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Authors: Jess Oppenheimer,Gregg Oppenheimer

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•   •   •

Well, as soon as the program aired in October, I got another call from Harry.

“Terrific show, Jess,” he said. “How would you like to be head writer of
My Favorite Husband?
I’d like to sign you to a five-year exclusive contract with CBS, whether or not the show stays on the air.”

Well, I told him I’d have to think it over.
In the weeks since that first call from Harry, all of my friends had advised me not to take a job writing for Lucille Ball. When I attended a rehearsal I had noticed that the producer-director, sitting in the control room, had eight or nine prescription bottles of various shapes and sizes lined up before him. I remember making a mental note at the time that somewhere in this group there must be, shall we say, a “strong personality.” And true to my friends’ reports, the “strong personality” had turned out to be Miss Ball.

On the other hand, something had “clicked” when she performed the broad comedy I’d written for her. I knew how lucky I’d been to work for so long with that phenomenally gifted comedienne Fanny Brice—not exactly a weak-willed person herself. There was definitely something special about Lucille Ball, and I decided to take a chance.

Now, on my first day at CBS I was introduced to Madelyn Pugh and Bob Carroll, Jr., who had been writing most of the shows since the departure of Fox and Davenport. Bob and Madelyn were two of the most worn-out
looking young people I had ever seen. Red-eyed and trembling, they told me they had been writing four and five scripts a week—rewriting for the producer-director, the network, for the star. I assured them that, in my experience radio scripts could be written during office hours, except for the occasional emergency.

I’ll never forget the look on Bob’s face. In my favorite “Peanuts” cartoon, Charlie Brown and Linus are walking dejectedly home from a ball game. Their chins are on their chests, the gloves and a bat they carry are dragging on the ground. And Charlie Brown says, “Well, you win some and you lose some.” And Linus turns to Charlie Brown and says, “That would be wonderful.”

And Bob had the very same expression as he said, “It sounds great, but frankly, sir, I don’t believe you.”

Well, the following week’s show was a continuation of my first
My Favorite Husband
script. Bob and Madelyn were delighted to find that the three of us worked well together, and Bob was amazed when, true to my word, we got to showtime without a major
rewrite and without incurring the wrath of our redheaded star.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the producer-director, Gordon Hughes, whose inventory of prescription drugs I had noticed a few weeks before. By the time the show went on the air that Saturday, it had finally become all too clear that Lucy was simply more than he could handle.

The Monday after the broadcast, Harry Ackerman walked into my office and informed me that he had decided to replace Gordon Hughes. Would I like to produce and direct
the show in addition to my duties as head writer, for an additional $100 a week? “Sure,” I told him. “Why not?”

Photo caption (next page):

Bob, Madelyn, and I discuss a
My Favorite Husband
script with Lucy.

I had three, maybe four, idyllic weeks in my new position as producer–director–head writer, and then the proverbial fan suffered a direct hit.
We were rehearsing nights, so Lucy could work days in the motion picture
Sorrowful Jones,
with Bob Hope. The cast had assembled in the studio after dinner for the first reading, and halfway through the script it became apparent that we were in deep, deep trouble. The script just didn’t work. And it was the only one we had. Although I had serious doubts, I assured everyone that we could fix it by morning, and excused them.

Photo caption (next two pages):

We rehearsed nights so that Lucy could work days in the motion picture
Sorrowful Jones
, with Bob Hope.

Bob and Madelyn and I worked practically all night. We were confident that we had saved the script. We weren’t too proud of the very last line, but the rest of it was good, and we had all day, after all, to work on that one last line.

And at daybreak, Lucy, with her agent, Don Sharpe, and my wife, Es, with a change of clothes for me, all arrived at the same time. Lucy and Don followed me and my wife into my office, where Lucy took a copy of the script and settled into an overstuffed chair to read it. And I could see that she was delighted as she read along. Time and time again, she laughed uproariously, in that wonderful, abandoned way she had. And we all laughed with her.

