B004YENES8 EBOK (30 page)

It was silly, for compared to the past, there was not that much to do. I was just wallowing in this, consumed by my sense of “overwhelm.” I had to do something. I decided on the frontal approach and invited Tyne Daly to lunch. She accepted. I talked to her about business and justice and related it to the ABC takeover that was on the front pages that week.
⁵²
I was pretty good with the “camel and the scorpion” tale of the Middle East,
⁵³
but I almost blew it when we got on the subject of Abe Somer. At one point I thought I had lost her. One of the mistakes I often make with Tyne—as we talk and I like her and her brilliant mind—is that I forget she is an actor and one must always be careful what one says to someone of that persuasion. Anyway, in my diary I graded the meeting B.

Tyne had gone on the wagon, quit smoking, and given up coffee—all for the baby. She seemed very aware that her behavior in the waning days/weeks of our last shoot had not been so hot and wanted to improve that. She conceded to having
a black belt in mouth karate
and recognized she was therefore dangerous. She told me she had started therapy and “hoped to be well by April 15.”
⁵⁴

Chapter 35 

BATTLES ON THE HOME FRONT 

I had won the right from Rosenbloom for an eight-day schedule (up from the original budget for seven days of production). How I used most of that time was to limit our shooting day to eleven hours, expand lunch from a half hour to an hour (Tyne appreciated this; Sharon did not. Ms. Gless said she got sleepy with such a “long break”), and set aside three hours per episode for my new idea of an elongated cast reading and script discussion with the writers and actors (Sharon liked this; Tyne did not. Ms. Daly believed she was giving away too many of her “secrets” and that her performance would thus lose spontaneity). Victories did not come easy at Lacy Street and were rarely complete.

My wars now were all on the home front, with Rosenbloom, the staff, and the cast. I no longer had to battle with CBS. By 1985 and our 85–86 season, the people at the network had come to acknowledge what the show was, and pretty much left me alone to do it.

Some will argue that the season of 1984–85 was our best. It did receive ten
Emmy
nominations, and there were wins for Tyne (her then-precedent-setting third victory in succession), for editing (Jim Gross), for sound (Mo Harris), for direction (Karen Arthur), for writing (Pat Green), and myself for Best Dramatic Series.
⁵⁵

For those who keep track of these things, such qualitative episodes as “Heat,” “Unusual Occurrence,” “Stress,” “Happily Ever After,” “Rules of the Game,” and “Who Said It’s Fair I and II” (our cancer two-parter) headed up the list of episodes that were absolutely top drawer.

Some days before that awards night, a phone call from Tyne at 12:30AM interrupted what had been a deep sleep. Ms. Daly was incensed over the writing of her character in “On the Street,” our projected third episode of the new season.
⁵⁶
It was the script we would be reading later that afternoon. I thanked her for sharing and went back to sleep. As stated so often before, Tyne Daly is a piece of work, but (truth to tell) I would always take her caring and custodianship over ambivalence any day or, for that matter, in the middle of the night.

At 9:30 that morning, I was at CBS for what was billed as a major battle over “The Clinic,”
⁵⁷
our script dealing with the bombing of abortion clinics. We had received three pages of single-spaced notes from Gil “Stainless” Steele, the CBS rep on our series from the network’s broadcast standards department, and, besides the usual language and cautionary notes, there was the very ominous, and (to me) onerous “suggestion” that our two leads should be on opposite sides of the abortion issue, thus giving the episode better “balance.”

“Marshal your forces,” I said to the minor exec. “I will have one meeting and one meeting only with your department on this subject.” I went on to clue him in to the fact that, although there was much on which the two detectives might disagree, neither Cagney nor Lacey would
ever
betray the 67 percent of working women in America who believed in a woman’s right to choose. I warned Gilbert Steele to “steel” himself for this battle, for I would certainly be ready.

I was, in fact, well prepped for a colossal fight but found myself preempted by West Coast standards and practices director Carol Altieri at the morning conference.

“Understand something, Barney,” she said. “You are among fans. Tell us what is non-negotiable for you.”

With that welcome the air went out of my contentious balloon. “Stainless” Steele’s memo was relegated to the files. To this day, I believe that had the fight taken place, as advertised, the episode would have been a better one. I was so disarmed by the trust and warmth of that meeting that, in letting down my guard, I actually gave away more than I would have in conflict. Regardless of my susceptibility to flattery, both Cagney and Lacey would remain pro-choice.

