This Time Together Read online

  TA-DA! The end.

  Just before the cast took its bows, I asked the lady in the audience how she liked the show.

  She said, “Oh, thank you so much for going to all that trouble!”

  And so it went, for eleven wonderful years. The Q & A became one of my favorite parts of the show. Because it wasn’t scripted, anything could happen—and it usually did!

  The Writers’ Room

  We had several comedy writers on our show working in offices right across the hall from mine, including our head writer, Arnie Rosen, who had been a writer on Garry Moore’s show and had moved out to California to run our comedy staff. We were delighted to have him at the helm; Arnie had a sense of humor to be envied.

  During our lunch break he and the rest of the writers would often watch comedy shows that had been off the air for years, starring the all-time greats, some of whom had given these writers their first jobs: Milton Berle, Sid Caesar, Jackie Gleason, and many others. Sometimes I would go into the dark screening room to watch for a few minutes and laugh along with the gang.

  One day I went across the hall to ask Arnie a question about a particular sketch we were doing that week. He was in the screening room with the rest of the staff. Without looking at the screen, I went over to Arnie’s chair and bent over to whisper my question so as not to disturb anyone. I heard a couple of long, drawn-out moans, and turned around to see where they were coming from. I had never seen a porn film in my life, and my jaw dropped to the floor. I had been set up—beautifully.

  I sputtered: “Ohhh! Omigod! Th-That’s the worst thing I’ve ever SEEN!”

  Arnie calmly replied, “Well, gosh, Carol, he’s doing the best he can.”

  Cary Grant

  We were in the rehearsal hall getting ready to read the week’s script.

  “Cary Grant?”

  Harvey grinned and nodded.

  “CARY Grant?”

  More grinning and more nodding from Harvey.

  “THE CARY GRANT?”

  Harvey’s head was bobbing up and down so hard I thought it would fall off his neck.

  “How? When?”

  We were gathered around the big table for our regular Monday morning reading of that week’s show. Vicki, Tim, Lyle, the guests (I don’t remember who), our director, Dave Powers, and I were all glued to Harvey’s story about the weekend party he had attended in Beverly Hills.

  “Okay, it was Saturday night, and HE was there! Naturally, he was gorgeous, charming, funny, and—get this—interested in me! He never misses our show! In fact, he asked the hostess if she’d mind if he disappeared for an hour at ten o’clock because we were on that night.”

  I tried catching my breath. “Omigod, you mean Cary Grant actually knows who we are?”

  “He went on and on about the show and how much we make him laugh.”

  All of us were silent for a bit.

  Cary Grant. I remembered going to his movies when I was growing up, and Nanny saying, “He’s the second most beautiful thing in the world next to Hedy Lamarr.” I thought he was beautiful, too, but I also thought he was funny. He could do great body-pounding pratfalls. He was a fantastic athlete. Charm, of course, oozed out of his every pore. By this time our variety show had already been on the air a few years, and I had had the thrill of meeting and working with—dare I say it—icons. However, a handful of stars go beyond even that iconic thing. They work in the stratosphere, they’re one of a kind; never again will we see their like. And Cary Grant is on that short list. I couldn’t shake off the wonderment I felt knowing that he knew who I was, and he was a fan to boot. The idea was overwhelming.

  A few weeks later, Joe and I were invited to a cocktail party at Peggy Lee’s house in Beverly Hills. One of the greatest pop singers ever, she had been a guest on our show a few times, and we’d grown pretty friendly. We were the first ones to show up. My fault—I could never stand being late to anything. Our coats were hung up in the hall closet and I began making friends with the caterer.

  It wasn’t long before Peggy Lee appeared, looking beautiful in an elegant hostess gown. In a few minutes the doorbell started ringing in earnest, and it wasn’t long before the place was wall-to-wall with celebrities. The party was in full swing—Alan King putting everyone in stitches, hors d’oeuvres being cleaned off the trays before they made it across the room, Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” swinging through the speakers. And then … suddenly, the whole party quieted down, and all heads turned to the front door. I followed suit.

