Gagtime

You should never do a gag slow. You should do a gag quick. You know what I mean?

--Henny Youngman

There was a certain smell off the Eastern Seaboard. The artist Andy Warhol was popular then. He was shot by a lesbian and dined at Elaine's that evening. Afterward, the world was culturally wide open.

Just as John Payne and William Lundigan had etched their immortal rungs on the stairway to stardom a few decades previously, so, too, Tony Orlando and William Shatner were etching theirs.

America was young then, still sucking on western Europe's nipple. Marijuana was smoked in high places, yet through it all there was hope.

A new middle class was forming across the country of all the people who weren't Rockefeller. The Vice-President exhibited an uncanny comprehension of power by omitting from his commission report that the CIA had taught Gerald Ford to read without moving his lips. A grateful President would nominate him at the Republican Convention, much to the chagrin of Reagan and the right wing of the party, who had been led to believe that Rocky had been dumped. The announcement served its purpose. Reagan's bid for the Presidential nomination had fizzled. Once assured of his own nomination, Ford reversed himself with an eloquent plea for a Ford-Rockefeller ticket for '76. In my judg-ament, Ford told the Kansas City convention in his highly stylized rhetoric, Rockerfeller is smart and dresses good.

The ex-governor of California changed his mind about a third-party candidacy when the Reverend Ike refused to take a second spot on the ticket. It was a futile attempt by Reagan to broaden his constituency and his would-be running mate saw right through it. Beat it, turkey, the straightforward Ike told him, I have bigger fish to fry than to balance your act.

Although he was bankrupt and emotionally drained, Reagan was still a brunet. He returned to Hollywood and co-starred with Tina Turner in a remake of Kitten with a Whip. Only John Simon liked it. Pauline Kael insisted that it paled by comparison with the original version starring John Forsythe and Ann-Margret.

Apparently, Kael had her finger on the pulse of the nation. Not only did the film ruin Reagan's theatrical comeback but people were actually beginning to think of Forsythe as a potential successor to Ford. Forsythe would lose in the New Hampshire primaries four years later, blaming his bitter defeat on Ann-Margret's reluctance to publicly endorse him.

Floral toilet paper was popular then and vernacular such as uptight, outasight, far out and dynamite was commonly used. Boychick, the head of the family, was 50 years old and far out. John Denver was far out, too. But Sammy Jr. was farther out than anyone.

Rod McKuen would enjoy one final flicker of popularity with his highly commercial--though some said plagiarized--autobiography, Fear of Writing. Korean War Two was only a glint in Henry Kissinger's eye in (continued on page 110)Gagtime(continued from page 87) 1975 and television reverberated with Slavic overcompensation from Starsky to Kojak to Holvak to Kolchak. The network executives knew a good thing. If it sounded Slavic, it was working. As was generally the case with television, too much of a good thing ruined it for everyone. The final straw was Kotax, a series about a detective who solved a mystery once a month, no matter how cranky he got. It failed miserably, sinking not only the Slavic trend hut the detective trend as well.

Patty Hearst began losing faith in her legal representation when F. Lee Bailey preceded the Muppets on the Howard Cosell show. Her confidence in Bailey was restored when he called a surprise witness out of obscurity to testify on her behalf. Yeah, I know a little something about brainwashing, George Romney told the teary-eyed jury. Patty was sentenced to write a personal letter of apology to the Hibernia Bank and all charges were dropped. The Harrises did not get off so easily. Nor did Patty's parents. who filed for bankruptcy soon after paying Bailey's legal fees. Randolph and Catherine subsequently became known as The Hearst Two. Patty revised her political philosophy and denounced everyone to the left of Earl Butz. Months later, she debuted her first fall line of Patty Hearstwear, advertising heavily in a new San Francisco newspaper, The F. Lee Daily.

Boychick was separated from his third non-Jewish wife and was living in Brentwood that fateful evening when the shiny pink Cadillac blew a steel-belted radial in front of his home. He noticed first the laughing face behind the wheel, then the stomping feet, but above all he noticed the wild eye of the far-out black man.

The great ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev turned down dates with countless counts and countesses to devote himself to the first all-male Romeo and Juliet. He was to shock a dinner table of New York's elite at Peter Duchin's with his pronouncement that not Dame Margot Fonteyn but Nureyev himself would be remembered as the finest Juliet of all time.

Only Sally Quinn realized the importance of that evening. Betty Ford arrived with Woody Allen, making their relationship public for the first time. The dashing satirist wore a tuxedo and sneakers to divert attention. He succeeded. Not until the First Lady poured her heart out to Morley Safer months later did the public begin to see beyond the transparent tuxedo and sneakers.

Most of the people in the largely gay audience had come to see not Nureyev, not Woody Allen, not Betty Ford but Roman Gabriel, who was playing Romeo. It was his first and only male part in what was to become a tragic career that would later take its toll in Philadelphia.

The mysterious disappearance of Edy Williams bothered no one.