I thought we were home free, until she came to that last line. Well, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were identical twins compared to the transformation Lucy served up. She screamed and she yelled. And she swore. And she threw that script across the room. And she got it and tore it up in pieces and threw it again. And she roared, in that horrible, abandoned way she had. She bellowed, “I won’t do this ———.” I don’t like to use that word, but it was the same stuff that hit the fan the night before.

I had never seen anything quite like that. And after she finished this nonstop salvo, I walked over to her and said, “Lucy, I thought we had a team effort going here. We’re happy to stay up all night or all week, break our butts to make the script right for you. But not if you’re going to ignore a major rewrite, which you loved, and crucify us over one little
line,
which can easily be fixed. We need quite a bit more respect than that.” And I took her hand and I shook it and I said, “I can’t say it’s been a pleasant experience working with you, but at least it’s over.”

I took my wife by the hand and walked out. We got about halfway down the block when Don Sharpe came running and hollering after me. “She’s crying, she’s hysterical,” he said, breathing hard from his effort to catch up with me. “She knows she was wrong. She agrees with you. She wants to apologize.”

So I walked back to my office with Don. Lucy, still crying, asked me to forgive her and begged me to continue on the show. I told her I would come back, but only on one condition—she must apologize to Bob and Madelyn for the way she had been treating them. Lucy readily agreed.

We went down to the studio where everyone was waiting to start the rehearsal. Lucy walked over to Bob and Madelyn, who knew nothing about what had gone on in my office, and put her arms around their shoulders. As she walked them across the stage, she said, “I’ve been a————,”—that fan-hitting substance came up again. And after the rehearsal, Bob and Madelyn came up to me and asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

And when I arrived at my office the next morning, I found a glossy eight-by-ten photo of Lucy sitting on my desk. Across the bottom, Lucy had written “Dear Bossman—My love always. Lucy.”

I had discovered that Lucy, despite her tough demeanor, was actually quite insecure; she really needed to be dominated. My first inkling of this had come when I was directing her in a scene with her costar, Dick Denning.
In the scene, Dick, who was normally a nice, passive fellow, really had to light into her and tell her off. Lucy came over to me after the first run-through with her eyes all lit up.

“Write more scenes like that!” she said. “That’s great! Let him really tell me off.”

Surprised by her reaction, I simply told her “Okay.” But I
remember thinking to myself, “And I see how
I
have to act with you in the future, too.”

•   •   •

December brought us good news. General Foods, makers of Jell-O, had signed on to sponsor the program
starting in January. And although Lucy’s new, more “down-to-earth” Liz Cugat was an improvement, I decided the show still needed a few more changes to make the characters easier to identify with. The first was to change their last name from “Cugat” to “Cooper.” And I also didn’t feel the average listener related too well to the problems of the vice president of a bank, and so we made it clear that husband George,
although he had this fancy-sounding title, in fact wasn’t making any more than the garage attendant down the street. This gave them the universal “average man’s” problem of making ends meet. It also allowed us to have more fun with Liz’s “unique” way of figuring household finances:

 

LIZ.  George...

GEORGE.  Yes...

LIZ.  I want to talk to you about something.

GEORGE.  Okay, pumpkin. What is it?

LIZ.  Well, I was downtown today and I just happened to go by Kramer’s Department Store.  And do you know what they had in their front window?

GEORGE.  (
Mock excitement.
)Tell me, tell me, I can’t wait!

LIZ. (
Big announcement.
)A spring dress!

GEORGE.  (
Mock disbelief.
)What won’t they think of next!

LIZ.  Oh, it was the cutest dress I’ve ever seen and just exactly what I need to fill out my spring wardrobe.

GEORGE.  Oh, that’s nice.

LIZ.  I really wanted to buy it but I thought I ought to tell you about it first and get your reaction.  Now what do you think I ought to do?

GEORGE.  I think you ought to go in and put it on and show it to  me.

LIZ.  Why, George Cooper!

