Billy Van Second Banana - Part 1 and Introduction
Welcome to Billy Van’s autobiography, Second Banana!
I hope you enjoy Second Banana! It was a labour of love and wonderful trip down memory lane, a lifetime of Billy’s multi-faceted show business career. To honour his memory, the book is being made available here online, free of charge, for people to enjoy and get an insight into one of Canada’s most talented and beloved actors and one of the pioneers in Canadian TV sketch comedy.
This is Billy’s original manuscript.
Please note, no party or individual has been given permission or is authorized to use any part of its contents. This blog is not associated with any other individual or group.
Please note, no party or individual has been given permission or is authorized to use any part of its contents. This blog is not associated with any other individual or group.
All rights reserved. No part of this book, text, photographs, illustrations may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means by print, photocopier, internet or any way known or as yet unknown, or stored in a retrieval system.
For a more comprehensive history of Billy's films and TV roles, go to:
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0888397/
For a more comprehensive history of Billy's films and TV roles, go to:
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0888397/
If you enjoy the book, perhaps you would consider making a small donation, in memory of Billy Van. Here are a few suggestions that I know Billy would also have been very happy to support. Here are the links:
and I think he would be very happy with this birthday gift,
having his wonderful book, Second Banana, published online!
Please note, Second Banana is published in 5 parts ... simply click on 'More Posts" to read the next section. Thank you - Enjoy!
https://fb.me/billyvanactor
and now, for your reading enjoyment … Second Banana!
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Billy Van Second Banana - Part 1
Page
The Five Stages of an Actor
Forward – Introduction – Whatever! 1
Dossier
Disclaimer
What Is A Second Banana? 2
Gift of the Gab 5
The Four Grads 9
Showtime 27
The Van Evera Brothers 32
The Crescendos 36
Father Knows Best 40
Country Hoedown 45
The Billy Van Four 50
Nightcap 72
SECOND BANANA
by
Billy Van
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The Five Stages of an Actor
The five stages of an actor's life:
Who is Billy Van?
Get me Billy Van.
Get me a Billy Van look-alike.
Get me a young Billy Van.
Who is Billy Van?
__________
FORWARD
INTRODUCTION
WHATEVER !
Relax! I am not going to bore you with all the fantastic and exciting events that happened in the early years of my life. Disappointing and cruel as this may seem in denying you this information, I will, instead, offer one of the shortest dossiers ever written, so that we can get on with the interesting stuff!
DOSSIER
I was born on Dovercourt Rd. in the west end of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, the fifth son of a show business family whose father was in vaudeville in his early years. I got the bug for show business and that's that. Now let's move on.
DISCLAIMER
While relating my stories, if I appear to be slightly "star struck" when referring to the various movie and television stars I traded lines with, I am guilty. When you ponder the magical atmosphere I found myself immersed in, I would ask your indulgence. High school dropout to milkman to Hollywood is a quantum leap in anyone's life and I'm grateful to have tasted that experience. So sue me!
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WHAT IS A SECOND BANANA ?
Personally, I never had illusions of grandeur as to my ability to perform and never kidded myself into thinking that I was going to set the world on fire with my talent, but I know I am a solid guy to have in the stable of support players. Reality of the business is the key for me. This is not to say that I don't strive to be the best at what I do and that function is "second banana." What do we "bananas" do that is so necessary in the whole scheme of things? Well to begin with, like the tax man, we're always there, but most definitely not so repugnant! Stars come and stars go, but performers like us act as a kind of stabilizer on the stars' journey through the galaxy of fame and fortune. Our rewards can be many-fold, depending on the degree of ambition desired and embraced.
Financial security is the goal of most folks I know and bananas are certainly no different. Although considerably harder to attain in the world of show business, it can happen with perseverance and determination. The show business profession is unlike any other. Wacky, zany, fun, disappointing, rewarding -- it runs the complete gamut of emotions throughout your career. Where else can a guy make a living by wearing every costume under the sun, pretend to be someone else and get paid for it?
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The expression 'second banana' should not be misconstrued as meaning second best or less than. It is a highly specialized support function that is always an integral part of the scene being played. When this skill is applied properly, a marriage of lines can result in a successful and entertaining performance of the material.
Many a banana has stepped out of the ranks and starred in their own right. Sometimes they choose to remain in that category, but quite often will decide to return to the support role. The list of these talented people is long and prestigious.
The following is just a small sampling of second banana examples: Art Carney in support of Jackie Gleason; Margaret Dumont to Groucho Marx; Don Knotts to Andy Griffith; Richard Karn to Tim Allen; Julia-Louise Dreyfus to Jerry Seinfeld; Louis Nye to Steve Allen; David Hyde-Pierce to Kelsey Grammer; Vicky Lawrence to Carol Burnett; Vivian Vance to Lucille Ball. It's the role I love to play and intend to continue until they get the hook and haul me off. I've certainly chosen excellent company.
In our industry, the 'second banana" or 'support player' has a much better chance of attaining longevity and security. The recognition of your work, financial rewards, opportunities to become someone else if for but a few moments and as some stars unfortunately fall, you can remain aloft in your own hopefully unending orbit. I've always been partial to bananas. Given the wonderful break of being hired on the Sonny & Cher Show, I worked with movie and television stars that I had only
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seen on the screen from afar. Wake me when it's over 'cause right now I'm having too much fun!
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In my pre-teens, my father had managed to obtain the concession for all food and beverages sold in the Grand Stand at the Canadian National Exhibition. Dad would hire men to sell all the goodies to the folks in the stands. Quite naturally, being his son, I was given a job along with them at 15% commission on all sales. The nickname given to these guys was "hustlers" and they were absolute pros in their field. All of these fellas lived a kind of nomadic existence. They would travel anywhere and everywhere to find some special event so that they could make a fast score financially. I would add that more often than not, all of the profits would usually be lost when they would indulge themselves each and every night in gentlemanly wagering in a game of chance with the "Galloping Dominos." In other words, they'd blow their wad in a crap game! Definitely vagabonds by nature, they worked damn hard for their money and some would come from miles around to grab the opportunity to sell our stuff. I certainly wasn't in their league, but it served to teach me some of the tricks they would use to make a buck. Men in the same business as my father, selling outside of the Grand Stand, would offer to hire these hustlers, but would only pay 10% commission. My dad was smart by upping the ante to 15% and therefore was able to get the cream of the crop. With the huge crowds at the fair, these guys could make a financial killing if they hustled and they always did, hence, their moniker, "hustlers."
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One of these men from out of town was a little guy by the name of Johnny Martino. He would fly in every year from New York city to partake of the spoils that were plentiful and therefore potentially quite lucrative. Johnny called himself "the greatest matador in all of New York" in his very broken Italian accent, much to the delight of all within earshot. I still don't know the significance of this title, but he was a disarming charmer and everybody liked him. One year, he showed up with his brother, whom I'm sure just got off the boat, so to speak. He introduced him to my father saying, "Jimmy, this is-a my brother Tony from Napoli, please give him a job, he plenty good." My dad said "Okay Johnny, but can he speak English?" Johnny said, "Sure he can. Hey Tony! Speak English", to which Tony replied "Five-a-cent, ten-a-cent." Pop said "Good enough. Okay, he's hired." Johnny and Tony did very well that year!
We sold a huge variety of products to the crowds in the Grand Stand - such as peanuts, hot dogs, popcorn, candy floss, ice-cream, chocolate bars and a variety of beverages. The old timers were cunning when it came to the beverages that had to be carried throughout the throngs of people who had gathered for the stage show. Honeydew was sold in Dixie cups which were relatively light in weight, but everything else (Coca-Cola, 7-Up, etc.) was bottled and heavy as hell, so the older guys would con my old man into feeling sorry for them. They would conjure up every conceivable physical shortcoming as to why they couldn't possibly carry those heavy bottled drinks up and down the stairs without seriously hurting themselves.
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Old wounds and ailments became abundant as they suddenly appeared as fragile as a prima donna over-priced baseball player during the World Series! It always worked and my father would assign the heavy drinks to the young punks to struggle with, like me.
Peanuts were always a perennial favourite with folks and at that place in time, they sold for 5¢ a bag. I learned a little spiel from one of our sages of selling, when it came to hustling peanuts:
"Hey, they tickle your teeth
They curl your hair
They make you feel like a millionaire
They're only a nickel, a half a dime
They'll keep you chewing all the time
Peanuts!"
I embellished on this pitch by adding:
"Come and get 'em
I got hot nuts"
I wasn't that naive that I didn't realize exactly what I was saying and what it meant. But I figured a young kid could get away with it without too much fuss. It was interesting to me to observe the reaction from the people after barking it out. Guys would always smile with embarrassment and shake their heads in quite disbelief. But the women would invariably put their hands demurely over their lips to cover up their obvious giggling. It wasn't looked upon as something terrible, but rather cute and saucy from a kid. If one of the older guys had used it with my version of delivery, they'd probably still be in the slammer.
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Of course, you must understand that we had not yet entered the ridiculous politically correct crap of today that we all seem to wimpishly adhere to.
The biggest reward of all to me was being able to watch the fantastically elaborate stage productions that were presented to the audience at the CNE Grand Stand. Olsen & Johnson, Tony Martin, Danny Kay, Victor Borge and the list goes on of huge stars that would headline the shows. All of these productions were produced by the feisty Jack Arthur, while his talented wife Midge staged and choreographed the spectacular dance numbers. It was all never-never-land to me and I think that by being able to watch these extravaganzas, the showbiz bug really bit me hard. That's when I decided that I would play that stage one day. My dream came true in 1960 when I was hired to perform on that very stage, fulfilling one of my dreams. I could finally put my peanut penchant to mercifully rest forever!
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THE FOUR GRADS
Being a high-school drop-out, thus ill-equipped to perform brain surgery, I did the next best thing available to me by becoming a milk truck driver. I immediately got a job at Hall's Dairy on Christie Street in Toronto, mainly because one of my brothers knew the owner's son. It was a small dairy which employed about fifteen drivers to handle the milk routes in the area on a daily basis. They still had a few horse-drawn wagons which had already become a thing of the past. It was sad to see this mode of delivery going by the wayside, but progress is inevitable and by-passes treasures of your youth.
The guys who drove the daily milk routes were a breed unto themselves. Starting very early in the morning, their day finished about 2:30 p.m. and on returning to the dairy, they would gather in a basement room where the required paper work was done. It was here that my impression of these merchants of nutritional purity was destroyed forever. Even at my young age, I thought I had heard every filthy word in the book, but had no idea that they could be grouped together in such long rambling sentences and in some cases even become a soliloquy of smut. In more than one instance, some of these guys were delivering considerably more than a pound of butter to lonely housewives and made no secret about it to their fellow route-men. My job wasn't that of a milkman per se,
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but what they called a "specials driver." That meant that when a milkman goofed on his route (e.g. leaving lactic milk instead of homo and so on), it was my job to drive to the scene of this dastardly deed, field the slings and arrows of the offended customer, certainly correct the error and always try to smooth the situation out with the promise that it would never happen again. It was a great training ground in preparation for the inevitable irate audiences, which every performer encounters during his or her career.