Boychick could not believe his eyes and his ears as the greatest entertainer since Jolson emerged from his Cadillac. He ventured cautiously forward. Are you whom I think you are? Boychick asked. Yes. I can. said Sammy Jr. as he half-eyed him over. Then, as if receiving a message from God that instant, the entertainer broke himself up, clapping his hands, stomping his feet and laughing harder than the situation warranted. It was then that Boychick knew.

Sheeeeeit. Sammy Jr. said, thrilling Boychick with the cadence and the rhythm of his voice. Sheeeeeit! The word formed like a bubble on his lips and floated down the street past Lucie Arnaz' house toward the home of Sue Mengers, the agent-turned-producer and close personal friend of The Amazing Kreskin. Ironically, The Amazing Kreskin had predicted that such a thing might happen. The bubble turned left on Doheny and got lost, as so many people had. on that strange diagonal street, San Vicente.

It did not become visible again until 15 years later, when it turned off San Vicente and followed a beautiful girl of about 19 as she aimlessly strolled toward a coincidental meeting with an aged ex--rock star. It was a meeting that would forever change her life.

The ex--rock star had made millions in his day and had gone broke after a crippling alimony settlement that left him with only two of his five Grammy awards. He was lost in a reverie of earlier days when he and his brothers used to own their own motorcycles and cruise this same street.

He did not notice the 19-year-old blonde until she helped him to his feet after he had nodded out on the curb.

Who are you, he asked, an angel from heaven or something?

No, the skinny thing replied, my name is Chastity. What's yours?

Gregg, he answered.

George Maharis and William Buckley were political opposites, yet something--perhaps one of those strange coincidences that occurred at the time, like adjoining cubbyholes on The Hollywood Squares--had brought them together. They decided to share a ride to the World Food Emergency Conference at Disneyland. Buckley was going to hear Julia Child advance the argument on behalf of the underfed nations that there were millions for defense but not one farthing for garnish. Maharis was headed toward Disneyland for reasons he never disclosed.

Their Chevy Vega seemed to slow by itself as it passed the desperate couple on San Vicente. You see that couple over there, Mr. Maharis, Buckley said as he leaned back with his eyes bulging and his tongue pointing toward Chastity and Gregg. Well, that's what I think of your Keynesian theories.

The ex--rock star inhaled the smoke of their Vega as they drove off toward their rightful places in history. Where are you going. man? Gregg asked the winsome 19-year-old.

Well, she replied, if nothin' else is happenin', I guess I'll just boogie on down to see my boyfriend Cugie.

Three years and five months later, almost to the day, that malevolent meeting between David Hartman and Slappy White would take place.

Sammy Jr. was older, wiser and more politically sophisticated. He hadn't hugged a politician in 15 years. The entertainer was in Southern California giving a benefit for the Sons and Daughters of Bel Air Parents. They were raising money for a youth center, long overdue as far as he was concerned, because even rich kids had long, hot summers. The ZPG power structure of that community was adamantly against the youngsters' using the fire hydrants as sprinklers, since Sparkletts water was so expensive.

Sammy Jr. made a point of calling the news services to make sure they weren't going to be there to cover the event. He didn't want any credit for donating his valuable time. Such self-sacrifice inspired a clever telegram from Bob Hope.

It was not the first benefit of this sort for Sammy Jr. Back in 1974, he had been doing just such a gig when he received word that a bunch of radicals had barricaded themselves in an Inglewood home. He was apparently deeply affected by this when he addressed his audience from the stage. I'm going to Inglewood to do my bit, he declared. Won't you please help me gather the strength by allowing me to sing I've Gotta Be Me? The tumultuous response of the crowd genuinely humbled him, or so it seemed.

Moments after the show, Sammy Jr. arrived in Inglewood with his conductor. A police lieutenant in a Dirty Raincoat half-eyed him from his battered car. When he knew for sure it was Sammy Jr., he removed a cigar stub from his mouth and slapped his forehead. My wife, she loves all your movies, he said, even the stinkers.

Sammy Jr. told him about Frank, stressing what a truly--and he meant it sincerely--gassy cat he was. They talked about how incredible it was that Minnie Riperton could get her voice so high and how the gang members in the Inglewood home had automatic weapons. Would you be so good as to talk to them? the Italian cop asked. I'd do it myself but, as you can see, I'm white. Sammy Jr. understood the special problems of (continued on page 173)Gagtime(continued from page 110) blacks firsthand. He was married to a black.

Sure I'll go, Sammy Jr. told him. If we could all do a little shtick for humanity, it would be a groove.

The lieutenant in the Dirty Raincoat looked bewildered as he left the room. It was his habit to return to a room soon after leaving. Sammy Jr. knew this. He waited. Sure enough, the lieutenant in the Dirty Raincoat returned.

I almost forgot to tell you the name of the leader of the gang, he said. Cinque.

Yer welcome, Momma, Sammy Jr. said with an accompanying wink.

