The Flying Phone Booth: My 3 years behind the Candid Camera

By Lou Tyrrell

Come back to the sixties. Come back and meet Mr. Candid Camera himself, Allen Funt. Meet the self proclaimed genius whose one great idea became America's favorite television show. Meet the man who invented "Smile, you're on Candid Camera." Join the crew and produce the comic sequences that made America laugh every Sunday night on CBS. Come discover the pain, the labor, the sweat it took to make the country laugh. Come see how you could live with the many faces of Allen Funt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lou Tyrrell
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452442464

Lou Tyrrell

For more than fifty years I was a producer/director writer in television. In the golden years I worked on the US Steel Hour on ABC, the first live documentary show, Medical Horizons and NCAA College football. I left ABC and did closed circuit shows for doctors sponsored by CIBA Pharmaceuticals using the Eidophor dark field projector and a mobile unit producing CBS Color pictures. 1960 I directed kid shows, Pip the Piper for General Mills and Marx Magic Midway, a circus for Marx toys. Then I met Allen Funt and he hired me to direct Candid Camera, now read the book and follow my life over the three years I lived with Allen and the daily problems of putting together one of America's longest running television shows.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Out of the Blue

I was sitting in the Polo Lounge waiting for a Cobb salad when I looked up. There was Allen Funt right in my face.

Lou, when I came out of the sauna to the writers meetings could you see my balls?

Huh?

Typical Funt. Right into it. No hello. No how are you.

Nineteen years earlier, alone in a shabby office on Fifty-Fourth Street just off Madison I contemplated my problem. Miller-Shaw Productions was dying. Pip the Piper done, Magic Midway cancelled. And the boss, Jack Miller, boy genius producer, was breaking up with his wife and drunk somewhere in Chicago.

Jim Shaw, the magic-mouthed sales department had sold his services to ABC and left me with the remnants of a pilot, The Little People we shot with Marx Toys.

Problem was the Marx dollhouse factory was on strike and The Little People lived in a Marx dollhouse. No Marx dollhouse, no show. No show no money and I was fresh out.

The telephone rang.

Miller-Shaw Productions, I said.

A gruff voice far off on a speakerphone inquired, I’m looking for Lou Tyrrell.

Lucky you. You’ve found him. I joked and didn’t get a laugh.

The phone clicked and the voice became clear and crisp. I’m Allen Funt, I understand you’re an expert on remote TV shows?

Yeah, I’ve done my share. How can I help you?

Well, I got involved with this Hollywood Hotshot to do this pilot and he’s fucked it up. Needs a couple days of re-shooting and then a re-edit. The CBS guys say you could do it. I’ve only got a couple of weeks to deliver. Give me a finished show in two weeks and I’ll give you $25,000.

I nearly dropped the phone! Guy doesn’t know me from Adam and offers me 25 grand to fix a pilot. No way I could refuse.

Sure, Mr. Funt, I could do that. When can we start?

Now, Funt said, Soon as you can set it up. Want to shoot somewhere Upper East Side.

I answered quickly, before he could go away. Well, today’s Wednesday. How about next Monday and Tuesday? Then, we could look at the footage and aim to edit on the weekend, how’s that sound?

Quiet on the phone. I could hear his fingers drumming on his desk.

You mean I could have a finished show a week from Monday?

Not quite, but, with any luck, you could have the finished show two weeks from today.

A whistle, Perfect, perfect, we’d be ahead of the original schedule.

Good, good, I purred, now when can we get together so you can fill me in on the show?

Funt, all business now, You just get the shoot ready and I’ll fill you in Monday morning on location. It’s just a bunch of interviews. Easy. Call my secretary with the location and I’ll see you Monday. He hung up.

Okay, Lou, I said to myself, "you know all about being a Technical Director. For 25 grand I’ll be the best TD in television. I called Hank Alexander at Mobil Video to rent his truck on Monday and Tuesday.

Got a ball game Sunday night but if its in Manhattan we could set-up early Monday. What’s up?

Guy needs to shoot some interviews, I answered. Let’s say 3 cameras ... and throw in a couple of risers.

Uh huh. You getting the crew?

No, you get it. Nothing special. Maybe an audio-assist with a shotgun. Going to try for a permit on Eighty-First and East End. Ready to shoot about eleven. Okay?

You could hear Henry thinking, 2 days, 3 cameras, extra audio, 8 men, probably 10 hours a day. Who’s paying for all this?

Allen Funt, the Candid Camera guy, shooting a pilot, he’s good for it.

Okay, Lou, if you say so. Just tell me where to go.

Bill Riggio, the best production assistant in New York, wandered into the office and stuck his head through my door.

Any work today? Bill sang a WWII bonds appeal. I laughed.

Not today, but got a Monday, Tuesday gig if you’ll go over to the Mayor’s office and get the permits.

Bill leaned on the doorjamb, That’s in the Guild building on 57th, right? That’s almost on my way home. Boy, I’ll be very happy with two days pay.

Out of the blue, Bill. Eighty-First and East End, Monday overnight to Tuesday say, 6 am Monday to 6 p.m. Tuesday and see if you can get an extra car pass.

Okay, I’ll get right on it. Anything from Jack?

Just that he’s staying in Chicago for a while.

He slapped his hands on the doorjamb. Well, it’s job hunting time. This place is history. I’m going.

He got the forms, waved them at me on his way out and quietly closed the door.

I checked my watch, nearly four o’clock. I could beat the traffic if I left right now. I went for my jacket and the phone rang. I picked up the extension, Miller-Shaw...

Why don’t you pick up some Chinese and come over, we could watch ‘Lost in Space? A very sweet voice on the phone with the best offer I’d had all day.

Oh, ‘Cretia, I can’t tonight. It’s Mona’s birthday and Arlene is making pot roast and a cake. I promised I’d be home.

Okay, if you think Mona’s birthday is more important than ‘Lost in Space’...Go home.

Wait a sec, you want to work Monday and Tuesday? Just notes but it’ll pay.

"What...who? Is Jack back? ‘Cretia stammered.

No, Allen Funt, the Candid Camera guy called out of the blue. We’re going to shoot a couple of days of interviews.

Allen Funt? Word is he’s a prick.

