Billy Van Second Banana

Billy Van - Second Banana - Part 5

Page

The Homecoming 196

Party Game 198

Circus 209

Bizarre 214

Bits & Bytes 216

How Do You Do 221

Odds and Ends! 227

- Candy Man 227

- Green Room 230

- King Ganam 231

- Reality Check 232

- Rich Little 233

- Bloor Collegiate Institute 234

- Bobby Vinton 234

- Gordie Tapp 235

- Fowl Up 236

- Honey Wagon 237

- Whatta’ Ham 238

- Robert Mitchum 239

- Ken Berry 240

- Sarah Vaughan 241

- Larry Mann 242

- Switzers 245

- Taxi 245

- Seeing Things 250

- Airport Reunion 253

Finale 257

This is Billy’s original manuscript.

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THE HOMECOMING

In the show business industry, the phrase, "Everyone likes a winner" holds true in just about every country in the world, except Canada. I had just returned from a hit international television show of four years in the United States. But I still was at the bottom of the ladder in Canada. When the very successful TV series E.N.G. folded, one of the leading ladies remarked, "In Canada when climbing the ladder of success in show business, you will find that the said 'ladder' is prone on the ground." She had proven her talent and ability for years, but was relegated to auditioning for minor roles in commercials and television parts.

It was as if I had never left. I acquired a new talent agency which had gained a good track record for their clients and decided to invest some money and throw a big industry party to announce my return to Toronto and my choice of representation. We planned to send out invitations to 120 advertising agencies, producers and directors, to hopefully conjure up some interest and start to land gigs. The caterers were booked for the food and open bar. To avoid embarrassing name searching, we printed up name tags, placing them on a large board to be picked up and pinned on as guests entered. The walls were covered in over 200 framed photographs of stars I had worked with over the years. All in all, it was quite impressive and more importantly to most of them, it was all free!

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The festivities started at 7:30 p.m. on a Friday and by 11:30 p.m., I looked at the name board and was shocked to see 90 name tags unclaimed. In order to save face, or what was left of it, I quickly stashed the board out of sight. By 1:00 a.m., reality and disappointment had really settled in. The only ones left at the party were four freeloading, out-of-work actors who had crashed the party and were in the process of gorging themselves with food and drink. I even saw one of them stuffing cold meats into his pockets. It was reminiscent of jackals feeding off the carcass of some other animal's kill. I not so politely told them to fuck off!

After the damage control check, I was out $1,100.00, seven stolen irreplaceable photos and a severely scarred ego. But it certainly proved one thing to me. Now I definitely knew I was back home. When Michael J. Fox was asked how he felt about show business in Canada, he replied, "You could be a fugitive and successfully hide out on a Canadian television sitcom." I was reminded of something that happened to me very early in my career. Someone asked me, "What do you do for a living?" I answered, "I'm in show business", to which he replied, "Ya, but what do you do during the day?" Sad, but true.

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PARTY GAME

I received a phone call one evening from a producer, who said he had a great idea for a new charades show. The format was to feature a 'Home Team' of players pitted against high profile entertainers plus up-and-coming performers as the 'Visiting Team'. The idea was for the show to be funny, zany and above all, entertaining. A congenial host would keep the segments moving along nicely and it would also serve as a showcase for these new talents to show their stuff. An admirable idea I thought and I told him I was definitely interested.

He requested that we get together at his suite at the posh Windsor Arms Hotel in downtown Toronto where I would meet the other members of the proposed 'Home Team'. On arrival, I was delightfully surprised to find Dinah Christie, Jack Duffy and Al Boliska in attendance. Al and Dinah, I knew of and admired over the years as tops in their fields. Duffy on the other hand, was a comrade-in-arms from years earlier on the "Here's Duffy Show", in which we did a number of things together. This was definitely going to be fun because it was obvious the chemistry would be in place.

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We were all given a couple of charades to perform with each other and admittedly, we would not, at that time, be accused of being swift! In short, we were pathetic, taking up to four minutes to get the charade across. But in fairness, we hadn't honed any of the signs which we would eventually use as short-cuts. But the magic was there and at that time, that was all that was required. We agreed to do the show for one season, little knowing that we were about to embark on a ten-year journey of frivolity and games literally. What better a title than 'Party Game' and so the show was born.

Now came the time to negotiate the contract. Although it looked like a great gig, there was a little problem of a mortgage, food, clothing and various other everyday things that had to be dealt with. This particular producer had a reputation of being a smidge eccentric and a shrewd, if not merciless negotiator. I had geared myself for a tough time, ever on the watch for any devious little tricks he may pull.

He always made his deals on his own turf at the Windsor Arms, where he could feel in control since you were in his ballpark. On arriving, his secretary asked me to please wait in his office suite and he would join me momentarily. As I entered his office, I immediately knew that this guy had not only done his homework, but had studied the art of intimidation as a means of conquest. What greeted me was a circular riser, about a foot high and eight feet in circumference, placed in the middle of the room and supporting a large white wing-backed leather chair. I awaited the arrival of this royal highness of schmooze, thinking, "I wonder what this crafty bugger's going to pull?"

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On seeing this set-up, I knew exactly what he was attempting to do because my chair was at floor level, forcing me to look up at him while we negotiated. I'm sure he was hoping that this set-up would psychologically make me feel less secure, and therefore give him the advantage. No doubt he must have had great success with this ploy in the past, but not with this Dovercourt Rd. street kid! When he finally consented to adorn the room with his presence (they love to make you wait), he must have been pretty proud of his imagined victory of cunning cleverness. But to me, it was as subtle as a sledgehammer in the forehead.

Without exception, every producer I have ever negotiated with has the same opening line. It's like the first commandment in their Bible and it always comes out, " 'Ya know Billy, we have a very tight budget" followed by the usual "how difficult things are" and blah, blah, blah, etc. It could be compared to the wartime tactic of shelling the bejabbers out of the enemy on the beach before committing the troops to land, thereby reducing the casualties, in his case, monies paid out. Despite this guy's elaborate ruse, he was no different than the many producers I've encountered in my career. I just let him ramble on about how lucky I was that he was so wonderful and the beat goes on. After he had laid out his offer, I told him I'd think it over and return the next day with my decision. On returning the following day, I noticed that they were doing some painting and renovating in the hall outside his suite. I entered his 'kingdom' and was puzzled that the secretary was not at her desk and called out his name. He was in some other room and yelled back for me to go into his office and he would join me momentarily. An idea hit me that I couldn't resist. I knew that

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at least three to four minutes would pass before this hustling huckster would make his appearance. I raced back into the hall and gave one of the painters $5.00 to borrow his six-foot step ladder for ten minutes. The painter agreed and quickly running back with the ladder into his office, I sat on the very top of the rungs overlooking 'The Throne'. When he finally entered, expecting I'm sure to part the waters, he was speechless at the sight of me up there. I said "Okay, shall we cut the bullshit and talk a deal?" My point was made!

Party Game was probably the most fun of any show series I've ever done. We would all drive to location to tape the segments, usually Monday to Friday. Ten years of playing charades couldn't be considered as hard work, but it was a welcome relief from some of the more demanding performances over the years. For the first year of our run, the show was hosted by Al Boliska, with the "Home Team" consisting of Dinah Christie, 'Captain' Jack Duffy and myself. Sadly after that first year, Al passed away and was replaced by Bill Walker, who blended with all of us perfectly. One of the reasons for Party Game's longevity was the fact that a great camaraderie evolved, which made everything much easier and enjoyable.

All of the shows were shot in Hamilton, which is about 40 miles west of Toronto. We would go on-camera at approximately 10:00 a.m. and shoot five half-hour shows, each day. When the first segment was shot (representing the Monday of the week), we would rush to our dressing rooms, change clothes and get back on set for the second segment, which would open with "Hi there, it's Tuesday and welcome to Party Game ..." Obviously the five shows a day

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represented a full week, Monday to Friday and by changing clothes, it gave the appearance of a new day. It was shot like most series even to this day, churned out like a factory assembly line. With the allowance of 45 minutes for lunch, we would be on the road back to Toronto by about 3:45 p.m. Our 45-minute lunch break was interesting in its own way for, enter once more, our truly humble and generous producer. He was self-extravagant to a fault as he would supply finger sandwiches for us and the guests on the shows, while he was served a hot steak dinner by a caterer. Strangely enough, nobody was really surprised, knowing the reputation of this S.O.B. who was absolutely oblivious as to who liked or disliked him.

There was a constant flow of guests consisting of established performers and a number of up-and-coming actors, to challenge our team. Like any job, familiarity lends itself to perfection and we became very proficient at our charades, which sometimes proved to be a self-imposed trap. By finishing the allotted charades too quickly, we would end up with minutes of fill time, to the end of the show. The talented Dinah would sometimes pull out her trusty guitar and great voice to fill some of the time. Bill, Duffy and I would join forces on occasion and ad lib as best we could, to keep the show entertaining to its conclusion.

