Well, dear readers, the wonderful actress Shelley Morrison has passed away. I owe my acting career to her and my memoir, There’s Mel, There’s Woody, and There’s You, about those days is dedicated to her. She was one-of-a-kind. Here’s the shortest version of the story I can give: Back in December of 1968 I moved with my then-wife to New York to be an actor. I failed miserably in that regard, doing only one show in summer stock during the year I was there. My wife got pregnant, we moved back to LA in January of 1970 and I was given a year to pursue my acting career and if it didn’t happen then I’d get a regular job of some sort. Nothing happened. In August I got a call from the head of the theater department at LACC, Norman Mennes, and he was doing a show in September and didn’t have anyone who could do the lead – he asked if I’d come back and do it. Of course, not having acted in almost a year, I jumped at it. The play was Murray Schisgal’s Jimmy Shine and I was the title character, a role that someone named Dustin Hoffman had done on Broadway (the play flopped there). The night before our closing, a Friday, we had a good performance with a great audience.
After, I was in the dressing room and Mr. Mennes came and said there was an alumni of the department who wanted to meet me. So, I came out and there was this magical woman with a smile that would have lit up three neighborhoods. She introduced herself – Shelley Morrison – told me she’d gone to the school, etc. I’d never seen The Flying Nun so I didn’t really know her work. Anyway, she told me she loved my performance, thought I was great at comedy, and a really good actor. It made me feel great because she went on and on about it effusively. At the end of it, she asked if I had an agent. I laughed and said no. She said, “I want you to meet my agent – I think he’ll love you.” I gave her my number and thanked her for her kindness. On the way home, I felt great, but like all these kinds of things, knew instinctively that I would never hear from her.
Monday morning, the phone rang at ten. It was Shelley. She asked if I could meet at eleven at her agent’s office. I couldn’t believe it, she’d actually called and she was being true to her word. Of course, I said yes, got ready quickly, and drove down to Sunset near Doheny, to her agent’s office. His name was Alex Brewis and he was a very well thought of agent. She met me in front, smiled that smile, and said, “Let’s go meet Alex – he’s excited to meet you.” She took me in. The secretary said he was just finishing with a client, and thirty seconds later the door opened, and we were told to go in.
The client was John Hoyt, who I’d loved in Attack of the Puppet People – couldn’t believe I was standing there shaking hands with him. He said, “Alex is the best.” He left and Shelley and I sat down. Alex told me Shelley had called him on Saturday and told him all about me, raved on and on. Shelley then raved on even more. I just sat there with my mouth on the floor. Five minutes later, Alex said, “You know, I don’t have anyone like you, let’s do it.” And just like that, I had my first agent. Outside, Shelley hugged me, and I thanked her again, as strongly as I’ve ever thanked anyone.
Two days later, I read for the lead in a Danny Arnold/Warner Bros. pilot called Allan. I was brought back the next day. The day after, they told me I would be screen tested with four other actors. Alex was pleased, of course, but even more pleased was Shelley. We were talking daily then, and she could hear I was petrified about the test, as I’d never acted on camera before. She told me to come over immediately and to bring the script. I did – funnily, she lived only five minutes from where I’d grown up. She spent two hours having me read the test scene, calming me down, teaching me how to be smaller for the camera, to really look at the actor I’d be testing with, and to just be honest in the humor.
I was, thanks to her, pretty at ease during the test. It came down to me and one other actor. He got it. But Shelley, always positive, told me not to fret, that it was incredible it had been that close – and my first interview, too. A week later, I read for a guest shot on a new ABC series – that one I got and from there I really didn’t stop working for the next ten years. She also introduced me to her dear friend, a casting director at Columbia/Screen Gems – Shelley Ellison. That introduction netted me an interview for The Partridge Family – got that and ended up doing four or five more.
I’m not sure I would have had a career at all without Shelley’s support and kindness in securing me an agent. After the book was published, I found her, and we e-mailed back and forth, and she was so delighted the thing was dedicated to her. I sent it to her, and she wrote again, saying she’d loved reading all the stories.
I’ve tried to live my life by her example, helping talented folks whenever I can. She had a great life. RIP, dear Shelley.
Last night, we had us a few people in to see our show, and boy was it illuminating for everyone. The opening ten minutes played like gangbusters, every single laugh landed. And then, after that, much of the show worked well, but when it wasn’t working as it should it was all due to pace and energy, especially vocal energy. Any time that would drop we lost them and it would take a few minutes to get them back. I think everyone felt it, too. But what’s working is working splendidly and now we have to simply fine tune it and keep the energy constant from start to finish. Plays like this demand constant energy and pace – it can never ever flag. Technically there were a few things to tinker with, but most of that was fine. But we’re still long and I will spend every second I can on making this move along faster – at the minimum, three minutes off each act, and more if possible. But it was absolutely wonderful to hear twelve people all laughing as one and we just want that all the time. After, I gave notes, and that was that.
Prior to all that, I’d gotten seven hours of sleep, did the usual things in the usual ways, and got the news that the wonderful Dorothy (D.C.) Fontana passed away. I knew she’d been ill the last few months. She was 80. We met at Jerry’s Deli, became fast friends, she blurbed Patrick Bronstein Presents for me, and was a regular attendee at the Kritzerland shows, which she really loved. We’ll all miss her very much.
I went to Jerry’s Deli to let everyone there know, and whilst there I had a chicken salad sandwich. Then I picked up some packages, including more DGA screeners like The Irishman and Marriage Story. I came home, listened to music, had telephonic conversations, and then got ready to mosey on over to the theater, which I did. Once there, we ran a few things, made two small excisions, which really helped, both in act two, and then everyone got ready to play the play, and the rest you know.
Today, I can sleep until eleven again, then I’ll do the usual morning things, I’ll eat, I’ll hopefully pick up some packages, then I’ll relax until it’s time to mosey on over to the theater. I’ll run a few things at six. We’re hoping to have a decent-sized audience for our first preview.
Tomorrow is more of the same, and then we play our second preview. Friday, we open, Saturday we have an evening performance, and Sunday is a matinee and also my birthday. There is talk of the Smoke House, which would be lovely.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, sleep in, do things, eat, hopefully pick up packages, relax, and then do our first preview. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s Ask BK Day, the day in which you get to ask me or any dear reader any old question you like and we get to give any old answer we like. So, let’s have loads of lovely questions and loads of lovely answers and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, happy to have had a decent final dress rehearsal.