Sounded like a decent guy to me and the job will save my ass.

Everyone says he’s a prick. Where have you been? You know the story, how do you find Candid Camera? Walk west on Fifty-Fifth Street till you smell fear. And you’re there. Lucretia laughed.

You want two days pay? Then you’ll have to work for the prick. And, I’ll make my own decisions on Mr. Funt. Look, I’ll call you in the morning, maybe we could have lunch in that little French place around the corner, okay?

Okay. Have a happy birthday and if I see you tomorrow I’ll fill you in on ’Lost in Space. Bye. She hung up.

‘Cretia, ‘Cre, Lucretia Lee Scott, a superb, efficient, talented, associate producer. A wonderful conversationalist. A good buddy. Tall, blonde and beautiful in a very special way. We’ve worked a hundred shows over the past two years and got closer with each series. Lucretia, co-worker, friend and lover.

I put on my jacket, turned out the lights and headed for Queens.

Chapter 2

At Home

I parked my car in the driveway of a brick front ranch house in Bayside, Queens. Mona was eleven years old today. We moved into this house when she was six months old and were now half way through a twenty-year mortgage. I unlocked the front door and Thunder, our boxer, ran to greet me, smearing my pants with his spit.

Hi! I yelled, Where’s the Birthday Girl?

She’s next door, playing with Andrea, Arlene, answered. Coming to the kitchen door. She was tall, slim, and beautiful. A natural strawberry blonde. We were married in 1947 at her Grandmother’s house on Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn but our honeymoon proved it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven. We managed to stay married and raise our kids as long as I could scrape together enough money to pay the mortgage, keep the kids in camp and afford the dues at the Beach Club.

Boy, sure smells good in here, you really are a champion pot roast maker. I walked into the kitchen and kissed my wife. I could hear guitar music. Elliott, my 13 year old spent a lot of time with his guitar.

Daddy! Daddy! Mona burst through the back door, ran through the kitchen, and jumped on me in the back hall. I caught her, stumbled backwards toward the bedroom but managed to keep my feet. Mona thought she was still five years old. I kissed the top of her curly blonde head.

How’s my birthday girl? Eleven is too grown up to jump on your poor old man.

I hugged her, swung her back and forth and put her on her feet. She danced around the hallway.

I was playing monopoly with Andrea, saw your car out the kitchen window, so I came home ‘cause Mom is cooking pot roast and it’s my birthday and I’m getting presents and Mom made a cake and you’re home and isn’t it great?

Elliott’s door opened and a blonde head poked out, Oh… hi Dad, and the door closed.

Elliott! Mona! Wash your hands. It’s time for dinner, Arlene called from the kitchen, taking off her apron. It was family time in Queens.

Turned out to be a fun night. Elliott was in a good humor for a teenager, Mona, face smeared with chocolate, piled her presents on the table. She was flying, I was being the good Dad, and Arlene put up with it all while Thunder farted in his sleep under the table.

I was thinking of changing the faucets, chrome just doesn’t make it in a small gold room. I told the plumber I wanted gold but he just went ahead. Arlene stood in the new bathroom door. The contractors had just finished adding a master bedroom and bath to our $16,000 ranch house. Jack was so sure NBC would renew Magic Midway that I foolishly agreed to the project. But a cartoon show killed that. Well, I could always increase the mortgage.

I’ve got a show to shoot Monday and Tuesday, good money when I finish it, maybe twenty, twenty five grand. That Candid Camera guy, Allen Funt, is producing it, I said, looking at the new drapes on the corner windows, wondering how much they cost.

Wonderful, wonderful, so I can change the faucets, I hate those chrome things and there’s an antique hat rack that would look so good in the foyer. I saw it in Port Washington. I guess you won’t be home Monday night, well, its good you’ve got some work. She closed the new bathroom door.

Chapter 3

The Shoot

Five thirty a.m., Monday, I head for the Cross-Island Parkway. Five thirty am, too early for traffic, so I take the Grand Central to the Tri-borough Bridge and down the FDR. I park my Sixty Coupe de Ville behind Henry’s truck on Eighty-First Street. Cables hung across the sidewalk and into some body’s basement. I could hear the AC running and some of the crew sat on the trucks steps drinking coffee.

Hey, Lou! Hank yelled from the front of the truck, which was really a forty-foot trailer with a control room and videotape center built in. So, where does everything go?

I walked over to Hank and shook his hand. We’ll shoot on East End, half way to Seventy-Ninth, there’s a bus stop there so we’ll get a lot of people. Put two cameras on this side of the street and maybe we can fly cable across East End and put the third on a riser over there on the corner.

Hank turned and looked, Yeah, we can get up in those lamp posts but the cops might give us a hard time.

We got all the permits, Riggio has them. He should be here by eight. I answered.

Hank smiled, You want to switch?

Nah, we’ll fix it in post. I laughed at the standard joke and watched the crew dragging camera and mike cables out of the trailers belly.

Eight Thirty, all the video was set up and checked out. Cretia showed up with a big box of coffee, tea, bagels and muffins, a good reason why all the crew loved her. Riggio came around the corner whistling, off key, with a bunch of blank cue cards under his arm. We were all set. All we needed now was to know what we were supposed to do.

A swank, golden brown Bentley eased down Eighty-First Street, a uniformed chauffeur behind the wheel. Allen sat in the front seat and a young fellow with long blonde hair sat in the back. I walked up to the window and it slid open. Where can we put this thing? Allen spoke, we listened.

Put it where mine is, Mr. Funt. And I yelled for Riggio, Hey Bill, put my car in ‘Cre’s garage!

Funt called through the window. Get in let’s have that meeting.

I got into the back with the blonde guy. Allen twisted round in his seat. We’ve got a set of standard questions that should get some funny answers. Bob will do the questions. When we have enough, we’re through.

I nodded, Sounds fine to me, Mr. Funt.

Call me Allen.

I turned to the blonde guy, I’m Lou Tyrrell. I’ll be in the truck.

Bob Schwartz, he said and held out his hand.

Anything keeping us from going to work? Funt growled.

I jumped out of the car. Okay, Hank, I yelled, Let’s go to work.

