My Lucky Life in and Out of Show Business_ A Memoir - Dick Van Dyke [93]
We were lucky. The flames had burned right into some of the backyards. It was a lesson for all of us on how much you can control in life, or rather, how little control you sometimes have. As I’d found time and again throughout my life—and would continue to find—you do what you can, say your prayers, and hope for the best.
Defying predictions, we were renewed for a second season, and production for Diagnosis moved to L.A., where we shot at an old mental hospital off Coldwater Canyon Boulevard in the Valley. The place was not haunted, but holes in the walls, urine stains on the floor, and other damage made the torment of its former occupants feel very close by. A moderate earthquake hit one day and shook pieces of the ceiling loose. As they crashed to the floor, it prompted jokes about the show’s shaky status with the network.
I turned seventy in the midst of the show’s third season. I joked that it was as hard to get out of the business as it was to get in it. That season, Charlie Schlatter joined the cast in place of Scott Baio. He added a personality that was like a missing ingredient. I had spotted him when we were auditioning actors to replace Scott. Fred Silverman had said, “I wish we could get a Michael J. Fox type,” and I said, “I’ve got just the guy. You couldn’t get any closer to Michael J. Fox than Charlie Schlatter.”
He fit in with Barry and me. The three of us would get all of our laughter out during rehearsal and then play the scenes as straight as possible. It was the same with Victoria. Off-camera, the three of us had a running joke. We used to wonder who was running the hospital while the three of us were out chasing a criminal or looking for clues. Luckily, I suppose, nobody ever asked.
I think the primary reason Diagnosis Murder succeeded was the relationship people saw on-screen between Barry and me. That was real. So was the bond I had with Charlie and Victoria. It was not your typical detective show. It felt more like Rob Petrie playing a detective. It may have looked that way, too, when we tossed in the roller-skating, singing and dancing, and wrapped it in a little cat-and-mouse mystery.
We lucked into something special, something you can’t act, and when that happens, people will sense the fun you’re having and tune in. They want to experience it, too.
We chugged along, the little TV show that could. When I looked up, we were in our sixth year. Then our seventh. In terms of longevity, the series surpassed The Dick Van Dyke Show. Astonished writers and TV insiders asked how that happened. People magazine called it “remarkable” that at nearly seventy-three years old I had a show. Was it remarkable?
Not to me. I just kept showing up and having fun.
I added to the fun by inviting many friends and contemporaries on as guest stars, including Mike Connors, Andy Griffith, Dick Martin, Sally Kellerman, Robert Vaughn, Tim Conway, and even Jack Klugman when he was recovering from throat cancer. I took pride in the easygoing, comfortable atmosphere. In fact, the only argument I ever had during the entire run came when the line producer tried to save money by cutting back on the sandwiches we put out for the crew in mid-morning.
I heard grumbling right away. One thing you do not want on a TV series is an unhappy crew. I went straight to the producer and told him that if he was not going to pay for the sandwiches, I would out of my own pocket. Embarrassed, he had the food back the next day and smiles returned to my crew.
The only other problem I had came when the network brought on two young executive producers who tried to make the show hipper. All of a sudden a show opened with a guy in bed with a naked girl. And gun battles were written into the script. I told them that they were on the wrong show if they wanted to write cutting-edge stuff, and then I took my case to CBS president Leslie Moonves. Michelle had known Les many years earlier when he was a struggling actor,