When that job soured, I then obtained work as a clerk in the Treasury Department of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC ) on Jarvis Street, at $43.00 a week. My boss and I had a mutual disrespect for each other and basically it was a fair trade-off. I disliked him and he disliked me a lot! On one occasion, he called me into his office and in his very authoritative and pompous manner, said, "Van, I want you to know that I'm trying to fire you and I can't!" (Ain't it nice to be wanted!) The reason he couldn't fire me was because, although I did my mundane duties adequately, the Corporation in those days had a policy and you don't diddle with government rules, especially if you were an employee and he was, just like me. Seemingly, the policy was that only if you were constantly late or showed up drunk, were you given the axe. You could of course be reprimanded or scolded for some mistake, as many were. However, in the case of huge mistakes, the CBC would merely transfer you elsewhere, until the dust had settled so to speak. Out of sight, out of mind must have been the theory. Such as the case of the engineer who erased $150,000 of master tapes by accident and was simply transferred to another branch of the corporation, in another city, or the producer who made some racial comment in an interview, suddenly found himself living in Ottawa. With his words of encouragement, I vigorously continued to maintain the status quo of mediocrity, which was the driving force in the whole department under his leadership, or lack thereof, just biding my time until the right thing came along.
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Like most families at that time, my father was head of our little clan, which included one mother and five sons, without the benefit of a sister to give my mother some semblance of relief and sanity from her five bouncing baby brats. Ma' played piano, although not professionally, but Pop was the showman of the family, having worked in vaudeville in his youth. All of my brothers had become musicians, singers and actors, so I guess it was inevitable that I would end up in show business. Besides, I was still determined to perform on that CNE stage and realize my dream.
One evening, I received a phone call from a guy named Ron Martin. Ron was a group singer who worked a lot with my eldest brother Elliott doing jingles and radio and television shows. He had a brainwave of forming a quartet (one girl, three guys), who would be called "The Four Grads." He didn't have to ask twice, especially after my boss informed me that I was definitely not on his list of favourites. Ron had already recruited the other three singers and we immediately started into rehearsals in order to work up a book of songs for our repertoire. The timing for the formation of our group was actually perfect because it seemed that a leading export for Canada at that time was quartets. Fresh on the successes of The Four Lads, The Crew Cuts and The Diamonds, we had a running start for a chance to score. We had youth, determination and by golly, we sounded good!
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The CBC brass were well aware that certain employees were using the corporation as a means of getting into television. They were correct in that assumption because the CBC was the only game in town in that particular media. The idea was that being an employee of the corporation, it was much easier to gain access to the TV studios. Once you were there, there was always the chance, although slight, that you could make some kind of a connection with a producer, star, or anybody for that matter who could help you in your quest. In order to contain this backdoor approach to would-be stardom at the corporation's expense, they came up with a deterrent. As an employee, you were allowed to appear on television once, as long as it didn't interfere with your duties at the corporation, however, if you appeared up to six times, you were obliged to hand in your resignation and buzz off! They knew that the chances of landing six television engagements was very remote, so why even try. In my case, they underestimated what I considered to be my destiny.
Luckily, there was a show in production called, "Pick The Stars." A televised amateur half-hour which would pay $500.00 to the winner, plus of course, exposure on national television. We won the grand prize, which was immediately confiscated by our manager to purchase matching uniforms. But more importantly, we were seen by Jackie Rae, who was looking for just such a vocal group to back him on his new show. We were asked to audition for him and were hired on the spot, which served as the professional beginning of my career in show business.
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This of course meant that I could happily write my letter of resignation and hand it to my warm and wonderful supervisor. I would be finally free of this belligerent old fart. Fighting long and hard with myself to bite my tongue, I resisted telling that jerk what I thought of him and a cooler head prevailed. I merely handed my resignation to him and walked out, without a word. No doubt he was just as happy about this development as I was. No more needed to be said.
Our functions on the Jackie Rae Show were pretty much standard for the time, in that we would have our featured number and back up Jackie on his solos. Being a variety show, there were a number of sketches, along with production numbers, of which we were always an integral part.
The show was a short two-year journey through a wonderland of sets, cameras, orchestras, rehearsals and $150.00 a week. I couldn't believe my good fortune because I was doing the thing that I loved the most, group singing, and getting paid to boot. I've heard the expression "Sing for your supper", but this was harmony heaven and a veritable feast.
It all took place in 1954 when television was in its infancy. In those days, all the shows were shot live, so if you goofed your lines, lyrics or movements, you had to ad lib your way out or just live with it and hopefully not get fired. There wasn't the comfort of TV today where you merely do it again, as everything you see is mostly pre-taped. It was
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tremendous pressure, but the rewards made up for it, plus a good performance without mistakes was an exhilarating experience. It would take hours after the show finished to come back down to earth and I wouldn't have traded that feeling for the world. This is where the two worlds of performing part company.
In the world that encompasses television, recordings, radio and anything else that is presented to the public on a delayed basis via tapes or whatever, the performer must await the reaction of the performance. The all-important ratings, polls, opinions, letters, phone calls, critics, etc., come after the event. The performer must "sweat it out" over a period of time to receive the outcome of his/her efforts whether the result be highly acclaimed or completely trashed, the torture of waiting for the verdict can be devastating.
In the other world of the live performance, (theatre, niteclubs, etc.), the reaction is immediate and you know in no uncertain terms how you have faired with the audience. The old days of throwing fruit, eggs and other paraphernalia at the actor for a bad performance had thankfully gone. The lack of reaction is the fear today as silence can be deafening at times. But when you have done well and scored, followed by an explosion of cheers and applause, there are few highs comparable. I think it can safely be said that there isn't a performer who wouldn't agree.
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The members of The Four Grads were Stella (Luschak) Stevens, Jimmy McElwain, Jerry Loughlin and myself. It was a damn good group patterned after the likes of The Hi Lo's and The Four Freshmen, who were very popular at the time. Basically, we sang old standards with very close harmonies. All of us moved well, as that was an absolute necessity for that era, or so we thought. I think we had a gesture for every fifth word! During those two years, I was increasingly pulled out of the group to be a support player (second banana) in the many sketches on the show with Jackie. It served as my introduction to the world of comedy and I quite liked it. Besides, they would give me a few extra bucks for my efforts. I didn't realize at that time that the comedic field would become my main goal in the years to follow.
In 1956, the complete cast of the Jackie Rae Show was invited to entertain at the "Springtime Party" in Ottawa with the Governor-General in attendance. At that time, Vincent Massey was the Governor-General of Canada, and brother to the very famous actor Raymond Massey, whom I might add, hailed from Toronto.
It was an annual governmental affair held in the coliseum building at Lansdowne Park featuring the Ottawa Philharmonic Orchestra, and on this occasion, it included us. The whole thing was pageantry in the most pompous British tradition, where an out-of-place table setting could spell disaster for a luckless waiter. Some of the musical charts from our show were quite difficult and the orchestra's pianist was having a 'helluva time deciphering them, which resulted in us calling in the troops, except in this case, the 'troop' - the troop being one Lou Snyder in Toronto, who was brilliant in these matters and played excellent piano. Lou quickly arrived by plane in the nick of time and our rehearsals fell nicely into place for the big show.
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We were all invited to a most gala dinner the night before the performance at the very posh Chateau Frontenac in Ottawa. The waiters were elegantly dressed in eighteenth century costumes and of course we were required to wear tuxedos and be on our best behavior. A thirty-foot long table had been beautifully arranged for the cast, and included various dignitaries to wine and dine and fully enjoy this festive occasion. Jackie was seated at the head of the table and Lou occupied the chair at the opposite end. Everything was perfection personified and dinner was served with excruciatingly meticulous care so that the culinary coverage would be exact to the most minute detail.
I was seated at the side of this massive dining table, beside Jackie. At one point during the meal, he said quietly to me, "Billy, would you please pass me the buns." I don't know how Lou heard this request from the other end, but before I could respond, we heard Lou yell, "Coming up Jackie" and threw a bun, the complete length of the table!
It was probably a reflex from playing baseball as a kid, but Jackie caught the bun with one hand extended high above his head. It seemed like an eternity before he brought his hand down still holding the offending missile, obviously in disbelief that Lou had completely shattered any semblance of protocol. The silence was deafening and lasted for several seconds until, spasmodically, everyone slowly went back to their dining as if this frivolous faux pas had never occurred, probably thinking that a
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scene from the Twilight Zone had just flashed before their eyes. Thanks Lou. Personally I loved it. I don't remember being invited back to the Springtime Party the following year and just can't imagine why.
After the first year on the Jackie Rae Show, where we won the Liberty Award in 1956 for Best Singing Group on Television, we decided to take our chances and travel to England, completely on speculation. In one way, a not too wise decision without some plan, but what the hell, we had youth on our side and a job to come back to when the show resumed in the fall. We also decided to make the trip a bit of a vacation, so rather than fly to England, a decision was made to take a ship, which I had never done before. Our boat was called "The Homeric" and we enjoyed six wonderful days of our journey at sea just goofing around and definitely acting out our youth to the fullest. There were about thirty American kids our age on board who were about to enjoy a European tour and with whom a lot of hell was raised on the trip. Nothing serious really, but it's a certainty the captain and crew were not heart-broken when we finally disembarked. As a matter of fact, we docked in La Havre in France before heading across the English Channel to our final destination, Southampton. I believe we, and our American partners in crime, must have broken some kind of record because the ship had to take on extra booze for the final three-hour crossing to England! Upon arrival, it was all hugging and kissing as we said goodbye to our new-found friends, promising faithfully to keep in touch with each other, forever! Being young, you mean well, but soon forget those sacred vows and move on to new adventures.
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When we finally arrived in London, Ron, our arranger/manager lost no time in making connections, in order to get some work. Landing a few auditions, we scored fairly well on local television and radio shows. A two-day crash course with the Max Factor people on the art of applying theatrical makeup definitely helped our appearance on stage. On one of these auditions, we were required to take the 'tube', (subway), costumes and all, arrive at a barn of a building at 8:00 a.m. and use a public washroom to change into our tuxedos and put on full stage makeup. As guys, we found it tough enough, but for our dear Stella, girls being so wonderfully girlish, it had to be hell. Fortunately, we got the gig and this of course led to more exposure and definitely more jobs.
The variety theatres that we played in London were quite unique. From an entertainment aspect, they could be compared to our movie houses, where you could catch a matinee or an evening show for your enjoyment. The difference here being that these shows were live and if the audience didn't like what you were doing, they had no qualms about letting you know how they felt. It was amazing how varied the acts were. Everything you could imagine, from jugglers, hypnotists, acrobats, comedy acts, singers, dancers, animal acts, and the list goes on. The pit band would consist of one piano, bass, drums, trombone, two trumpets and in our case, one violin. Arrangements for all of these instruments were passed around to everyone, except for the fiddle player and he was devastated about being left out. We felt bad about it, but what else could we do? The arrangements had been written without the benefit of strings, the lack of which almost caused our downfall. We were ready, in the wings
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of the theatre, to run on stage full of piss and vinegar, as we heard our intro begin. The opening tune for our entrance was 'From This Moment On', a bright happy opener in allabreve time. It was an eight-bar intro so all of us charged onto centre stage. Then as we started into the number, we heard what sounded like a key change and adjusted accordingly. Throughout the whole number, we changed key four times and never knew why until we finished our act and talked to Ron. It turned out that our slighted little fiddle friend had decided on his own that there was no way he was going to be alienated from his band buddies. He decided to ad lib his own part in the arrangement, but unfortunately in the wrong key. The reason we automatically changed key was the fact that the pitch of the violin was so high and penetrating, it was the most prominent note you heard and we merely followed along and adjusted to what we heard.
