth PA, props, art director, etc. etc. etc.) It was her last day -- on Monday, when I returned for my first day of work, I would be on my own.
Fortunately, the assistant who held the job before Janice had left a notebook full of directions for completing the tasks now expected of me. So I knew that the two huge mailbags outside my office in the morning contained newspapers and magazines for the writers -- and I knew who got what and where to take them.
At that time, the Tonight Show production office was located in a bungalow on the far side of NBC. Four of Johnny's monologue writers had offices there. But Ray and the five "material" writers (and Denise and I) had offices inside the studio complex, above Studio 4 (or was it 3?), where they taped Days of Our Lives. (There was a 10th writer, a monologue guy, who worked from home.)
The show was taped in Studio 1, which was about as far away from where we were as you could get and remain in the building. Johnny's office was below. Executive producer Fred de Cordova had a "golf cart" parked by the entrance to the building so he could make the trip quickly. All I had to rely on were my own two feet -- which in those days, were usually clad in four-inch heels.
I needed to move between all of those locations, several times a day -- delivering mail to the monologue guys, getting mail from our box and bringing it up to the material guys, distributing scripts to the art department, wardrobe, props, the booth, etc.
And on that first day, I was running late. I was accustomed to the pace of a weekly series - I was used to getting late night pages and having to churn them out as quickly and accurately as possible before running the Xerox, collating the copies and handing them off to a runner. This was pretty much the same, except that tape night was EVERY night, and the material had to be typed and ready to go by 3:00 p.m.
And I kept getting lost. Not badly, as NBC is laid out pretty simply -- but bad enough that I was running a little late. So I was a little out of breath on my umpteenth run to the bungalow, when I encountered Fred and producer Peter Lassally. I said "Hi."
Fred pointed at me.
"You're not wearing a bra," he said.
I don't think I was shocked until I was able to think about it later -- so I answered reflexively, "Yes, I am."
"Well then, take it off," he said. And he was gone.
And that was my very first conversation with Fred, who had a reputation in his own right as a raconteur and wit. In those pre-Anita Hill days, it never occurred to me to shout "sexual harassment." After all, Fred was pushing 80 and it was more playful than threatening. I daresay that if he were alive today, he would still interact with female employees that way -- and would get away with it. Besides, it was funny. And as the show's writers used to tell me, you can get away with being offensive -- as long as you're funny...
Recent Comments