  My awkward meeting with Cary Grant

  (with Peggy Lee and Joe in the background).

  COURTESY OF CAROL BURNETT

  Cary Grant.

  Peggy went over to greet him. Taking his elbow, she walked him into the room, and people stepped aside for them. She introduced him to those who had never had the honor, while even the biggest stars all but genuflected. He was very much at ease, laughing and shaking hands, and as they got nearer I bolted for the coat closet.

  Joe was at my heels. “What’re you doing? Don’t you want to meet Cary Grant?”

  “No.” My coat … my coat. Here it is, the short beige number. Please, God, get me outta here.

  Joe couldn’t believe it. “Are you nuts? All you’ve been talking about is Harvey’s story of meeting him, and here he is! Here’s your chance!”

  I had one sleeve on. “Let’s go.”

  “Will you please tell me what the hell’s the matter with you?”

  Poor Joe—he just didn’t get it.

  I tried to explain. “Joe, you just don’t get it. Look, he likes me! He makes it a point to watch our show every single week! Now, do you think I want to spoil that?”

  “Why would you spoil it?”

  I had always thought Joe was smarter than that.

  “Because I wouldn’t know what to say or how to act, and I would make a fool of myself, and he wouldn’t like me anymore! Okay? Got it? Let’s go!”

  We headed for the front door. The knob was within reach when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there they were, Peggy and HIM.

  “Carol, where’re you goin’?” Peggy asked. “You can’t leave yet! Cary’s dying to meet you! Cary, meet Carol and Joe Hamilton. Joe produces Carol’s show.” He and Joe shook hands, and then his attention turned to me.

  Oh, gee. I looked up into his face, that face, and I forced a lame smile. He took my hand and his mouth started moving … and I couldn’t hear him! My heartbeat was so loud that I thought my ears were going to explode. Watching his lips move, I just knew that whatever he was saying had to be the most charming words anyone had ever uttered, but I couldn’t hear!

  He kept on and on, holding my hand, sometimes even squeezing it a little. I thought he’d never stop. But then he did. His mouth had stopped moving. Silence. Oh God, it’s my turn now. He’s waiting for me to say something … anything.

  Then I opened my mouth, and out it came in a rush. “You’re a credit to your profession.”

  Why didn’t the floor open up? Why hadn’t we made it to the door in time?

  Why did Peggy Lee have to be so sweet?

  Why was I born?

  On the way home in the car, Joe looked over at me, smiled sweetly, patted my knee, winked, and said, “Sweetheart, I’ll never doubt you again.”

  That, at least, got a chuckle out of me.

  With Cary at the track: I’m much more comfortable with him here!

  COURTESY OF CAROL BURNETT

  Cary, Harvey, and Tim at the Racetrack

  It wasn’t long after my first disastrous meeting with Cary Grant that we actually became friends by way of attending parties and various fund-raising events in town. He had a private box at the racetrack, and one Wednesday he called and invited Joe and me to join him and his lovely wife, Barbara, for a Saturday outing.

  That Saturday was a pretty exciting event for us. Cary and Barbara were great hosts and made us feel right at home. We went to the track a few more times, and even though
we weren’t into the ponies that much, we always had a lot of fun. Let me put it this way: if you didn’t know Cary Grant was a movie star icon, you never would have guessed it by his demeanor. A regular guy, you ask? Yes. Completely.

  He would often corner me and discuss which comedy sketches he’d liked best on our show the previous week. He was crazy about the Tim-and-Harvey sketches. He asked me, and yes, I told him that those guys are as funny in real life as they are on television.

  “Do you think they’d like to join Barbara and me one Saturday? With their wives, of course.”

  I said I was sure they would. I gave him Tim’s home number, being pretty sure he wouldn’t mind getting a phone call from Cary Grant.

