Read TALES FROM THE SCRIPT: THE BEHIND-THE-CAMERA ADVENTURES OF A TV COMEDY WRITER for Free Online

one at my house.
Shaughnessy was going to come and have a spaghetti dinner with my
family, and then we would finalize our comedian-writer relationship.
He cancelled that meeting, too.
i never really did write a line or make one penny from Mickey
Shaughnessy, but he was influential in the development of my career.
He recommended me and my work to Rex Morgan.
Rex Morgan was a local TV personality, who had a morning show
on WFiL-TV. Shaughnessy showed him some of my jokes and recommended me as a writer. Morgan called me and invited me into a
taping of his show, and then he asked me to write some topical lines
for him to use. i wrote for him for about two weeks—for no money,
of course. That was an audition again.
Morgan took my lines to his bosses at the station and asked for a
salary for me as a regular writer for his show. The brass turned him,
and me, down. “They said if they give me money for a writer, all the
people here will want writers,” Morgan explained to me.
So, that gig fell through.
However, Rex Morgan wanted to use my material to initiate a
column in the Philadelphia Inquirer, the city’s morning paper. He
planned to call it “Over a Second Cup of Coffee” by Rex Morgan. i
wouldn’t get credit, but i’d probably get a little bit of money.
The Philadelphia Inquirer wasn’t interested.
Rex Morgan had a guest on his morning show, who happened to
read some of my material upside down while it sat on Morgan’s desk.
He was a comedian, who was always looking for good writers. He
asked Morgan if he would contact me.
Morgan called me, and on the telephone, introduced me to a comedian named Slappy White, but i don’t think we had a real good
connection.
Slappy said, “i like the stuff you wrote and i’d like you to write for me.”
“Great,” i said.
Slappy said, “Can you meet me at my hotel and we’ll talk about
the material?”
“Sure,” i said.
So we set up the meeting, and in closing, Slappy said, “Oh, and
by the way, my name’s ‘Slappy,’ not ‘Sloppy.’” i had been calling him
“Sloppy” throughout our phone conversation.
We did meet, though, and we did agree to a contract, but a less
formal one than the one i wrote for Cozy Morley. We did work together.
At last, i got my revenge against all the rejections i’d received. i
could tell Vaughn Meader, London Lee, WFiL-TV, the Drexelbrook
inn, and all the others to go to hell. i didn’t need them anymore. i
was now a professional comedy writer, pulling down a hefty $30 a
week. Finally, i had gotten to the “What the hell, i might as well make
a buck at it” phase of my career.
Chapter Four
Slappy White and Phyllis Diller
    When people discover i write comedy, they usually say, “Say something funny.” When they do, i take out a pad, a pen, and say, “All right,
who do i send the bill to?” Professional comedy writers get paid for
writing gags. My personal definition of a joke is that it’s “a series of
words that ends in a paycheck.”
    The first joke i sold was to Parade , a magazine that came each
week as part of our Sunday paper. The joke read: “There’s no such
thing as a Sunday driver anymore. They’re all Friday drivers still looking for a parking space.”
    The check was nice, but the big thrill was that the gag was printed
on a page facing a big article about Bob Hope, my idol. The gods of
comedy seemed to be dropping me a prophetic hint. At least, i took
it that way.
    Cash was a powerful incentive. Jokes began to flow more regularly once i learned that people would pay for them. At that time, Kiplinger Magazine used to feature a page of topical one-liners called
“Changing Times.” They began accepting my submissions regularly
and paying $5 a joke.
Slappy White, though (That’s “Slappy,” not “Sloppy”) was my
first official contract in Show Biz. Mickey Shaughnessy was the first
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    who was going to hire me, but he never actually did. no money ever
changed hands. Since, by