GEORGE.  I’m sorry, honey.... I thought you’d already bought it.

LIZ.  Apologize.

GEORGE.  Well—

LIZ.  Apologize or I won’t put the dress on and show it to you.

GEORGE.  I thought so! That’s the way it always happens. How much?

LIZ.  It was only thirty-nine fifty.

GEORGE.  (
Mad.
) Thirty-nine-fifty!!

LIZ.  George...you’re getting red in the face. Don’t bulge your veins at me!

GEORGE.  But thirty-nine-fifty for one little dress!

LIZ.  Now George, now wait’ll I tell you. I
made
twenty dollars by buying that dress.

GEORGE.  You
made
twenty dollars?

LIZ.  Uh huh.  I bought the dress on sale at Cramer’s for $39.50 and the identical same dress is selling at Gordon’s for $59.50—so I made twenty dollars!

GEORGE.  Yes, but...you don’t
have
 that twenty dollars.

LIZ.  I know I don’t.  I spent it on a hat to go with the dress!

 

The show also needed another married couple, as a counterpoint to George and Liz. We decided that this should be George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, president of the bank, and his wife, Iris, who would be Liz’s best friend.
Gale Gordon had made a memorable appearance on our show a few weeks before, playing a judge in an episode called “Valentine's Day”:

LIZ.  No, no, let me explain, George. You see, I sent the butcher a Valentine by mistake, and since it was already mailed he wouldn’t give it back to me...

GEORGE.  The butcher?

LIZ.  No, the mailman. I waited at the butcher shop until he got there and when I grabbed the Valentine he called the police!

GEORGE.  Uh, the mailman?

LIZ.  No, the butcher. And I tried to explain how it was all a mistake but he wouldn’t listen!

GEORGE.  The mailman or the butcher?

LIZ.  The policeman. Then we all had to go to Police Court and he said it was a federal offense and I outta be
ashamed.

GEORGE.  The mailman, the butcher, or the policeman?

LIZ.  The judge! Now do you understand, George?

GEORGE. 
Perfectly.
The butcher sent the mailman a mushy Valentine and the judge will send
you
to prison if I don’t marry the policeman! What’s going on here?!!

LIZ.  Keep calm George. Look—they’ll drop the charges if you and I will appear in Domestic Relations Court tomorrow.

GEORGE.  Domestic Relations?!

LIZ.  I’m a victim of circumstantial evidence, George. The judge wants to make up his mind.

GEORGE.  About what?!

LIZ.  Whether I should stay with you or…marry Mr. Dabney.

GEORGE.  Oh, no!

MUSIC.  (Bridge.) (Applause.)

CAST.  (Ad libs.)

JUDGE.  All right, all right, the Domestic Relations Court will come to order.

JUDGE.  Now, Mr. Cooper, if you and Mrs. Cooper will sit on this side of the table.

LIZ.  All right, Judge Skinner. But I tell you—

JUDGE.  Please! ...And you, Mr. Dabney—over here.

DABNEY.  Okay, Judge.
(Amorous)
Hiya, Red!

LIZ.  Oh—Drop Dead!

GEORGE. 
(Low and angry.)
What does he mean,
Red?

JUDGE.  Please, Mr. Cooper. We must control our feelings. Now, I have studied all the facts in this case, kindly supplied to me by Mr. Dabney.

LIZ.  Oh, great.

JUDGE.  And before we start I want you all to realize that there’s no problem too big to solve. Into every life a little rain must fall. Every cloud must have a silver lining, and it is always darkest before the dawn.

LIZ.  Well, now that we’ve had the weather report, let’s get on with the case.

JUDGE.  Please!
(Slight pause.)
Mrs. Cooper. I want to start this hearing with an open mind, bearing no prejudice towards either party.

LIZ. 
(Cynical.)
Uh –
huh.

JUDGE.  Now. When did you first realize you were in love with Mr. Dabney?

LIZ.  Wait a minute. I’m not in love with Mr. Dabney.