After the matinee show, Ron raced around to find an arranger to quickly write a violin part, before the evening show. I must explain that Ron was an excellent vocal arranger, but was not versed on instrumental arranging. The deed was done and very quickly given to our victimized virtuoso which resulted in the rest of the week's performances being saved.
A very important lesson was learned the hard way while playing the variety theatres. Every performer made sure that his/her act was timed perfectly, in order to finish exactly in the allotted time. In this way, all of the acts that followed could gauge themselves accordingly as to when to show up at the theatre, do their makeup and get into their costumes. This
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was their livelihood, since they constantly played the various theatres throughout the United Kingdom and everywhere else. It was a code that you never tampered with. Before the first show of any engagement, it was imperative that you inform the stage manager as to the total running time of your act. He would then post all of the times of the various acts and their spot on the show for all the performers to see. In this way, everyone could time their preparation and appearance on the bill. It was the Bible of the theatre and the one commandment you dared not break. We reported our running time as 24 minutes. Coming off the stage at the conclusion of our act, it turned out to be 20 minutes! The stage manager let loose a volley of profanity at us that would have made a New York cab driver blush. Our sin became comparable to the Ides of March, Custer's last stand and the sinking of the Lusitania, all rolled into one. I don't mean to treat this mistake lightly because all of these people were professional and depended upon audience approval for their livelihoods. By throwing all of the acts off by 4 minutes, the audience, as I mentioned earlier, showed their displeasure. All of the innocent performers to follow were at a disadvantage before they even began their routines. It was a mistake never to be repeated. In short, we turned out to be the moth-hole in the fabric of the entertainment.
Somewhere along the line, we landed a two-week tour with Mel Torme who would be the starring act. It included one week at The Bristol and one week at the Manchester Hippodromes. These were variety-type shows that were very much like the old vaudeville days and as the second stars, our group would close the first half of the bill while Torme would close the last half. He was riding high on his hit recording of "Mountain Greenery", so we enjoyed some fair-sized audiences. He had also acquired a nickname that was much deserved, "The Velvet Fog."
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Each of us only made a pittance of £15 per week, and we would walk home after the shows to save bus fare. Although we had a number of engagements during our three months in England, the pay was very little, the expenses high and with that combination, we were just about broke. None of us had really rubbed shoulders with Mel. We would only see him on stage and in the wings of the theatre, where he constantly talked about how he made £8,000 this week or £5,000 last week. These were not exactly uplifting remarks in our situation, so lying and smiling with great envy we would say things like, "How nice for you." One evening, he came to our dressing room after the show and said "Hey kids, we haven't had a chance to get to know each other. How about going out for a big spaghetti feed?" We said we'd love to, but simply couldn't afford it. He continued, "Don't worry. Don't think about it. Let's just go!" Free-loading was not our bag, but there was no doubt we believed that we were going to have an overdue treat, compliments of this 'big star.' What a thrill! Imagine being invited out by this giant of the musical world, to wine and dine to our hearts' content! It was terrific listening to his stories about his own group, "The Mel Tones" in the old days and his movie career with more tales of his achievements. After he had held court for our anxious ears, the bill finally arrived. On picking it up, he scrutinized the entrées and nonchalantly pulled out £3 saying, "That's my share, see you tomorrow" and left! I forget just how much the bill was, but needless to say, it was way beyond our means.
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Fortunately we had been able to save a few bucks, trying to accumulate enough money to get back home to Canada, so pooling our very limited wealth, we managed to pay the tab. Over the years, I've heard a number of similar stories about this man concerning money matters. As a singer, he was second-to-none. As for the man, what can I say. Sadly, the notes I once heard that were so beautiful and in tune, suddenly became quite sour to me. Thanks for nothing Mel.
After finishing our tour with Torme, we returned to London with very little money and by this time, homesick. The only work we could conjure up was doing live performances for the American Air Force camps which were scattered all over the country. We even tried to make a deal with them, offering to do the shows free if they would just fly us to anywhere in the western hemisphere, figuring that we could just hitch-hike home from wherever they would land us. But alas, no deal. I would even line up in Trafalgar Square where the shipping line offices were located. We didn't have enough money to fly home or even board an ocean liner. The deal here was that a number of freighters would take 14 to 20 people as passengers, to make extra money. Obviously there were no frills and you took your chances as to how long the voyage would take, but it was relatively cheap and more importantly, it was transportation home. This mode of travel must have been extremely popular because every time I would go down there, the tickets had already been snapped up. Now we were really in a pickle. Our work had suddenly dried up and we were close to being absolutely penniless. I couldn't phone or write home for dough as I knew my parents didn't have any money to speak of and I was not about to make them worry about me. At this point, Stella said that her
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folks had some money put aside and she would phone them to see if they could help us out. They were wonderful people and wired the funds immediately. Yes, we finally flew back home, much wiser and deeply grateful to Stella and her parents. And yes, we paid back the money, with a little extra as a huge thank-you. Things like this are a part of show business and you have to learn to adjust to whatever comes along. We had tasted and survived the first downside of our profession and I for one, wouldn't have changed it for the world.
Near the end of our three-month sojourn in "Old Blighty", we had struck a deal to record an album for the World Record Club, with the popular Geoff Love as conductor and arranger, entitled "Moments to Remember". It was a fitting climax to our British adventure and very rewarding, if not financially, certainly for personal achievement. Although we had to borrow money to get home, all of us came away from our travels with a number of pluses. Important experience had been gained, we had cut an album, and as I said at the beginning, it was great to have The Jackie Rae Show to come back to. We resumed our duties on the show for the second, and what turned out to be, the last year of its run.
Frank Peppiatt was the head writer of the Rae Show and one day he came up with what he felt was a brilliant idea. The Elvis Presley craze was rampant at that time, so Frank wanted to pull a little spoof on the phenomenon. He created a fictitious pop singer ala the Elvis style, whom he called Bryce Patton. It was a phoney name. I don't know where he got Patton from, but Frank lived
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on Bryce Avenue in Toronto at that time. Complete with fake, perfectly capped teeth, blonde coiffed wig and extremely loud sparkling rhinestone jacket, he was indeed a sight to behold! He couldn't sing or play guitar so the whole lie was doctored to fit his appearance. His singing voice was pre-recorded by a local singer to which Frank merely lip-synced the lyrics. The strings on his guitar were replaced with black colored ordinary string so no sound would utter forth and he would appear to be playing. The three of us guys from the Grads would don red-colored checkered jackets as his back-up singers and the whole sham was ready to be thrust upon an unsuspecting audience. He was presented with all the fanfare and glitter that the Jackie Rae Show could muster which was considerable. Bryce Patton was an instant hit with rave notices in the papers, letters, postcards and umpteen phone calls to seal the deal.
On his third appearance, the bubble was burst because someone recognized Frank underneath all the makeup. This guy must have been royally pissed off because he reported the incident to his Member of Parliament. The MP must have been looking for brownie points because he felt it should be brought up in the House of Commons. Gawd help us from idle-brained politicians with nothing worthwhile to do! After all was said and done, the government ordered us to expose Frank and our hoax on-air and never attempt to do it again. Shakespeare comes to mind, "Much ado about nothing."
After finishing our brief series with Rae, we decided to try our luck in Los Angeles. This decision was similar to the England trek, with one important factor missing. Okay, we still had youth on our side, but didn't
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have a job to come home to. We decided to take our own cars and drive the long journey south for our first taste of "Tinsel Town." It proved to be the eye-opener of the show business industry for me. It was the land of the beautiful people, but despite the palm trees and warm temperatures, the whole atmosphere was cold, calculating and a bastion of bullshit. Money soon became scarce, which wasn't a stranger in my life. According to the laws of average, I was due for a financial change. I remember living for three days on dry cereal (Sugar Crisp) because milk-money was non-existent. At this point you might ask, why not just get a job of any kind like dishwasher, cab driver, janitor, whatever. This was not to be, since we hadn't yet been approved for Green Cards and the authorities were very strict in that regard. Without the Card, you simply could not work legally in the United States. To do so and get caught in the deed, meant immediate deportation, forever. Feeling I still had a career in front of me, I wasn't going to blow it with this not-so-little gamble. I knew that if I was going to taste the big time in any way, it would most definitely include the States and especially Los Angeles, which in reality was the hub of the whole industry.
We finally landed a deal with Polydor Records to cut an album. This particular deal was unfortunately, no money up front until the recordings were finished, which would take at least three weeks. Other than the $48.00 I had left, a huge decision had to be made in order to survive. The other two guys in the group decided to go for broke and sell their cars. As these were Canadian vehicles, they could not be sold in the States, therefore the only alternative was to get to the nearest Canadian border on the west coast. They decided to drive to Vancouver to sell them and I was
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asked to do the same. Here is where I had to draw the line. As much as I loved Stella and these guys, I wasn't convinced that this album was going to launch us into group stardom. It was heartfelt sadness when I announced that I would be leaving the group, but would stay until a replacement could be found. This also proved to be a valuable lesson learned in my career and that was, if you ever think you are indispensable in this business, you're in for a rude awakening. Within two weeks, I was replaced, but happy that my leaving didn't screw up the plans of my friends. I don't take solace in the fact that the album was a bust, but I'm not unhappy about my decision.
So ends my beginnings in the business with the wonderful Grads. I took my $48.00, an Esso credit card and my one remaining possession, a 1955 Meteor convertible and headed home on Route 66.
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SHOWTIME
It only took four days to drive home to Toronto via the famous Route 66 'cause I was bootin' it all the way. Luckily I wasn't busted for ignoring the 'double nickels' (55 miles per hour), which was the speed limit strictly enforced in the United States. Thankfully my old 1955 Meteor didn't let me down. How elating was the feeling approaching the Windsor border. You don't appreciate your homeland until you spend time away, but in just a few hours I would be back in dear old "Hog Town". Now all that had to be done was get a job.
Immediately calling a producer friend, I asked him to keep me in mind if he needed an extra for background work or anything else that might come along. He contacted a talented man by the name of Bill Brady, a well-known vocal arranger in the city. There was a series running called "Showtime" starring Joyce Sullivan and Robert Goulet. This was the time just prior to Goulet hitting it big time on Broadway and recordings including his performance in "Camelot". Bill very kindly put me in the chorus of singers which allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. As an added bonus, I would be working with my brother Elliott, who was also in the group.
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In those days, the CBC was an invaluable training ground for everyone. Set designers, audio engineers, writers, performers, camera men, choreographers, gaffers and the list goes on. In years to follow, a lot of these professions would be lost to Canada, as the exodus of our top people followed the lure of Hollywood. When these pros arrived in the States, they were welcomed with open arms because of the experience they had gained here in Toronto.
