Johnny Carson, and Other Name-Droppers I've Met

I was still seventeen when I got the gig with Doc, so my father drove me down to L.A. to look for an apartment and to make sure I was in with the “right kind of people.” I decided I wanted to live in or around Burbank, reasoning that since I didn’t have a car (in L.A.!) it would be good for me to be close to the NBC studios. (This turned out to be irrelevant; I would have been better off living next to LAX for commuting purposes, but never mind that.)

Dad also wanted to meet the people I would be working for, so one afternoon after finding an apartment we went over to NBC to meet Doc’s manager Bud and his road manager Rick. I had been to the “Tonight Show” offices once before at my final audition, so it wasn’t quite as intimidating for me as it was for Dad. I gave my name at the main gate, and after we were admitted we went back to the “Tonight Show” bungalow. Bud and Rick were as nice as you would expect them to be to a new employee’s parent, and I think my dad thought things would be all right.

Before we left, Bud asked if we’d like to stay to watch the taping of “The Tonight Show”. (I had done that once before too, but remembered very little of it, being dazed at having just been hired to sing with Doc.) We said ‘sure.’ After checking the guest list, Rick informed us there weren’t any seats left, but if we wanted to we could watch from the “green room.” The “Green Room!” The friendly haven where guests of “The Tonight Show” waited their turn to go on stage with Johnny! We again accepted, and were led back to Studio 1, home of “The Tonight Show.”

“You’ll have to wait in the hall until the guests are seated,” Bud cautioned. Okay by us; also waiting in the hall was Vincent Price, one of that night’s guests. “Vincent,” said Bud (Bud knew EVERYBODY), “this is Don Meuler, one of Doc’s singers, and his father.”

Vincent was very gracious, and chatted us up a bit while we stood there. Next by was Peter Marshall, the host of “Hollywood Squares” (which taped next door in Studio 3.) He appeared pleasant enough, but seemed focused on the fact that he was singing on the show that night, and just kept moving.

And then, a door opened down the hall and here came Bob Hope! “Hi Bob,” said Bud. (Bud knew EVERYBODY.) “Hello Mr. Hope,” I managed.

“Hi, how are ya?” he replied, his standard response. I think my dad just stared.

After a fashion everyone got settled, and we somehow ended up sitting on the couch with Vincent Price, with Peter Marshall sitting on the arm. I don’t know why. Mr. Hope waited in his dressing room, was the first guest, and went directly back to his room afterward.

SIDEBAR: Studio 1 was the first color television studio built at NBC Burbank, and it was built specifically for Bob Hope. It was the home of all the Bob Hope specials, and featured giant caricatures of both Bob and Johnny on the massive loading doors. Whenever Bob appeared on “The Tonight Show” the audience was in for a treat; invariably he had a special coming up, and the audience would be asked to stay after for the taping of his monologue, with Doc and the band sitting in for Les Brown and his Band of Renown.

Time passed quickly, but it was kind of surreal. Being in the Green Room was not unlike watching “The Tonight Show” in your own living room, if you happened to live with Vincent Price and Peter Marshall, and their assorted assistants. But by the time the taping had ended, the room had emptied except for Dad and me. We went out into the studio, where I introduced Doc to my father. A Nice Moment. Afterward, we went back to the new apartment. Dad stayed a couple more days, then grudgingly headed back up to Vancouver.


So there I was, living alone in Burbank; rehearsing with the other singers by day, lots of free time otherwise. It was early March, just shy of my eighteenth birthday, and I wasn’t scheduled to start performing until the beginning of April. What to do, what to do. Since the NBC Studios were just a short walk away, I decided to see if I could hang out around the “Tonight Show” studio and watch rehearsals and stuff. At first I had to call for a guest pass every day, but before long the guards all knew me and just waved me through. Ah, celebrity.


I would hang out just offstage, next to the teleprompter where I wasn’t in the way and watch whatever went on. Singers rehearsing with the band. The Mighty Carson Art Players rehearsing a sketch. Whatever. Then I would go for dinner, often at the NBC commissary (nicknamed “The Hungry Peacock”) and come back to the studio in time for the taping of the show. Taping started at 5:30 PM, with a brief warm-up preceding. As long as I wasn’t in the way, I had free run of the studio. Mostly I stayed by the teleprompter, which was just outside the green room. From there I had a great view of the show, the nervous guests, and all the backstage preparations going on before and during the show. In general, I just tried not to get noticed. It didn’t always work out that way, though. Occasionally, someone would ask what I was doing there. “I’m with the band,” would usually take care of that. Sometimes, though, the conversation would go on…


In 1975, Saturday Night Live was a new phenomenon, and not quite understood yet. Many acts got their debut there; one of these was Andy Kaufman.

