9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 208 CHAPTER FIFTEEN & I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here I HAD MET MARTIN CHARNIN back in 1959, when he was appearing and understudying Dick Van Dyke in the short-lived revue The Boys Against the Girls. Since then, Martin had given up performing and started writing lyrics for such musicals as Hot Spot (with Mary Rodgers), and, in 1970, he collaborated with Mary’s father, Richard Rodgers, on Two by Two. That same year, Martin also won an Emmy for producing an Anne Bancroft TV special. One of the writers on that TV special was a fellow named Thomas Meehan. He was also there that day when I met with Charnin about Little Orphan Annie. The truth is, I thought the idea was pretty terrible. Tom Meehan thought it was even worse than I did. I took an immediate liking to him. Tom was extremely mild-mannered, even permitting someone else to speak before offering any words of his own. It was obvious he hadn’t worked in the theater before. Tom and I had even more to complain about right off the bat. It seemed Martin had had a mock-up poster made for this yet-to-be-written show; the poster prominently featured Bernadette Peters in the starring role. 208 9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 209 I THINK I’M GONNA LIKE IT HERE Tom asked, “Wasn’t Little Orphan Annie ten years old?” He was obviously as surprised by the Bernadette Peters poster as I was. “I believe she was eleven,” Martin said with some authority. Tom nodded, then paused. “And, didn’t she have a dog?” “Yes, she had a dog,” I answered. “Also, a father whose name was Warbucks, who was cue-ball bald and wore a plum- sized diamond in his shirt.” “He was in the munitions business and made a penny for every bullet manufactured,” Martin added. “Every bullet?” Tom asked. “War-bucks. Get it?” I responded, then continued. “Didn’t he also have a servant named Punjab, who is Hindu or Muslim?” “Muslim?” Tom asked. “It was the Great Depression and everyone was out of work,” Martin explained. “I should add,” I went on, “she has no eyes.” Tom was flabbergasted. “She’s blind?” Martin laughed. “I know it sounds meshugena, but that’s the way Harold Gray drew then. No one in the strip has any eyes.” While Tom, our token non-Jew, tried to figure out just what meshugena meant, Martin went on. “Trust me,” he said. “I saw a collection of Little Orphan Annie cartoons in a book- store as I was buying a present. I realized then and there this could be a giant hit!” It sounded crazy, but Martin, who had never been known to wear clothes that were more than a week out of fashion, seemed to know what he was talking about. I figured Annie could be shown as a TV show and—who knew—maybe my Pabst beer commercial could be used at the station break. 209 9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 210 PUT ON A HAPPY FACE (Though with Annie being a kids’ show, beer advertisements weren’t all that likely.) But as we went on, I started to realize that Martin was hit- ting on something Hal Prince said to me years before, after It’s a Bird ...It’s a Plane...It’s Superman! had closed. Despite gen- erally positive reviews, the show, also based on a comic strip, had failed to get the audience it needed to stay alive, closing after just 129 performances. “Write a children’s show that kids can bring their parents to, and you may be okay,” Hal had told me. “But write a grown- up show that parents can bring their children to, and you’ve got a hit.” Later on, I realized that a comic strip is an ideal basis for a musical comedy because they are similar forms of popular American culture. That is, both deal in broad stroke, telling simple stories in as few words as possible. At this first meeting, however, I was not totally convinced. “This will run on Broadway for years,” Martin said, inter- rupting my thoughts. “Across the country, in films!” “But this is for TV,” I said, turning to my ally. “Tom?” Tom’s thoughts had been drifting. “Suppose the dog does its business onstage. What do we do then?” But Martin’s enthusiasm couldn’t be checked. “Let’s meet next week! I have an idea for the opening!” ? But, before that could happen, it was back to work for me: the Pabst Blue Ribbon beer recording. The recording studio was cavernous, and the engineer, Ed Rice, was knowledgeable, fast, and experienced. I connected 210 9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 211 I THINK I’M GONNA LIKE IT HERE with him right away. Martin had given me a lyric for Annie, but I had to do the music—or, more specifically, the drum roll— for this commercial first. Actually, it was lovely being pulled in two directions like this. It meant I was wanted. Plus, this com- mercial shouldn’t be too bad to bang out. I explained the concept to my colleagues: The drum set in the big studio was merely for a snare drum roll and a cymbal crash, as though an act were being introduced in a nightclub or circus. Ed set up a click track (a series of audio cues used to syn- chronize a sound recording with a moving image) that would coordinate the start of the drum roll and the cymbal crash at the end, and as he did that, his assistant set up four microphones. When the musician came in—this hallowed drummer from the Philharmonic—Ed asked him to sit at the drums and hit the cymbal. Then Ed changed the microphone and went through the same process with the snare drum. Next, there was a discussion about whether the bass drum on the foot pedal should be struck simultaneously with the start and end of the cymbal crash or whether it should be a tom-tom. Or perhaps it should be both. Microphones were set up for all of the various possibilities. Getting antsy, the drummer asked me if I thought we’d go into overtime, because he had another rehearsal. He could call someone to sub for him at the other gig, but he needed to know in fifteen minutes. And then he handed me the union contract and a tax slip to save time later if he had to split fast. Finally, the microphones were all set up. Each one was tested, and the click track was added to the film. “You wanna run it once?” Ed asked. “Go,” said the drummer. 211 9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 212 PUT ON A HAPPY FACE “I give you four for nothing,” Ed said. But the drummer couldn’t hear anything, so Ed had to send out an assistant to change two plugs. The click track began with the monitor in sync, and four slash marks coordi- nating the final cymbal crash. We were set. “Wanna practice once?” Ed asked. The drummer said, “I have to call Sol. He’s covering me on another job.” “Say hello for me,” Ed said coolly as the drummer went out to the hall to arrange for his sub. I began to sweat profusely. “Will this go into overtime?” I asked. Ed didn’t answer, so I continued, “I just started as director of music up at the place, and I don’t want to run up a big bill.” “Nobody looks at bills there,” Ed responded. At last, the drummer returned and resumed his seat. Ed started the film and the click track. “Take one,” he announced. “One?” I said. “It’s a damn drum roll.” “Let’s try it again,” said Ed to the drummer and then to me, “Try not to talk.” The whole procedure was repeated. “I think we got it,” Ed pronounced, but the drummer wanted to try one more time. He felt he hadn’t dampened the cymbal quickly enough, and because we were on overtime already, he wanted another shot. “The commercial will be over,” I said to Ed. “What’s the difference?” “Let him try one more. He’s a perfectionist.” The drummer tried one more. It sounded as good as the last one. Ed put it all on an audiotape. 212 9781402758898_int_124-259.qxp 4/16/08 2:36 PM Page 213 I THINK I’M GONNA LIKE IT HERE I felt as though I’d created a masterpiece and called the agency. A meeting was scheduled for three days later. “Why three days?” I asked. Apparently, the Chicago-based client wanted to hear it, too. Three days went by. Various people would pass me in the hall, saying, “I hear your new commercial is great!” or they’d make a clicking sound, smile, and stick up a thumb—a tradi- tional sign for well done. On the fourth day, I couldn’t help but notice that the click- ing sounds and smiles had stopped. No more thumbs-up, no more passing praise. I was told to report at eleven a.m. the following day in the head of the account’s office. He was the same man who had been so kind to me at the first meeting, but the very first thing I noticed about this meeting was that the ebullience of our last encounter was no more.