  I called Tim to give him a heads-up nonetheless.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Tim. It’s Carol. You’re going to be getting a call from Cary Grant.”

  “Who?”

  “Cary Grant, yep.”

  I explained. We hung up. Cary Grant called him on Wednesday and issued an invitation to Tim and his wife, Sharkey, and then Harvey and his wife, Debby, to join them at the track on Saturday. Within a nanosecond Sharkey and Debby were off and running to the Galleria in search of the perfect outfits for a Saturday afternoon at the track with Cary Grant.

  The afternoon went swimmingly. Cary was charming (surprise) and quite possibly the best audience Conway and Korman had ever had. He was smitten with the two of them, who happened to be on a roll that day. And why not? They had Cary Grant in stitches.

  The Kormans and the Conways drove home on cloud nine. What a day!

  Cary called Tim the following Wednesday. Bam! Off to the Galleria again.

  Once again, Saturday at the racetrack, and once again the boys were really on. They reported back that there were times when Cary could hardly catch his breath, he was laughing so hard.

  Driving home, Harvey and Tim were a little concerned at this point. “How can we keep this up? I think we’ve used up all of our shtick!”

  Wednesday came around again, and with it another invitation to the Grants’ private box.

  As far as Cary was concerned, all Tim had to say was “Pass the salt,” and he would be put away. But as far as the boys went, this third Saturday was work. They just didn’t want to let Cary down. Of course they didn’t. The following week, they tried to think up other bits that would floor him, unable to bear the possibility that they might disappoint him. While Cary was still happy as a clam, after the next couple of Saturdays, Harvey and Tim were bordering on nervous exhaustion.

  Now here comes one of my favorite lines in this whole world.

  At the usual time on Wednesday, the phone rang at the Conways’ residence.

  TIM: If that’s Cary Grant, I’m not home.

  Adrienne Lenore Weingardt

  Harvey and I were rehearsing a very funny sketch called “The Pail.” He was a psychiatrist and I was a first-time patient. My problem was that I couldn’t get over the childhood trauma of the school bully who stole my pail out of the sandbox when we were seven years old. It still haunted me, and I was hoping this famous doctor could curb my ongoing anxiety. The upshot of the sketch is that the psychiatrist himself turns out to be the school bully, who for years has hoarded sand pails in a closet in his office.

  As his patient, I demand that he give me back my pail. He reluctantly hands me a pail, and just as I’m about to leave, I look at it closely and say, “Wait a minute! This isn’t my pail! My pail had Minnie Mouse painted on it. This one has Donald Duck! This pail belongs to Barbara Brown! GIVE ME MY PAIL!” The sketch ends with Harvey relinquishing my original pail and even having to reach into his inner jacket pocket to hand me the matching spade.

  I didn’t think the name Barbara Brown was terribly interesting, so when we rehearsed it again I came out with, “This pail belonged to Adrienne Lenore Weingardt!”

  “Where’d that name come from?” I was asked.

  “It’s the name of a girl I was in grammar school with. I haven’t seen her since. I think there were only eleven or twelve of us, and when we graduated from the sixth grade, we went to different junior high schools.”

  But the name stuck with me, I guess, because here it was coming out of me after all this time.

  The show aired a week later, and on Monday morning, the phone rang in my office and Rae Whitney, my assistant, took the call. It was a woman calling from Nevada.

  RAE: May I help you?

  WOMAN: Yes. I was watching the Burnett show Saturday night and I heard my name mentioned.

  RAE: Oh … you must be Miss Weingardt!

  WOMAN: That was my maiden name, yes.

  RAE: Did you attend the Selma Avenue grammar school in Hollywood?

  WOMAN: Yes …

  RAE: Well, you and Carol were in the same class.

  Pause.

  WOMAN: I don’t remember her.