The guests were allowed to see their charades before the show, but not allowed to tell their fellow challengers what their charade was. Each performer was also sent a booklet of the many hand-signs to study, weeks prior to their appearance. This worked pretty well, with the odd exception. One of the

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guests on a particular show was a very successful men's hair stylist who had a chain of shops throughout the city. He somehow managed to sneak a peek at one of the other guest's charade, which almost caused a very embarrassing scene. When the guest got up to perform her charade, our naughty friend was about to show the world how clever and perceptive he was. When the young lady started to perform the charade, and had successfully conveyed the first three words, our would-be wizard blurted out the whole thing like some clairvoyant klutz! Bill Walker could not believe this guy could be so blatant in his cheating and put our congenial host in a very awkward position. On seeing Bill's dilemma, I decided to play the naughty boy. I went over and looked at the card and said "I don't believe it! They're still using that old joke, no wonder he got it so fast!" We all laughed nervously and quickly moved on to the next charade and our not-so-swift friend was never invited back.

From necessity, I had accumulated a number of hats and various paraphernalia behind the set, ready to go if circumstances warranted as it often did to fill time. During these moments of desperation, I called upon every comedic skill developed over the years and with the help of these crisis collectibles, was able to jump in when it became crucial and hopefully save the day. Bill Walker was the perfect foil for my silly antics being so quick to adjust to anything and everything I would attempt to do, no matter how bizarre it appeared. The rapport between the two of us was immediate and we would bounce lines as if we'd rehearsed the bits for days!

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If we found ourselves in a 'fill time' situation, I would dash backstage during a commercial break, grab a hat, any hat, and whatever prop was lying about and re-appear on set. Over a period of 10 years of shows, I tried quite a few characters and a few became regulars on the show. There was 'Maurice of Mimico', who was a self-styled designer of ladies' frocks and an entrepreneur and critic of the loaned artwork that adorned the walls of the set. To put it mildly, Maurice was outrageous with his ridiculous accent and very affected walk. He would approach one of the female guests and say things like "What is your name darling?" Whatever she would reply, he would pounce on it, "Helen!", or whatever, "Well, we'll just have to live with that, won't we dear!" He would then instruct the ladies on how to walk as a runway model. "Now ladies, when we walk, we don't clump, clump down the runway. We glide, like a gazelle, you silly little munchkins." All the gals were good sports and went along with Maurice's silly routines. Then there was "Selmo Muckeridge from Hornpayne, Ontario, population 57 souls, soon to be 58 because it had been a long winter." Selmo would show up with a beat up old jacket, baseball cap and hold a kerosene lamp. Using an old raspy voice and speaking very slowly, he would trade dialogue with Bill Walker. Near the end of the dialogue he would zero in on the lens of one of the cameras and say "Everybody, run for your lives, here comes the f.....g train." In between the words 'the' and 'train', he would quickly turn his back to the camera and while looking at the rest of the cast, would silently insert that universally known no-no word and snap back to the camera for 'train'. It was always good for a mischievous laugh and certainly didn't fool the viewers.

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A lot of performers I have worked with are absolutely terrified to do game shows, where they are completely exposed to possible embarrassment. The reason being that they were all trained to study lines and moves in their acting careers. But this show was live and you had to ad lib and be entertaining, without the advantage of rehearsal. I felt that way guesting on the CTV show "Definition". You simply didn't want to come off looking like a dummy! The late wonderful and talented Kate Reid was terrified when she came on the show, as were so many other seasoned veterans.

The odd time, we would get a letter from someone who would accuse the Home Team of cheating, suggesting that we in fact received our charades ahead of time and discussed how we were going to do them. I'm happy to say that this never happened. Quite regularly, the guests would take one of the Home Team aside and ask how to do a certain word or phrase. We were always glad to help, but more often than not, when the cameras were rolling, nerves took over and they would forget everything we showed them! If I saw anyone really struggling and starting to feel foolish, I would play the bad little boy routine and merely walk over to them, look at their card and say out loud the word they were torturing themselves over. For example, "Oh yeah, infamous is a tough word" and go back to my seat. Each time I would be scolded by our dear host Bill Walker, and told never to do that again! It was probably wrong, but at the same time, by doing this, I was able to save a lot of folks from having egg on their face.

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Two or three of the guest teams took the game seriously and would actually rehearse for days before the show to give us a run for our money. On occasion, they would be successful and we quite loved the challenge for these were real pros who had done their homework. Like any show where so many people are involved, there are bound to be some not-so-nice folks. Captain Jack, Dinah and I would on occasion zero in on a team that we found obnoxious or rude and go for it, but happily, this was very rare. When we confided to each other that the "Go gettum" sign was on, we could really turn up the heat and beat them soundly. On one occasion this really backfired on me. We blew the bad guys away on this show and ended everything so quickly that we still had eight minutes to kill. Now it was Walker's turn to be the 'bad little boy' and he just said, "Okay Billy, there's eight minutes to fill, so go for it, 'cuz I'm going for a coffee" and he meant it. Jack and Dinah must have been in on it because they didn't lift a finger to help me out! As a matter of fact, I think they were enjoying my predicament immensely! I can't remember exactly all the desperate things attempted, but I called up everything from bad lines from old movies, dancing on tables, terrible impressions, songs with dumb lyrics and the rest is a blank. Finally out of material, I simply said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we will now go to commercial." I never did get around to paying those rapscallions (Jack, Dinah and Bill) back. Eight minutes can be an eternity on live television.

On one of our offerings, we had a professional stunt girl as a guest and Bill asked her about some of the more exacting hazards she had encountered in her profession. At one point, she expounded on the art of punching someone in

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the face. This would of course have to be faked and choreographed to come within a half-inch of the face itself, giving the appearance of contact. She wanted to illustrate this feat and asked me to stand up and stay very still while she took a swing at my jaw. Yep! You're right! She missed and gave me a shot that motivated my molars to destinations unknown. There's a sickening sound when a fist hits a face and everything became very still for a moment. Of course she apologized profusely and I played Joe Macho and laughed it off, but I'll tell you one thing. That lady had one 'helluva right cross!

Our rapport and love for each other I'm sure came through to the audience. Jack nicknamed Dinah 'The Witch' and I heartily agreed, but hasten to say that this was not a derogatory remark, but quite the opposite. Dinah was uncanny at guessing just what the hell we were trying to convey. She is a most talented lady and it didn't hurt that she was a "good looker!"

Jack Duffy, 'The Duffer'. What can be said to describe this prince of clowns whose timing was absolute perfection to witness and enjoy. Along with his fine singing voice, he was and is the complete pro, always supportive to the new-comers on the show. It was great for me to work with him again after his own show. I tagged him 'Captain' because he simply was, our Captain.

The personable Bill Walker handled, with great skill, some of the thorniest situations that happened on-air, without missing a beat. Over the years, I had worked with Bill a number of times and count myself lucky to have had those

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delightful experiences. As for the producer of the show, who gives a damn. It was a wonderful time and I truly miss it, but walk away with true friendships and treasured memories.

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CIRCUS

"Ladies & gentlemen. I ask you to direct your attention to the centre ring of our circus extravaganza. Your ringmasters will be the wonderful Cherisse Lawrence and Cal Dodd and featuring our clown of clowns, Louis Algernon Spats!" The show was indeed an actual circus with a variety of animal acts, dancing girls, trapeze artists, jugglers and just about everything else you would expect to see under the 'big top.'

It had proven to be very successful in its first year on air as a half-hour offering and it was now the intention of extending the time to a full hour in its second year. I was contacted by Bill Hartley who was the co-producer and only writer of this production. He had already developed the Spats character and asked if I would not only play that part, but join him in creating several more sawdust sillies to round out our troupe of players. I loved the idea and jumped at the chance of writing with Bill and creating new characters that I would indeed play. For an actor, it just don't get any better folks!

Our system of writing was simplicity in itself as we would merely sit down with a tape recorder and begin to talk. The first thing was to dream up some ridiculous odd-ball, decide on his function and give him some circus-sounding

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name. Bill and I were on the same wave length right off the bat and ended up with seven characters who defied logic, but were all humorous in their own little worlds. Our approach to these new characters was damn the torpedoes, gung ho and let the chips fall where they may attitude! We were also counting on, "There is little defence against the onslaught of good humor." Two of the characters were especially fun for me to play.

Bill's original concept of a clown named Louis Algernon Spats afforded me the opportunity to literally strut my stuff. Spats' obvious functions would include the standard singing and dancing with a great deal of shtick, nicely blended with unending prat-falls. But there was one added feature that couldn't have pleased me more. Pantomime. To be able to convey a story by means of motion without sound is an art form seldom seen today. Red Skelton perfected his "Freddie the Freeloader", Jackie Gleason, "The Poor Soul" and of course, the master himself, Marcel Marceau. I did not harbor such lofty ambitions as to matching these masters, but by golly, I was going to give it my best shot! It was to be a weekly featured segment and I had a ball performing each and every one of the characters. When the word clown is mentioned, most people think of the funny outfits, happy or sad faces and comical antics. For the most part that is all true, but beneath the greasepaint and slapstick routines there lies a kind of sadness. To me, the role of the clown can be very poignant as the famous Emmett Kelly proved so many times throughout his career.

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"Zoltan, King of the Gypsies" was another of my favourites. For this guy, I required complete body makeup from the waist up. With a large moustache, traditional gypsy garb and a ridiculous accent that defied origin anywhere in the world, he was the be-all and end-all king of his little camp, which consisted of a bevy of young beauties who were supposedly his daughters - that is, if you still believe in the Tooth Fairy. Such a rascal!