The lieutenant in the Dirty Raincoat burst into laughter and shook his head as if to say Holy Moses. Sammy Jr. didn't know why he did this, but not to be outdone, he laughed harder and shook his head as if to say Holier Moses.

The humanitarian effort never materialized. Police Chief Ed Davis' S.W.A.T. team burned down the house before Sammy Jr. had a chance to charm the culprits out. Chief Davis was criticized for overreacting, but he defended his actions with the conviction of a man who had something big up his sleeve. The following season, S.W.A.T. had its own television series.

The Amazing Kreskin was gaining respect by the day, yet he was less than satisfied with his powers. Uri Geller. the imaginative psychic. spoon bender and watch fixer, was getting more play in Time and Newsweek. Television was The Amazing Kreskin's oyster, but it was sucking up his entire repertoire. Sure, he could place Mike Douglas' head and feet on two chairs and have a celebrity and a jockey stand on the m.c.'s stomach, but what could he do on Merv?

The Amazing Kreskin began specializing in reading people's minds. He was accurate about many of his long-shot forecasts, but he seemed to run into difficulty with some of his more logical calculations. He correctly foresaw that David Eisenhower would enjoy renewed popularity by agreeing to host Beat the Clock, but he was wrong in predicting that Jews would eventually be made to feel welcome at the New York Athletic Club.

The public loved him. The most popular sandwich in delis around the country was not the passé Tom Snyder. not yet the soon-to-be-rediscovered Jackie Gayle but the The Amazing Kreskin sandwich. Cabdrivers waved to him. Elton John bought eyeglasses like his. American International bought the rights to his life story.

Still, The Amazing Kreskin did not feel that he was living up to his first and middle names. He needed the big prediction and he thought long and hard to come up with it. Finally, it came. He made the announcement on Kup's Show.

I may be wrong, he told Kup and literally hundreds of people who were tuned in, but I see the Reverend Charles "Chuck" Colson abandoning his parish and running off to Tahiti with Sister Madalyn Murray O'Hare.

Anyone could predict that, the skeptical Kupcinet badgered. but if you're really Amazing, you'll tell us when.

The Amazing Kreskin concentrated. He closed his eyes for a long time. Then he opened them. Thursday.

The people waited. O'Hare and Colson waited. Amazingly, it happened. It was just as he had said it would be. Now The Amazing Kreskin was satisfied with himself at last and ready for the big time. Now he was ready for Las Vegas.

As fate would have it, Boychick happened to be watching that night. He had just turned off Lawrence Spivak. who was getting nowhere with his guest. the ancient Israeli ambassador to the Court of Saint James's. Golda Meir kept repeating the same answer to every question raised, from what to do about her soldiers in the Golan Heights to how her health was holding up. Let 'em eat latkes. she kept saying. It was dull television.

Boychick loved The Amazing Kreskin's act and promptly booked him into his hotel. In spite of the fact that the hotel owner personally requested The Amazing Kreskin, the best the William Morris Agency could do for the psychic was second on the bill with a group called Tatum and Dad.

Hey, Kreskin, eat shit! shouted a heckler from a ringside table. It was a sophisticated remark coming from a member of a Las Vegas audience, but Kreskin did not lose his cool. He needed a response that was not only sophisticated but in keeping with his image.

I knew you'd say that, he told the heckler. The audience cheered. The Amazing Kreskin was satisfied with himself at last. He was truly Vegas timber.

Boychick could not have been more pleased. When America could no longer afford the luxury of what came to be called conventional eating meat, Boy-chick made a killing in beef by-products. When they became too costly for the American budget, Boychick developed Beef By-Products Helper. He had become a millionaire within weeks after winning an enormous contract with the military. But it wasn't until he came up with yet another culinary innovation. Filet Mignon-Aroni, that he was out of debt and firmly entrenched in his pet project, The Beef By-Products Plaza Hotel. Connoisseurs from around the world came to his lavish retreat and ordered room service by the pound.

Boychick and The Amazing Kreskin became fast friends. The following year, The Amazing Kreskin was given not only top billing on the marquee but also the single-name treatment. There was Elvis and there was Sammy Jr. and there was Shecky and there was Johnny and there was Buddy and now there was The. The is back and the beef by-products plaza has him, the billboards boasted.

Sammy Jr. was onstage when he heard the news. Boychick had choked to death while testing his own synthetic beef jerky. The Amazing Kreskin had warned him weeks earlier that just such a thing might happen. Sammy Jr. couldn't bring himself to continue his act. He apologized to his audience and returned to the solitude of his dressing room to try to recall who Boychick was.

Boychick's body lay in state behind door number two on Monty Hall's stage, per his request. It was a sad day. Sammy Jr. was sadder than even the immediate family, in spite of the fact that he never did recall who Boychick was. John Forsythe showed up thinking he might be able to make some political hay out of the occasion. He departed early, as did Cugie and Chastity, because they thought the funeral was in bad taste. Gregg stayed on to sniff the peach incense.

It was a strange time, yet stranger times were soon to come.