Kevin and the Peacock – Part Three

This portion of my time with NBC is brought to you by: Awards Shows! They’re not just for “Plumber of the Year” anymore! I will say that for those looking for behind-the-scenes gossip, this is probably the installment to read.

Emmy Awards, Golden Globes, and network executives

There I was, standing in the parking lot with Brandy. Thus begins my tale of the 50th Annual Emmy Awards, held at the Shrine auditorium, adjacent to the campus of the University of Southern California, deep in the heart of LA. Anyone who was anyone was there… and so was I. I was the one in the polyester suit. I was a talent escort/personal assistant to the stars.

It all started Saturday night with the dress rehearsal. The show was slated to run four hours instead of the usual three. The rehearsal was being done live-to-tape, in real time, so the producers and directors could time it and determine what they would need to add or cut. Although most of the presenters and other celebrities practice their lines before the show, during this rehearsal, they used stand-ins. Except for Brandy.

The star of TV’s Moesha was to be the Emmy’s key musical guest, performing one of the songs she sang as Cinderella in the made-for-TV remake of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic. Saturday night, Brandy was scheduled to arrive at just about the time during the show when I, as her escort, would pull her from her seat and take her to her dressing room. This meant she’d hang in her dressing room for about 40 minutes until item number 112 on the rundown: her song.

Brandy had other plans. She wanted to arrive at the Shrine, hop out of her car and onto the stage, rehearse her song, hop back in her car and leave. She brought her mother, father, best friend and dog to the rehearsal. I had her halfway to her dressing room when she told me of her expectations for the evening. I explained to her that the rehearsal was being done for time. When I told her that it would be another 40 minutes before she went on stage, she was not amused, to put it mildly.

Now, I have to preface this next bit by saying Brandy was very young when she got into this business. When I met her, she was maybe 18 or 19. A lot of child stars, Danny Bonnaduce, Todd Bridges, Drew Barrymore and Michael Jackson to name a few have tremendous difficulty behaving maturely. It is not, I believe, a personal flaw, but rather a result of the twisted environment in which they were raised. If you’re a teenager and you have a horde of yes-men telling you that you can do no wrong, that’s going to affect you… as it affected Brandy.

When faced with a 40 minute delay in her life, even for the Emmys, she… well… there’s no kind way to put this, she threw a fit. She had me take her back to the parking lot where she sat and played with her dog and listened to music through some headphones. In short, she sulked. She had no interest in going inside, and as I stood there and watched her, I wasn’t sure she ever would. I conveyed my concerns to Michael Francis, my supervisor, who contacted the production staff. One of the stage managers came out, surveyed the situation, sighed, and told me to do whatever I could to get her inside in a half an hour. I told him I’d try. He sighed again and went back inside. About the same time, Brandy hopped in her car. This made me sweat a little, but she and the friend she brought just wanted to get out of the cold summer night’s air. I pondered suggesting the dressing room again, but thought better of it.

Meanwhile the production crew worked right up to the point just before Brandy was to come on stage and sing. She was not inside. She was in her car. I sweated a little more. The rehearsal stopped cold. A 10 minute break was called. It was now or never, so I approached Brandy’s Lexus sport utility vehicle and asked her if she would come to the green room and wait for a few minutes, then she could sing and go home (I emphasized the “go home” part). She agreed on the condition we bring her dog inside as well. As I was in no position to debate the point, I agreed.

Minutes later, rehearsal resumed and Brandy performed her song. Then she exited stage right and rejoined her family, friend and dog. Her mother then told me that Brandy would not be coming to Sunday morning’s rehearsal. I almost laughed out loud as I realized her family was backing Brandy up. In all my misspent youth, my family never once indulged my temper tantrums. Of course, I’m not a million dollar grossing, Grammy winning singer either.

So on the day of the show, I’m fearing the worst. I have a negative image of Brandy and her mother (although her father, friend and dog were some of the nicest folks you’d ever want to meet). I woke up with a knot in my stomach. I met with my supervisor in the morning and, immediately following the meeting, I twisted my ankle coming down the stairs. Not a good start when you’re running back and forth for the next 10 hours. Finally, show time.

I greeted Dennis Franz and his lovely wife. I tracked down Jeff Bridges who arrived fashionably late (anyone who watched E’s coverage of the red carpet no doubt saw a dumb redhead in a drab, blue blazer and charred grey pants running up a red carpet stream, against a tuxedo filled current, shouting “Jeff Bridges, where are you?”).

I opened the limo door for Mel Brooks, shook his hand and told him I’d actually met him years earlier when I was an intern at NBC Cable. He said he remembered me. I didn’t believe him until he mentioned the Dick Cavett show, the program I worked on. Mel was really a delight, as were Dennis and Jeff and everyone I’d seen and met that evening. Finally, the third commercial break arrived and it was time to head out to the crowd and get Brandy to escort her to her dressing room.