I must digress for a moment and relate a story which will prove to be significant later on. When my father was a young man, he played the vaudeville circuit to make a living and did a variety of things on stage in order to survive in show business. He travelled with a group of players doing amateur shows, including burlesque theatres, always hoping for that one big break. He didn't play the so-called 'A' circuit, which included New York and Chicago, but the 'B' circuit, in cities like Buffalo, Windsor, etc. I remember him telling me stories of how they survived the hard times which were fascinating. He also told me to buy a diamond ring as soon as I could, to serve as a form of collateral if I ever found myself broke in a strange city. He said you could always hock it for immediate cash and retrieve it later. Heeding his advice and early in my career, I was able to purchase a $200.00 stone and when I found myself flush, would trade it in and purchase one that was more expensive and therefore, more hockable if needs be. By the time the Circus Show came around, I had built it up to a $5,000.00 ring and felt a little more secure if faced with a financial emergency.

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On one of the Zoltan segments, I was required to wear a lot of flashy rings to go with my gypsy leader look so I left my own diamond ring on and just added the costume jewellery that was given to me. In this sketch, Zoltan got mad and punched a door to prove he was the macho man of the gypsy camp. When we finished the scene, I headed for the dressing room to change clothes, take off my makeup and thankfully head home to relax. On removing the costume rings, I noticed that the diamond in my own ring was missing. Immediately it dawned on me that it must have popped out when hitting the door with such gusto. I knew exactly where it had occurred and returned to the set in hopes of finding my diamond in the rough, or in this case, straw. The whole area was covered in straw ala the set decorator for the gypsy camp scene. On my hands and knees looking for the stone, one of the crew guys came up and asked what was going on. Explaining my predicament, he informed the rest of the crew who all joined in the search. After a fruitless half-hour, I told the guys how much I appreciated their efforts, but not to worry because it was insured.

I phoned my insurance broker the next day and related to him what had happened. He said, "I'm sorry Billy, but you're not covered." My reply was the obvious "*!#+#*^)!+?@%$! .... what the hell are you talking about?" He said he felt badly, but he had forgotten to upgrade the insurance and the policy had been cancelled! My reaction to this somewhat expensive oversight I'm sure melted several phone wires.

I was living in a cottage on the Bluffs in Scarborough and the next day, a small panel truck arrived with one of the crew guys driving. He gave me five big plastic bags of the straw they had cleaned up from the set of the gypsy

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camp. His suggestion was to burn the straw and sift the ashes, in the hope that the illusive diamond might be found. I never recovered that diamond, but did find something infinitely more valuable. True friends. Thanks anyway guys!

There was a plus to that season of Circus shows. My union, the Alliance of Cinema Radio and Television Actors (ACTRA), formerly known as the Association of Canadian Television and Radio Artists, nominated me for Best Television Performance In Variety, for that year. No, I didn't even get the brass ring, but it felt good to be recognized by my peers.

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BIZARRE

Bizarre was a comedy show like no other I had ever done before or since. It starred John Byner, who is in my opinion probably the most talented performer I have ever had the pleasure of working with. It was so rewarding when he and I would exchange lines in a sketch. There was never any thought of outdoing each other, but rather a marriage of comedic minds working in concert. He would make me stretch myself to keep up with his brilliance and I know that he had a mutual respect for my abilities.

I was a semi-regular on the show which logged six years of funny and very sexually daring episodes. Most of the sketches were shot twice for the following reasons. In some of the sketches, ladies were shot topless, therefore waist-up editing was used because the main purpose of the show was for sales to cable networks in the United States where such things were quite acceptable in the privacy of your home. We would therefore just shoot the scenes with a frontal shot for the States, then reverse the shot for a back view for Canadian audiences.

The second reason was the language used, which on occasion was more than a little risque. I was a student of the old school whereby you were extremely careful that a naughty didn't slip into your dialogue by accident.

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I remember how awkward I felt when I was required to use the "F" word for the first time. I'm certainly no babe in the woods, but to use these expletives was completely foreign to me when it came to on-camera dialogue. The shows were not shot twice when it came to dicey dialogue. They would merely bleep the naughty with the sound of a horn, although you didn't have to be a lip reader to decipher the word used. But again, only bleeped for the Canadian audiences.

The series was a treat to do and I learned what the term "assembly line" meant. Segments were churned out like a factory gone berserk. When you walked into rehearsal, you were handed just the pages for the parts you were assigned. There wasn't any time for your name to appear on these pages as your guide for the dialogue in the sketch. You were immediately told that you were "Soldier #1" or "Man #3", etc. It served as a reminder of what the term "show business" really meant. The operative part of that term being "business" and that's what Bizarre was all about.

The show itself became an instant hit and is still televised. When you have six years of shows in the can, it means that you have sufficient episodes to go into syndication which is exactly what they did with Bizarre. I had a ball and walked with great memories and a friendship which I treasure with one John Byner.

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BITS & BYTES

Computers have always been intimidating to me, which is a feeling shared by many. The folks at Television Ontario (TVO) must have sensed this problem and decided to do something about it.

The show would be called "Bits & Bytes", which was appropriate for the subject matter. Luba Goy (Royal Canadian Air Farce) was to play the teacher and I, for the purpose of the plot, played the Royal Canadian Computer Bumpkin! They picked the perfect guy because I didn't even know how to turn on some of the computers - the reason being that we were dealing with so many different kinds - Texas Instruments, Apple McIntosh, Commodore, etc. In fairness to myself, I did have to bop around and use a lot of machines which all had their various idiosyncrecies. It was no big deal because all of the information to be presented to the viewers was already written. We would merely perform the material in hopefully an entertaining way.

Both Luba and I were given a choice of using a teleprompter for the many lines to come, or memorizing the dialogue. Luba chose the teleprompter, but I said no. I'm not a masochistic kind of person and I knew that I had my work

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cut out for me, but I had a good reason. As always, because it was TVO, everything had to be grammatically correct, plus the added pressure of precise information that must be conveyed exactly to all my fellow computer bumpkins!

My decision was one of years of discipline in my craft. I purposely chose to study the lines just to see if I had retained my ability to be a quick study and this show was the perfect vehicle to test myself. Many times during the taping of the shows, I felt regret that I didn't take the easy way out, but am glad now because in retrospect I proved that I could do it, which was of the utmost importance for me.

There was an educational game that was not only entertaining, but extremely challenging to the most advanced computer whiz. The game was called "Meltdown" and involved a very elaborate set-up of a nuclear power station. It was complete with moving liquids, valves, switches, gauges and everything you could imagine when dealing with a Rube Goldberg gathering of gadgets in a deadly test of possible anhialation. When the game was activated, it was up to the player to cleverly stop the inevitable meltdown, which of course would mean the demise of thousands of people by the skilful use of the computer keys in the proper sequence. Thankfully, this was just a computer game, but it could get you to thinking about who was in charge of the real McCoy throughout the world. Chernobyl anyone?

The game was punched up on the screen and the camera set up to shoot the action over my shoulder so that all my anticipated bumpkinisms could be viewed for the world to see. None of the computer wizards in attendance had

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been able to beat this game as yet, therefore it was to be a 60-second shot which would graphically show my anticipated failure for the educational value to the viewers. Everything was activated and the director said, "Okay Billy, action." Lights started flashing and the liquid started flowing on a deadly course through various tubes, to reach its Doom's Day destination. Only by pressing the correct keys could the flow be diverted by the many valves available. I'll be damned. In my innocent ignorance, I was hitting the proper keys and was actually on my way to saving the world, and more importantly, Revenue Canada. Sixty seconds turned into four minutes and the director stopped taping without informing me. Suddenly, even he was standing over my shoulder and along with everyone in the studio, just watched as I played "Kaptain Komputer vs. the Meltdown Monster!"

Too bad I wasn't playing at the tables in Los Vegas that day because 'luck' became my middle name. There was an explosion of cheers and applause from the crew and everyone in attendance when I "coup de graced" the final key to win. It was fitting acclaim to my victory for it was abundantly clear that I had saved the world! Have a nice day!

Throughout this book, I mentioned periodically the strange twists and turns that can occur in show business and here is yet one more example of the phenomena. Ten years after that first series of Bits & Bytes, the producers Denise and David Stansfield called me. "Hi Billy, feel like doing a sequel?" Go figure! Ten years had passed and I would look like the village idiot if I was still the student after all that time. Early bumpkin, yes, later idiot, no! My initial

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doubts were allayed when I was informed that, magically, I had become the professional pundit and this time teacher of the computer complex. My credentials? Well, I definitely knew how to turn any and all of the various models on and let's not forget that the world was on borrowed time because of my meltdown maneuverings! But the clincher was the saviour of the on-screen performer, the irreplaceable teleprompter. No matter how ignorant of your subject matter, this device can get you off the hook. Used in the proper way, it can make you appear to be knowledgeable, wise and all-knowing in many fields that in reality you haven't got a clue about. Like so many others in the media, it would serve as my crutch of correctness to the unsuspecting audience. Ten years had passed and obviously computers had become more sophisticated and necessary in all walks of life. I opted to give myself a break and use this technical temptress to assist my limited computer skills or lack thereof.

