A few years ago, I was asked to “bring on” the Tibetan Monk chanters when they came to San Diego for a concert. The night of the event, I was waiting backstage when the Producer introduced me to their leader resplendent in his saffron colored robes.. I was told that he was a world renowned Zen Buddhist.  

He was a warm unaffected man, and after a little small talk, I felt comfortable asking him what exactly Zen is. He laughed and said sincerely, “I don’t know.” My kind of guy. This is my usual reply when asked by young jocks about, say, how to approach an audition. If pressed, I tell them to be unpredictable and interesting. I am not a role model though. I almost overdid it when auditioning  for WNEW.

Years ago, while at KCBQ in San Diego, I heard from WNEW in New York. They had monitored me and wanted me to send them a tape with the assurance that it was only a formality and that they wanted me. I was paralyzed by a multitude of possibilities about what to send them. One idea that lit me up was to call Patti Page, a San Diego chum. I asked her to come on with me in the audition. No problem. She showed up and, typical of her, asked me what I wanted her to do. Bad thing to do. I asked her to sing an old time “country”  song with me. Patti didn’t bat an eye.

 “What song did you have in mind?” she asked. “Do you know, “I Only Want a Buddy, Not a Sweetheart?” I asked. “Sure,” she said like, sure, everybody knows that song. Patti is, at heart, a country singer. Her idol was Patsy Montana, the great yodeler. She had started out singing “country” on the local Oklahoma radio stations before she evolved into  pop music.

This brief preliminary talk before I started taping was too good to lose. I rolled the tape and recreated our conversation up to the point where she said yes, she knew the song and then, we sang with her on lead and me singing a slightly off mike alto

“I only want a buddy, not a sweetheart.

Buddies never make you blue.

Sweethearts make vows that are broken.

Broken like my heart is broken, too.

Don’t go down lovers’ lane

Just keep right on a sayin”

I only want a buddy not a gal.”

 

I have another song. for us, I announced, now  “putting her on.”

 “Which one is that?” she asked.

“It goes like this,” I said... :

 

Hey Okie. If you see Arkie,

Tell him Tex has gotta a job for him out in Californie..

Pickin’  up prunes.

Squeezing oil outa olives”

 

She laughed and said, “Enough, Tex. .I am not  that  big an Okie.”

 The finished tape was imbued with all the spirit and spontaneity that I had envisioned. Her country style shone thorough, burnished with the same richness as her pop voice. In the interview, she revealed endearing sides of her personality and down to earth character that had never been exposed.

I sent the tape to WNEW…... no response. Several weeks passed. without hearing from the most prestigious, not to mention, classiest station in the country. I started to suffer Auditioner’s Remorse.  Why did I send them a “country” audition? My train of thought when I sent it was that it was more than “country” but now, there was a growing fear that maybe my train of thought had left the station, and I wasn’t on it…..More later. 

Now that fifteen years have passed, and dulled the pain I will tell you a story that I have never been revealed publicly till you read it here.. .

Some fifteen years ago, I was asked  by Lew Dawson, a Los Angeles Account Executive to direct Henry Mancini in a national radio commercial. “It is also an audition for you,.” he said. “Henry is looking for an announcer for a network show he is planning.” 

Lew told me that he would lay pipe with Mancini telling him that I am a network quality announcer He figured that if I met Henry in this alpha role of director that it might lead to my  getting the announcing gig.  All very Hollywood.  “Sure,” I said.

I was in awe of Henry Mancini. Winner of numerous Grammy’s. Two Academy Awards. He had produced 90 albums, which sold millions of LP’s and CD’s, music composer of a large number of major motion pictures, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Victor Victoria. The Pink Panther.” Let’s just say that I did not picture myself in an alpha role with Mr. Mancini,. but I accepted the  recording session with great anticipation. A bonus extra!  I was also to direct Cyd Charisse in the same session.

On the day of, both showed up with the client, a personal friend of Henry and Cyd. Lew was in the control room. I drew him aside, “Did you mention my announcing to Henry? He smote his forehead, and registered pain in his expressive face  I took that for a no.. Too late. I took out my stop watch and pronounced us good to go. I “directed” the two talents to go to the adjoining studio.