A short meeting with Georgia Jeffries followed, in which I shared some of my continuing concerns about our staff; then a meet with Harvey Shephard where I got a sympathetic ear to my release plans for next season; followed by a “money and justice” quickie with CBS business affairs chief Bill Klein, regarding dollars for a New York shoot. Lunch with Meta Rosenberg was next.

Ann Daniel had yet to commit to the job of being my trusted producer on the series, and so I discussed the possibility with Meta, whom I had long admired, of coming to Lacy Street and producing the series for me. Besides being my onetime aunt-in-law (widow to Aaron’s brother, George “Rosy” Rosenberg), Meta was—among other things—a top-notch photographer, a top literary agent, the executive producer and sometime director of
The Rockford Files
, and a very talented and super-smart lady. I left the luncheon feeling good about this prospect. Meta’s qualifications, coupled with my lack of enthusiasm for that afternoon’s reading (due to Tyne’s middle-of-the-night phoner), had me whistling as I pulled into my parking space. “Do your worst,” I thought. “You won’t have me to kick around very long.”

The reading was a rough one. Steve Brown was out of his chair more than once, and—if he weren’t then in escrow on a new house—might have been out the door. Ultimately, we spent nearly three hours and did not get through the entire script. We sent the actors home around 7 PM and adjourned to my office for discussions and notes. By 10 pm I was—as in the past with so many scripts—acting all the parts and spewing out dialogue as Georgia Jeffries and Pat Green took copious notes. Even Steve Brown was smiling. As our meeting concluded around midnight, I announced what a good time I’d had. I drove home with the realization (re: Meta Rosenberg /Ann Daniel and leaving Lacy Street ), that I had better be careful what I ask for lest I get it.

I called Tyne to tell her how excited I was over the changes that were in work and about this new reading-rehearsal process that was helping to bring it all about. Although pleased with my enthusiasm, she found the three-hour session exhausting. She also registered concern for the pain her “mouth karate” might inflict. I encouraged her to keep fighting, believing better material would result, but—if possible—to try avoiding buzz words like
dumb
and
stupid
.

That same mid-May of 1985, Dick Rosenbloom, the Orion TV production gang, and I were still in conflict with one another. We had been in production over a month on the new season, and there was yet to be an agreement on a budget or an operating plan for that year. The eight-day shooting plan was once again under attack because of its potential violation of the actor’s “span,”
⁵⁸
as was the New York shoot (which, if we did it at all, CBS and not Orion would pay for, thanks to my annual “money and justice” meet with the network’s Bill Klein ).

Stan came up with his annual suggestion for saving money, which amounted to a mid-stream change in the format of the show by giving more work to Kove, Lumbly, and Waxman. Why not? He didn’t have to make the show or defend the change to the network. I suggested that such an alteration of our successful format was possible. All they had to do was fire me—please!

I alluded to the favor MTM did Steven Bochco by firing him off of
Hill Street
, but there were no takers.
⁵⁹

I pushed their man, Ralph Singleton, into the limelight as on-the-set line-producer (a good idea from PK the night before). This was met with a delayed, albeit excellent, reception. “Delayed,” I think, because they weren’t sure what I was up to. I believe they were trying to ascertain if they were being set up, and, in a way, they were. Ralph was a known commodity where the women were concerned, and, although it was true his first loyalty was to Stan, he was not disloyal to me.

Besides, Ralph was there in the meeting; he therefore knew I was the one offering him the credentials he had always coveted. I reasoned his constant presence on the set should relieve Orion a bit and just might diffuse some of the minor day-to-day problems with the women, thus making my job easier.

Rosenbloom correctly got that, since I was promoting Ralph, I was no longer seeking a high-priced producer and that more and more of my time would be spent on
Cagney & Lacey
and less and less on future development for Orion.

It had been six months since I had learned of my pending multi-millionaire status from Rosenbloom and Kellner. I had made my decision. I would stay with
Cagney & Lacey
but not re-up with Orion. This would hurt Rosenbloom’s feelings, which I could only hope would be somewhat mollified by the $250,000 per year savings his company would now receive, since they would no longer have to pay me for my exclusivity or for development. I was coming to—though not yet arrived at—the place where I would not resent the $250,000 annual loss in exclusivity money from the company. It was my choice, and I was doing what I wanted. Orion’s risk was that I might—upon hearing an interesting offer—take it, and leave them to find a replacement for me on
Cagney & Lacey
at (perhaps) multiples of that $250,000 figure. Given my emotional history/attachment with this show, Orion’s management would have to figure their risk was small in that regard.