Every teacher needs a pupil in order to expound upon their worldly wisdom. Although it was as fraudulent as a politician's honesty, it did serve a purpose. The student in this case, was a very talented performer by the name of Victoria Stoecle, who, in reality, was computer-friendly. She would be on the receiving end of my smatterings of smartness. We taped a total of eight shows and as always, Denise and David put together a very entertaining and informative production.

When the shoot was over, I experienced an unforeseen problem. The show definitely had a substantial following of computer aficionados. On a number of occasions, I was confronted on the street, supermarket, parking lot -- you name it -- with questions that were beyond my capabilities to answer.

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People thought that I was some kind of technological guru who had the immediate answer to their many and varied queries concerning web sites. Web sites! What did I know about spiders! I decided that I had better find a solution to this problem before I attempted to offer some kind of faulty information and cost someone hard-earned money. I checked with the computer experts at TVO and asked if I could refer these questions back to them before I did any damage. They were very supportive and agreed to help me out. I would merely tell folks that because of the constant changes in the world of computers, they should call TVO to get the latest advancements in the technology.

Although I didn't come away from this series much the wiser in the field of computers, I did learn something that would serve me in a much better way in my chosen profession as an entertainer. I discovered a way to use the teleprompter so the viewer would never detect that I was reading the information. This technique has and is working for me to this day, making my life considerably easier. So have fun with your keyboard capers and maybe I'll up-grade you again in ten years!

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HOW DO YOU DO

Television Ontario (TVO) was about to introduce a show that would deal with English as a second language (ESL). With the influx of so many immigrants to our country, it would serve as a method of teaching folks the fundamentals of everyday living in a new country.

The concept was that a mechanical man be created in a laboratory by a not-so-weird scientist. I was originally asked to play the scientist's role, but things have a way of reversing themselves in show business and such was the case here. In keeping with the tone of the times, it was decided that a woman should play the role of the scientist. The producers/writers of the show were the brilliant husband and wife team of Denise Boiteau and David Stansfield whom I had worked with many times over the years. Ours was a special relationship of respect and friendship. They phoned me personally to convey the news that the upper echelon of TVO had decided on the gender switch and felt terrible because they had committed themselves to having me play the part. I knew full well that the situation was completely out of their hands and assured them that there were no hard feelings. Having allayed their concerns, I asked them who was going to play the robot. They said that the part had not been cast as yet and I said, "I want to play him!" They were absolutely delighted at the news and a mechanical munchkin was about to be born.

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Cybernetic Heuristic Integrated Perception Systems was his official name, but he was referred to as "CHIPS", in order to avoid tongue-twister trauma. Makeup and costuming were to become a Herculean task, but with the help of talented people, the desired result was achieved. When CHIPS was finally completed, he was a masterpiece of imagination and ingenuity. He appeared like a 'hip Tin Man' from the Wizard of Oz. Complete with an arc of lights on his chest that flashed as he spoke, silver makeup accentuated with glued-on chin and eyebrow bolts, colored bulbs on his helmet activated when he pondered a question, and finally, a finger that flashed when he pressed a secret button on the palm of his hand. He was the Romeo of Robots and I'm sure could have melted the batteries on many a cute Robotess!

Being newly created, he naturally was ignorant of the basic knowledge of how to survive in our society. Now our heroine scientist comes into play. The lady was named Frankie Stone, which I guess was appropriate for the creator of an innocent metal menace in a laboratory. She of course would have to teach him the fundamentals of everyday living in a most simplistic way, in order to convey to our new citizens how to handle themselves in an English-speaking environment. Every question and answer that we exchanged had to be grammatically, absolutely correct and no ad-libs or exceptions were tolerated. After all, we were giving a crash course of survival in our English language. We would deal in things like money, transportation, buying clothes, getting a job, buying a home, and all the essentials that new arrivals would encounter.

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Frankie was played by a lovely and talented actress by the name of Lynne Griffin, who was a real professional with many achievements to her credit. We got along famously and had a lot of fun taping these segments, which resulted in an informative and entertaining series.

Three weeks before we were to start, I was playing in a baseball tournament consisting of the greatest collection of stumble-bums since the Keystone Cops. When great teams take to the playing field, there is quite often a band fanfare announcing their arrival. In our case, I think a calliope playing "Bring in the Clowns" would have been appropriate. When I was seventeen and in high school, I was the city champ in the 100 yd. dash (10.2 sec.) at the TSSAA meet at Varsity Stadium. I was now in my fifties physically, but in my heart, youth prevailed. In one particular baseball game, as I was rounding the bases entertaining the foolish notion that I would show these young punks that the 'old man' still had it in him, reality suddenly reappeared. After I slid into third base, my back said, "Hold it! We got a problem, stupid!"

I was in hospital the next day getting x-rays for a suspected slipped disk. I can't recall being in such pain before, plus the fact that I had jeopardized a possible two years of work playing the CHIPS character on "How Do You Do." After several x-rays and much discussion, the words "back operation" started

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to emerge. Thankfully, one particular doctor at Mount Sinai Hospital, Dr. Peter Parker, delved even deeper into my condition and discovered that it was not a slipped disk, but a damaged disk. Still serious, at least it removed the dreaded "Doc the knife" fear. We were three weeks away from the first taping day.

The powers that be at TVO were not aware of my injury and I racked my brain to figure how the hell I could salvage my job with this physical handicap. I was on crutches for a good week and the time was approaching that I would have to be fair to allow them to replace me. But I'm not a guy to give up without exploring every avenue available to me.

Okay. Let's look at the character. A robot. How does a robot move? I had a distinct limp which I felt would actually lend itself to the stilted movements of something mechanical, along with all the other body movements and mannerisms associated with a man of metal. I went to see these folks and was able to convince them that I could pull this off without anyone being the wiser. It worked and although I performed through a great deal of pain for that first season, the show was a success and I had saved my gig. It was the first and hopefully last time that an injury actually enhanced the character!

The costume, although visibly spectacular, was a sauna in itself. It was humanly impossible not to perspire profusely unless the temperature in the studio was kept very cool and that is exactly what we did. All of the cameramen and crew brought sweaters and warm clothing for the shoot days, while the temperature outside hovered at 80^o Fahrenheit. The problem was

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that beads of perspiration would form under my eyebrows because of the leather bolts that had been glued there. When enough sweat had accumulated, the moisture would cascade down into my eyes, usually in the middle of some dialogue, which meant we would have to shoot the scene again. It was often frustrating, hence the absolute necessity of the air conditioning.

One of the camera guys was not too happy about working under these conditions and would very sneakily adjust the thermostat to a much higher degree, causing me to sweat and the result was always the same, do the shot again. He actually went so far as to call his union, which sent representatives to investigate the horrible atmosphere that this poor fellow was subjected to. Denise and David suggested that I call my union representative to emphasize the need for the temperature control. After his union guys saw me in full costume, plus the circumstances and the fact that all of the crew were forewarned and agreeable to the conditions, he lost the support for his complaint. From then on, I checked that thermostat with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse.

The costume and makeup would take about one hour to get into before we started taping. One day as I was delivering my lines, smoke appeared in my chest area. I now hold the world's record for disrobing in front of other folks! I was out of that Tin Man torture in literally seconds! On examination, we found that the moisture from the perspiration had shorted the batteries of which I had an abundant collection throughout my body. I was reminded of Pinocchio in the animated movie of the same name, skipping down the street singing, "Hi fiddle-dee-dee, an actor's life for me!"

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We taped two seasons in that basement studio of TVO on Eglinton Ave. and shared a multitude of laughs and good times. The man who assisted me in getting into that costume each and every day became a dear friend. On the final day of the last CHIPS segment, he gave me a gift that I will always treasure. It was a computerized picture of CHIPS in full costume, beautifully framed and inscribed with the following words on the back:

"Billy, thanks for making two years in a basement so much fun.

Bruce Mollett"

I want to thank him and everyone connected with that show for their support, friendship and professionalism. Except one!

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ODDS AND ENDS !

CANDY MAN

Never attaining the status of professional stuntman, there were occasions that called for more than your average pratt fall. Many a time I have left a room ignoring the conventional door and choosing to exit via a window, if such a feat was called for. Breaking bottles over my head, fist fights, bar-room brawls and many other physically demanding encounters, I attacked with a definite zeal!

The window panes that were shattered with my body and the bottles smashed on my noggin' were not in reality real glass, but actually candy. In the theatrical world, there are companies that specialize in the production of such props. The actual properties used in this process I am not privy to, but I have been told by various props people that it is made from an industrial candy-like material which when melted down, can be poured into a variety of moulds for the desired effect. Any shape, size or color is attainable and made to look like the real McCoy. Obviously, using candy prevents serious injury and yet gives the same effect of glass shattering and pieces flying in a thousand directions. It is extremely light and extremely effective, but one should not entertain the idea of munching on the splinters. Remembering what your mother told you, that if for no other reason, candy is bad for your teeth!

