My Lucky Life in and Out of Show Business_ A Memoir - Dick Van Dyke [16]
It was 1954 when we arrived in the Big Easy, and on my first day in town, before I had even visited the station, I met the general manager at a motel. He took me into a conference room, where I improvised for about a half hour in front of a half dozen potential sponsors. They were local businessmen and regional reps for larger companies. They wanted to see what I had to offer.
Talk about pressure. And poor conditions for a performance. But I knew my livelihood was on the line. If I didn’t get sponsors, they would find someone else and I would have to look for work.
Luckily, I nabbed a couple of them, including a biggie, Louisiane Coffee. My new boss gave me a congratulatory slap on the back and then I went back to my motel, downed two beers, and passed out.
Once past that stressful day, New Orleans felt charmed. Margie and I had a cute little house and pretty soon we added our third child and first daughter, Stacy. The station was located in the French Quarter, and I was able to walk to work in the morning as the restaurateurs and barkeeps cleaned up from the previous night and cafés brewed fresh coffee. It was nice.
For the show, I had a combo of musicians, did some man-on-the-street interviews, and brought kids into the studio, which was almost always comedy gold. I incorporated them into skits and songs. I had learned a lot over the years and was very comfortable in front of the camera. Within about six months, I owned the New Orleans market. I was beating Arthur Godfrey’s national broadcast, which, in those days, was something.
My ratings got the attention of the network in New York, specifically my old Air Force buddy Byron Paul. We had kept in touch over the years as Byron rose up the ranks at CBS, from a cameraman to a director. He told the executives about me and suggested they bring me to New York for an audition.
There was some skepticism, of course, but Byron said if they didn’t hire me, he would personally pay all of the expenses. I heard that and said, “Really? That’s very generous—and brave—of you.” But he felt confident it was not going to cost him a cent.
6
A SEVEN-YEAR CONTRACT
Jane Froman was a popular singer from the 1930s, a former star with the Ziegfeld Follies, and so highly regarded that legendary Broadway producer Billy Rose reportedly once quipped that the ten best female singers in the world were “Jane Froman and nine others.” In 1943 she survived a plane crash in Europe while on a USO tour but suffered injuries that led to a rash of physical problems as well as an addiction to painkillers and alcohol.
In 1952, the same year Susan Hayward played her in the movie With a Song in My Heart, Jane began hosting a nightly fifteen-minute show on CBS called USA Canteen. By the time I arrived in New York City for my audition, her show was called simply The Jane Froman Show. On the night I got into town, Byron met me at my hotel and took me to the theater where she did her show.
I was backstage with Byron when Jane finished her show, and I heard the director ask the audience to stay in their seats “because we have a young man who’s going to come out and entertain you.” At that moment, I asked myself why I was doing this. I wasn’t ambitious. My life in New Orleans was perfectly fine. And yet …
“This can be your big break,” Byron said.
“I know,” I said. “But I’m scared to death.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he said. “Just be yourself.”
After a quick pass through makeup and a couple deep breaths to shake out my nervousness, I went onstage—my first time in front of multiple cameras, real lights, and an experienced director—where I sang a song and performed a monologue I had written. It seemed to go over well with the audience, but the only opinion that mattered belonged to the network executives watching from the booth, and I didn’t see them afterward.
Later, over dinner, Byron analyzed my performance and expressed his belief that I had impressed the CBS