Chapter 36 

JUST LIKE BEFORE … ONLY DIFFERENT 

The season of 1985–86 was not far behind its immediate predecessor in quality... a true accomplishment considering the loss of Peter Lefcourt and Terry Louise Fisher. (Ms. Fisher asked for, and was granted, release from her contract on the first day of production on the new season, stating she was burned out and near collapse because of no real hiatus as a result of the Daly pregnancy. It had always been a given that Lefcourt would not return.)

In looking over my diary for that period, it is, in the overall, not unlike the previous year, except a lot was different. For the second time in succession, I picked up the
Emmy
for Best Dramatic Series. Sharon Gless —at long last—brought home her first statue, as did John Karlen (Best Supporting Actor), along with Georg Stanford Brown (direction). For the record keepers, our best episodes included such individual shows as “Ordinary Hero,” “On the Street,” “Mothers & Sons,” “Power,” “DWI,” “The Gimp,” and “Parting Shots.” Nominees who did not win that year were Tyne Daly, along with Outstanding Guest Performers in a Series, Peggy McCay and James Stacy.

I would make a monster deal while creating The Rosenzweig Company, find myself back in production with old friend Ronald M. Cohen (for the first time since our successful pilot of
American Dream
); add two new running characters to
Cagney & Lacey
(Detective Jonah Newman, played by Dan Shor, and Cagney’s new lover, an ACLU attorney played by my former
American Dream
leading man, Stephen Macht) .

I also created a terrific but pressure-filled campaign regarding our abortion clinic episode—which had even Corday conceding I was the best press agent in the family.

Sharon and James Stacy in character for our multiple-award-winning episode, “The Gimp.” It is, I think, noteworthy that Mr. Stacy received more favorable fan mail as the Cagney love interest than all other male leads we cast during the life of the series combined.

Photo: Sharon Gless Personal Collection

Sharon Gless on the night, in 1987, of her second
Emmy
win. Also at my Hancock Park front door are Carole R. Smith (left) and Monique James.

Photo: Rosenzweig Personal Collection

Stephen Macht, who played ACLU attorney David Keeler in
Cagney & Lacey
as well as Danny Novak, the male lead of my
American Dream
series, and Sharon in a CBS publicity shot.

Photo: Courtesy of MGM

We were not the only series to take on the issue.
Spencer, For Hire
followed us by only a week or so and actually made a better episode on the subject. They slipped by, without attack from the right-to-lifers and, as a result, went basically unnoticed. My tactic was quite different. I not only notified the media that we were tackling the subject, I also contacted such natural allies for our series as the National Organization for Women (NOW) and the National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL), asking for their support in the very likely event the so-called right-to-life forces attempted to picket CBS affiliates, urging them not to air the episode. There was no indication that they would do this, of course, or that the country’s abortion foes even knew of our episode’s story line, but I played the censorship card nevertheless, and the other side fortunately complied by attempting to do just what I said they would in the first place.

I did not make this up entirely out of paranoia. In our first season (the one with Meg Foster’s Cagney, spring of 1982), the forces of the political right took exception to an episode they hadn’t even seen (“Better Than Equal,” with script by Bud Freeman and directed by Ray Danton). The story featured a strong antifeminist, Phyllis Schlafly-like character, played by Julie Adams, and CBS affiliates were picketed by her supporters and other right-wingers to not air the episode. I do not know how many stations actually folded under this kind of pressure, but I do know that the affiliate in Chicago did capitulate and refused to air the episode. It cost us valued rating points in a key market at a critical time in the life of the series, and I resolved, in 1982, not to let that happen to me again.

“The Clinic” campaign that fall of 1985 was a sensation. Major articles in
The New York Times
,
USA Today
,
The Los Angeles Times
, the
Washington Post
, and interviews with me on the
CBS Evening News
with
Dan Rather
,
Entertainment Tonight
, and
MacNeil/Lehrer
followed. Only Corday asked, “What do you call this campaign: please ban me, or ban me, please?” Our ratings stunk, the competition was getting tougher and tougher, and I thought we needed the juice. Harvey Shephard agreed. It was amazing how I could continually stir the pot on this then-four-year-old show.