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In order to survive all of the elaborate falls on hard floors, I incorporated a half-assed shoulder roll used in my youth in gym class. It finally dawned on me that if I was going to continue to tackle these stunts, proper training was required. I'm allergic to broken bones! I enrolled in the Hatashita Judo School at Jarvis & Queen Streets, in Toronto. This type of school at this particular location served as a beacon of defence in order to exist on Toronto's mean streets. The lessons involved various throws, chokes, strangles and most importantly to me, the proper way to fall. When in class, it was a common practice for a guy you had never met to say, "Hey, do you want to fight?" It was not to be taken as a serious challenge, but merely an invitation to work out and practice honing whatever skills you had acquired to that point. They were a tough but friendly bunch of fellas who all lived in and around that section of the city and knew the necessity of being able to defend themselves. After the formal lessons were given, the instructors would suggest, but not encourage, to always be aware of your surroundings in the event of a serious confrontation. For instance, if there was a lamp post, fire hydrant, mail box, etc., in the near vicinity, to make sure that when you threw your assailant, you threw him into one of these objects. In this way, you were pretty much guaranteed that the son-of-a-bitch wouldn't be coming back for awhile to attack again! Crude, but effective. There is something else that I took away from that experience that I will always remember. The word judo implies the 'gentle way', whereby they teach you discipline and confidence in yourself and to never use your martial arts training unless absolutely necessary and as a last resort.

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It was a six-month wonder for me and I trained very hard to master the things I needed in my work. Unfortunately, it came a little late. The shoulder rolls were working much better than before, but the years of landing incorrectly finally caught up to me. It started with a minor discomfort in my right shoulder and within two days, I couldn't even lift a coffee cup without excruciating pain. My doctor immediately sent me to a top pathologist named Hamilton Hall. The good doctor pinpointed the problem and scheduled me for surgery. The diagnosis was a degenerative distal clavicle of the right shoulder ... doo-dah, doo-dah! I had never been under the knife before and quite naturally was more than a little apprehensive as to my fate, conjuring up stories of past goofups in hospitals. Sometimes your mind can be your worst enemy. My feeling of pending doom was not alleviated upon checking into the hospital When registering, the nurse on duty said, "Ah, Mr. Van, left knee, right?", to which I replied, "No ma'am, but close. It's my right shoulder!" Lord love a duck, what the hell was I getting into! I pondered the possibility of them messing around with other appendages of my body. The nurse looked shocked and grabbed the telephone for some quick conferences as to who screwed up!

The next morning, I was prepped and gurneyed down to the operating theatre, which seemed a fitting name for my next performance. As I was going under the anaesthetic, I remember calling out, "Don't forget doctor, it's my right shoulderrrrrrr......" When I came out of the anaesthetic, there was a great feeling of relief because my right shoulder was sore as hell and not my left knee. After a few weeks of therapy, I was finally able to return to my candy capers!

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GREEN ROOM

Quite often when doing a television show or a movie, you are asked to wait in the 'green room' for a discussion, script change, notes from directors, or whatever. It is an area set aside away from the studio for meetings, studying lines, quiet rehearsals or just plain relaxation.

Today the term 'green room' is actually a misnomer. Now it can be any color under the sun - red, brown, blue - you name it. The grandeur that it once represented is sadly long gone to another place in time. The appearance of this special room can vary dramatically depending on the studio and the quality of the project being undertaken. It can run the gamut from piss-elegant to unkempt squalor, but it will always be referred to as the 'green room.'

The term originated back in the 1920's & 30's when movies were making their debut. On movie sets in those days, it was a place where you were encouraged to relax in complete tranquillity before your performance in front of the cameras. This area got its nickname because at this time, green plants were very much in vogue. We're not talking about an artificial potted philodendron standing in a dingy corner. No! There were dozens and dozens of lush, beautiful tropical plants interspersed among tastefully elegant furniture completing the taciturn mood. It was all encompassing for the perfect respite before your appearance on set. Besides the visual beauty of the setting, the multitude of foliage assisted in a form of aromatherapy for a perfect blend of serenity. Truly a magic time, I'm told.

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KING GANAM

During the run of the Jackie Rae Show, stars from all fields of the entertainment industry were brought in as guests. Of fiddling fame from the Country Hoedown Show, our guest was the popular King Ganam. Musically, he was terrific. But when it came to delivering lines, the treble and bass clefs did not apply in his vocabulary! With the nickname 'King', the writers figured that a big production number taken from the hit musical 'The King and I' would be more than an appropriate introduction for our guest.

The whole production was rehearsed using everything from a huge orchestra, exotic costumes, dancing girls and slaves (us) to depict the Siamese culture of that production, but the crew guys balked at bringing in elephants. 'Stoop and scoop' is one thing, but let's get real!

The idea was for King Ganam to come on stage, greeted by Jackie, in front of a closed curtain covering the full width of the studio. Jackie was to introduce King to the television audience, saying, "King, we wanted to do something special to make you feel welcome because you are obviously a recognized king. Let's stand off to the side and you'll see what we have prepared."

The curtain was raised and a bevy of Asian-like individuals (again us, in full makeup and costume) went into a lavish routine, second only to that great musical itself. A full 36-piece orchestra substantiated the mood. When the number was finished, the curtain came down. Jackie and King re-entered the set stage centre.

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This extravagant presentation was all for a guy from a country music show, whose only link to royalty being the nickname 'King.' The tag to the segment was for Jackie to ask the question "Well King, what do you think?" King's reply was to be "Tis puzzlement", the phrase made famous by Yul Brynner in the original play and movie spectacular.

As I mentioned, dialogue was not Mr. Ganam's forte and all through rehearsals, he simply couldn't remember the line so he devised a kind of gyp sheet to help him out. He took a pen and wrote the words on the palm of his hand, which was a good idea in order to avoid embarrassment on live television. We were finally live on air and the moment the routine ended and the question from Jackie was posed, King looked at his hand. In the excitement of the moment on camera, his palms had become sweaty and the all-important words became an indistinguishable blob of ink! There was the allotted 10 seconds of pregnant silence to allow him to hopefully recover and remember, but such was not to be. Finally, Jackie had to say "Tis puzzlement eh King!", allowing our guest to ad lib his biggest line of the night "Yep, it sure is Jackie!"

REALITY CHECK

The CBC was about to launch a huge special, based on the movie "Tom Jones", depicting a roguish young man in the 18th century, played by Albert Finney. Much of the production was well underway and most of the cast had

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already been chosen, but they were still looking for the lead guy to play Tom Jones. The director was Bob Jarvis, whom I had worked with before, so I went to see him in the hope of landing the part. There comes a time in everyone's life when the shock of lost youth becomes abundantly clear. Bob said "Sorry Billy, but you're too old." I felt like a high soprano choir boy whose cojones had just fallen, changing him into a baritone forever. Hells, bells. I had just turned thirty! By the way, a very dear friend of mine, Robin Ward, got the part and proved that they made the right decision because Robin was brilliant in his portrayal.

RICH LITTLE

On one of the very early trips to Los Angeles to reconnoitre for work opportunities, I bumped into Rich Little at the Toronto airport. I had worked with Rich before on the Nightcap Show, so we weren't exactly strangers. We laughed and scratched until boarding time and said we'd keep in touch (which you never do.) Rich was just starting to score big time in

America

and quite naturally was flying first class to the States. I, on the other hand, had not quite grabbed the brass ring, so for me it was economy class to the States.

I have logged a lot of flying hours in my time, but what was about to happen, I never want to witness again. About one hour into our flight, we hit severe air turbulence, which is a very common and expected phenomenon when in flight, but this became a bungy jump marathon without any warning. It's referred to as "clear air turbulence" and even the pilots never know when

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it's going to hit. Everything on board became airborne in its own space, including trays, drinks, food and the odd person, who unwisely had not stayed buckled up. It was absolutely terrifying and I became resigned that this was probably it for me. In retrospect, this mayhem lasted about 16 to 18 minutes, which seemed like an eternity and when we finally flew out of this white-knuckle experience. My waist must have measured 14 inches from continually tightening the seat belt.

Things thankfully got back to normal, when a stewardess came up to me and said that Mr. Little would like me to join him in first class for a drink. She led me into the wealthy world to see Rich. He said "Well Billy, what did you think of that fun stuff?" I answered, "Rich, I really thought we would all 'buy the farm', to which he replied, "Not me man. I knew that there was no way they'd get Rich Little and Billy Van at the same time."

BLOOR COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE

Bloor Collegiate was the high school that I unfortunately dropped out of in mid-term, but I did fairly well in the sports programs. Sprint running was my forte and I also played some football, which the following photograph will attest to. I was number 85 on the team. From a trivia standpoint, you might be interested in number 88. This is a guy who definitely didn't drop out of school. His name is Morley Safer, of '60 Minutes' fame.

BOBBY VINTON

I spent two years on the Bobby Vinton Show doing sketches and whatever else was required. In all that time, he said hello to me - once!

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GORDIE TAPP

Country Hoedown had an on-air Christmas Party Special some years ago. I had done the show earlier, for one year, as one of the 'Singin' Swingin' Eight'. On this occasion, being in the vicinity of the studio, the desire to just stand in the wings and say hello after the show finished became overwhelming. The performance was being shown live and it was all very warm and lovely because the members of the cast brought their families and relatives to celebrate this festive occasion on-camera. Everyone was costumed in the Dickensian' style, reminiscent of the Bob Cratchet and Scrooge era. When the show was into its last segment, that old urge took me over, for it was now time to be naughty and have some fun! The finale had Gordie Tapp standing at the door of the fake holiday lodge, shaking hands and saying goodbye to all the guests as they were all pretending to go through the doorway into the outdoors to go home.

