sharp mind.)
Even though she only appeared on the radio show, our paths inevitably crossed and we quickly fell in love. She was (and still is) one of the warmest, funniest people I’ve ever known. Two years later, after our marriage was announced in the papers, Lewis told people that I had purposely married Julann just to get back at him. In his mind, even our marriage was about him , that’s how egocentric he was.
Eager to escape Lewis’s lunacy (and to take Julann with me), I actively pursued other opportunities. You want to know how desperate I was? When “Buffalo” Bob Smith had a heart attack and couldn’t work for a while, I came thisclose to filling in for him on Howdy Doody . In the end, even I couldn’t rationalize that playing second banana to a dummy was a good career move. (I confess, however, that I’ve long had one regret about my decision. I pride myself on spotting and developing new talent. Had I taken the Doody job, I would have always been remembered as the man who introduced Gumby to the world.)
Fortunately, the producer who offered me Howdy Doody , Martin Stone (who would become a lifetime friend and mentor to me), came back with another prospect that was far more attractive. ABC, then the fledgling third television network, was launching a Miami-based variety show called Going Places and they wanted me as the host. In a few short years, Marty Kummer’s admonition that “singers are not thought of as MCs” was no longer valid. Increasingly, singers were replacing comedians as television hosts. That year (1957) more than twenty shows were being MC’d by singers ranging from Perry Como and Dinah Shore on NBC to Frank Sinatra, Pat Boone, and Julius La Rosa on ABC.
Although it meant commuting to Florida from New York every weekend, I didn’t hesitate in accepting the job. This would be my first solo effort as a host, and I was ready—eager—for the chance.
Although it was fun, Going Places wasn’t exactly my road to stardom. More like an off-ramp, actually. One of my first interviews was with the mayor of Miami, who, for some reason, thought my name was “Herb.” Another guest referred to me as “Mirth,” while the orchestra leader kept calling me “Mark” (shades of Warner Brothers). But the final blow to my pride came the day after the broadcast when the Miami Herald , in its review, credited me as “Mery” Griffin. At least she got a good review.
When I spoke with my parents on the phone that night, neither of them mentioned any of the miscues. To them, I was now a television star. In the manner of a typical Irish-Catholic father of his generation, my dad was gruff but proud. “Ya did good, Buddy. Keep it up and keep your nose clean. Here’s your mother.” My mother told me that I looked too thin (ah, the good old days), but very handsome.
Ultimately, Going Places went nowhere and ABC canceled it after eight months. I’m sure very few people remember it today, even the people who put it on the air. Yet for me, it will always be a special experience for reasons having nothing to do with my career.
Right before the second show was going out live from the Gulf-stream racetrack in South Florida, I received a long-distance call from my sister, Barbara, in California. My father had just suffered a massive heart attack.
“I’m sorry, Buddy,” she was crying. “He didn’t make it.”
I just stared at the phone in my hand. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. He was only fifty-five.
“Buddy? Are you there?” I heard my sister’s voice as though it were being filtered through an echo chamber.
“Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’ll take the first plane back. I love you.”
Fifteen minutes later I was on live television bantering with my guests as if I didn’t have a care in the world. It was like an out-of-body experience. “Mirth” Griffin was doing my show for me. Buddy was watching from the sidelines, crying. I didn’t tell anyone until the show was
Even though she only appeared on the radio show, our paths inevitably crossed and we quickly fell in love. She was (and still is) one of the warmest, funniest people I’ve ever known. Two years later, after our marriage was announced in the papers, Lewis told people that I had purposely married Julann just to get back at him. In his mind, even our marriage was about him , that’s how egocentric he was.
Eager to escape Lewis’s lunacy (and to take Julann with me), I actively pursued other opportunities. You want to know how desperate I was? When “Buffalo” Bob Smith had a heart attack and couldn’t work for a while, I came thisclose to filling in for him on Howdy Doody . In the end, even I couldn’t rationalize that playing second banana to a dummy was a good career move. (I confess, however, that I’ve long had one regret about my decision. I pride myself on spotting and developing new talent. Had I taken the Doody job, I would have always been remembered as the man who introduced Gumby to the world.)
Fortunately, the producer who offered me Howdy Doody , Martin Stone (who would become a lifetime friend and mentor to me), came back with another prospect that was far more attractive. ABC, then the fledgling third television network, was launching a Miami-based variety show called Going Places and they wanted me as the host. In a few short years, Marty Kummer’s admonition that “singers are not thought of as MCs” was no longer valid. Increasingly, singers were replacing comedians as television hosts. That year (1957) more than twenty shows were being MC’d by singers ranging from Perry Como and Dinah Shore on NBC to Frank Sinatra, Pat Boone, and Julius La Rosa on ABC.
Although it meant commuting to Florida from New York every weekend, I didn’t hesitate in accepting the job. This would be my first solo effort as a host, and I was ready—eager—for the chance.
Although it was fun, Going Places wasn’t exactly my road to stardom. More like an off-ramp, actually. One of my first interviews was with the mayor of Miami, who, for some reason, thought my name was “Herb.” Another guest referred to me as “Mirth,” while the orchestra leader kept calling me “Mark” (shades of Warner Brothers). But the final blow to my pride came the day after the broadcast when the Miami Herald , in its review, credited me as “Mery” Griffin. At least she got a good review.
When I spoke with my parents on the phone that night, neither of them mentioned any of the miscues. To them, I was now a television star. In the manner of a typical Irish-Catholic father of his generation, my dad was gruff but proud. “Ya did good, Buddy. Keep it up and keep your nose clean. Here’s your mother.” My mother told me that I looked too thin (ah, the good old days), but very handsome.
Ultimately, Going Places went nowhere and ABC canceled it after eight months. I’m sure very few people remember it today, even the people who put it on the air. Yet for me, it will always be a special experience for reasons having nothing to do with my career.
Right before the second show was going out live from the Gulf-stream racetrack in South Florida, I received a long-distance call from my sister, Barbara, in California. My father had just suffered a massive heart attack.
“I’m sorry, Buddy,” she was crying. “He didn’t make it.”
I just stared at the phone in my hand. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. He was only fifty-five.
“Buddy? Are you there?” I heard my sister’s voice as though it were being filtered through an echo chamber.
“Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’ll take the first plane back. I love you.”
Fifteen minutes later I was on live television bantering with my guests as if I didn’t have a care in the world. It was like an out-of-body experience. “Mirth” Griffin was doing my show for me. Buddy was watching from the sidelines, crying. I didn’t tell anyone until the show was
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