The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC ) was the most fantastic training ground you could imagine for all the aforementioned fields of the industry. Being government controlled, everyone was under the protection of a huge subsidy. In the United States however, there was and is, unbelievable competition to out-do the competition. There, if certain individuals throughout the network messed up or did not pull their oar to its fullest potential, they were simply fired and replaced with someone who could do that job better.
With the Corporation, the conditions were considerably different. You were seldom dismissed, no matter how grave the error. You would receive a reprimand and encouraged not to repeat the offence, which made it the perfect learning ground for everybody. You could hone your craft by trial and error, without fear of losing your job. This meant that when you decided to leave the CBC and venture south to the 'land of milk and money,' a diploma wasn't necessary because you had the ultimate in your hip pocket, and that was years of experience. Borrowing a phrase from the popular game show, "Let's Make A Deal", I am sure the networks in the States were saying, "You're from Canada? C'mon down!" Who could blame
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them for leaving? At the Corporation, you were pigeon-holed into what you did, at a fixed salary. But in the States, the sky was the limit. Being a government-run organization, the CBC simply could not compete with the hot-shot commercial networks in the States. In later years, I too would join this trek to treasure, from necessity. We Canadians have a worldwide reputation for being nice people. We are relatively well-mannered and apologize for anything and everything, even if it isn't our fault! There wasn't the support for performers in Canada, from exuberant fans writing letters and phoning the stations to rave about our Canadian talent. I would venture to say that my fellow Canadians were not exactly outgoing in this area. In other words, support for performers in Canada was virtually non-existent, sad, but true. The closest we ever came to what could be called 'stars' perhaps was Wayne & Shuster, Juliette or Tommy Hunter. Let me clarify that this was a time and situation prevalent years ago. But happily over time, this situation has taken a 180° turn. With the success of the Second City gang, Jim Carey, Ann Murray and many other performers. I could not be more pleased and proud of these talented performers, but let's face reality folks, they all had to go to the States to find that success.
"Showtime" was a fairly big deal in Canada that boasted a huge cast of musicians, dancers and singers, etc., by producing an hourly television show each week. Although I lacked dance training, the dancers always commented that I moved well. As a way of improving my dancing ability, I had always made it a point to watch the dancers, and attempt to learn their routines, keeping well off to the side as they rehearsed. Once again, as all of these shows
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were performed live, if anything went wrong, you had to adjust as best you could. There were twelve dancers on Showtime. One fateful night, just before going on-air, one of the dancers took ill and could not go on. The choreographer called me over and said, "Okay Billy, you're going to take Kenny's place." The words scared the hell out of me because by no stretch of the imagination did I consider myself a dancer. Reminded of that old adage "The show must go on", who was I to screw that up! Fortunately, the poor guy who became ill was also about my size, so, donning his costume and steeling myself for the adventure ahead, I figured what the hell, let the good times roll! The intro began, I was in place and away we went into the routine. My fellow singers were in the wings, cheering and yelling encouragement, which helped no end. I'll be damned if I didn't get through the whole number without a mistake. When the routine was over, there was a great deal of back slapping and, "Way to go babe" remarks. I cannot remember a time when I felt more exhilarated and excited. I was very proud that night after tasting my first and only Terpsichorean triumph! (Terpsichorean?) Good word for a Canadian high school drop out, eh! Don't bother looking it up because I already did - it means dancing.
On one show, Joyce Sullivan was given a particular song to sing, which to me defied reason, or was meant as a joke. I'm not sure which, but it certainly gave us all a good laugh, especially Joyce. She was positioned behind a hedge as high as her shoulders, as the camera shot the whole number in closeup for a very good reason. Being eight month's pregnant,
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she obviously showed, hence the hedge cover-up. The song? "The Man I Love"! The first two lines being "Someday he'll come along, the man I love.." It was clear that Joyce must have had a slight lapse of memory because it was apparent that he had already paid a visit!
"Showtime" lasted two years and was a good time for all of us. I also got to know the star Bob Goulet pretty well, which is a friendship that exists to this day. Here I go again! Now it was time to start the search for the next job, which happened much quicker than anticipated. Enter the 'Van Evera Brothers'.
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THE VAN EVERA BROTHERS
As I started my quest for work, a clan meeting was called by the family to discuss the possibility and indeed the probability of forming our own quintette. The Ames Brothers, five brothers like us, became famous in the States and were known as the 'Baritones From Boston'. My family was thinking, why couldn't we be the 'Tenors From Toronto'? They put the proposition to me and of course, being family, I agreed.
If ever there was a feeling of mixed emotions, this was it. Don't misunderstand me for I loved all of my brothers, but being the youngest of the five, I had witnessed some royal battles over the years. Brothers being brothers, "dooking it out" was not an uncommon practice. My siblings in order of appearance, were Elliott James, Warren Jerome, John (Jack) Gilbert, James Elwood and myself, William Allan, sired by dear old dad, James Spencer and our wonderful mother, Mabel Jessie.
Each of the guys was a talent in his own right and as such, very determined individuals in every way. My apprehension was, who would take charge and make it work. We were a very old-fashioned family, and as Elliott was the eldest, it was agreed that he should be the leader. Not only was Elly a great musician/singer, he was absolutely respected by all of us, without question.
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My fear was, knowing how bullheaded each of the guys could be, how long would they consent to following anybody! But at the very least we were going to give it the old college try! Going on the "Father Knows Best" syndrome, we quite naturally appointed our father, James Spencer Van Evera, Sr., as our manager. Mom, of course, would be the treasurer because she was the only one who could be trusted, I guess. The whole idea was very romantic and well-intentioned, but I had this feeling at the base of my neck that the whole thing was a tinder box that could explode at any time.
We started into rehearsals with a Gung Ho determination and an, "All for one and one for all" attitude. It was encouraging to witness this kind of discipline and organization that was so vital if we were going to achieve any kind of success. We hired Bill Brady as our group arranger, to write some vocal charts and Andy Body, a well-known choreographer, to stage our movements. At this point, we had not settled upon a name for our group. There was no doubt in the minds of my siblings that it was to be family all the way and therefore the group should be known as the "Van Evera Brothers." I felt this might be a mouthful for people to say or remember for that matter. I suggested, "The Brothers Five", thinking that it would be easier for folks to retain, plus five authentic singing brothers in a group had only been done once before. But pride in family name won out, so I just shut up and went along. Although this was not my style, I was the youngest and hadn't yet achieved "warrior status" in our tribe!
The CBC , still being the only television game in town, was having a banner year in their variety show department. There were no less than five different productions being taped that particular year. Having a repertoire of only seven songs, nicely arranged by Bill Brady, we set out on the audition trail to land a gig. As a group, we weren't too shabby and surprisingly landed a guest shot on all five of the current shows. Although we scored well and received some very nice accolades, we had shot the bolt for work in Toronto and now contemplated, where do we go from here? It should be noted that at this period of time there were no Canadian theatrical agents who had any connections for engagements in the United States, hence our very limited opportunities for work.
During this decision dilemma, I went to see my old boss Jackie Rae, whose show I had performed on with The Grads a few years earlier. Jackie and I had become friends over that period of time and I called to seek his counsel as to where the group could move on to. It so happened that Jackie was affiliated with a new night club which had just opened on Yonge Street, called "The Stage Door." He gave us a one-week booking at this little bistro, which was encouraging to us as we contemplated our next move.
To date, we had performed on all of the existing TV shows, but this was something new and frankly, exciting. With our mere seven arrangements and some ad lib dialogue between songs, we worried as to how to pull it off and entertain the folks with such a limited amount of material. As it worked out, there were some unrealized factors in our favour. We were legitimate brothers, although the guys always kidded me saying they weren't too sure about me and we were home-town boys who blended well and came across as fairly personable. I guess the audience detected a kind of inexperienced professionalism and gave us the benefit of the doubt. In short, the gig turned out to be great and everyone walked away happy.
It was a terrific whirlwind of success in our short six months together, but the well of work finally dried up. As somebody once said, "Ya gotta pay the rent" and so we all decided to fold our tents and look for work individually. We left with some great memories and the knowledge that we had scored big-time in the eyes of our parents. To my amazement, the original apprehension never materialized, much to my joy. I'm delighted to say that both on and off stage, we were in harmony throughout!
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THE CRESCENDOS
As a boy, I attended Kent Public School in Toronto. In grade eight, we had a wonderful teacher whom we always referred to as "Sir" (Mr. Warder), as was the custom of the day. This gentleman had been the teacher of two of my older brothers. While in class one day, there was a knock on the door. Mr. Warder answered the knock and ushered in a previous student, who had returned to pay his respects, such was the esteem that this man commanded. He addressed us with, "Class, this is Jack Duffy, a former student of mine." You could have knocked me over with a feather because I had heard about Jack through my family and how well he was doing. Jack had left the Toronto scene to seek his fortune in New York, which was a very risky business in those days for a Canadian or anybody else for that matter. This was the era of the big bands and the Duffer scored very well. In looks and sound, he was and is, a ringer for Frank Sinatra. With a rich baritone voice and impeccable phrasing, he landed himself a job as featured vocalist with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra, which had to be the epitome of success in the field of singing. Later on, he became a regular on the Perry Como Show, featuring him in comedy sketches and vocals. Little did I know how fate would take a hand a few years later, when we would end up working together and forming a
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treasured friendship that we both still enjoy. With all of us brothers riding off into the sunset on our painted ponies, it was job hunting time yet again. Here's where the fickle finger of fate made its entrance.
The Jack Duffy show, called, "Here's Duffy" was about to become a reality and they were looking for a vocal group to back him up. Enter once more, the guru of vocal arrangers who had befriended me once before, Bill Brady. Bill had always liked my work and asked me if I would like to be part of a new vocal group, consisting of two guys and two girls. Well I ask you, "Does a bear shit in the woods?"
The formation of any vocal group always starts with the lead singer, which establishes the kind of sound you're going for. In this case, Bill had chosen a young, good looking lady with a vocal range that would make Ema Sumac take note. Little did I know at that time, but in the future, she would become the lead singer in my own group the Billy Van Four and I might add, my lovely wife. The group was rounded out by two fine singers, Yvonne Lauder and Syd Beckwith. Hence was born "The Crescendos."
The producer/director who was assigned by the CBC to be in charge of the show was, in my opinion, a man who was absolutely impervious to human feelings. He was well known for his requests to stay an extra 15 or 20 minutes after you finished rehearsal, which you had to do to protect your job. But gawd help you if you were two minutes late for rehearsal the next day. He seemed to get great joy out of screaming at you in front of the cast. A most distasteful individual, but despite his ravings we managed to put out a pretty good show.
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On several occasions, I would be handed a bonus by the writers and get to work with Jack in sketches and the odd singing duet. We always had a mutual respect for each other and it showed in our performances.
During the run of the show, we always did a featured number of our own, along with the back-up duties of singing both on and off camera with Duffy. One particular number had us lying on our backs in a haystack. Needless to say, lying flat on your back and trying to sing four-part harmony plus trying to make the harmonies blend is not the best idea. In those days, the luxury of lip syncing to your pre-recording was not practised. To help us out, the bed of hay was affixed to a wooden flat and placed on a 45° angle, which helped to correct the singing problem and also assisted the camera man to get the desired shot. We were costumed in jeans and country shirts to help set the mood for the tune we were singing (the title escapes me), which had to do with barnyard blues or something of the like. At that time, jeans were not the sophisticated designer garb of today. There was a brass rivet right at the end of my crotch and in this number, it served as the biggest up-stager in life. One of the klieg lights caught the rivet at just the right angle to give off a reflection. Throughout our plaintive melody, my crotch was flashing a message reminiscent of a beacon for a male cat house! That's the way it went on the air, which served as a great laugh and one of those treasured and honest, unplanned out-takes.