I grabbed Freddy, a dear friend from the costume department and asked him to lend me a long scarf, coat and top hat, ala their costuming. He knew I was going to pull something wacky and just beamed with pleasure at the very idea of doing something silly. Donning the outfit and with cameras rolling, I wandered onto the set and meshed into the crowd of guests. We were in single file as we approached the door to leave, after shaking hands with Gordie. When I got to him, his eyes became saucers of surprise. He said quietly "Van, what the hell are you doing here?" I replied "I've always loved parties", shook his hand and left. Freddy squealed with delight because his day had been made.

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Unfortunately, the prank did have a repercussion because the next day, the producer called me, mad as hell, for according to union rules, he had to pay me $28.00 scale for being an extra. I told him it was just a gag and to forget it, but he felt compelled to pay, which he did. That happened in the early sixties and I still have the cheque which was never cashed because dammit, it was fun!

FOWL UP

In any workplace, there are certain phrases that are used as shortcuts of explanation to convey a message like, "Someone threw a monkey wrench into that plan", or, "Here's where the fit hits the shan", "No problem" and the terms go on ad infinitum. Show business is probably one of the most prolific users of short-cut phrases to avoid drawn out directions.

We have a term commonly used in the business called "86." It means "to get rid of." When anything has to be removed, you will hear this phrase constantly. "86 that chair", "86 the mirror" and so on. I have been told that the origin of the term came about at the end of World War II. When the war ended, all the servicemen would be going to 'Civvy Street' or 'de-mobbed' and become everyday folks once more. In order to be discharged from the military, they had to sign a document, referred to as a "Form 86", meaning they no longer were in the military. They were gone, so to speak.

Another of the never-ending terms used in the industry is "Kill that" or "Strike that." When a scene is finished, the director will say "Kill that set" or "Strike the set" meaning that everything is dismantled and they move on to the next scene.

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One of the CBC television specials had a very elaborate set built for a romantic love song duet for the boy and girl lovers. A little arched bridge was erected, complete with a real pond and several ducks paddling in the water, to lend tranquillity to the scene. At the end of the number, the director said "Okay, that's a take, strike the set and kill the ducks."

Amongst the crew was a stagehand who had just come over from the old country. He wasn't versed in English as yet and not aware of the jargon used on stage. Sad but true, he obeyed the command from the director literally. He took our feathered friends outside and did the deed, much to the horror of us all.

HONEY WAGON

The 'Honey Wagon' is the culinary paramedic of the actor when shooting a remote away from the comforts of the studio. The nickname suggests the function. It serves as a veritable beehive of palatable pleasures.

The job is allotted to a caterer who bids for the concession and the competition is very keen indeed for such a necessary and important requirement. In good weather or foul, city side-streets or deep in a forest, honey wagons can be found providing refreshments for cast and crew alike, along with all personnel involved in the project. They know no bounds as to the location including the hinterlands, serving as a survival-kit depot for grumpy tummies.

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Actors have the dubious reputation of being able to 'chow down' even in the most dire circumstances. Here could be found the oasis of gastronomical goodies for needy thespians requiring constant nourishment. Candy bars, coffee, soup, tea, cocoa, hamburgers, fruits, salads, sandwiches, and the list goes on. Although falling short of pheasant-under-glass, in a pinch they might come up with 'pigeon-under-foil' if needs be!

I realize that I have expounded on 'the wagon' to the extreme, but for a very good reason. Some individuals whose hunger pains become acute, tend to put the brain cells on hold and allow tempers to explode at the slightest provocation. I have witnessed some knock 'em down, drag 'em out altercations stemming from this phenomenon. Unfortunately, this statement is not an exaggeration. Therefore, long live the Honey Wagon, an important link in the chain of a successful production. P.S. I forgot to mention the most important thing to an actor .... it's all free!

WHATTA' HAM

In addition to playing the vaudeville circuit, my father also worked in minstrel shows, which were very popular during his era of the 1920's and 30's. In these shows, the head man on the stage was called 'The Interlocutor' and he was in charge of the jokes and pacing of the routines. The odd time, my Dad would take this roll, but more often he did a single act that would be woven into the whole production. All of these parts were played by white men with black greasepaint make-up, as that was the style of that particular form of entertainment.

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I was always curious why so many performers, even today, are referred to as 'Hams' and asked Pop if he knew why that term was used. He explained that in his day, when performing in minstrel shows in black-face, it was always a task to remove the greasepaint each night, after finishing the show. None of these men had the money to buy fancy creams to remove the make-up, so they used ingenuity. They would go to the local butcher shop where they purchased the fat that had been trimmed from a ham -- "ham fat", hence the term "Whatta' a ham" meaning a performer. Obviously today, this form of entertainment is unacceptable and definitely frowned upon, but it was a part of history and no one can change or alter history.

ROBERT MITCHUM

Nerves can make you blurt out things you never really mean to say. When people suddenly find themselves in a situation where they are face-to-face with someone whom they perceive to be a star, or someone they are in awe of, the mouth connects with the heart and not necessarily the brain. I remember Jack Duffy telling me that someone once came up to him and said "You used to be Jack Duffy." Nerves will do it every time. I am no different.

I landed a part on a made-for-TV movie called "Davies & Hearst." It was based on the story of William Randolph Hearst, the multi-millionaire tycoon of the newspaper industry and his frowned-upon love affair with Marion Davies. The lead part of Hearst was played by Robert Mitchum. I played the part of one of his financial advisors (my accountant is still laughing), along with the fine character actor Fritz Weaver. The anticipation of trading lines with this super

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star of the screen was more than overwhelming and it probably showed. We would have three scenes together and my nerves were having a field day. The first scene went well and the director called a break, in order for the crew to set up the next scene.

Mitchum walked over and sat down in his private chair and lit up a cigarette. I couldn't resist and wandered over to him and inexplicably said, "I watched a movie last night that must have been one of your first, "Gung Ho." He stared at me for a moment (eternity!) and finally, almost smiling, nodded his head but never uttered a word. I quietly strolled away, desperately looking for a cyanide pill to put me out of my misery from the embarrassment I was suffering. What possessed me to do it? He was just minding his own business and this meandering motor-mouth descended upon him, but he was very gracious and as I expected, a real pro. We shot our other two scenes together, shook hands and I walked away as I said, "Nice working with you Mr. Mitchum." My friends love to kid me about it to this day. So sue me, I'm human.

KEN BERRY

Ken Berry is a master of comedy, song and dance, you name it, and we formed a great friendship and respect for each other. Some years ago, a mini-series of shows was shot in Hollywood as a temporary summer filler which would serve as a pilot for the upcoming fall season. The show was called "Wow", starring Ken and supported by a band of players, to dance, do sketches and every damn thing that came along to make the show a success. There were

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seven shows in all which I thought were great. Steve Martin was in our group, along with a pretty blond girl by the name of Cheryl Stoppelmoore. You might know her as Cheryl Ladd.

While working with Ken, one particular sketch that I liked was called "Wings Over Cleveland." It was a take-off on one of the old 30's movies about flying the mail through inclement weather, no matter what the cost. We would use corny old lines like, "Hold it Biff. You're not going up there in that old crate in this storm. Besides, it's my turn to fly." Answered with lines like, "Hey Lance, you crazy but wonderful Palooka, I know these mountains like the back of my hand. I'm going up there because it's my job." We then would beat the hell out of each other with every stick of furniture in the office set, hopefully to knock the other guy out, showing how macho we were. The survivor would get the precious mail through and be the hero to the lovely lady whom we were both in love with. Unfortunately, the "Wow" show never made it to a fall series, but we had a ball trying. I think the powers-to-be missed a good bet in passing this one up.

SARAH VAUGHAN

The Jackie Rae Show had a number of famous guests each week from the musical world. Being on the show regularly, The Grads got to meet and rub shoulders with these stars, which was pretty thrilling for four young people just starting out in show business. On one of the shows, Sarah Vaughan was the guest and as usual, was a sensation with a personality that wouldn't quit. We stood in the wings and watched her go through her numbers, thinking that hopefully someday we would find stardom somewhere in the future as she had.

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Our featured number that night was a tune called "Little Girl Blue" that had been beautifully arranged with close tight harmonies and Sarah was more than impressed with us.

When the show was finished, she had to race down to the old Colonial Tavern on Yonge Street, where she was performing for the week. In those days, there were only two live music clubs in Toronto, which featured the jazz greats of the day. They were the Town Tavern on Queen Street and the Colonial, which I'm sorry to say are both long gone. We all jumped into a cab to go and see our heroine do her thing. When we arrived, she had just started her first set, so with a little bribery ($10.00), we were able to get a ringside table. After three songs, the lady came over to our table, saying to Stella, "Honey, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to borrow the boys for a bit." We went back with her to the stage where Sarah announced how she had just done the Rae Show and how she loved our group, adding, "I want to sing lead on their wonderful arrangement of "Little Girl Blue."

This was the most unbelievable experience of my 22 years on earth. Billy Van from Dovercourt Rd., standing on stage and singing in a group with Sarah Vaughan doing the lead part. Such things dreams are made of. What a treasured memory for me!