The three cameramen went to their cameras. Riggio went with Schwartz to East End Avenue where camera one sat on its field dolly. I climbed into the truck and sat at the control desk and looked around for a headset. Lucretia set herself up at the tape room monitor to keep notes on good, bad and indifferent performances. Allen came in the door, looked around and decided to sit next to Lucretia.

We shot the first subject. Schwartz knew what questions to ask, ‘Cretia would write them down and grade the replies.

Useable. Got a plus. When Funt laughed it was a star and if he clapped his hands it was three stars. I listened, set the camera shots, I thought there were some funny things happening. Suddenly, it was lunchtime.

Bob Schwartz came into the truck.

There’s some pretty good stuff in there, Allen, what do you think?

Not bad. Allen said and turned to me, Okay, you and Bob finish the day, I’m going back to the office. Just keep doing what we’ve been doing and I’ll see you tomorrow. You guys start at nine, I’ll be here ten-thirty or eleven. He climbed out of the truck, climbed into his Bentley and was gone.

We broke for lunch. We ate. We came back to work and quit at four o’clock with twenty-two takes on tape, many pluses and several stars.

Riggio, Lucretia and I stood on eighty-first watching Hank lock up his truck.

I said, Let’s set at eight and shoot at ten, Hank, we’ll get plenty of stuff by afternoon.

I called to Schwartz who was closing his briefcase on the truck steps, hey, Bob, let’s start at ten tomorrow, okay?

Yeah, that should be plenty. Nice working with you guys, see you tomorrow. And Bob walked off up the hill.

You want to hang around for dinner? I asked Billy.

Nah, Riggio answered, I’ve got a seven o’clock cue card call at the Video Tape Center. Better get over there and start printing. You know when times are bad, you have to grab every buck you can. And Riggio followed the same route as Bob.

I need a bath! Lucretia said, That tape room is like a sauna, air conditioned or not. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.

We walked under the canopy and into the quiet apartment house. ‘Cretia unlocked the door of her cozy studio and we wandered in. I turned on the telly for the 5 o’clock news and lay down on the floor to watch. Lucretia stepped on my stomach on her way to her bath.

You want Chinese when I’m all clean? she asked.

I’ll go for it after the news. Have to keep up with what’s going on in the world.

You watch. I’ll soak. She said, going into the bathroom and closing the door.

I watched a traffic report, fell asleep on the weather report and next thing I knew I had company on the floor. Lucretia smelling of violets was wrapped in the yellow robe we once stole from the Hilton. I opened my eyes,

Um, dozed off. You smell good. I’ll go get supper.

Why, you hungry? ‘Cretia asked.

Not really. I said.

Well, then we can eat later. And she slipped out of her robe.

* * * *

The sun was shining brightly; the East River sparkled as I walked out into the pedestrian traffic on East End Avenue. People flagging cabs, people in line for the Seventy-Ninth Street cross-town and car after car edging its way onto the FDR Drive. Eight a.m. is busy time in New York City.

Hank and the crew were standing across the street watching the camera head being mounted on the tripod. I waited for the light and crossed the avenue.

Morning, Hank said, the cable slipped a little last night, should we climb up and pull it taut?

I looked at the cable hanging lower but still higher than any truck that might come along. We’ll be out of here by four, I’d leave it alone.

Whatever you say, Hank answered, We’ll be ready to go by ten.

"Good, Henry. Hey, could I go into the truck and look at what we’ve got?

Yo John! Hank yelled, Put tape one from camera one on VTR two and patch it to a monitor for Lou. Okay? John nodded and headed for the truck. You’ve got two hours to play, Lou, so go have fun.

I was thinking how good the pictures looked when the tape room door opened, the light blanked the monitor screen. It was Bob Schwartz. I checked my watch. He was twenty minutes early.

Morning, Lou, he said, Came downtown on the Lex to Seventy-Ninth. It’s quite a hike from there, down hill at least. Is that yesterdays stuff?

Uh huh, looks pretty good to me. I answered.

Bob shook his head. Got to keep shooting, never can tell when you get a classic. When you work for Allen Funt, you work.

Good morning, Gentlemen. Lucretia arrived, Coffee and doughnuts outside, get them now, we start in fifteen minutes.

Bob and Riggio went out on the avenue. Tape was rolling on the dot of ten. The eleventh subject of the day was discussing his marriage when a police cruiser slid into the picture and a big cop opened the door.

Okay, stop tape! I called. Bill, check out the cop. Hank and I are on the way. We trotted down the hill and around the corner. Riggio and Bob were standing with the cops, the subject was gone.

Good morning, officers. I smiled, Is there a problem? The big cop looked at me, not at all friendly.

You have a street permit, sir? He asked.

They’re in my brief case right over there, Riggio said and went to get the case.

I’m really worried about that cable strung across the street. the big cop said, Seems like a truck could hit that. Lots a night time deliveries here, pointing at the drooping cable slowly shaking his head.

Here’s the permits from the Mayors office. Riggio said, handing the papers to the cop. The officer laid the permits out on the hood. Carefully he checked each one.

Okay, okay, he said, But, these don’t spell out permission to hang that cable across the street, says you can string cable on sidewalks, curbside, across sidewalks but not across a street. Maybe you guys should pull that cable down.

Good morning, Gentlemen, is there a problem? It was Allen Funt. He looked like a million dollars in his grey suit with matching shirt and tie. His Gucci loafers glistened in the sun. The cop looked up. Scowling, he peered at Allen, his face softening with recognition.

His skinny partner exclaimed, Hey, ain’t you that Candid Camera guy...Allen Funt?

Both cops melted. They chatted with Allen, laughed with Allen. Got autographs from Allen, shook Allen’s hand and got into their car and drove away.

Well, thank you very much, Mr. Funt. I said, we should have you on all our shoots.

Yeah, well let’s get back to work, He said, We have a show to finish.

Allen had a four o’clock meeting so he left at three thirty. He would meet me Thursday morning at the editing house and we would look at what he had in the can, see what was already edited, review all the new material and figure out how to marry the stuff. I was aiming at a weekend edit session to build the new master.

We were done on Eighty-First Street. The gear was being packed away. I said goodbye to Bob Schwartz, thinking I’d never see him again. Riggio ran off to another night cue card gig and left me standing on the corner with Lucretia.