  Carol Channing and Food for Thought

  I always looked forward to having Carol Channing as a guest on our show. She made every straight line funny, and every funny line funnier. She also had a reputation for never missing a show when she worked on Broadway (2,844 performances in Hello, Dolly! alone). She never, ever got sick. She said she owed her remarkable health to what she ate.

  Joe and I took Carol out to dinner at Chasen’s one night after one of her appearances on our show, and she ordered a plate with nothing on it to be delivered to the table. That done, she reached down into a picnic cooler she had brought with her, unwrapped a slab of raw blubber, and slapped it down on the plate. I figured she must know something, because it sure worked for her. However, I wasn’t about to give it a whirl myself.

  We booked Carol for another guest appearance the following season. That Monday morning before the reading with the cast and writers, we got a call from Carol’s husband saying she was under the weather and couldn’t make it in that day, but not to worry, she’d definitely be fine come Tuesday. I wondered what was wrong.

  Carol Channing and me on The Carol Burnett Show.

  COURTESY OF CAROL BURNETT

  Carol was there as promised the next morning, bright-eyed as could be. I asked her how she felt.

  “Ohhh! Darlin’, I’m FINE now, just fine!” Her smile, as usual, was a mile wide.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, we were playing Vegas last week, and I had this frozen elk flown in.”

  “Frozen elk?”

  “YES! And it just hit me the wrong way. Boy, did I learn a lesson!”

  She leaned in close to me and took my hand. Those huge eyes were glued to my face and staring at me very seriously. We were nose to nose. She said in that low voice of hers, “Carol, you MUST listen to me, and don’t ever forget this.”

  I nodded.

  “Whenever you’re on the road, you must NEVER eat just any old elk.”

  I’ve managed to keep that promise to this day.

  Lucy

  I first met Lucille Ball nearly a decade before The Carol Burnett Show got its start. In fact, I met her when she came to see me in Once upon a Mattress. Opening night was May 11, 1959, at an off-Broadway theater, the Phoenix. This was my big break. At last, here I was, playing the lead in a George Abbott musical. The overture began, and I felt as if my chest was about to blow wide open with every note played. I’m not sure how I got through the show without passing out from stage fright, but I did.

  The next day, the reviews were positive, and we were off and running!

  That evening we were all buzzing around backstage, thrilled over our opening night response and getting ready for our second performance, when someone shouted, “Lucy’s out front!”

  I peeked through the curtain and spotted this shock of orange hair in the middle of the second row. Omigod. Lucy. I never should have looked. If I had thought I was scared to death the night before….

  Somehow I remembered everything I was supposed to do, and the next thing I knew, we were taking our bows. Lucy was out there on her feet, clapping away.
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  A few minutes later there was a knock on my dressing room door. I opened it and there she stood.

  “Kid, you were terrific.” She walked into the tiny room and aimed for the couch, which had a nasty-looking spring sticking out of it. I was about to warn her when she said, “Don’t worry. I see it.” She sat down on the other end.

  She stayed about thirty minutes, making me feel like a prom queen, and as she got up to leave, she said, “Kid, if you ever need me for anything, just give me a call. Promise?” I nodded. She gave me a hug and left.

  A few years later, still well before The Carol Burnett Show, CBS said they’d air a Carol Burnett special if I could come up with a major guest star. Bob Banner, who would be producing the special, said, “Well, maybe you should call Lucy.”

  I knew Lucy was busy with her show, and I hesitated to call her because I was scared she’d think I was being pushy.

  Banner and CBS kept encouraging me to call her. So finally I did.

  “Hey, kid, what’s up?” Couldn’t mistake that voice.

  Embarrassed, I mumbled something about a CBS special, and that they “wanted me to have … and I know how busy you are … so please don’t think …”

  But I never got out the next few words.

  “When do you need me?”

  I told her, and she was there.

  Lucy and me singing “Chutzpah” from Carol + 2, January 1967.

  COURTESY OF CAROL BURNETT

  Lucy, Zero, and Carol + 2