Kevin and the Peacock – Part One

So begins a multi-part series chronicling my days working for NBC, part of the nostalgia I am beginning to feel for a studio about to be destroyed in the name of progress. Part one begins at the very beginning. Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for the year 1994. The place: Burbank, specifically, the Catalina Building (which has already been destroyed) on the NBC lot.

CNBC & Tom Snyder

Sit back, relax, fire up a colortini, and watch the pictures as they fly through the air...

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. The year was 1994 and I was hired as an intern for the west coast bureau of CNBC in beautiful downtown Burbank. At the time, CNBC did little more than dull business newscasts by day and odd, low rated talk shows by night. The evening programing was a true hodge podge of popular, and not so popular, culture. Rivera Live, hosted by charismatic former lawyer Geraldo Rivera, was an issues-oriented talk show featuring a panel of so-called experts who discussed the events of the day. Real Personal, hosted by Bob “How’s Your Penis” Berkowitz, dealt with issues of sexuality and intimacy. Sandwiched between those two shows was a nostalgic, celebrity talk fest hosted by veteran TV personality Tom Snyder. Snyder’s show was the only one based out of Burbank, but the other shows often featured guests “via satellite” from our studio. We also had one of the business reporters, a large voiced man named Jerry Cobb, and a few segment producers who worked on the business programing.

I knew I wanted an internship in southern California during the summer, which meant I had to interview with someone over spring break. I called CNN, MTV, Comedy Central, PBS and countless others and all of them directed me to the automated human resources line. The automated lines directed me to send my resume and a cover letter containing a special code (“I am not a number… I am a human being!”) for routing purposes. I surmised any resumes or cover letters containing numeric codes were routed to the trash. However, when I called CNBC and asked for their human resources department, a voice on the other end of the line replied skittishly, “Well… we got Michael.” No automation, no voicemail, no numeric codes. I liked it.

Michael agreed to meet with me, which meant I had to pack my suit. All of my communications professors emphasized the art of a good first impression. I made my way to CNBC’s Burbank offices and was greeted by Marcia. Marcia escorted me up to Michael’s office, which at that time tripled as the green room and employee break room. Marcia told me Michael had not returned from a shoot, and asked if I minded waiting. Naturally I told her I didn’t mind. An hour and a half later, Michael called the office. The volume must have been high on the phone receiver Marcia picked up, because I clearly heard Michael ask, “Is he still there?” Marcia replied that I was, and Michael instructed her to, “Tell him he’s got the job.” Nothing beats a good first impression, except no impression at all.

The main thing I did as an intern was nothing. I excelled at it. I was so good at doing nothing that I eventually graduated to doing something. The something I mainly did was whatever nobody else at CNBC wanted to do.

One something in particular was when I was assigned the task of going to the USC campus to purchase a tie with the school colors for Tom Snyder to wear on the show. Tom’s producers were trying to convince advertisers that young people watched Tom’s show (truth be told, it was his show that initially prompted me to inquire about an internship at CNBC, but perhaps redheaded albinos were not their target demo) and it was their hope that if Tom wore ties from different schools and said on the air that kids who attended those schools sent them in, it might catch on. There are two things that should be pointed out at this point. First, Tom was told that the ties were mailed in by students and not purchased by CNBC interns. Second, producers are all assholes to an extent. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to think I’ve befriended many producers over the years, and I don’t see anything wrong about being an asshole to a certain degree. I am an asshole, but my level of assholocity pales in comparison to that of the average producer.

So the producers, in their attempt to commit a fraud against the host, potential advertisers, and the viewing public at large, dispatched me to downtown LA in the middle of rush hour to buy a tie at USC. The trip from Burbank to downtown is roughly 10 miles. It took me about two and a half hours each way. With mere minutes before Tom’s live telecast, or colorcast as he called it, I smuggled the tie to a producer. With the most insincere glee in his voice, he rushed it into Tom’s office shouting, “Look what we got from some kid at USC!” The trend never did catch on, and I don’t think Tom did either. Not that he cared. That was the summer he was hired by Dave Letterman to host a late night show on CBS after the Late Show.

We at CNBC were all aware of Snyder’s CBS deal, well before the general public caught wind of it. I’d answer the phone, and on occasion a voice on the other end would offer me an ungodly sum of money for confirmation of Tom’s deal with Dave. For some reason, I never did it.

CNBC was where I was first exposed to celebrities. Tom was not the type of guy who would allow you to be star-struck towards him. If he sensed it in someone, he’d fling some self-deprecating zinger at himself to let the other person know they were in the presence of no deity. I’ve never been the type to seek autographs or pictures, and the idea of being star-struck is quite foreign to me. Well, almost. While I do not worship people merely because they happen to be good at their craft, there were exactly two instances when I found myself star-struck. Both happened when I was working on the Tom Snyder show.