So, I’ll see Allen at Reeves Thursday morning. We’re going to look at everything, old and new, so I can edit Saturday and Sunday.

She looked at me nodding. Can I come? She said, I could be a lot of help, unless you’re afraid of Funt.

No, no, that’s not a bad idea. We could log out the edit session as we watch. No, that’ll be great. Yeah, you come. And come to the edit session too, even if I have to pay you out of my money.

Well, thank you Kind Sir. She said, making a cute little curtsy. Now, you better run home and take care of the family. I have a party at Auntie Bee’s. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and went for my car.

Chapter 4

Checking the Assets

Wednesday, I parked my car in the garage next to the UN Plaza Hotel, bitched about paying $7.50 for the day, and walked up the hill toward Second Avenue. I climbed the steps to Reeves, probably the best video post and audio house in the city. I took the tiny elevator to the third floor and went into the scheduling office. Terry, the schedule clerk, really ran the place. She knew all the rooms, tape and audio. She knew which editor was good for what job, who paid their bills on time, who was easy and who was hard and she did everything with a smile.

Hey, Lou, what’s happening? She said, coming to the counter that closed off her space.

Could I get the small screening room tomorrow for about six hours? I need to screen a bunch of stuff. And, I’d like to edit Saturday and Sunday. Is Glenn available? I asked, smiling at her.

Hold on, let me check. She answered flipping the pages of the schedule book. The screening room is easy, but both day shifts are booked on Saturday. You could work at night and all day Sunday. I’m sure Glenn will go for that.

Start at three on Saturday? I questioned.

More like three-thirty. That okay?

Yeah, I really need to finish this thing. Could I work to one or two Sunday morning and come back at ten and finish up? Can Glenn stay off the stuff long enough to do that?

Terry laughed. I’ll remind him he’s working with you. What’re you doing? Some kid thing?

No, it’s for Allen Funt. It’s a pilot, kind of a spin off from Candid Camera. Looks okay so far. Hank is sending over a pile of tapes for the screening. This morning I think.

Okay, okay. Terry said, Small screening room at 10 tomorrow morning, six hours and edit Saturday, three-thirty with Greg. Now let me get back to work.

Lew Tie-rell? A great big guy holding a quad tape against his belly asked. I’m from Candid Camera. Got this tape for Lew Tie-rell.

Tyrrell, I said, like terror with ell instead of or, Tyrrell. The guy looked at me like I was crazy. The only place my name was ever pronounced correctly was The Duchess of Duke Street on Public Television.

You Tie-rell or what. You want this tape?

Yeah, yeah, give me the tape.

Sign this! He said.

I signed. He looked at me, shook his head and walked away. I checked the Candid Camera label on the tape box. Street People, Pilot. It said. Hey Terry! I went back into her office. Here’s the first piece for tomorrow’s screening.

* * * *

Thursday. I picked up ‘Cretia on the way into town, took the FDR to Forty-Second Street and wiggled over to Forty-Fourth and the seven dollar fifty cent garage. We walked into the Reeves reception area at nine forty-five and there was Allen Funt. Not a million dollar gray suit today, but a two million dollar brown flecked model with another magic shirt and tie and those glistening Gucci’s.

Hullo He said.

Hi, Allen, you remember Lucretia Scott, she’s going to help me put the edit together.

Yeah, hullo, He nodded to ‘Cre and looked at me. Can we get going now?

Right. I answered.

We walked to the little elevator, which hardly held three people, slowly rode to the fourth floor and found the small screening room. Four soft chairs faced two fifteen-inch monitors. A small side table held an intercom device, coffee and a platter of doughnuts, the caloric monsters that kept me over two hundred pounds. Lucretia got coffee for Allen and I got on the intercom.

Anybody at the machine? I said into the box.

It’s Bobby Smith, Lou. I’ve got a whole pile of tapes here. What do you want first?

To the box, Hang on a second, Bob.

To Allen, Let’s look at the tape you sent over first, okay? He nodded, sipped his coffee, made a face and put it aside. Play the one with the Candid Camera label marked ‘Street People,’ Bobby.

We have to change that name! Allen said.

Okay, said the box.

I hate coffee, took a cup of water and dodged the doughnuts while skinny Lucretia chewed on a cream filled chocolate beauty and Allen settled into the middle chair and crossed his legs.

5 - 4 - 3 - flashed on the screen and a picture and music filled the small room. The music was good, a fine theme, but the pictures made no sense to me. Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood and Vine, Rodeo at Wilshire, fancy people on the street. The front of Grauman’s Chinese, grungy people walking by and the voice over said, Allen Funt’s, Street People!

Funt screamed! I don’t want that! That’s not how I want it to open. I hate that opening!

Stop tape! I yelled at the box.

You’re not going to use that are you, Lou? You got a change it! I hate my name there! Don’t use my name there. Okay, Lou? Will you remember that, Lou? He looked wild.

Sure, sure, Allen, I purred, I see that. The music is very good and we’ll fix the pictures and leave the names for the credits, if that’s okay.

Okay, Lou. Allen cooled down, resumed his seat, Lucretia made some quick notes and I yelled into the box,

Hey, Bob, rack it back to the end of the opening and roll it.

And that’s how the screening went. Playing through everything, we got Allen’s comments, made some notes on things we liked and things we hated and finally we finished the last reel. Five hours and fifty-four minutes. But I felt we had a show that wouldn’t embarrass anyone.

Allen got up from the chair, checked the crease in his pants. So, you think you can make something out of that pile of crap, Lou? Good luck to you. This is sure different than working in film. I don’t know if I care for it but I like the new experience.

Nice seeing you again, Mr. Funt. Lucretia held out her hand and to my amazement he took it.

He smiled and said, Call me Allen. He looked at me. Call me! He walked out the door.

I slumped into a big soft chair and devoured a huge chocolate doughnut while Lucretia checked her notes.

The box yelled, Are we done, Lou. Six hours are booked and it’s six hours?

I pushed the intercom button, Do me a favor, Bob, just play the opening on the ‘Street People’ tape once more and we’ll be done.

Okay! Bob yelled back.