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After the show ran its course, yet another chapter had been logged in my show business career. Jack Duffy and I would once again share a stage down the line, for a ten-year run of fun called 'Party Game.'
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FATHER KNOWS BEST
Robert Goulet was the headliner at the CNE Grandstand Show sometime in the late 60's and I was also hired to perform in several of the production numbers. I had worked with Bob on a number of shows before and we had a very friendly relationship over the years. He was fresh from his huge success in the stage play Camelot on Broadway, followed by his hit single "Mimi". Our dressing room facilities were very make-do in a hurriedly constructed quonset hut that afforded us only four walls without the benefit of individual ceilings for privacy. Obviously, you could hear everything going on in the other dressing rooms whether you wanted to or not. Goulet used to go through a warm-up that he would perform prior to going on stage. He would gargle with port to loosen up the vocal chords before releasing that marvellous voice of his for us to enjoy. None of our dressing rooms had bathroom facilities, like sinks and such! He couldn't spit the gargled port out on the floor because that would be considered gross. What else could the guy do but swallow the wine in order to maintain any semblance of neatness and decorum! It was no doubt a great sacrifice to suffer, but it had to be done. What a guy! When I would hear this vocal preparation for his performance, I couldn't resist grabbing a glass of water and impersonating his antics, which, because of our lack of
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ceiling enclosure, I knew he could hear. "Bugger off Billy, I'm the star!" I must hasten to mention here that Bob was not a pompous ass as the comment would suggest. He was a friend and it was a most appropriate retort to my shenanigans!
On one particular production number, I was the featured soloist and was backed by a chorus line of singers and dancers. The song was "Gonna Build A Mountain". Each time I did that number, it went very well, but not in the eyes of one person after a particular performance. I had never been on the receiving end of a newspaper critic before, but was about to lose my performance virginity. Gordon Sinclair, who was very much a media icon at the time, had this to say about my treatment of that particular number. "I don't believe that Mr. Van necessarily believed all of the lofty lyrics of his song." Not too devastating (although I disagreed), but it was the man's opinion and as always, you are at the mercy of the critic. Gordon was respected as a no bullshit guy who constantly challenged any and all he thought were less than honest. It really wasn't all that bad and gawd knows, I've had worse in my life. There was a total of fourteen performances for me in that Grandstand Show, which covered a two-week period. I'll have to set this story up a bit, so please indulge me!
My father, being a very likeable guy, had struggled in vaudeville throughout the Depression years. He attained the position of Attractions Manager at Sunnyside Beach for thirteen years and was obviously a guy who had made a lot of friends. He was always addressed as just plain "Van", except when so-called friends would hit him up for money. Then he was always called "Jimmy." Like anyone in our business, you never experience
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experience everything, but by golly, he lived a lot of it! The job of Attraction Manager required my father to hire all of the acts for a daily, hour-long variety show at the Sunnyside Band Shell. He was also required to emcee the shows which were a free offering to the crowds to entice them to come down to the fair and enjoy the rides, boardwalk strolling, boating, etc., in a festive carnival atmosphere. There was even a huge outdoor dancing floor called the "Sea Breeze" where Jack Evans and his orchestra would supply the music for folks to slow dance the night away. My brother Elliott played trombone in the orchestra. The performers that my father hired to entertain the crowds ran the complete roster of variety acts. Singers, dancers, aerialists, comics, beauty pageants, amateur shows and just about everything else that you could imagine would be provided for the entertainment of the eager throngs.
Such was the routine from Monday through Saturday. On Sunday, the band shell presented a sing-a-long show for CFRB Radio, hosted by the up-and-coming Monte Hall. As a newcomer in the business, this was obviously a first stepping-stone in his highly successful career. Meanwhile back at the gargle!
Just as Bob Goulet had his routine before going on stage, Pop and I shared a ritual that took place every night when walking off the stage after finishing the big production number. My father was there at every performance during the run of the show with no exceptions. None of the cast, including me, were ever given complimentary tickets (comps), to give to friends and relatives, which could have posed a problem
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financially for my Dad and myself, if he was to attend all of my performances. But I had underestimated his disarming ways. He knew so many of his cronies on the ticket wickets that he merely conned his way into not only the CNE fairgrounds, but the Grandstand Show itself, free of charge!
Upon finishing my performance and departing from the wings of the stage heading for my quonset quarters, I would stop on the grass and look across the football field from where the motorized stage was positioned. From the far side of the field, I could see that shadowy figure slowly walking my way. Head bowed in obvious deep thought, walking with an old man's gait that told a story of someone who had seen it all and was now just plain tired, he ambled towards me. When he finally arrived, we said not a word, but acknowledged our meeting with merely a nod and meandered together, side by side, heading for my dressing room. I opened the door and beckoned him to enter. As he seated himself, we still had not said a word, but I knew the next step in this nightly ceremony. Producing a bottle of dark rum, I poured Dad a stiff shot mixed with Coke. He lit up a cigarette (Sweet Caporal) and started to finger the glass with head still bowed down, looking at the floor. Finally, he took a drag and a good swig of his drink, looked right into my eyes and said, "You did great son, but you should milk your bows a little more." I replied, "Okay Pop" and that was it.
Each night, the same routine repeated itself with a different bit of constructive criticism coming my way from my father. The man was re-living his days on the stage through me and it made me feel good to
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witness the impish sparkle of life come back into those old eyes. As a famous playwright once said, "We shall not look upon his like again."
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COUNTRY HOEDOWN
Jobs were next to nil in the late '50s, so you kept your ears open for anything that might become available. I had never been a country and western fan, but the word was out that the very popular Country Hoedown Show was thinking of augmenting the cast with a group of performers that would be called the "Singin' Swingin' Eight." Their function would be two-fold. One would be to back up all the solo performers with the usual oohs and aahs that choruses were required to do and the other was to be featured each week doing a square dance routine.
Not knowing the difference between a dosi-do from an alaman-left, it was still an opportunity for a job. It paid $85.00 a week which was sorely needed at the time. I inquired as to when they were holding auditions to make sure I'd be there. Awaiting my turn, along with a number of other hopefuls outside the audition room, the producer called me into his office. He said he was aware of my singing ability, but didn't know if I could move well enough. Despite my attempt at trying to con him into believing I had studied with the National Ballet and taught Rudolph Nurev everything he knew, I still had to audition to prove my prowess at prancing! I've always been able to move fairly well, so I passed the test and got the job!
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It was a fun show with a wonderful cast. Gordie Tapp, Tommy Hunter, The Lennon Sisters, Al Cherney, Tommy Common, and of course us, the newly formed Singin' Swingin' Eight, of which I was a thankful member. All the guys and girls in our group were friendly, outgoing types, except for one guy. He was friendly enough, but would always wander off on rehearsal breaks into another studio, with his guitar and quietly practice, instead of swapping stories with us.
Of all the people involved in the show, Tommy Common and I really hit upon a true and lasting friendship. This was partially due to the fact that we were about the same age, hailed from the same area in the west end of Toronto, had very similar childhoods and shared a knack of getting into trouble.
The show itself was abundant with pranksters, Tommy Common being the leader of the pack! He was the master of the practical joke, thriving on the "gotcha" style of humor. On one occasion, he was giving me a lift in his car when I asked him to pull over because I had to pick up something at a particular store. When he obliged, I got out of the car, asked him to wait just a minute and I'd be right back. He agreed. There was a small lineup in the store but I was through after a short wait. When I returned to the car, Tommy was driving off. I couldn't figure what had happened to make him leave unless there was an emergency of some kind that just cropped up. When next we met, I said "Hey man, what happened? Why did you leave?" He replied, "You said wait a minute and I did. When you passed the minute, I left. I took you at your word!" After $10.00 in cab fares because of his prank, the lesson was learned to watch my words when dealing with this scamp.
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Country Hoedown was a laid back, easy going show and although shot live, you could get away with a few on-camera jokes. In those days, they used long cardboard cue cards to help the stars in remembering lyrics during their solos. The day of the sophisticated teleprompter had not yet been introduced on this particular show. On one occasion I witnessed Tommy Hunter singing a song and definitely depending on the cue card to pull it off. Tommy Common, being the consummate jokester, decided to make his move because obviously in his opinion, things were going all too smoothly! One of the crew guys was standing off camera holding the survival card (commonly referred to as the 'idiot' card). Tommy set the bottom of the card on fire with his lighter which started burning ever so slightly and of course, increased as the seconds went by. The fella holding the cue-card tried to blow it out, but to no avail. You could see the rising panic in the eyes of Hunter as the card was starting to eat up the lyrics that were so important. The cue card guy valiantly hung in as long as possible, but he was no fool and finally had to give up holding this hot helper and race for a fire extinguisher to end this incendiary silliness. Tommy Hunter had approximately sixteen more bars of music to go and his ad-libbing of the lacking lyrics for this song defied all reason and meaning, but understandably so! I think the song ended up with something about a dog marrying a pony in Galveston Nebraska during a hail storm in August when crickets crooned their tunes of love!
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The shows were taped each Friday and when we were finished, Common and I would go out on the town and usually get into some kinda' mischief. Tommy was a good driver, but he loved to move that big Lincoln and would shift into his Mario Andretti mode on occasion, but I repeat, he was a skillful driver most of the time. We would go to a local saloon in the west end of the city which used to be our old stomping ground. There was live entertainment in this joint and Tommy, a recognized star in Toronto, was always coaxed to go up on stage and do a couple of numbers. It was a chance to unwind and enjoy ourselves after our work was finished. On one particular Friday, we did more than our share of unwinding and were the last to leave our little den of libation lunacy. Tommy offered to drive me home to which I agreed since I was more than eager to just crawl into the sack. Usually I'm not nervous in a car, but this drive home would be a test that I could have done without! When travelling inside 3,500 lbs. of metal at high speeds and on occasion defying gravity, it can make you very aware of just how vulnerable 150 lbs. of flesh (me) can be! I'll never forget the feeling of relief when we somehow landed at my door. I got out of this swift moving juggernaut of steel and said, "Thanks man, and be careful driving home" to which he replied, "Sure Billy" and drove away laughing like hell.
The next morning, I received a call from a friend. "Billy, have you heard what happened to Tommy?" My heart came to my throat when I asked, "Is he hurt?" "No" he said, "but you better call him." I phoned him immediately. "Hey Tommy, what happened?" He said, "Well, I had a slight accident." "Dammit, I wish I'd been with you." He started to laugh hysterically, but through the laughter I heard "You're great ... take a look at the morning paper" and continued laughing as he hung up. I quickly
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got the paper and realized why he acted the way he did. Tommy had side-swiped three parked cars and the pictures in the newspaper showed the passenger side of his beloved Lincoln - completely demolished! And I had been sitting there only a short time earlier before the accident. I've heard the expression "living on borrowed time" and can definitely identify with that remark. He received a stiff fine and the only plus was that nobody was hurt.