When Andy premiered on SNL, his main shtick was to put on a recording of the “Mighty Mouse” theme (“I now play for you music record”), standing slack-jawed and vacant-eyed until suddenly becoming animated in time to lip-synch “Here I come to save the day!” That was pretty much it, except for him drinking a glass of water until the song ended. The entire act was done in the persona that was later to be known as Latka on television’s “Taxi.” For his first appearance on “The Tonight Show,” he did the entire rehearsal in character. Afterward, he and I were both sort of hanging around the studio and he walked up to me, smiled, and said “Hi, I’m Andy.” I told him my name. “What do you do here?” he asked. I told him that I didn’t actually work for NBC, but was a singer with Doc. “Really?” he said. “I didn’t know Doc had singers.” I told him most people didn’t know, either, but that we traveled with him on personal appearances. “Do me a favor. Doc doesn’t know I’m not That Guy,” he said, referring to his Latka character. “Don’t tell him.”


Before he went on that night, he came out of the green room and made a “shh” gesture and winked at me. His performance was totally in character – even when he was interviewed by Johnny. They didn’t know what to make of him. The audience loved him. He appeared on “The Tonight Show” several times over the next year or two, and every time he would catch my eye and wink at me. But I never told Doc.

Now, Johnny Carson was a hard man to know. He wasn’t comfortable in groups larger than about 8 people; I think he felt he had to be “on” all the time. The first time I met him was one of those times when a LOT of people were around. It was just after a taping at NBC, and he had sort of a glazed look on his face, so although I was thrilled to be shaking his hand, I knew he would never remember having met me. I was right; the next time we were introduced was in Las Vegas – we were performing at the Sands, and Johnny and Ed were across the street at Caesar’s Palace. Our shows timed out so that Bud, Doc’s manager (who knew EVERYBODY) was able to take three of us singers to see Johnny’s show between our two performances. (Great table, watery drinks.) But afterward, we went back to Johnny’s dressing room, and we were introduced again.  This time Johnny was more relaxed, as the numbers weren’t so intimidating, so we got to talk for awhile. (Lesson learned: NEVER tell a joke to Johnny Carson. EVER. He can’t help but top you, and not just top you, but bury you, and stomp the sod down after. In hindsight though, sort of an honor in itself. At least that’s what I tell myself.) He was a regular guy, and a lot of Nebraska came out of him. Not only that, there were more drinks from better bottles. Good times had by all, apparently. And now that Johnny is gone, I remember the times I “met” him, and smile.

As I mentioned, some of the guests on “The Tonight Show” were actually quite nervous. Many of them were TV and film actors not used to performing (or

 even just talking) in front of a Live Audience. One of these was an actor named Barry Newman. At the time, he had a series on NBC called “Petrocelli”, in which he was a private detective in New Mexico (with a gorgeous wife, of course.) The network liked to plug their shows on “The Tonight Show”, so its stars had to put up with an occasional interview with Johnny. Barry hated this, and really didn’t like all those live people watching him. He came out of the Green Room one time, saw me by the teleprompter and started a conversation. “I’m with the band” was starting to wear thin by then, but it turned out he was a great guy and very funny, and we talked (quietly) right up until he went on the dais with Johnny. He was relaxed and did just fine, and afterward he looked for me and said “You’ll be here next time, right?”

So now I had an unofficial position at “The Tonight Show”, Guest Comfort Facilitator. (I made the title up myself.) There were several guests who would make themselves sick (literally) if not distracted, so that’s where I came in. My favorite was “Police Woman” Angie Dickinson (yes, THE Angie Dickinson); she sought me out every time she was on the show. Or was it the other way around? I’m a little hazy these days, but I do remember feeling satisfied with a job well done after seeing her…

Other guests would not make eye contact, no matter what. Or smile. If that was their comfort level, so be it. I could facilitate that, too. Bastards. I was quickly getting in sync with the Hollywood milieu.