The music played and in my minds eye I could see the face of the laughing guy on East End Avenue and the girl with the thick glasses, close up in Hollywood, and the guy with the wart on his nose, and the well dressed New Yorkers on line for a bus, and when the music ended, I was certain there was a show in Allen’s pile of crap.

Chapter 5

Cut and Paste

In 1959 videotape machines were born. The machine was a wonder for recording full programs that looked ‘live’ but could be played back at any time. That recorder rang the death knell for ‘live’ programming. No more mistakes, no more fuck ups on camera. If it doesn’t work just do it again. And do it again. And do it again.

In early days, making an edit on a quad tape was a talent to be learned. An edit could take a minute, ten minutes or forever based on the talent, guts and finger dexterity of the editor. I was lucky, Glenn was tops in his trade. We were cutting a half hour show, twenty-two minutes and thirty seconds without commercials, hoping to make about sixty cuts with ten or twelve of them cut to music in the opening minute of the show. A nearly impossible task in sixties but necessary to put this hybrid show together and doable if Glenn stayed away from the stuff.

Lucretia Lee Scott! Glenn yelled, coming out of the elevator. He bounced across the floor and grabbed ‘Cre in a bear hug and they both laughed out loud. We haven’t done an all nighter since the second ‘Pip’ you look great! He saw me, Hey, Lou! he continued loudly, We’re in Bay C over in the corner.

Saturday, no traffic, got here in no time. ‘Cre needs a little table for her stuff. You look in good shape, Glenn, ready for a hard night? I said, checking him closely to see that he was clean.

A long skinny table sat in front of the first two machines, leaving a narrow aisle for the operator. All the editing paraphernalia was surgically laid out on the table waiting for the operation to begin.

We’ll use Funt’s master as the basic show. We can take out the bad stuff and put in what we like. ‘Crecia pay attention to the times, we want to come out with the same twenty two thirty we started with.

Fuck you, Louie! Lucretia laughed. Always shocking to hear such language from such a classy broad.

So, Glenn, where do you want to start, little pieces or big pieces? Glenn scratched his nose. Let’s warm up with big pieces and get to the hard stuff later.

First big piece, Lucretia answered, the second subject in the first segment.

Glenn rolled the tape forward, found the spot and marked the ‘in’ point and the ‘out’ point. He reached over and took a silver scissors from the table and snipped the tape. What goes in here, ‘Cre? he asked.

Camera one, reel one in twenty two forty five. Lucretia answered.

Glenn picked up the huge reel of tape and put it on the second machine. He played the tape and we all agreed on the ‘in’ point and he was ready for his first operation.

Glenn quietly cut and pasted the piece onto the basic and pushed the play button. He watched the picture monitor and A scope as the silver edits snapped past the head and smiled as the picture stayed constant without a hit or flicker. Hour after hour he worked. We told him where to go, what to change and everything he did checked out. Cut after cut kept building the show. Finally, at a quarter to one in the morning, Glenn raised his bleary eyes and moaned.

That’s it, kids, old Glenn is pooped. He sighed and pushed his chair back against the machine. Let’s break till ten tomorrow when I can see again.

We were the last people in the building and as we went down the front stairs the night watchman snapped the lock and pulled down the shade, Reeves was closed.

We stumbled into Lucretia’s apartment and I fell into her big rocking chair, put my head back and closed my eyes. Lucretia shook me awake.

It’s nearly eight thirty. You better get into a shower and we’ll have breakfast and go back to work! I was still in the rocking chair.

At seven-thirty Sunday night Glenn checked his final edit and relayed the music. Now we could watch the whole show while he made a dub master. The show played well. The host asked, And when did you stop beating your wife? and the young guy with the high forehead and glasses says, I’m not married, want to talk about my Girl?

The laughs were there. The show held together, video was perfect and the sound and music totally worked.

Great, Glenn Jordan, you are the best! I said patting Glenn’s shoulder, thanks for doing such a great job.

Couldn’t have done it without Lucretia, Glenn smirked, she’s the best investment in any edit session.

You are absolutely correct, Glenn, tell that to all your other clients. I’ve already got Louie tied up. We all laughed.

Well, I think Allen Funt should buy us dinner, I said, how about that Guys and Gals?

Two smiling faces shook their heads in agreement as we walked down the hill to the UN Plaza Hotel for a very fancy celebration dinner.

Chapter 6

Showing Off

Ten o’clock Monday morning I listened as the phone rang in my ear. Candid Camera a female voice said.

Lou Tyrrell for Allen Funt. I reply.

One moment.

Nothing. Quiet. Then. Allen using his business voice.

Lou. Are you finished?

Yeah, finished last night. You want to see it or shall I have it sent over!

No, don’t send it. Can we see it at that Forty-Fourth Street place, I could be there at eleven.

Okay, if I can’t get the room I’ll call you back, otherwise I’ll see you on the fourth floor at Reeves.

Right he said and hung up. The room was available. I headed for Forty-Fourth Street.

* * * *

I stood in the little reception area watching out the double doors for my illustrious client. Not quite eleven. A Gentlemen’s Quarterly cover came up the steps. Allen wore a sparkling blue outfit, a shirt and tie made in heaven by angels and better yet he was smiling as he pushed through the doors. A smile from Allen Funt! This was a first.

You really finished? Finished when you promised? You’re not kidding, right? Funt spoke in a friendly voice.

Come and see, you might even like it!

Don’t go that far, Lou, but finished is good. That Hollywood guy promised week after week and I finally canned him. And you finished it. Unbelievable.

It was the same little screening room, no coffee and doughnuts, but Allen took off his gorgeous jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, sat down in his marvelous shirt sleeves and said, Okay, Lou, let’s see this thing.

There sat the same little intercom. I pushed the button, Anybody?

Yeah, Lou, it squawked, It’s Bob, shall I roll it?

Thanks, Bob.

REEVES, the monitor said, a count down, 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3- two seconds of black. Fade up music and a big yacht on the East River, Grauman’s Chinese, quick cut people in bus line, CU very pretty girl. Glenn’s cuts hit right on the beat and kept your eyes on the screen. Street People the graphic read and the voice over said, "Welcome to Street People…

Fine, fine, Allen said, Plays just fine. And he laughed in a couple of places and smiled again as the credits faded to black. You didn’t take any credit, Lou? You should take Directors credit, you made the show.

