My Lucky Life in and Out of Show Business_ A Memoir - Dick Van Dyke [38]
In the lobby, Janet cornered the director and said, “Where the hell did that song come from?”
It wasn’t the movie she’d signed on for, and as far as I was concerned, it wasn’t the play. But as they say, that’s showbiz.
By then, CBS had changed its mind about The Dick Van Dyke Show and we were well into the second season. I was still working on Birdie when the decision was made. Sheldon had gone directly to the sponsor, Procter & Gamble, and persuaded them to stick with us. However, an even more persuasive argument came from the viewers.
It turned out the show found an audience during summer reruns, and vice versa—the audience found the show. They embraced it, in fact. Without competition from Perry Como, ratings soared. When the second season began in September 1962, with the Petrie family mourning the death of one of Ritchie’s two pet ducks, an episode called “Never Name a Duck,” the show cracked TV’s Top 10. From there, we never looked back.
A funny thing happened that second season when Mary and I went back to work. We couldn’t stop giggling when we were around each other. Part of it was the joy of being back together with everyone and getting to continue the series, but our giggles continued past the first episode or two. I finally asked a psychiatrist friend of mine about it. He stated what was patently obvious.
“Dick, you’ve got a crush on her.”
I put my head in my hands and laughed.
Of course I did.
Who didn’t adore Mary?
If we had been different people, maybe something would have happened. But neither of us was that type of person.
Still, we were stuck on each other.
And others were stuck on us. In addition to ratings, Carl won an Emmy for his writing achievements during the first season, and John Rich received a well-deserved nomination for directing. Both men had done a remarkable job, writing and directing almost every one of the thirty-nine episodes that year. It’s something that still stands out, perhaps even more so because for some shows nowadays an entire season might be comprised of only six or eight episodes. Prolificacy aside, the shows were home runs.
For season two, they were back at it. Carl continued to draw on all of our lives for material. In the episode “A Bird in the Head Hurts,” Ritchie is traumatized after a woodpecker pecks him in the head. Well, that had actually happened to Carl’s son, Rob. Likewise, Carl’s determination to pick up the check every time we went out to lunch or dinner inspired the episode “My Husband Is a Check-Grabber.” And when he wrote “The Cat Burglar” episode about a phantom burglar who breaks into the Petries’ home, he basically retold an embarrassing story I had recounted to him about an incident that happened to Margie and me when we lived on Long Island.
In the show, Rob and Laura hear a noise at night and think a cat burglar who has been working the neighborhood has targeted their house. Rob gets out a tiny semiautomatic, but his bullets are in a jewelry case with a ballerina on top. Every time he tries to open it to get the ammo, it plays “The Blue Danube.” In real life, Margie and I heard a loud noise outside and were convinced someone was trying to break into our home.
I was petrified except for the fact that I had, after much debate, recently bought a small .22 rifle. Moving quietly, I got the gun out of hiding and prepared to defend my family. A moment later, though, I turned to my wife with a look of horror on my face.
“What’s wrong?” she said in a whisper.
I thought even that was too much noise and put my finger to my mouth, telling her to shush. I tried to respond without making a sound.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispered.
I tried again.
“I can’t see to read your lips,” she said. “It’s too dark.”
“I can’t find the bullets,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, rolling her eyes as if