I did one year of the Hoedown Show and got to know everyone pretty well except for that one guy who kept going to another studio to practice his guitar. What the hell was his name? Oh ya, I remember now. It was Gordie Lightfoot!
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THE BILLY VAN FOUR
In 1960, I found myself singing in a forty-voice choir performing in the Grandstand Show at the C.N.E. (Canadian National Exhibition). This is an annual fair that is world-renowned, drawing huge crowds from all over the world, with audiences averaging 25,000 people per show in the Grandstand itself. Each year, the idea was to outdo the previous year's production both in size and splendor. A herculean task, but more often than not they were successful, under the skillful guidance of Jack and Midge Arthur. Plus, I was realizing my dream from years ago when I was vending peanuts in this very place.
I had contemplated forming my own group for some time and being immersed in a bevy of forty of Toronto's best singers, obviously now was the time to make my move. In my case, it wasn't just a case of picking great voices to form a group because I had a vision as to the overall appearance with height being a definite factor. Using varying degrees of height, I could alter our formations to give the group a different look in our routines. The key ingredient was to find beautiful voices that could blend nicely along with the ability to move well and of course, looks would be a plus. Therefore, my work was definitely cut out for me in order to find all of these ingredients and mold them into a perfect blend of sound and vision.
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I lucked in and found my dream team that would become the Billy Van Four. The group consisted of Jack Northmore (6'4"), a musical comedy performer who knew his way around a stage with a smile that could melt the heart of the severest critic. Les Leigh (6'), a singer/musician who had logged a lot of choral and stage work in the past, after leaving the farm for the big city, and of course my talented wife Patty (5'), probably the best lead singer that this country ever produced, with a vocal range that defied boundaries. Finally myself (5'7"), to round out what proved to be a very successful and happy group of performers who were about to spend the next nine years together, sharing a solid friendship that will know no end.
With my past experience, preparation was the key factor in order to gear ourselves for the keen competition that was prevalent everywhere. In other words, we got down to doing our homework. I immediately contacted a guy by the name of Roy Smith. Roy was considered by his peers as an absolute genius in his field. This man did it all - composer, orchestral arranger, musician, sound engineer and now I had the audacity to ask him to do the vocal arrangements for my new-found group. To me, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him agreeing to undertake this challenge, but what did I have to lose. Sometimes it's absolutely wonderful to be wrong because as it turned out, he loved the idea and agreed to start immediately.
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A story must be
related about Roy
We now delved into a three-month grind of
rehearsals and honing of our songs in order to build a sizeable
repertoire. At the end of that period, it was rumored that a new variety
show was in development which needed a vocal group as a featured act. The
new show would be called "Swing Gently" and starred Allan Blye and
Ruth Walker as the featured vocalists. I phoned Bob Jarvis the producer
and asked if we could audition for the job, to which he agreed. I was now
faced with a dilemma which had to be addressed. We had not as yet
purchased matching uniforms because at this time we simply could not afford
them. Uniforms were a must in those days. You might wonder at this
point as to why I would go after anything if not fully prepared. In show
business, more so than any other business, you must grab the opportunity when
it presents itself or miss your chance of getting the job. In other
words, "You snooze, you lose". I decided to go and see a friend
of mine in the CBC
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cocktail dress that she gussied up a bit to make it more theatrical. Well here we were, all dressed up and happily somewhere to go! Three days before our try-out, I got a brainwave, albeit an expensive one. Going on the theory that everybody likes a winner, I borrowed some money and hired the Lou Snyder Trio to accompany us for our audition. They were a very well known group and quite successful at the time, plus Lou was the reigning champ of the "Bun Throw" Olympics! It turned out to be one of the best investments I ever made because we landed the series of 39 weeks on television as a featured act.
We had a wonderful time doing that series and because of it, were able to build a repertoire of some sixty arrangements, both vocal and including the orchestral charts to back them up. The travelling urge had hit me again and because of the fondness I had acquired for England, that's where I set my sights. I called a meeting of the group and told them what I was thinking of doing and asked them how they felt about the move, being very careful to explain the trials and tribulations that had been experienced on the earlier expedition with The Grads. Even with this knowledge, they felt that the trip was a good idea. They were also aware that I was meticulous in my planning and therefore, not about to throw caution to the wind and go on speculation. My days of youthful abandon had been replaced with caution from experience, reality and a great dislike for getting my ass kicked.
A Toronto agent was engaged to make some inquiries as to what may be going on in the U.K. Coincidentally, this lady, Sylvia Train, now columnist, was going on a vacation to England, so I gave her a video tape
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of some of our performances on the Swing Gently show to serve as an introduction of our work. Armed with this tape and her considerable abilities, she was able to book 13 weeks for us on a television show in Manchester, England. It was called Nice 'N Easy, starring Janie Marden, who was a very popular singer in Britain at the time. From the mistakes of the past, I was determined to have a paying job signed, sealed and delivered before arrival in England.
The dates for our gig in England were locked in and the contracts signed. This meant another meeting of the group to decide how everyone was going to get there and when, so that we could coincide accommodations and whatever else was necessary. I didn't realize that when I had introduced the idea of a trip to the U.K. and warning them of the possible pitfalls, I had unconsciously elaborated on how much enjoyment we had on the Homeric sailing over there. It was a done deal! Everyone wanted to 'test the waters' in more ways than one, so we all booked passage on a vessel called the Saxonia, a British ship with Cunard Lines. This particular boat was to sail out of New York, so we all flew en masse to the "Big Apple" to begin our further adventures together. Gawd, I love this business!
Upon landing in New York, we did all the touristy things that people do in that vibrant city, while killing time before we embarked on our journey on the high seas. Just before going to the docks, I purchased a 4 oz. bottle of brandy as a souvenir of our trip, which would prove to provide an unlikely little adventure on its own. We finally set out to sea, anticipatory of some fun stuff ahead. With England having the reputation of a great
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seafaring nation, a certain style and protocol had to be adhered to at all times, without exception when dealing with things of a nautical nature. We had just embarked on a British ship and therefore were subject to British procedure which frankly I found terrific, with the odd exceptions of course. (It can be a little much on occasion!) The good captain summoned all passengers to assemble in the large dining room so that we could become acquainted with each other and of course, he and his fellow officers.
When we were all gathered together, he started to address our throng with the usual "Welcome aboard" and "No, we've learned a lot since the Titanic" just to allay any fears of an unwanted swim in the briny deep. This guy had a little imp in him and couldn't resist some seafaring humor in typical British style. He began, "Ladies and gentleman. In the event of the very unlikelihood of someone falling overboard, please, do tell us ... (long pause) ... No matter how much you hate him. Thank you."
This ocean crossing was supposed to be a seven day leisurely trip, but on the second day out, we were informed that there had been a slight oversight and instead of seven days, it would now be nine days to Southampton. Fortunately I had allotted extra time before we had to show up to fulfil our contract, so the news didn't really bother us all that much. We figured, what the hell, just relax and enjoy this new turn of events, considering the fact that there was sweet bugger all we could do about it! However, I wondered about the other passengers and fully expected an uproar, but such was not the case. The other people on board all seemed to
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be much older than us and were just going back to the old country to visit friends and relatives or to retire. I still cannot believe that Cunard Lines got away with that little ruse, but it seems they did.
Instead of going first to La Havre and then Southampton as scheduled, they now added stops that included Halifax, Nova Scotia and Cobb in Ireland. Two days out to sea, I proposed a toast to our journey and passed around our little 4 oz. bottle of brandy to share among the four of us. We finished our libation and on a whim, I wrote a note to put inside the bottle and threw it overboard, remembering old yarns about finding these things when they washed up ashore on some tropical deserted little island. The message read, "Sorry you find this empty, better luck next time", to which I added my Canadian address on the back.
On my two ocean voyages, I found that an interesting phenomenon takes place when you first come on board the vessel. Initially, you are offered the complete freedom of touring the ship to behold all its wonders. However, after you set out to sea, the first class barriers are thrown up with thunder-clap speed. We travelled second class for economic reasons and the crew of the ship let you know in no uncertain terms that you realize your boundaries or a plank walk could be your fate! After all, you had prepaid your fare, so why should they give a damn how you felt!
In choosing to sail on the Saxonia, we unknowingly had chosen a vessel which did not cater to party animals! As mentioned earlier, our ship's compliment consisted of much older folks, heading back to the old
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country for whatever reason. The highlight each and every evening was to play English bingo, which differs from our brand of bingo (as if that mattered to young people looking for a fun time!) Subjected to this excruciatingly lame attempt at entertainment, it's a wonder we didn't instigate our own rendition of a famous naval story, which we could rename "The Pain Mutiny."
Allow me to explain what I mean when I say that English bingo is quite different from ours. To begin with, all of the numbers are contained in a bag which is handled by the number caller. He would reach into the bag, pull out a ball and announce what the number was. Here is where the English version takes on a different aspect for the players. Every number had some little saying to describe it. e.g.:
Kelly's eye, number 1
Legs 11, number 11
Jack Benny's age - 39
A pair of ducks - 22 - quack, quack
66 - clickety click
76 - was she worth it? (the price of a marriage license which was seven shillings and six-pence)
It was all sort of enjoyable the first night, but this was the highlight of the evening, every night. If it took too long a time for someone to yell "Bingo", the caller would say, "And all together we'll ...." and the complete ensemble of players would yell in unison, "Shake the bag" in order to mix up the numbers and get a winner. Five days and nights of being a captive
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audience was taking its toll. I knew that a bingo bust-out was moments away and I was right. We had collectively agreed that we had uttered our last "Shake the bag" and now it was time to muster up some adventure befitting our youth! Logic and common sense would have to be put on the back burner for at least one night!
On deck, the forward section of the ship beyond the wheelhouse (bridge) was verboten at any time. This was the wrong message to four thrill junkies out to break the boredom barrier. We snuck by the "Stay the hell out of here" signs and pressed ourselves against the bridge so that the people on lookout and steering the ship could not see us. The whole object of this not-too-bright foray was to reach the very prow of the ship without being detected. My brother Jack had been in the Canadian Navy. He would always boast about how great a sailor he was because he knew the difference between the "pointy end" (bow) and the "blunty end" (stern). Equipped with this knowledge, it was abundantly clear that I was the only one with the credentials to lead this sneak attack to "pointy ends" unknown. The distance to reach the end of the bow was about 50' and I went for it, ducking behind various nautical paraphernalia on the deck to reach my goal. It was reminiscent of a commando raid from an old World War II movie, but I finally made it. Holding onto the railings on either side at this narrow point, I can honestly say that the exhilaration I felt at that moment has never been equalled for me as a man. It was wrong, foolish, insane and magnificent all in the same moment. In that darkness with only the moon appearing periodically between breaking clouds and the
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ship plunging and pitching in that massive sea, I felt alive. On looking back, I shudder when realizing how easily I could have been swept off my precarious perch into the sea resulting in a guaranteed drowning, but youth can be oblivious to thoughts of death. Soon my moment of machoism was about to end as a search light from the bridge brought reality back into play and I ducked for cover. A little game of hide-and-seek was about to begin as they started to turn the search light off and then periodically pop it on again trying to find me. At this point, my football experience from high school days came into play by running broken field-style all the way back to my fellow whimsical friends, who were giggling with glee at my out-foxing the beam of light from the bridge and chuckling on my safe return. We quickly departed the scene, but at least we had one exciting evening.