I didn’t know your deal with the other guys, Allen. I don’t need a credit, they have zero value at the A&P. He laughed.

I don’t know if they’ll buy it. But, it’s a hell of a lot better than before. Worth every dollar we spent. He said in a pleased voice. Can I take it back to the office?

It’s yours, you paid for it, I said, It’s heavy, I could send it by messenger.

No, I’d really like to take it along.

So we went to the third floor. Picked up the dub master and carried Mr. Funt’s valued asset down to the street. There, on a sunny Forty-Fourth Street, I handed the tape to Allen. He put it under his arm.

Heavier than film, he noted. Thanks, Lou, you did a good job. Send me all the bills, make sure they’re right I’ll get them paid and send you a check. He reached out his hand and shook mine very firmly, turned and walked down Forty-Fourth.

I could see the Bentley parked across Second Avenue. Watching him cross the Avenue I thought, "Well, Mr. Funt, I’ll probably never see you again, but your twenty five thousand sure will save my ass.

Chapter 7

The End of the Beginning

The bank swallowed up the $25,000 and the Tyrrell bills got paid. Still, everything was bleak in my world of Miller-Shaw. Nine days passed. No Jack. No sales. No news.

I got through the weekend and left Monday morning for the city. Early. So I tried the expressway. Big mistake. I was caught between exits when a huge tanker truck jack-knifed across the road, spewing gas everywhere. Cops materialized from nowhere.

10:15 a.m. I finally parked the car on Fifty-Sixth Street and Third Avenue for my usual three dollars and seventy-five cents and called good morning to all the guys hanging around.

That Caddy’s nearly a year old, Lou, time for a change! shouted the manager from his office door.

Right, Eb, I said, right after I find a job! And all the guys laughed. You pay for a parking place for a Coupe de Ville and folks start thinking you’re rich.

I walked up Fifty-Fourth Street toward Madison and went into the brown brick building that rented office space to Miller Shaw Productions. The elevator door creaked open on the tenth floor and leaning against the door of 1004 was the tall, slim figure of Marvin Sugarman. Marvin Sugarman, the world’s greatest salesman, the wizard of Oz.

Christ, Marvin, what are you doing up at this hour? I called walking down the hall.

Breakfast meeting at CBS around the corner. Thought maybe Jack would be back. We have to have a meeting.

Jack Miller was a brilliant guy, young, sharp and a giant in pre-school TV till his marriage went on the rocks. I had first worked with Jack ten years ago when I was camera two on the Jelly Beaner’s Club with Bob Keeshan as Corny-the-Clown. The show was great fun for everyone, the kids watching Corny and the crew all smiles over the jokes on the headsets. Poor Keesh never knew if we were laughing at him or them. But good things never last. Tinker’s Workshop took Keeshan and Jack upstairs to TV-4, Jack producing and Keesh playing a Santa Claus type character. It was an instant success.

One morning, Ronnie Sugarman, Marvin’s wife, saw the show. She loved it. When Marvin got home, Ronnie told him about Tinker’s Workshop and what a cute game it would make. Marvin smiled and nodded, because he knew that CBS was looking for a new kid’s show

Next morning, Marvin walked into TV-4 and met Keeshan and Miller, he did his usual toe-in-the-sand pitch and made a deal. Within the week, Miller, Keeshan and Marvin sat at the breakfast table with the CBS group. Jack spelled out how the show would work. One of the CBS guys asked what the show should be called. Keeshan scratched his nose, looked at the ceiling and said, Let’s call it ‘Captain Kangaroo’. And that’s how you make television history.

You should call Jack in Chicago, Marv, he’s not coming back here for a while. Let me get the door and I’ll make us some coffee.

The office wasn’t dark after all. There sat Joe Sperry, Jacks friend, working on his beer can holder invention he dreamed would make his fortune.

Hey, Joe. Marv said as he passed the door.

Joe snapped alive, Oh! Hi Guys. Sorry didn’t hear you. I made some coffee. And went back to studying the strange plastic thing in his hands.

We wandered into my grubby corner. I found two clean mugs and poured the coffee.

I’m working on this bowling show, Marvin said, It’s going to be regional championships with a national final. We’ll have five regions with a show every week then a national thirteen-week final. Going to start in late September for an insurance sponsor. We’re calling station managers, trading the show for 3 commercial minutes. It’s working. I think this will change a lot of things for independents like me. He took a long drag on his coffee. Jack says you know a lot about TV Trucks. I think I’ll buy one for this project.

Don’t! I said, Best way for a producer to go on his ass is to get into the facilities business. Here’s the card of a friend of mine. Call Hank, he’ll make you a deal, get the crew, the lighting, the permits and you’ll do what you do best, produce. He looked at the card, tapped it on his thumb, you could see his brain working.

Okay, Lou, probably good thinking. I’ll call your guy. He put down his cup and slipped the card into his breast pocket. The telephone rang.

Miller-Shaw Productions. I said.

Lou? it answered, This is Charley Marx, is Jack back?

I don’t think he’s coming back, Charley.

Well then, can you meet me for lunch? 12:30? Giambelli’s Thirty-Seventh Street. You know, 3 steps down.

Be happy to, Charley, see you at 12:30 and I’ll watch the steps.

Good news? Marvin asked.

Probably bad, Marv, but it’s a free lunch. I answered. Marvin pulled on his jacket, brushed off his shoulders and went for the door.

I’ve got lunch at Rose’s with a bowling guy. I should wander over there in case he’s early. I need to pick his brains before he drinks too much. Thanks for your good words.

Twenty after eleven, I had time enough to stop off at my old office and see how my former partner Jay Raeben was doing. I got to 274 Madison at ten past twelve, took the elevator to thirteen and pushed the Teletalent door open.

Who’s there! Jay called from the inner office of the two-room suite.

It’s Lou! I answered, Come for a quick visit. Jay came out of his office and shook my hand.

Good to see you, Lou. How’s the kid show business?

There’s no business like no business, Jay, everything is dead. I’ve got to find something new.

Well, Hoffman La Roche is very interested in the doctors education network we pitched. They may even pay for a pilot. Can you make yourself free if they do? Jay said with a slight smile.

