from UCLA who I hadn’t seen for close to a year: Fred Specktor. We went to lunch, and it was the most serendipitous moment of my life. Had I rounded the corner thirty seconds earlier, I would never have wound up in the entertainment business.
In retrospect, going to MCA was the single most important decision I’ve ever made, and I’m fascinated that I made it. It fits into my personal philosophy: people who succeed are capable of recognizing an opportunity when it occurs and can quickly evaluate whether the opportunity is good, bad, or indifferent. I wouldn’t have put it that way then. I only knew it felt right and seemed like an exciting way to earn a living.
I met with Earl Zook. He was a wonderful man. But there was a problem. Even though I passed the test with him, MCA evidently had difficulties with some of his earlier selections. Some people he hired had gone through the usual nine months plus of penal servitude in the mailroom, but when it was time for them to be absorbed as junior agents, nobody wanted them. So I had to be not only accepted by Earl Zook but interviewed and accepted by every single department head at MCA. I met eight different guys—among them Jay Kanter and George Chasen—all of whom were quite brilliant, all of whom were angry that they had to waste time with me. They wanted to see me like they wanted cancer.
The first agent, I forget who, asked, “Why do you want to be an agent?” I’m sure I answered, “It’s an exciting, challenging business.”
He said, “A salesman can say that. Why do you want to be an agent?”
Time to give a real answer. “Because it seems to me that to be a good agent, you have to be creative like your clients. In doing so, you can help them and help yourself.”
He sat back and said, “That’s absolutely right.” The tone of the meeting changed immediately. Every subsequent guy asked me the same question. I gave them all the same answer.
To check out all my options, I also went to the William Morris Agency. I was interviewed by Morris Stoller, may he rot in hell. He also asked me the same question. I gave him the same answer. And he said, “That’s bullshit. We’re not here to be creative. We’re here to sell clients. Just sell them and get the money.”
However, William Morris offered me a job, which I was thrilled to turn down, and I accepted MCA’s offer instead.
MIKE FENTON: My father was a multimillionaire before he was twenty-six; he had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. My older sister grew up with a chauffeur and a nanny and a maid, all in a huge house. Then the crash came and he lost everything. I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment on Elm Drive in Beverly Hills. My father leased a gas station from Standard Oil of California in downtown Los Angeles, and then another at a different location, and began to recover.
I went to USC film school to study cinematography and directing but afterward couldn’t get work in the industry. I went to law school for one year but didn’t like it. I went into the army for six months and didn’t like that either. My sister had worked at MCA, so she said, “Why don’t you apply to William Morris and MCA and become an agent?”
I said, “What’s an agent?”
She said, “Don’t ask such stupid questions. Just go to work in the industry.”
THE UNIFORM
SPECKTOR: We had to wear suits. There were two acceptable colors, blue and black. Also a white shirt and a blue or a black knit tie.
KANTER: On Saturdays we could be a lot less formal and wear a sport coat.
BROWN: My standard dress was secretarial clothes. Nothing provocative, ever. I had a nice little figure because I padded my bra, but nobody knew about things like that. Most of the women wore sweaters and skirts; there were not too many suits. One day all the girls decided to wear red. But by the end of the day none of the men had said a word. We might as well not have bothered, we were so invisible.
FENTON: Guys would get axed
In retrospect, going to MCA was the single most important decision I’ve ever made, and I’m fascinated that I made it. It fits into my personal philosophy: people who succeed are capable of recognizing an opportunity when it occurs and can quickly evaluate whether the opportunity is good, bad, or indifferent. I wouldn’t have put it that way then. I only knew it felt right and seemed like an exciting way to earn a living.
I met with Earl Zook. He was a wonderful man. But there was a problem. Even though I passed the test with him, MCA evidently had difficulties with some of his earlier selections. Some people he hired had gone through the usual nine months plus of penal servitude in the mailroom, but when it was time for them to be absorbed as junior agents, nobody wanted them. So I had to be not only accepted by Earl Zook but interviewed and accepted by every single department head at MCA. I met eight different guys—among them Jay Kanter and George Chasen—all of whom were quite brilliant, all of whom were angry that they had to waste time with me. They wanted to see me like they wanted cancer.
The first agent, I forget who, asked, “Why do you want to be an agent?” I’m sure I answered, “It’s an exciting, challenging business.”
He said, “A salesman can say that. Why do you want to be an agent?”
Time to give a real answer. “Because it seems to me that to be a good agent, you have to be creative like your clients. In doing so, you can help them and help yourself.”
He sat back and said, “That’s absolutely right.” The tone of the meeting changed immediately. Every subsequent guy asked me the same question. I gave them all the same answer.
To check out all my options, I also went to the William Morris Agency. I was interviewed by Morris Stoller, may he rot in hell. He also asked me the same question. I gave him the same answer. And he said, “That’s bullshit. We’re not here to be creative. We’re here to sell clients. Just sell them and get the money.”
However, William Morris offered me a job, which I was thrilled to turn down, and I accepted MCA’s offer instead.
MIKE FENTON: My father was a multimillionaire before he was twenty-six; he had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. My older sister grew up with a chauffeur and a nanny and a maid, all in a huge house. Then the crash came and he lost everything. I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment on Elm Drive in Beverly Hills. My father leased a gas station from Standard Oil of California in downtown Los Angeles, and then another at a different location, and began to recover.
I went to USC film school to study cinematography and directing but afterward couldn’t get work in the industry. I went to law school for one year but didn’t like it. I went into the army for six months and didn’t like that either. My sister had worked at MCA, so she said, “Why don’t you apply to William Morris and MCA and become an agent?”
I said, “What’s an agent?”
She said, “Don’t ask such stupid questions. Just go to work in the industry.”
THE UNIFORM
SPECKTOR: We had to wear suits. There were two acceptable colors, blue and black. Also a white shirt and a blue or a black knit tie.
KANTER: On Saturdays we could be a lot less formal and wear a sport coat.
BROWN: My standard dress was secretarial clothes. Nothing provocative, ever. I had a nice little figure because I padded my bra, but nobody knew about things like that. Most of the women wore sweaters and skirts; there were not too many suits. One day all the girls decided to wear red. But by the end of the day none of the men had said a word. We might as well not have bothered, we were so invisible.
FENTON: Guys would get axed
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