The next day, a message from the Captain was distributed throughout the Saxonia mentioning that certain individuals had apparently ventured into a forbidden area during the night. In the usual British style of controlled anger, he said that this was considered a definite naughty thing to do and to whomever this message applied, to please refrain from repeating the practice in future. Everyone on board knew it was us, but nothing was ever said directly. We resigned ourselves to once again entering, however reluctantly, the "Shake the bag" syndrome, but we were about to land in Southampton and begin a new adventure.
While at sea, I received a wire from our agent saying she was able to book us into a nightclub for a one-week engagement preceding our television debut in Manchester. We were still okay for time even with the added stops on our voyage as I had allotted two weeks as a pad before our
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television commitment. The night spot was called the Celebrity Club and this of course was a bonus, allowing us a euphoric feeling of being on a roll. In England, any nightclub work is referred to as "doing cabaret", which is a much more appealing term in contrast to our "playing a club". Arriving in Southampton on the ninth day, we took a delightful little boat train to London, only to board yet another train for Manchester which was our final destination. On boarding the train, it was interesting to note that everything seemed so diminutive in size compared to Canada, appearing like a scaled-down version of our railroad trains which was somewhat charming to observe. The scenery was also another world to behold with backyards enclosed by hedges, the sameness of so many of the dwellings and of course, the clothing that was quite tweedy and quite, quite British! All wonderfully new and exciting, even though I personally had tasted it once before.
On arrival in Manchester, we were devastated to find that British Railways had managed to lose Jack's luggage, which I later found out was an all too common occurrence with the BR. More than an inconvenience, it was a disaster because all of his uniforms were in that luggage. Now we were in the proverbial pickle because it occurred on the Friday and we were due to open at the Celebrity Club on the following Monday. With Trojan determination, we taxi-cabbed our way all over town trying to find a tailor who could try to match one of the remaining two uniforms that Les and I still had and as quickly as possible. We finally found one guy who could do the job for a fee that definitely helped his retirement fund, but we had no choice! I think the last payment of instalments to him will be due in just another two years! In fairness, the guy did a helluva' job and we were grateful.
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The Celebrity Club engagement went well, but my agent back in Toronto hadn't read that small print. Here I was in the old trap again, although it was not her fault as she was not aware of this little wrinkle which was common place in England. It appeared that along with the regular club date, there was also a little clause that said we were required to play a couple of minor clubs, just hours before the main engagement which seemed to be the regular routine when booking cabaret gigs in England at that time. In this case, it involved the Levensume and the Devonshire Sporting Clubs, which had to be considered a "B" if not "C" rating in nightclubs. To give you an idea of the entertainment factor, we and a few other acts were the interval or intermission for the main attraction, that being ... Bingo! Sounds vaguely familiar somehow! I wondered if I would ever be able to dump this "shake the bag" business permanently.
The usual routine for these dreaded diversions was for us, plus one or two other acts, to meet on a particular street corner where a small van would arrive to transport us to our destination, which in this case was a sort of purgatory. While awaiting our transportation, one of the other acts came up to me and started a friendly conversation to pass the time. This unfortunate guy had a speech impediment that was painful to him and the listener. He stuttered, but was attempting to tell me a fairly elaborate joke which was obviously ill-advised. He started into his story and struggled to get the words out to reach the punch line. It was one of those situations
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where you desperately want to jump in with the word he was going for, but you knew full well not to do so, in fear that you would probably embarrass or offend the man. He gallantly tried for what seemed an eternity and finally said fluently, "Oh to Hell with it, it wasn't very funny anyway", which to me was a funny tag to the whole attempt at the joke. To my surprise, it didn't end there. When we reached the club and this guy went on stage, he did a flawless monologue with no stuttering whatsoever. At first, I thought that the man had been "having me on" as the British say and frankly I felt insulted. But I was proven wrong. Relating my feelings to one of the other acts on the show who had worked with him before, they explained the situation. The fact was that he was so rehearsed and relaxed in his routine that the words just blended beautifully together and to great applause. It has proven itself so many times that it's better to reserve judgment until you know all the facts.
On another occasion, we were sitting back stage with the other performers waiting to do our thing. There was a very attractive young lady sitting opposite us, dressed in a frilly yellow dress and was apparently one of the entertainers. Patty whispered to me, "I guess that girl in the yellow dress must be one of the singers on the bill", but I had my doubts as she was not around during our rehearsal with the band. When I say the band, I'm not referring to the London Philharmonic Orchestra here. Try one organ and drums! The "band" played an intro and this demure little beauty got up and walked on stage. My suspicions were confirmed on her return after finishing her act. She was only wearing high heels and a smile, much to the chagrin of Patty who immediately decided that this was one performance she wouldn't relate to her mother on our return to Canada!
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The Celebrity Club was the main gig for us and we scored well with the audience, which proved to be a great kick-start to our Manchester engagement. Immediately after our cabaret caper, we started right into rehearsals for the television show, "Nice 'N Easy" with Janie Marden. One terrific thing I found working in England was the way you were treated by the off-camera and backstage crews, especially when working live theatre. The courtesy and respect was always abundant and most appreciated.
Manchester is a city that takes a lot of kidding about its weather and other so-called short-comings. I found it terrific and thoroughly enjoyed the three months we spent there doing cabaret and of course our television stint. At this point, I will deviate but for a moment, to mention something on a strictly personal note. Never, in all my travels, have I been to a city where seemingly all of the ladies were bestowed with such fantastic legs, as in Manchester. The abundance of great gams was everywhere, much to my joy as I consider myself quite the connoisseur of such important matters. It was 'Wheels City' and I ain't talkin' cars folks! Perhaps that's why the constant rain never bothered me that much. What rain?
The series of shows went very well and our contribution was definitely a key factor. One of our efforts was viewed by a man named Sydney Grace, who was with the Grade Organization in London, England. The Grade Organization in the U.K. could be compared to the William
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Morris Agency in the United States, both in size and reputation. Needless to say, they are the epitome of prestige in their representation of theatrical talent. It was originally founded by the team of Lou and Leslie Grade and with the addition of Sydney Grace, became the Grade Organization. I received a call from Mr. Grace's office requesting a meeting on my return to London, to discuss possible representation while in Britain. This was a great opportunity for us to score big in London Town itself. When I met the gentleman, he was quite different from the usual pushy type of agent. Calm, soft-spoken and with a definite "Don't mess with me" attitude, he exuded confidence, which is exactly what I was hoping for.
There was a famous series of popular shows during that time called "Sunday Night at the London Palladium." It was a variety show featuring international stars and covering every facet of entertainment that was telecast throughout the world. Their season was coming to a close and a summer replacement was in the works following much the same format that would be called "Sunday Night at the Prince of Wales." Sydney was interested in presenting The Billy Van Four as a featured act, along with being a support contingent for the show's headliners. The whole idea sounded great to me, especially in light of the global popularity of the show. We came to an agreement and I told him to go ahead and make his presentation on our behalf. He wanted to make the phone call immediately to the powers that be in charge of the series' production and I agreed. I admire anyone who makes decisions immediately and follows through, but realizing he would be negotiating on the phone, I excused myself to go for a coffee and said I would come back in a half hour. On my
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return, Sydney was ecstatic that he had made the deal. However, there was a slight problem. Along with our own feature number and the added function of working and backing the guest star on each show, one of the acts was a very famous quartet. Backing a solo singer was one thing, but a group backing a group was quite another, in my opinion. To allow this to happen, we would be relegated to back-up singers, rather than a featured act. I simply had to draw the line. On telling Sydney my feelings, he was very understanding, but said that if I didn't accept the whole package, there was more than a good chance that we would lose the complete summer series. I went with my gut feeling. This was a stand I had to take and thanked Mr. Grace for his trouble. He said he was disappointed, but admired the courage of my convictions and sticking to my guns. It was a long and agonizing journey home on the tube. When I walked in the door, Patty said that Sydney would like me to call him. Immediately, my heart was in my throat as I dialed his number, not having had the chance to inform the rest of the group about my decision as yet. When Mr. Grace's secretary put me through,. an excited Sydney said, "Well done my boy, I'm proud of you. You'll miss that one show with the other group in question, but you'll do the remaining eight shows." I thanked that dear man profusely for his support and his second effort in negotiating the deal which meant so much to us. After relating the whole story to the rest of the gang, they came up with a nickname for me that they use to this day - "Larry Leader!" I was one proud puppy!
Rosemary Clooney, Steve Lawrence, Edie Gorme, Connie Stevens, Eartha Kitt, Johnnie Ray, were just a few of the stars that we worked with on the Prince of Wales stage. We definitely held our own, receiving great
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reviews and many accolades and were becoming quite popular with the British audiences. As fate would have it, Mel Torme was also one of the guest stars on the Prince of Wales Show. He, quite understandably, didn't remember me at all and there was no reason to refresh his memory. This time I had money in my pocket and there was definitely a lack of desire to repeat any culinary capers with this guy. The producer of the show took me aside during one of the rehearsals and told me that Howard Keel was going to be the guest star the following week. He requested that I meet with Mr. Keel and work out some little routine that we could do together on the show. Howard Keel, the star of so many musicals in the movies and on Broadway - Kismet, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Show Boat - and we were going to be working with this famous star on British television. Bonus!
The following evening I arrived at the suites of my illustrious icon to make arrangements for our intended leap into show business history! Upon arrival at the mini-mansion, it was surprising to find two military policemen in full uniform with side arms, guarding the outside of his abode. To this day, I still have no idea why the army was involved, but it was impressive. After finally convincing these guys that I was not there to steal Mr. Keel's material, but rather to make a contribution, permission was granted for me to pass. Who knows? Maybe they were keeping the guy in. I tapped on the door and when it opened, there "he" was, larger than life with an even larger smile. I introduced myself and mentioned my mission. He ushered me into his lavish digs that must have been transported from a Hollywood set when suddenly a waft of perfume almost
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knocked me over. Lo and behold, the source of the heavenly fragrance was about to be discovered. Lounging on the sofa was perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever seen to that point in my life. I won't bore you with the many adjectives that might be available to describe this goddess, but rather put it in my Dovercourt Rd. jargon, "Hot damn, she was a good looker with a body that wouldn't quit!" The lady hailed from Paris and spoke very little English, as if it mattered!
