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

started the Caddy,
but didn’t know how to release the emergency brake. i pushed a button and the outside mirrors started readjusting themselves. i pulled
something else and the windshield wipers sprayed water and started
clacking back and forth. The more buttons i pushed and pulled, the
more things happened in the car. The radio went on, the windows
went up and down, the heater blew harder, but the emergency brake
never did release. Finally, i decided that it wasn’t my car, so i’d drive
to the other club with the emergency brake on. When i shifted into
gear, the emergency brake pedal released.
    Another time, Slappy, a dancer from the show, and i sat in a coffee
shop in St. Louis at about two o’clock in the morning. We were having a
cup of coffee after the show and before retiring to our rooms. The place
was pretty much deserted except for one other gentleman, who apparently had over-indulged. He marched over to our table and stood there
while we conversed. Finally, he said, “We don’t allow negroes in here.”
    We stopped in there each night after the show and we were
welcomed by the management. That particular drunk had his own
agenda, but it frightened me. i was prepared for serious trouble.
    it didn’t bother Slappy, though. He casually looked up at this
gentleman and said, “i’m an American indian.”
The guy said, “Oh, that’s OK, then,” and walked away.
Slappy White was a master at comedian-writer relationships. He
kept me enthused and excited about writing. He even gave me a taste
of performing.
Together, we created a routine where Slappy White was the first
black man to run for President. As a supposed candidate, he held
a press conference. When he appeared at the Academy of Music in
Philadelphia, he invited me to be the “reporter” coming onstage to
question him as the Presidential candidate.
What a thrill that was for me. Duke Ellington’s orchestra opened
the show and Count Basie closed it. Slappy—and i—were the comedy relief right before intermission.
As we stood in the wings waiting to go on, the stage manager was
on a phone talking to someone in the control booth at the back of
the hall. He was directing the lighting according to one of Ellington’s
assistants. The assistant said, “Go to all blue lights.” The stage manager repeated that into the phone and the stage became awash in blue.
Then, the assistant said, “now bring everything up for the closing.”
The guy on the phone reiterated that, and then all the lights came on.
Then, the stage manager turned to Slappy and asked, “Are you the
next act?”
Slappy said, “Yeah.”
The guy said, “How do you want your lights?”
Slappy calmly answered, “Make me look like a white man.”
Without cracking a smile, the stage manager relayed into the
phone, “Harry, this next act’s a black act. i want you to make him
look like a white man.”
i was astounded when i walked onstage because the Academy of
Music is a beautiful theatre with several rows of balconies ringing it.
However, once i looked out from the stage, i couldn’t see anything.
The lights totally blinded me.
Then, as we began our act, i noticed a strange thing. The glare
from the lights was white at first. Then it changed to white and yellow.
Later, a blue light came on. Then, it switched to a red. in the middle
of our routine, it dawned on me what was happening. The guy in the
control booth must have been saying into the phone, “i don’t know
what the hell’s going on. i’ve got the guy on the right looking like a
white man, but i can’t do anything with that guy on the left.”
i began writing for Phyllis Diller through a friend at General Elec
    Phyllis Diller and I reviewing a few pages of new
jokes when she was appearing in New York City
    tric, Ed Hercer. He worked a second job as a reporter for a local newspaper. One of his assignments was to interview Phyllis when she was
visiting the Philadelphia area. He