The knot in my stomach returned and the pain in my twisted ankle multiplied. The commercials were to last less than four minutes and the auditorium was a hodgepodge of celebrities, executives, union men and regular people all fighting through each other.

I made it to Brandy’s seat, but it took longer than I’d anticipated. She rose from her chair and put her arm around mine. Arm in arm we battled the crowd, but arm in arm was not working. We were too wide to make it up the aisle. I lead her by the hand and she walked a few steps behind. She stopped to talk to Jerry Seinfeld who looked thoroughly uninterested in talking to her. I tried to move her along before the show resumed, but I was unsuccessful. As we reached the doorway leading to stage left, one of the Shrine’s ushers stepped in front of it and told me we’d have to wait until the next commercial. I quickly dashed out the back of the auditorium with Brandy. We had to walk the entire circumference of the Shrine to get to her dressing room.

As we walked, I noticed she was nervous, almost scared about her upcoming performance. It was like two sides of a coin. The day before, her immaturity showed itself in the form of stubbornness. On show day, however, stubbornness gave way to a childlike fear of crowds and performing. I saw her in a new light, not as a conceited celebrity, but as a kid caught up in the glitz and glamour of show business just trying to keep her head above it all.

Brandy really was nice. I’d end up spending most of the evening with her, although I did get to hob-knob with the big names, too. I even did the occasional personal favor. I got Jeff and Beau Bridges tickets to the Governor’s Ball, an elite event held after the Emmys. One stroke of luck occurred when I went to escort Dennis Franz to the green room and he told me we’d need to find some aspirin for he and his wife. I remembered I’d put four in my pocket in case I got a headache and handed them to the grateful Franz’s.

My bad moment came when I walked the aisles and stepped on Jane “Dr. Quinn” Seymore’s dress. As I said, it was chaos in the auditorium and I apologized, but when she saw me backstage a while later, she swiftly lifted up her dress and ran the other way (I have that effect on a lot of women). Andre Braugher, winner of the best dramatic actor for his work in my favorite show Homicide, overheard me telling this incident to a coworker. Braugher commented, in the matter-of-fact voice of his TV persona Frank Pembleton, “Women shouldn’t wear trains.” In all honesty, of all the beautiful women I saw last night, Jane Seymore topped them all. I don’t know her exact age, but I think she’s in her late 40s or early 50s. Whatever her age, she looked better than most women my age. Her figure was flawless, her face had no detectable wrinkles and her skin was a golden tan.

The only real gossip I can share deals with the world of late night. When Letterman’s show beat out, among others, Bill Maher’s Politically Incorrect, I overheard Maher as he was leaving the auditorium. He made a comment that he should make a video on how to do a crappy TV show since he was obviously a master adding, “I’ll never win an Emmy.” He believed what he said; he was personally hurt when his show lost.

My fav’s of the evening were the presenting duo of Kim Delaney and James Garner. Just before the end of the show, they showed up backstage with their arms around each other. Garner looked at me and, with his Rockford smile said, “We’re going steady. Don’t tell my wife.” Delaney added, “Don’t tell my fiance.”

The new year brought a new challenge, namely the Golden Globe Awards. The Globes are the biggest farce of the entertainment industry. Less than 100 foreign film critics dish out awards. They try to do so in a way that doesn’t offend any big studio or star. The basic criteria for who wins, though, is the amount and quality of free stuff a movie or TV show gives to the critics.

The critics are often flown to big cities for what are called “press junkets,” where they see a film and meet its stars. Studios foot the bill for everything, from five-star hotels to gourmet cuisine. The critics are given gift baskets worth thousands of dollars. While not technically bribes, low budget, independent films (which can’t afford all the extravagant “foreign promotion”) seldom win Golden Globes.

Consequently, the big stars enjoy going to the Globes, because they know they’re likely to win something. Our jobs were basic. We were to collect the tickets from the stars as they entered the lobby from the red carpet. The whole experience jaded my view of celebrities and fame, as most of the stars blew past us like we weren’t even there. Sharon Stone, in particular, grew tired of waiting in line. She hopped over a planter and a few velvet ropes, and cut in front of people with actual talent and ability.

Jamie Lee Curtis, looking stunning as always, was digging through her purse for her ticket. When she came up empty handed, I jokingly told her she’d have to leave the building. She laughed, then slipped into a fake angry voice and shouted, “Listen Kevin [she read my nametag], I’ll find my ticket! Just calm down!” Then she apologized to my bosses, who rushed over assuming from her outburst that I had been rude to her.

The event was produced by Dick Clark Productions, and Dick Clark was on site supervising much of the operation. A woman approached the entrance to the ballroom where the Globes took place. She told a security guard she was Dick Clark’s wife and wanted to be let inside. She had no security credentials, so the guard told her no. She very good naturedly walked away, only to return with a not-so-good natured Dick Clark. He promptly fired the guard and instructed the others that his wife was free to go wherever she pleased.