The evening proved to be a wonderful experience with Howard and I discussing various ways we could enhance his and our performances together, especially in his featured number, the beautiful song "London By Night." Drinking cocktails, laughing, planning and scheming our way well into the night. The hour being late and the fact that I had an early call the next morning brought reality to the fore. I gave my thanks for this entertaining and productive evening, excused myself and headed for the door. Mr. Keel (sorry, by now my buddy 'Howard'), kindly opened the door and uttered a farewell that will ring in my ears 'til the day I die. "Really nice meeting you Danny." In my stunned state, I merely smiled, nodded in disbelief and walked down the hallway, nursing the blow to my ego solar plexus. Boy, did I know how to make an impression! On arriving home, the whole group was waiting to hear about 'The Great One' and how the evening went. I described the evening's events in detail, saving the punch line of punch lines to the very last moment. When I delivered the tag, there was a pregnant pause of several seconds. Obviously they didn't know if I was devastated by his remark and were waiting for my reaction. They must have detected a slight smile on my face and unanimously
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exploded into gales of laughter, myself included. They were very kind and didn't demote me from my hard-earned "Larry Leader" position, but they couldn't resist slipping in a Danny now and then, just in case I ever entertained the notion of getting serious about myself. If this wave of names thrust upon me were to continue, an identity crisis could ensue!
The next day in rehearsal, Howard showed no sign of any faux pas on his part and was oblivious of the incident which was just as well. But those little buggers in the group had Danny on their minds and would snicker every time Howard would say "Billy." The show went well and that finished our television commitments in England. We were very proud of what we had achieved and were now preparing to fly back home to Toronto, but not before a final one-week engagement of cabaret in London and that would serve as a "wrap" to our England adventure.
The week of cabaret booked in London was at a nightery called the Astor Club in Mayfair. Although it had the facade of a classy night club, a number of things were going on that I'm sure weren't on the up and up. There was always a bevy of lovely ladies available as hostesses for the gentleman clients who, for a small fee of £5, would join these gentlemen and help them to enjoy the evening, and more often than not, leave the club arm-in-arm. The tuxedod head waiters were very pugilistic in appearance and I had been around long enough to know a bouncer when I saw one or in this case, four. Our pugnacious pals took a shine to us, I guess because we were young, sounded good and certainly didn't pose a threat in their domain. There were one or two other acts on the bill, along with an eight-piece orchestra to provide the patrons with the entertainment portion of their evening, hostesses aside of course.
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One of the acts I always got a kick out of, was a husband and wife adagio style whip dance team. As soon as they came into the dressing room, they cursed and screamed at each other without a pause while they put on their makeup. These salvos of rantings and ravings continued in a never-ending flow, right up to their musical intro. As soon as the cue came, they broke into warm wonderful smiles and started their routine with her playing a slave girl and he the "macho man." This guy was a master with that whip and would crack it loudly while winding it around her neck, waist and arms with such dexterity that she was never harmed in any way. They would take their bows, but as soon as they hit the wings, seemingly without missing a beat, would continue the argument from where they left off. This was not an isolated occurrence as the same routine occurred every night for a whole week! Looking back, I never could decipher just what the hell they were fighting about!
There is a common ground shared by performers and musicians, which encompasses scoring well at our job, getting paid, hoping the cheque doesn't bounce and avoiding trouble whenever possible. One night while we were in the middle of one of our numbers, we saw a chair fly through the air, plus a large table suddenly and violently turned ass-over-tea-kettle. Some of the patrons were going at one another with a vengeance, and our bouncer boys charged into the fray, confirming my suspicions about them! We quickly left the stage and headed for the nearest exit where the funny part was about to evolve. There were two exits in this
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posh joint and both exits were filled with performers, including musicians desperately holding onto their instruments, but nobody was getting out. We all wanted to watch the action - at a safe distance of course. I guess it was our turn to be entertained, with the assurance that we had an avenue of immediate escape if needs be. It also served as one last adventure for us on this wonderful England experience. What was a planned three-month booking became 6 months and we were more than ready to return home to our friends and loved ones.
Arriving home after all that time was a long overdue treat for us to celebrate. We called off all rehearsals and work for a two-week period in order to relax and re-adjust to everything. I hadn't driven a car in six months and had to remember to stay on the right-hand side of the road, but like riding a bicycle, it came back immediately. Naturally there was a huge accumulation of mail that had gathered. Some cheques from residuals of commercials, (treat), assorted bills and many overdue notices (no treat), which had to be immediately dealt with.
But there was one envelope of particular interest that had been sent from Scotland and was dated three months prior to our arrival home. It was addressed to the Billy Van Four and I couldn't believe its contents. Enclosed was a letter and postcard from a man who had found that little 4 oz. empty brandy bottle with the note inside that I had written. The note read, "Sorry you find this empty, better luck next time." He related how it was found on a beach in the Inner Hebrides Islands in Scotland while exploring caves with his twin daughters. On the postcard was an area marked with an "X" to show exactly where they picked it up and enclosed
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was my original note with his letter stating that he felt I owed him a drink. I couldn't have agreed more. I wrote back and thanked him for returning my note, commenting on how astounded I was as to its journey and discovery. Unfortunately I never heard back, but perhaps someday we will meet and I can buy him his much deserved libation. By doing a little calculating and remembering that I had thrown the bottle into the ocean two days out of New York, it appeared that with the aid of wind currents, it had travelled over 3,000 miles in a period of three months before washing ashore in Scotland. I think you would agree, this indeed was a once in a lifetime experience!
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NIGHTCAP
This series was taped between 1962 and 1964 and was referred to as a late-night satirical show, definitely pre-'Laugh-In' in content and style. The material was naughty, politically explosive and extremely adventurous by the CBC standards of the 60's, running forty-five minutes in length and jammed full of raw entertainment from beginning to end. It was the brainchild of an English director/producer with the corporation, Terry Kyne and a bright young writer by the name of Chris Bearde. We completely divorced ourselves from the usual mundane offerings of that era in time and went for the shock value with a vengeance, but did however stay true to the Canadian way in that we had the minimum of minimums budget.
The cast consisted of Al Hamel (host), June Sampson, Vanda King, Bonnie Brooks and myself, plus Guido Basso in charge of our mini-band (nicknamed the 'Rubber Band'). Chris Bearde headed the writing department and occasionally performed.
The show was shot at CBC 's Studio 4 at Marlborough & Yonge Streets, in Toronto. Live to tape and because of the lack of budget, we could not stop tape to edit if there were any goof-ups. So, for all intent and purposes, it was a live show with an audience in attendance that were offered only roll-
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out bleachers in the studio that could accommodate perhaps 150 people. Our first audience consisted of two curious souls who were strolling by and just happened to notice that a show was going to be taped and the price was right, free! It became a very rewarding observation to witness the increase in audience as the weeks rolled on and by the end of the first year of taping, people were lined up half a block down Yonge Street.
This show presented costume problems that required some of the unsung heros behind the scenes to really show their stuff. Every show in itself was complete pandemonium. We didn't enjoy the luxury of time to go to our respective dressing rooms to change or the makeup room for a touch-up, because panic stations were the rule of the day. The makeup and costume people were hanging out in the wings and everything became more like a summer stock production than a television taping. I remember that quite often I would have to strip right down to my underwear while making a fast change. Although no babe in the woods, I frankly found it embarrassing undressing in front of all the females in attendance. One evening, one of the makeup ladies who was helping me change noticed my obvious shy guy syndrome and said, "Don't worry about it Billy, to us it's all academic -- but you've got nice buns!"
To me, one of the most invigorating, exciting and rewarding aspects of my profession is everyone pitching in, whether it is their particular job or not, just going for the one thing that is the most important to us all - a good show! On Nightcap, when all of this effort fell into place and the job
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was done, the feeling of elation for me was indescribable and it would take a good two hours for the adrenalin to subside. I would often reflect on my old job in the Treasury Department at the Corporation and savor the thought that this definitely felt better than the Department's annual Christmas party!
The budget for the entire show would make Scrooge look like a philanthropist, but innovation is born of necessity. On one particular show, we literally had no money for sets of any kind. In Studio Four, there was a huge syke (curtain) which was used to completely cover the barren studio walls, but it required a special crew to have it installed and we simply could not afford it. We announced to the audience about this financial hangup, but that we would do our best to overcome the problem and go on with the show. With our following of fans, it was the perfect thing to do because we received a thunderous applause of support, which encouraged us to push on with ever greater enthusiasm. So off we went on our merry, but penniless way, exposing the crude unfinished walls covered in wire mesh and concrete in all their glory. A hill was needed for a religious sketch, so we used a step ladder that we found lying around and put a sign on it that said "Hill" and more innovations went on throughout the show. People appreciated the honesty and determination we showed and could certainly identify with being broke.
We pulled an unprecedented bit of business on one particular show in order to get some idea of just what the size of our viewing audience might be. Al Hamel, our host, asked the viewing audience to go and flush their toilets at a particular moment to be announced sometime during the
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show. The idea was that when the deed was done, we would obtain the water level records from the city the following day to check the water consumption from the charts, for that particular moment. I guess you could say that this had to be the epitome of toilet humor, but I'll be damned if it didn't work. The charts we obtained showed a significant increase in water usage and we felt rewarded. Of course, this was not the type of behavior the Corporation endorsed but it was always that way with us, butting the corporate heads. We were always on the carpet for our daring-do stunts and were regularly berated. We would always say we were sorry and would never do it again, but then would do something else that was equally unacceptable on the next show. I can't really blame them as the corporation existed through public funding and was answerable to the public. The only argument we had was the fact that the show was highly acclaimed and people simply liked what we were doing, instead of going along with the status quo of see, speak and hear no naughty! At any rate, we survived a solid four years and people still remember the young, unorthodox scamps who dared to be different.
After two years of performing on Nightcap, I asked for a raise. I was making $400 per show each week and was involved in every sketch and routine that we did. My request was a $100 raise per episode, which I felt was fair with that kind of workload. When asked to do a million different things at once, my brother Warren would say, "Why don't you stick a broom up my ass and I'll sweep as I go!" That line could have well applied in this case. The corporation countered with $25 or I could take a hike. I
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did take a hike, but my path took me right down to the three leading newspapers in town at that time, The Toronto Star, The Globe & Mail and the Toronto Telegram, relating to them the ultimatum given me and knowing how supportive they had been in the past. Barbara Hamilton was a dear friend and she said, "Billy you'll never win. You can't do that in this town!". But I felt it was right and wasn't sorry about it, no matter what and fortunately for me, all three newspapers came to my defence and lambasted theCBC for being such skinflints. A short time later, Terry Kyne, the producer of the show, called me and said I had won the fight and would get the raise, but to please not make a big deal about it. I didn't.
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did take a hike, but my path took me right down to the three leading newspapers in town at that time, The Toronto Star, The Globe & Mail and the Toronto Telegram, relating to them the ultimatum given me and knowing how supportive they had been in the past. Barbara Hamilton was a dear friend and she said, "Billy you'll never win. You can't do that in this town!". But I felt it was right and wasn't sorry about it, no matter what and fortunately for me, all three newspapers came to my defence and lambasted the
Wonderful book! A million thanks for providing it online!
ReplyDeletePlease publish it so I can buy a hardcopy!
Fascinating insight from the most underappreciated actor in all of Canada!
I wish all of his performances were readily available for viewing! :) Keith
Thank you, Lawrence! Your thoughts are most appreciated.
DeleteAll the best in the new year!
Thanks for posting. I always thought Billy Van should have had a much bigger career. Does anyone remember him on the hilarious CBC comedy show from the 1960s, "Nitecap"?
ReplyDeletehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YK-1SPFHnmE
Hope you enjoy Billy's autobiography and he writes about Nitecap. His career was quite extensive - check out https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0888397
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