LARRY MANN

Larry Mann and I worked together in sketches on several television shows at the CBC. He is and always has been a fine character actor, who was very active in the early years of Canadian television. Later on, he moved to Los Angeles to seek his fortune with his family and with fingers crossed that he

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would succeed. I'm more than happy to say that after two years of struggling in the Hollywood Piranha Pit, he started to score big time. A mutual friend of ours who had also found success was a big help in opening doors, enabling Larry to show his talents. That guy was the now famous Canadian director, Norman Jewison.

Larry had established himself solidly and had a lovely home in an area called Tarzana, with his wife and family. I took my first trip to Tinsel Town on strictly a reconnoitring foray, to get the feel of the place and explore job possibilities. Larry told me before he left for L.A. that if I ever found myself in his neck-of-the-woods, to look him up. The big difference with Larry was, although it's a phrase used often without sincerity, he really meant it, so I did look him up and wasn't disappointed at my welcome to his home. On arriving in his driveway, I got the usual hug of love for a friend and he said, "I want you to see my garage." I wondered what the hell he was talking about? What about the family, the house, the whole enchilada? For a brief moment, I entertained the notion that perhaps my dear friend had visited Disneyland once too often and the California climate had claimed yet another victim. Wrong!

He opened the garage door and lo and behold, I now realized what he was so excited about for the walls of the garage were absolutely covered in hockey sticks! All three walls were mounted in the timber of dozens of players, each

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one autographed to Larry, which served as his trophy room of Canada's national pastime. I had forgotten that Larry would travel with the Toronto Maple Leafs on their road trips because he was that devoted to the sport and his team.

After he had revealed his treasure, it was time to taste his hospitality. We're not talking about a mansion here, but a warm, rambling ranch-style home with the compulsory swimming pool sparkling in the sunlight. Larry requested that I take my shoes off, have a beer, relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor. Sunshine, palm trees, warm summer zephyrs, movie mecca and me. Overwhelming scenario would be an understatement and as Larry must have detected, I was pretty hyper. I noticed that his eyes kept glancing at my watch, until finally he asked if he could see it. I had no idea why he found it so interesting because it was only a forty dollar Timex wonder. As I gave it to him, he put his arm around my shoulder and we started to stroll along the edge of the pool when suddenly, he gently body-checked me - sending me into the water! When I surfaced, quite frankly bewildered as to why, he said, "And now my friend, I'm going to teach you how to really relax!" It became apparent that Larry had this whole scene planned before I got there. That is why he made sure that the shoes and watch would not be harmed. Delightful ruse! Delightful gentleman!

He loaned me a spare track suit to wear while my clothes were put in the dryer. As we sat there waiting for my duds to dry, he said, "Billy, the whole scene down here is, bullshit baffles brains. Rise above it, because you're a talented man and you'll make it." Thanks Larry. I won't forget. I didn't.

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SWITZERS

There was a Jewish deli on Spadina Road in Toronto called Switzers which I went to regularly. They had the greatest salami in town and humbly, I submit that I am the salami connoisseur of the world! In short, they were great. In those days, the salamis would hang in the window in their majesty, all those succulent cylinders of joy for me to savor. Quite naturally, the guys working there got to know me on a, "Hi, how are ya" basis. On one particular occasion, as I placed my salami treasure on the counter, the new girl on cash said, "Do you want this?" "You bet" I replied and handed her a five-dollar bill. As she was making change, she said, "You know, you remind me of that guy, uh, uh", obviously searching for a name when I jumped in and said, "Billy Van?". "Ya, ya, that's the guy." I continued, "I know, I've been taken for him before and frankly, I can't stand him." She came back like a bolt of lightning and said, "Me neither!" She went right on making the change and I never said a word, but out of my peripheral vision it was clear that the guys were desperately trying to hold back a big guffaw. I smiled, took my precious cargo and left, definitely not wanting to embarrass the lady. It's a certainty that the Switzer' folks had a great laugh later, much to the lady's chagrin. Getting back to my car, I sincerely had a damn good chuckle for I'd learned over the years that if you haven't learned to laugh at yourself, you're missing out on some damn good laughs!

TAXI

In the mid-sixties, I was in London,

England

for two weeks, doing some commercial work for an American company. After finishing the gig, it was time to enjoy the sights and have some fun before going home. An announcer

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from New York, a musical arranger from Los Angeles and myself, decided to go on the proverbial pub crawl in London Town as all of our work was done. Needless to say, a good time was had by all. A guy approached us in one of the pubs with a deal to end all deals because he had London taxis for sale. It was the law in London at that time that any taxi reaching 10 years of age had to be taken off the streets commercially, no matter what the condition of the vehicle. The temptation was too much to resist, especially in our frivolous and tipsy state of minds!

We all became the proud owners of three 1952 Austin-Hackney saloon taxi cabs - a silly whim, but what the hell, no regrets!. They cost L100 ($300.00) and of course you paid the freight. They were all delivered to the various locations and I was the only one who got a winner. The two that were delivered to New York and Los Angeles were falling apart, but my little beauty arrived intact. My vehicle also arrived in New York City first, before continuing its journey to Canada. I was informed by the freight people that in order to send it to Toronto by rail, it would cost approximately $1,300. Our moment of gay abandon in the London pub was now becoming a delayed financial hangover! I now seriously contemplated scrapping the whole idea and just let them keep it.

My brother Warren, who was out of work at the time, made me an offer I couldn't refuse. In fairness to my sibling, I shouldn't refer to his situation with such a blatantly blunt term as "out of work". In our business, when you ain't got a gig, you are "between engagements" or "contemplating your options." Sorry

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Warren! The offer was that I pay his air fare one way, ($95. at that time) to the 'Big Apple' and for a couple of hundred bucks in his pocket, he'd drive that little sucker home. Like I said, I couldn't refuse. The deal was made, but I asked him how the hell he was going to get that thing over the border. He simply said, "Just leave it to me babe."

One week later, the sound of a funny little horn could be heard beeping outside my door. Hot damn! That crazy bugger had done it. There she was in all her glory, my little 'Old Blighty Beauty' sparkling in the sunlight. Hugs and congratulations were rampant and I sat him down in the kitchen, our family meeting place, and asked the question, "How did you pull it off?"

He started to relate his adventure. "Well there was no problem picking it up from the freight office as you had prepaid the shipping charges to New York. It ran beautifully, so I headed for the Windsor-Detroit border. While driving on the highway, I realized that being a commercial vehicle, it was equipped with a governor in the engine." This is a device that automatically limits the speed you can attain - in this case, 40 miles per hour. "So the going was slow but steady. Just before reaching the border, I purchased four cartons of cigarettes, knowing full well that you were only allowed to bring two cartons into Canada duty-free. On reaching the border, the customs guy asked if I had anything to declare and I told him about the cigarettes. He was a friendly fella and scolded me for buying that many, and said I was only allowed two. I apologized and he said he'd have to charge me for the extra two or confiscate them. I said, okay, you keep them. He inquired about the car which still had

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the European plates on it. I explained that it was ten years old, an antique, and gave him the bill of lading from New York, which seemed to satisfy him, so off I went and here I am!"

I can't remember having more enjoyment than buzzing around in that little taxi, with the cut-out side for luggage, right-hand drive and the meter still clicking away in Sterling currency. A number of folks from the "old country" tried to flag me down on occasion, forgetting they were not back home in England. Driving my newly acquired baby to work one morning and quite frankly, with the purpose of showing it off, I was feeling pretty damn good. Suddenly I became aware of a motorcycle cop following me. This continued for several blocks when he started to make a move and closed the gap between us. At first he pulled up beside me on the right, but made no motion for me to stop. He appeared more inquisitive about the car than anything else. I knew I wasn't speeding because of the governor on the automobile. Now dropping back, my curious constable came up on the left side and finally directed me to pull over to the curb.

Dismounting from his bike and strolling over to me, in a Scottish brogue you could cut with a knife, said, "Good Lord, where did you get this?" I decided to condense the whole story and blurted out, "I bought it when I was drunk in a London pub!" He broke into a big smile and said, "Good on 'ya son, where are you headed?" "The RCA recording studios on Mutual Street", I replied. "C'mon, follow me" and he escorted me all the way there and happily a few of my friends were standing outside of the building having a smoke when we arrived. Now that's showing off!

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I had assumed that the vehicle was an antique because of its age of ten years, therefore avoiding the duty costs. Then the letter of doom arrived from the federal government, informing me that the vehicle was illegally brought into the country and I had to return it to England immediately or suffer the penalty of a very large fine. A wonderful night on the town was now looking like a first night theatrical closing. It appeared that our friendly customs guy was ignorant of the antique car ruling. Ten years old was not enough and in the eyes of the government, it had to be fifteen years old. Therefore the taxi became merely a used car and subject to tax. Oh drat!

At the time, I frequented The Celebrity Club, directly across from the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation on Jarvis Street in Toronto. It was a place where dancers, singers, actors (anybody really!) could hang out and indulge in telling lies, celebrating successes or crying in their beer if that was the case, knowing full well they had people who understood and identified with the various highs and lows of our business.