DABNEY.  Ha! She finds me irresistible. She wrote me two Valentines, she hung around the store all mornin’.

LIZ.  That wasn’t cause I was in love with
you.
I was waiting for the
mailman
.

JUDGE.  Please! One grimy amour at a time.

GEORGE. 
(Trying to jolly him out of it.)
Oh, look, Judge, this is all a mix-up. I know how the whole thing happened.
(Laughs.)

JUDGE.  Please, Mr. Cooper, no tears! Don’t talk if it hurts. Let me review it for you. I’ll recreate the scene. You, Mrs. Cooper—the bored, indifferent housewife, tired of your drab, humdrum life, just waiting for an opportunity to break away from it all. And then, one day, your husband announces he must
leave town
, and you realize this is your chance, your opportunity to escape from this colorless, unimaginative man—

GEORGE.  Now just a minute!...

LIZ.  Don’t stop him, George. I want to see how this comes out!

GEORGE.  Oh, this is a lot of nonsense. There’s no basis for the whole business!

JUDGE.  Are you forgetting this Valentine your wife wrote to her lover?

GEORGE.  No, she wrote that to
me
.

JUDGE.  Oh, Mr. Cooper, you’re a
hard loser
.
(Pause.)
Mrs. Cooper, I suggest you read the Valentine.

LIZ.  All right.
(Reads.)
Dear Sweetheart.

DABNEY.  That’s me.

GEORGE.  That’s
me!

JUDGE. 
Please!
The way this woman operates, it could be
me!
Continue, Mrs. Cooper.

LIZ.  Thank you.
(Reads.)
Dear Sweetheart.  I’m under your spell. I love you more than tongue can tell.

DABNEY.  Aha! Tongue—fifty-nine cents a pound.

JUDGE.  A good point, Mr. Dabney. Continue, Mrs. Cooper.

LIZ.  Thank you. (READS) “My
lover,
I have this to say. I care for you in the very
worst
way.”

DABNEY. 
That
ought to prove it – Lover-wurst!

GEORGE.  Oh, that’s just coincidence. She wrote this to her husband, not to her butcher.

JUDGE.  I must say she writes a Valentine with a lot of meat in it. Continue.

LIZ. 
(Clears throat.)
My love for you is not a phoney. This Valentine is
(Chokes—says dismally.)
no baloney.”

DABNEY. 
That
proves it!

JUDGE.  It certainly does.

LIZ. 
(Resigned.)
Well George, it’s been nice knowing you. If you ever need any meat, come and see us.

GEORGE.  Now just a minute, you’re not going to get away with this! I love Liz, I’ve been married to her for ten years! And no judge, or butcher, or anyone else in the world is going to take her away from me without a fight!

LIZ. Why, George!

GEORGE.  Do you understand?!

 
SOUND.  (Rap of gavel.)

JUDGE.  I’ll now hand down my decision. I award the custody of Mrs. Cooper to...Mr. Cooper.

LIZ.  Hooray! You’ve got my custody!

DABNEY.  Hey, what’s the big idea, Judge?

JUDGE.  Well, Mr. Dabney, I think Mrs. Cooper is in love with you—but we must think of Mr. Cooper. When I give a man a chance to get rid of his wife after ten years of marriage—and he doesn’t take it—he’s in bad shape. He needs someone to look after him. Case dismissed.

GEORGE.  Liz, I hope this will be a lesson to you. Now, see what can happen when you start messing around in other people’s affairs?

LIZ.  Yes, George.

GEORGE.  This might have really been nasty and gotten spread all over the papers.

LIZ.  Oh, wouldn’t that have been terrible?

 
SOUND.  (Rap of gavel.)

JUDGE.  Quiet, please. I must have quiet.
(Unctious voice.)
You have been listening to your daily radio session in kindly Judge Skinner’s Domestic Relations Court, with us today were—

LIZ.  Oh no, George! This whole thing’s been on the air!

 
MUSIC.  (Curtain.) (Applause.)

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