I was ordered to retrieve a guest from the building lobby, escort them to the greenroom and see to their needs, a process I referred to as “feeding and watering the guest.” The guest turned out to be none other than Florence Henderson, known to fans all over the world as Mrs. Carol Brady. It is a mystery to me why I was so taken by her. All I can figure is that I had seen her on TV all of my life, and to see her, in person, just overwhelmed me. She had brought along one of her real-life sons, and it was only in talking to him that I finally recovered from being star-struck. I asked him if it was cool to have been raised by Mrs. Brady, and he replied, “Actually, I was raised by Mrs. Henderson, which was much better.”

A few weeks later, I was helping to construct some sort of staging for a singer who would be performing on the show. I was a fan of hers, but I had met many people at CNBC that I was a fan of without losing my cool. I was on my hands and knees spooling some audio cable across the length of the studio when she came in. Like a scene from a bad chick flick, my eyes started at her feet and moved up her body. She looked every bit as beautiful as she had on the TV show Moonlighting. She was Cybil Shepherd. She was lost and asked me for directions to the greenroom. I was speechless. I mean, I opened my mouth and nothing came out. To my knowledge, that is the only time I’ve ever been at a loss for words.

The flip side of the coin happened more often. I’d be shooting the breeze with someone and have absolutely no idea who he or she was. The studio was small, but the CNBC gang still managed to squeeze a small upright piano for the use of occasional guests. Because the piano faced the wall, the stage manager could not cue the performer when to start and stop playing. Typically, I stood next to the piano and signaled the performer when the stage manager signaled me. One of the musical guests was playing us to a commercial break, and he chose to play the first few chords of the great STYX song, Come Sail Away. Only, at the time, I could not remember who had written/performed it. So I commented to the in studio artist that I liked the song, but didn’t know who played it. “I did,” he replied earnestly. I thought he was sarcastically joking that it was he who, at that moment, had played the tune. He set the record straight, “The song was originally performed by STYX, and I played it then just like I’m playing it now.” I replied, “But that would make you Dennis DeYoung…” I realized that it was indeed Dennis DeYoung, and continued, “… and that would make me a horse’s ass.” He laughed and continued playing.

It was spontaneous exchanges like that which made Tom’s show fun to work… and watch. I liked Snyder. He was the type of guy who would drink with the guys, but still treat women like ladies. He had class and style to spare. Take the day he announced the CBS deal. Before the show, he announced to the staff that there would be a meeting at the conclusion of that night’s program. He asked us to order some food and drink for everyone, which I picked up from the Butcher Shop, the best sandwich shop in Burbank.

Tom made his way into the conference room a few minutes after the rest of us. Although it was never said out loud, the seat at the head of the table was reserved for Tom. He walked in and took his place at the head of the table, but did not sit. He told us all about the deal at CBS, and he added that it was his intention to allow each of us who worked on the show to make the move to network with him. He stated, without reservation, that the jobs were there if we wanted them. He then took a piece of the big sandwich, placed it on a plate and walked out the door as briskly as he had come in.

I can honestly remember having no regrets at that time in my life. But when it came time for me to decide whether to finish college or accept an entry level job on a network television show, I went back to college. My first regret. My first of so many.

Geraldo’s CNBC show was on a different level than his nationally syndicated daytime talk show. For one thing, he wore glasses on CNBC. For another thing… well, he also sat behind a desk. Whatever intentions Geraldo might have had about becoming a serious journalist were shot to hell during the OJ Simpson trial. He chose to turn his show into a mouthpiece for the prosecution. He attempted to keep his opinions of Simpson’s guilt shelved for awhile, but the only program more skewed was Larry King Live. To Larry King, even a celebrity accused of a double homicide is still a celebrity, and kissing the asses (and in the case of Marlon Brando, the face) of celebrities is what Larry does best.

I would be asked on occasion to watch the pretrial proceedings and write down any points of interest for possible discussion on Geraldo’s show. Truth be told, I actually watched the entire trial from start to finish. I found it far more entertaining than anything the networks were televising at the time.

CNBC’s west coast facilities were located in the Catalina building, adjacent to NBC’s Burbank studios. As a CNBC employee, I was allowed to walk around the studios freely and place myself and whomever I wanted on the guest list to watch the Tonight show, both of which I did as often as possible. I was there to absorb the atmosphere and experience all that I could. After all, when was I likely to be back there?

I must confess I didn’t have a great deal to do with Real Personal. I would escort the guests from the lobby to the green room from time to time, but I learned not to make small talk with them. I remember asking an elderly lady what she was going to talk about on the show that night, and she replied in a disturbingly loud voice, “My husband’s erectile dysfunction.” Then she paused, pointed to the man following us up the stairs and said in an equally loud voice, “And here he is now.” I’ll never forget the facial expression of that poor fellow as his wife regaled me with stories of his impotency.

The thing worth mentioning about the gang at CNBC was that they were all nice to me. Many offered me advice for my future and treated me to lunch on my last day. If money were no object, I’d still be there today. And if my synapses had fired a little more efficiently, I might have followed them to CBS when the big move was made.