Once the show began, we were moved from the entrance to an adjacent ballroom set up to handle interviews by the press. To this day, I have no idea why we were there. However, the bright spot was the skin tight, almost opaque dress worn excellently by Access Hollywood’s Nancy O’Dell. She was the most remarkable looking woman there that night.

A few weeks after the Globes, all of the NBC Pages, myself included, were granted an audience by NBC President Don Ohlmeyer, one of the most powerful men in the industry. He arrived about 10 minutes late. I know because I was about five minutes late (hey, it took me over two hours to get through morning rush hour traffic). He was dressed in a thick knit sweater (in the middle of summer), suit pants, casual loafers and no socks.

Ohlmeyer proceeded to tell us that network television was a dying animal. Network’s only hope of survival was to own the programs it aired and distributed. Warner Brothers had screwed NBC for 13 million per episode of ER. Creators of the afternoon soap opera Days of Our Lives ruffled the peacock’s feathers, so to speak, by allowing Days to be aired 10 times a day on Pay-Per-View. For a few dollars a month, soap fans would be able to watch their favorite show any time of the day or night. Of course, that meant NBC’s daytime ratings plunged far below expectations and left the owners of many NBC affiliate stations beating down Ohlmeyer’s door for answers. Of course, that meant NBC preferred to put a mediocre program that it owned on the air, rather than a genuinely good program created by another production house.

I found it odd that, even though NBC was the only network to make a profit the previous year, it was also the only network that had a hiring freeze in effect. NBC made $500 million in 1996 but only $350 million in 1997, so heads must roll. But not Don Ohlmeyer’s.

When you run the only successful network in the world and you’re laying people off, the only conclusion I can draw is that you are so far disconnected from society, from reality, that your lack of socks is the least of your worries.

An African-American page asked Ohlmeyer what he was doing to increase the roll of blacks and other minorities on his network. Don quickly pointed to Homicide, and stated it had a very diverse cast. Than he challenged everyone in the room to name any NBC show that did not feature minorities (Friends, Seinfeld, Caroline In The City, NBC Nightly News and just about every NBC program except Homicide and, as one person pointed out ER. Of course, none of us dared contradict Don Ohlmeyer in person).

When asked about NBC not buying NFL football, Ohlmeyer said it was a prudent business decision. When asked about how he, personally, yanked Norm MacDonald from Saturday Night Live, Ohlmeyer said he did so because Norm wasn’t funny (I actually agree with him on that). He neglected to mention the fact that Norm made countless raunchy jokes about OJ Simpson, a personal friend of Don Ohlmeyer. Another page did mention that. Ohlmeyer laughed and said Jay Leno did the same thing.

Not too long after the meeting with Don Ohlmeyer, the pages met with Preston Beckman, Vice-President of Programming at NBC. Preston Beckman (the name alone just sounds like a network executive) was a friendly, approachable guy who, like Ohlmeyer, did not wear socks. For this meeting, I stayed at my friend James Lamb’s apartment just a few miles up the road from NBC. I figured if I got some sleep and didn’t have to fight traffic, I could actually speak with this guy and not just sit back and giggle to myself like I did with Ohlmeyer. Mission accomplished.

I asked Beckman about the network philosophy of buying a program concept, retooling it until it’s completely different than the creators envisioned (and, for that matter, what advertisers bought into) and then canceling it after the second episode because it didn’t instantly become a top ten hit. Beckman laughed and said NBC didn’t operate that way. When I reminded him of how Suddenly Susan went through four different pilot episodes, a slew of actors and dozens of creative changes, he laughed and changed the subject by telling a story about his childhood. About 15 minutes later, he turned to me and said, “By the way, I didn’t forget your question, I’m just not going to answer it.” Finally, honestly from a network executive.

I personally watched The Howie Mandel Show shoot three weeks worth of test episodes that were never meant to be broadcast. They were screened by executives and focus groups who critiqued every aspect of the program. The co-host makes Howie appear uncomfortable. Gone. The legs on the couch are too high. Gone. The speckled floor appears dirty on camera. Gone. The warm up comic doesn’t get the audience excited enough. Gone. There are too many young people in the crowd. Gone. The set isn’t bright enough for daytime. Gone. The suits are too dark. Gone.

I watched countless changes take place. The word “minutia” kept wandering through my mind. In my humble opinion, nobody gives an emu’s ass about any of it.

Meanwhile back in Burbank, I was being followed by a hidden camera-wearing Howie Mandel, a Jay Leno who was convinced I looked like Ken Starr (Clinton’s special prosecutor), and subconsciously stalked by underage country singing sensation Leann Rimes. On top of all of that, the girl I had gone ga ga for decided it might be a good idea if we did have a relationship. It was December 1997. I had an interesting job and a cute chick at my side. Naturally, it was time for all hell to break loose. This time, hell would break loose in the form of two break ups, a move and me having to look for another job.