Let’s worry about that when it happens, Jay, but it sure would be nice.

He looked at his watch. I’m meeting my wife down the street for lunch, want to join us?

Thanks, but I have to meet Charley Marx at Giambelli’s to hear some more bad news, but, give my love to Mib. C’mon I’ll ride down with you.

The elevator door opened on the lobby floor and there stood Phil Levins, a good friend when he was an ABC TD. Now he was the director of Jan Murray’s Treasure Island. He looked at me. I looked at him.

Phil Levens, I said, What in the world are you doing here? We stepped away from the elevator as other people streamed by.

My accountant’s in this building. Fifteenth floor. Phil said.

Jay, I said, this is Phil Levens, he was my boss at ABC. Phil, this is my partner, Jay Raeben.

Jay nodded, Nice meeting you, Phil, Lou talks about you quite often. Now I’ve got to run. Exit Raeben. I had 3 minutes.

So Phil, how’s ‘Treasure Island’?

Murray’s a pain in the ass, but the moneys very good. I’m dropping some stuff off at my accountants and then I have a date to meet Bob Shanks at Candid Camera, they’re looking for a new director.

Really? You’re sure? I haven’t heard anything about that! I said, taken totally by surprise.

All I know is my agent called me and said to make this meeting, that Candid Camera was looking for a director, so like a good boy I’m going. Phil answered.

You mind if I look into it? I asked, not really caring what he would answer.

Be my guest, you’re as much a director as I am. We both pay dues to the Guild. Go to lunch and I’ll see you soon.

I hurried down Madison Avenue toward Giambelli’s, planning to call Allen as soon as I could get back to the office. I tripped on the broad steps and tumbled right into Charley Marx, waiting at the bottom. He laughed.

I told you to watch the steps. How the hell are you, Lou, it’s been a couple of months!

I’m just fine, Charley, haven’t done much since we finished ‘Little People’ but you know all about that. He gave me a look.

Come on, let’s eat. Maybe a bottle of wine.

My mind was on Candid Camera. Here was a great chance for a steady paycheck. Just let me grab a quick lunch and call Funt.

Mr. Giambelli bowed us to a nice table, asked Charley how his father was doing and wondered why I didn’t come in as often as I used to.

I moved uptown, Mr. Giambelli, today is the first time I’ve been back. Your place still looks wonderful. He thanked us and called our waiter over. I had veal picatta and angel hair and Charley wrestled with a huge veal chop. We split a bottle of Merlot and passed on dessert. Charley put his empty glass on the table making a light red ring on the tablecloth.

Well, ‘Little People’ is dead, Lou. The old man is closing the dollhouse factory and he doesn’t want to hear anymore about the idea. So you take our ownership over and you and Jack can sell it for yourselves.

Thank you, Charley, Jack will be in Chicago for the next couple of months, at least. Jim Shaw is gone. I’ve been trying to get a couple of local stations to look at it, but without the Marx clout, I don’t think it will go anywhere.

Too bad. Charley shook his head, a show really ahead of its time.

That’s me, I laughed, always ahead of my time.

Chapter 8

Let’s Take a Trip

I jumped in a cab and dropped into the wide back seat. Fifty-Fourth Street, please, right side, near corner.

Yes sir. the driver answered.

No traffic. Stop light at Forty-Second. Nearly hit a bearded guy in a black suit at Forty-Seventh and slid to the curb at Fifty-Fourth.

That’s a buck twenty, sir and I gave him two dollars. Big spender? No, I wanted to get to my desk and call Allen Funt.

Miller-Shaw was totally deserted. I flipped the hall fluorescents on and went to my desk. I sat on the creaky desk chair and dialed Candid Camera.

Allen Funt Productions, a sweet voice said.

Lou Tyrrell for Allen Funt.

Just a moment. I’ll see if he’s in. Voice not so sweet. She put me on hold. Silence. Silence.

Guess he’s not there, I thought. Silence. Then. A click.

What can I do for you, Lou? That was Allen, all business.

Oh. Hi Allen, I just heard. It’s on the street that you’re looking for a director for Candid Camera?

You interested? Easier voice.

I’d sure like to talk to you about it.

Meet me at Sixty-Eighth and Second Avenue at nine tonight. Ride home with me and we’ll discuss it, okay? Clipped voice.

Fine, Allen.

See you then. Dial tone. Allen had spoken. I checked my watch. Ten to three, six hours to kill. Called my wife, who reminded me that the Mah Jong ladies were coming. Okay by me, I wasn’t coming home anyhow. But in future, I needed to keep better track of my lies. I called ‘Cre. Her answering machine came alive.

Hello, this is Lucretia, I’m on jury duty this week. Leave your number or call back after six-thirty. Bye. Beep.

It’s Lou. Call you later. Oh my, I had forgotten her jury duty. I rolled back from the desk and stood up to see how I was dressed. I was put together pretty good because I expected to spend the night in town. I guess I look good enough to apply for a job.

I grabbed my brief case, locked up the office and walked to the drug store on Fifty-Sixth Street. I bought a razor and shaving cream and a small deodorant stick with a fancy drug store name. I stuck it all in my brief case I was ready for my overnight.

* * * *

I walked up Madison and across Sixtieth to Third to Cinema One, a good way to waste a couple of hours. I woke up with a loud blast of Porkie Pig music, brushed the popcorn off my lap and walked out into Third Avenue. The Bloomingdale’s clock showed 6:10. I saw the pay phone on the corner of Sixty-first and crossed the street. I searched through my pockets and found a nickel, slipped it into the slot and dialed ‘Cre’s number.

Hello, this is Lucretia, I’m on jury duty this week. Leave your number or call back after six-thirty. Bye. Beep.

I hung up. Okay, two and a half hours more to waste, I thought to myself, maybe I’ll walk up to Seventy-Second to that great roast beef place. If I eat slowly it might be time to go to Sixty-Eighth Street. I started walking and decided to call Lucretia again and see if she would meet me for dinner. I marched up Third Avenue to the Camelot. Several couples were on the big porch in front of the flashing roast beef sign. Business was good. I saw a phone on the corner. Nickel in the slot. Ring. Ring. Click.