That season, because of Terry Louise Fisher’s unanticipated absence, I would also add to the staff supervising writer-producer Liz Coe, as I more and more acquiesced to the industry reality of hyphenates in title if not in function; and, finally, although I had long ago stopped wooing, was turned down by Meta Rosenberg, who “didn’t want to work that hard,” and then also by Ann Daniel, whose stock options at ABC had simply become too valuable (due to the Cap-Cities takeover of that network) to do anything but remain at ABC for her option rights to fully vest. The cuckoo clock accords would end (at least temporarily) as both Tyne and Sharon simultaneously attacked the same issue: the publication of a novelization of
Cagney & Lacey
.

(Shortly after returning to work to start the season in the spring of 1985, the women discovered that Dell would be publishing a novelization of
Cagney & Lacey
. Both of my stars chose to believe that I had somehow conspired with Orion to keep this a secret from them. It was simply a matter of not thinking it important enough to share, but it was an underestimation on my part and was, as interpreted by the two women, a matter of me “pissing in
their
tomato juice.”)

The book was part of Orion’s general merchandising campaign (such as it was) and authored by a writer I had never heard of (before or since). It was presented to me as an accomplished fact the previous January. I remember not being happy about it at the time and insisting on having some input. I volunteered Corday, PK, publicist Eileen Peterson, and myself to the task, so that at least our fans would not be totally nonplussed by what they read. I spent several days, without compensation, reading, editing, and commenting on this enterprise, proving the theory that no good deed goes unpunished.

I tried to tell the women that their beef was with Orion, with their agents and lawyers, and asked to be removed from the middle of this (I had enough troubles just trying to make the show; I didn’t need to take on the grief of corporate Orion), but no dice. I’m the one they saw every day, I’m the “daddy,” and I got it in the ear. (At this stage of the game, Tyne and Sharon took their custodianship of the characters they played so seriously they believed they should be allowed control over such matters. I don’t know what book they read on American capitalism, but it was not one with which I was familiar.)

Bottom line, here’s how bad it was: If I thought, in May of 1985, that Dell or Orion would have accepted my personal check to cover their $20,000 out-of-pocket expenses and simply burned the manuscript, forgetting the whole thing, I would have delivered the $20,000 with thanks.

Mace Neufeld would name me as codefendant (with Orion) in a 25 million-dollar lawsuit. Mace wanted, among other things, “his share” of my exclusivity money from Orion, and charged me with co-conspiring with that company to defraud him of those monies. Had I taken the deal at Columbia that Orion simply matched comma for comma, there would have been no possibility of such a claim, but because I had allowed Orion to equal the original Columbia offer, I suppose Mace felt he had his opportunity to include me as a codefendant in the suit that was primarily, it seemed, aimed at Orion.

My innovation of special screenings of
Cagney & Lacey
episodes in motion picture theaters (ostensibly to help us select which episode to submit for
Emmy
consideration) became a highly successful public relations stroke, and, on the negative side, there was a major crisis involving me and the two stars over a cover story in
TV Guide
(August 10, 1985), which had Gless not speaking to me for over two weeks.

There was the ill-fated
Fortune Dane
series, starring Carl Weathers. I also produced a tribute to Corday, as a result of her being named “Humanitarian of the Year” by a major Jewish charity (the show starred Sharon Gless, Tyne Daly, and Michele Lee, while featuring a young and then-relatively unknown comic, Jay Leno, along with Robert Stack, RJ Wagner, Carl Weathers, William Shatner, Joe Bologna, and Robert Culp as the Columbia Boys Choir, singing “Anything Goes” and “You’re the Top,” with special lyrics by Marilyn & Alan Bergman).
⁶⁰

Gless won the
Golden Globe
(the only time anyone associated with
Cagney & Lacey
got this prize, despite many nominations), and Harvey Shephard decided to leave CBS for indy-prod at Warner Brothers to be replaced by Kim LeMasters:
Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutant
!

Exhausted
,
debilitated
, and just plain
tired
are words I continued to use a lot in my journal. It’s not just that I have a limited vocabulary—that’s the way it was. The work was not getting easier. On the contrary, it was getting more and more difficult. Stress, both physical and emotional, the hours, and the minimal vacation time were some of the contributing factors.

The Orion team had taken their toll. They typically withheld the necessary tools, or delivered them so late, after lengthy and tiring arguments, that my victories were often pyrrhic.