Cyd was first up. Like all of  Boomer America, I was entranced with her. She was in her 70’s but her body had not been notified. She was super model slim from daily hours at the barre. Her skin was flawless and her eyes shone like two semi precious agates  Her teeth were…well,  you get the picture. 

I was even more enthralled when she  stood, a perfect picture, in front of the mike, and when I said “go” read the copy in a soft sonorous voice with elegant natural inflection, and nailed it. No “directing” from me except to ask her to give me another “read.” The standard director line is, “We already  have a good one in the can,. Cyd, This next one is just for back-up  The truth was:: the first  “take”  was a keeper.

Now it was Henry Mancini’s turn. He was a tall imposing man with piercing eyes. He was not a smiler. He entered the studio and stood at the mike, the way I have seen him enter and take over a podium. Lew was wrong. I was not going to be the alpha guy this day.

“Maestro”, I said, “Just give me a run-through for time. He nodded, and began speaking. Only no words came out. Henry Mancini was speaking like a five year old, just learning to read. I thought he was kidding. I made a joke, “Ladies and gentlemen, you have just heard an address by the beloved Helen Keller.” Everybody laughed except Henry. “What the hell!” He exclaimed. “What’s wrong with me? I can’t read the words.”

“Try it again, Henry, “ I said. “We have a digital machine. You can take all the time you want.” He nodded and began again. More stumbling.. Vocal sounds but few words.. “My God!”  said Henry. “Listen to me. I can speak but when I look at this page, I can’t make sense out of the script?”

There was dismay bordering on panic in the control room. Cyd tried to control her tears. She shouted into the intercom from the control room, ”Henry, stop it! I’m calling 911.” But Henry Mancini raised his hand like he was the one in charge and was going to conduct the session. “Let me try again,” he said firmly. “No” said Cyd. “Henry, you are sick We have to send for an ambulance.” Mancini was shaking his head no. The director had lost control. I was now a  shocked spectator.

Mancini, showing unbelievable self control, looked at me and said, “I can still talk, If you feed me my lines one at a time, I  will repeat them after you. and we will be able to do this.”

My confusion lasted only a moment, Of course, he was right. We had a digital editing machine. It would take time but, if  he was game, so  was I.

I walked into the studio, sat face to face with Mancini and we began. I read the first line, and he repeated it. Then I read the next line and he repeated it with ease. As long as he didn’t have to read, he was okay. I even asked him, as a joke, to repeat a line “only this time with more energy” and he broke up with laughter. The session was soon over and, Henry  Mancini  shook my hand and started to leave like nothing had happened.

He went to the door, turned to me and said “Oh…Lew tells me you are a terrific announcer. You sounded pretty good today when you were reading to me. You might hear from me.”   Damn!  My friend, Lew, had gotcha’d me.

A week later I heard that he had been diagnosed with advanced cancer. I had been the unwilling witness to the initial onset of this fatal disease. Henry Mancini spent his final months at the piano in his den,  composing a Broadway show. 

Back to my WNEW  “audition.” They spent so much time with it, that I received an interim message from KYW, a giant Midwestern Westinghouse station. wanting me to join Specs Howard in the morning show, and asking me to come meet them for a kind of “dental inspection.”.

In Cleveland, I spent a few minutes in the studio with Specs Howard.. I didn’t audition in the formal sense. We just talked pleasantly for a few minutes and Specs nodded to the people in the control room and that was it.            

Right after I returned from Cleveland with a firm deal, I received a telegram  from WNEW saying that I was hired. The delay had been caused by an internal philosophical spat over my submitting a country oriented audition  with Patti Page. Apparently, they finally  “got it,”  realizing  that  I had  come up with an original and compelling  way of  revealing  Patti. I went to Cleveland without looking back. 

 My only other “audition”  in my long career almost got me killed. This time I really over did it. I’ll tell you about it next week. Gird your loins.