Hello, this is Lucretia. I hung up. Evidently she has gone someplace. I went to dinner. They sat me at a front table with a great view of Third Avenue traffic and the fools smoking on the porch. I had a thick slice of rare roast beef, a baked potato and apple pie a la mode. Delicious. And added to Charley’s lunch, an extra five pounds on my not too skinny frame. The check was $5.95 I left seven dollars and headed for Sixty-Eighth and Second Avenue.

Large apartment houses stood on each of the four corners. The two on the east side of sixty-eighth were much fancier than the two on the west side. The most fancy stood on the uptown east side corner and had a swinging garage door at the foot of a short ramp. I would bet that building housed Mr. Allen Funt.

I crossed Second Avenue and leaned against the short brick wall in front of the building, watching the garage door across the street. The brick wall was slowly cracking my spine. I stood up straight and checked my watch. Eight fifty-seven. A Second Avenue bus blasted his horn at a truck trying to park in the bus stop as the garage door, across the street, swung open revealing a beautiful golden brown Bentley pulling up the ramp.

I trotted across Sixty-Eighth the car door swung open. I slid into the comfortable leather seat, so much better than a brick wall.

Glad to see you, Lou, hope I didn’t keep you waiting.

I laughed.

Is this a Candid Camera joke, Allen? I’m waiting to hear you say, Smile you’re on Candid Camera! With a small condescending smile, Allen nodded and spoke to the driver.

Okay, Albert, let’s go home!

Chapter 9

The Pitch

Albert turned left on Sixty-Eighth, drove to First Avenue and headed uptown. Allen sat quietly watching out the side window.

Well, here goes nothing, I thought. I bumped into a friend of mine today, Allen. He directs Treasure Island and he told me that he was going to see Bob Shanks about the director’s job on Candid Camera. That’s a plum job in this business, Allen and since I knew the boss I gave you a call. Funt kept watching out the window and slowly nodded his head.

I was under the impression you had a good business. Why would you want to direct my show? He turned from the window and looked at me.

We did have a good business. Now it’s a bad business. The pilot we did for you was a very nice surprise in my life. I worked with Jack Miller and Jim Shaw and we had been doing very nicely. Jack, if you didn’t know, was one of the original creators of Captain Kangaroo. A year ago he sold his interest to Bob Keeshan and joined Jim Shaw, a gifted salesman, to form Miller-Shaw. I joined when they were producing ‘Pip the Piper’ Saturday mornings on ABC.

Then NBC bought Magic Midway, an hour circus show with Claude Kirshner, a kids favorite when he was the ringmaster of Super Circus" on ABC. We did 26 shows and we were expecting a renewal so we were astounded when they replaced us with a cartoon show.

Then, while we were producing Midway Jack came up with a very cute concept for a local syndicated show we called The Little People and Marx toys underwrote the pilot.

Right then Jim got an offer he couldn’t refuse from ABC and left to head network sales. Then, to make matters worse, Jack and his wife decided to call it quits and Jack went off to Chicago to think about his life. That left me alone to pitch Little People.

Finally, the last straw. Today at lunch, Charley Marx informed me that his father was giving up the dollhouse business and since the dollhouse was the backbone of The Little People they were giving up on that too. That’s how a good business becomes a bad business.

Albert was exiting the FDR for the Third Avenue Bridge. Allen, watched the rivers down below. That is some story, Lou. Allen said somberly. If you got this job what would you do about your responsibilities to Miller-Shaw?

I don’t have any responsibilities. I have some loyalties to a couple of people who work for us. Lucretia Scott, you met her on your pilot, and Bill Riggio, who worked with Bob Schwartz on your show. If I could get them a job it would be great, but if I can’t, well, that’s show business.

Allen watched a dark Yankee Stadium sail past across the Harlem River and turned to me shaking his head in a positive way.

You know, I really liked working with you on that project. he said. You have the kind of work ethic that makes me comfortable. You don’t screw around and you do the job. But, I don’t really know a whole lot about what you’ve done.

Well, Allen, I’m ashamed to say I don’t have a fancy resume to hand you. I left ABC after 10 years in 1957. My first director’s job was a bunch of Buick commercials for J. Walter Thompson. I’ve directed game shows, quiz shows, a variety show, a couple of dramatic series, a bunch of medical things, football, basketball, a network special when the Fontainebleau opened and the pilot for the first videotaped crime show. Ask anyone I’ve worked for, they’ll tell you I run a very tight ship, I’m a good director and I don’t piss away money. Ask Joe Cates or the Wolf Brothers or Perry Lafferty at CBS. I’ve worked for all of them.

The Bentley was cruising along the Bronx River Parkway, a wandering road in a quiet New York suburb. Allen still looked out the window. Those people you want to bring with you, how much will we have to pay them and what will they do? Not even turning his head.

My brain was whirling as I watch the trees fly by. Finish with me, I thought; we’ll worry about them later. I want this job. Lucretia is a fine production assistant. She would type the show run-downs, type and mimeo the scripts, set up the billboards and commercial inserts and make sure the agency people were happy. She would get the final script to prompter, make notes after run-through and dress. In short, she’ll do everything it takes to make sure the show is done right. And Lucretia is the best. Riggio is a do everything guy. He’s a cue card specialist and a fine assistant stage manager. He works at a day rate of $60. Shanks may already have a P.A., it’s usually the director’s responsibility because they work so closely together, but he could have a girl already.

Funt nodded. He’s got a tall, red haired girl, besides his secretary. I don’t know what she does. She’s around all the time but doesn’t appear to do any work.

Shall I pull up front or do you want to go in by the kitchen, Mr. Funt? Albert asked as we turned into a beautiful drive with shrubbery down each side. The house was large and impressive in the moonlight. Allen lived in a mansion in Croton-on-Hudson.

Better pull up front. Lou is a guest after all. Allan answered.

We climbed out of the car I followed Allen up the front steps. Hadn’t the slightest idea of the time. Here we were on Allen’s front porch and how we got here was a total blur.

Allen unlocked the massive front door. It swung silently into the foyer. We walked in. No servants. Allen said nothing. I followed him through the foyer into a very large living room. Two beautiful couches faced each other on a deep blue carpet. The decor was elegant, a House Beautiful layout. I walked to the center of the room.

There was a lady in a