In that gathering was an older gentleman who was a former head of AGVA, (a theatrical union of the day), but over the years he had fallen on lesser times. At this point in time, he was a circus clown and his life seemed to be centred around this particular club. Sadly, most of the folks considered him a loser and just an old timer who was beyond interest to them. Personally, I always found his stories of the old days fascinating and always enjoyed his company. On this

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particular occasion, we were having a drink together and during our conversation, I mentioned my dilemma about the taxi and the government's demand that it be sent back or pay a hefty duty charge. Without hesitation, he said, "Tools of the trade, boy, tools of the trade. Hire it out commercially on television."

I couldn't believe my ears. This man whom everyone shunned and laughed at, came up with the answer to my problem without missing a beat, reaffirming my belief and practice of always listening to what is being said. Fortunately, I knew some CBC producers and directors who had shows currently on air. On phoning several of them, two were agreeable to using the taxi on their shows as part of the background for certain scenes at a minimal rental fee, $100.00.

I wrote to the government stating my case of "tools of the trade" with proof that my taxi was used commercially and therefore necessary in my business. They replied that they weren't too bloody happy, but okay, don't try it again! Thankfully I listened to a guy by the name of Bob Logan. P. S. I gave those fees to Bob with a big thank-you. He immediately bought a round of drinks for the patrons of the club that night. I would like to think that he was looked upon a little differently from then on.

SEEING THINGS

Quite naturally, any performer wants to stretch their talents to the limit. By employing diversification to encompass other facets of the business, chances of success increase dramatically. I'm thoroughly convinced that versatility is the key to longevity in the entertainment industry. Naturally, we

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specialize in one category, but if we enhance these talents with a smattering of other talents like dancing, singing, mime, comedy, voice-over or drama et al, these will all serve as positive weapons in the battle of survival in show business.

Another situation can and more often than not does occur, which can prove to be a most difficult hurdle to overcome. It is referred to as being pigeon-holed or type-cast which means the people who do the hiring see you as one thing and nothing else. I managed to ease out of chorus work and group singing, channelling all of my efforts into the comedic field. Even attaining some success in this area, I still found myself in the inevitable type-casting scenario. They saw me as a funny man and that is where I was expected to stay, but Mrs. Van's little boy had other plans. As a man in our profession once said, "Drama is tough, but comedy is tougher." He put it much more eloquently, but the meaning is the same and after all, who am I to argue with the utterings of this icon of drama, Sir Lawrence Olivier. If the truth be known, comedy is a serious business, but we must put everything in perspective here. The idea of an Oscar statuette adorning my mantle had never entered my mind. How could it? I didn't even have a mantle!

As mentioned throughout this book, the most unexpected and bizarre things can occur in show business. At this point in time, there was a very successful drama series on CBC Television called, "Seeing Things." It was a "who dunnit" kind of show, ala the "Ellery Queen" style of mysteries. The producer

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and star of the show, Louis Del Grande, called me and requested that I appear as the guest star in one of the episodes. Of course, I was delighted at the offer for it would serve as my first meaningful shot at a dramatic role. The script was couriered over to me and I became ecstatic when I read the story line and realized just how great the part was. It would serve as a wonderful vehicle for me to really stretch and strut my stuff.

The premise of the story was about a guy, in this case me, who starred in his own TV comedy series as the Chief of a fire station. In the sub-plot, one of his fellow fire-eaters decided to play with fire and indulge in some incendiary hanky-panky with my flame, namely my wife. Being fully aware of their naughtiness, I had to make a decision as to how to deal with the situation. It would require a cool head and civilized approach to find a solution to this calamity. No problem. I decided to kill the bastard! Throughout the play, my character was a miserable poop who was mean to everyone and I found it absolutely terrific. Just imagine, for one hour on television, I was mean, abused nice people, got to knock off a guy, plus get paid! It was an opportunity that any red-blooded Canadian scoundrel would kill for, and I did! As expected, they caught me in the end because my alibi was a lie, which the detectives were quick to recognize. They knew as we all know, that lies only work when you're a politician! It was a wonderful experience for me and I'll be damned if I wasn't nominated for "Best Dramatic Performance on Television" for that year. Console yourself good sir knight. I didn't win!

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AIRPORT REUNION

I had just finished my second year on the Sonny & Cher Show and was now off for the summer. Flying home to see my friends and loved ones, the feeling was pretty good as to what I had achieved on the show. It was especially nice to know that in my possession was a signed contract to return in the fall for another season.

On arrival at the airport, you were guaranteed to go through long and time- consuming line-ups to check in with Customs and Immigration. I was lugging two big suitcases with me, plus my carry-on bag. It had been a long, turbulent flight and my butt was dragging, but with the comforting thought of how nice it was going to be to snuggle into my bed and dream about all kinds of neat stuff, I felt good. Rounding a corner, bags in hand, there it was - the inevitable mass of humanity, patiently awaiting the slow and boring procedures that were about to commence. I was about 15 people back of this tandem tango of tedium line-up, just looking around, hoping that everyone's papers were in order so they would move swiftly through the check points to allow me to get the hell out of there! It was apparent that as the folks passed through after showing their documents to the Immigration & Customs people, they were handed a pink or white card. This must have signified whether they were good guys and could go home right away or if it meant, "We'll just take a peek at your stuff in case you neglected to tell us something." Suddenly there was a tapping on my shoulder and naturally I turned to see who was practising Morse Code on my body. There he was, the epitome of authority in all its pompous splendor. All decked out in a somewhat drab uniform, complete with

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a cap that screamed out 'Supervisor.' It was abundantly clear that this was "his" airport. Now, I knew I wasn't a Colombian drug lord, but what the hell was this guy thinking. I hadn't even had a chance to lie yet! We stared at each other for a few moments when he finally said, "Hi Billy, remember me?" He obviously had me at a disadvantage and desperation set in as I tried recalling who he was. I started my verbal tap dance in order not to offend this unfamiliar face who was obviously getting great joy out of my dilemma. His Cheshire cat grin was a dead giveaway of his pleasure. I said, "My gawd, your face is familiar, but I can't remember where we met", which was a total fabrication. To this he replied, "Jack. Jack Adams. Kent School. Remember now?" I continued to fake my answers with, "Jack, you son-of-a-gun. How the hell are you? Now I remember! Boy, that was a long time ago." At this point, I had absolutely no recollection of this man, but continued to try and brave the situation through. Gimme a break! He was talking some thirty years ago, back in public school when hearts were young and gay and memories short.

He continued to ramble on about, "Do you remember .... " this guy or that girl and all the many forgotten events of that period in my life. Finally he said the words that I longed to hear. "Billy, you don't have to wait here in this line-up. Come with me." It was music to my ears and I obediently struggled to follow behind my new-found hero, although he didn't offer to help with any of my luggage. When we arrived at my savior's desk, he handed me a blue card and said to just present it to another Customs' guy to whom he pointed. I thanked him profusely and said "Let's keep in touch", yet another lie.

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On presenting my obvious VIP blue card to the officer that Jack had pointed out, he ushered me into a room where a lady Immigration officer was lying in wait along with a Customs Officer. This got me to thinking that something wasn't quite kosher and then the game began! The Customs' guy took my bags apart and had all my personal belongings strewn all over the counter as they put me through everything short of a strip search! While he was throwing my stuff helter skelter with gay abandon, the Immigration lady was giving my credentials considerably more than a glance. She almost salivated at the prospect of finding something wrong and kept asking questions in an obvious attempt to trip me up. "Are the street car tracks still being used on St. Clair Ave.? What's the name of the Maple Leaf's goalie? What street serves as the dividing line of east and west in Toronto?" This was one of the little tricks used by Immigration people when they were trying to trap somebody who claimed to hail from Toronto. But she was dealing with a Toronto kid, born and bred. I did fail the goalie question though!

Detained for a good forty-five minutes and starting to lose my temper, I figured that with friends like Jack, who needed enemies. Suddenly it hit me like a ton of bricks! Jack Adams. Kent School. Of course! When we were kids, we had a fist fight for whatever reason and I bloodied his nose before one of the teachers broke the fight up. This SOB had set this whole Customs thing up with me as the goat. To think anybody could hold a grudge that long was beyond me, but he must have felt a great satisfaction in victory, after his lifelong wait

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for revenge. Okay Jack! I guess we can call it even. Looking back, it was probably lucky that I didn't recognize Mr. Adams. Just think, if I had remembered the man I might have foolishly yelled, "Hi Jack", which is a definite no-no in an airport!

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FINALE

Thus ends my interim offering of some of a 'second banana's' adventures in over forty years in show business. In my head and heart, I have no intention of accepting the fifth stage of an actor's life ... 'Who is Billy Van?' As the years pass all too quickly and your appearance shows the inevitable lines of wear and tear, it can also work in your favor if you seize the opportunity. Show business, like no other, can accommodate aging because of the wide variety of acting parts that encompass all age groups. Unlike so many stars who rise and fall so rapidly in our industry, there will always be a place for us 'second banana' guys and gals. Hopefully you have enjoyed reading about some of my experiences and memories for I certainly enjoyed living them, both good and bad. But now it is time to quiver my quill, (forgive the expression), for I have just been requested to audition for a distinguished older gentleman's role. Right up my alley babe! So that's a wrap ... for now.

Curtain.

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