Shirley, I Jest!: A Storied Life (13 page)

We arrived at the Le Grand Hotel in Cannes and were escorted into the ornate private dining room, complete with ceiling-to-floor beveled glass windows, French crystal chandeliers, and a long dining table that was set for about sixty people. Everywhere in the room there were exquisite flower arrangements set in crystal vases. Penny and I were alone in the room. Exhausted, we sat down at the table next to each other. A waiter came over and politely asked in English if we would like to order drinks. We each requested double espressos, laid our heads down in the beautiful Lalique dinner plates, and fell fast asleep.

We were awakened by a voice saying, “Penny! Cindy!”

When we raised our heads we saw Loretta Switt about thirty feet away smiling and sitting at the other end of the table. “Come here and sit with me,” she said.

Penny said, “We’re too exhausted, Loretta. We can’t move!”

Our espressos had been placed in front of us. We started drinking them, hoping to come to. People started trickling in, buyers and Paramount representatives. Soon we were asked to separate and sit apart so we could interact with more buyers. We refused. The reps were not happy with it, but we held our ground. It wouldn’t have mattered too much anyway. We fell asleep again.

The next day there was an afternoon cocktail party, a “meet-and-greet,” with buyers from Belgium, Germany, Holland, and other western European countries. This was a party set up by Paramount specifically for
Laverne & Shirley
. We held a reception line as representatives from these countries passed by to greet us. I will not say which country it was, but as I was shaking hands with one gentleman he boldly announced his country would not be buying
Laverne & Shirley.
He found nothing funny about it.

I was shocked at his rudeness. I don’t know what possessed me, but I said to him, “Really? Well, maybe you’ll find this funny.”

And as I was preparing to give him a “stage punch,” Penny, overhearing this, told the surprised guest, “Just move along, buddy.”

When we got back to the hotel, we went straight to bed. As I lay there in my beautiful big bed looking forward to drifting off into a comalike sleep, it came to my attention that I could hear moving around above me. It was thumping disco music and the sound of a thousand feet shaking their booties down to the ground. Evidently there was a dance club above my head. I called Penny and asked her if she could hear the music and dancing.

She said, “No.” She suggested I come and sleep in her room, which I did. I ran out into the hall in my mismatched pajamas only to be greeted again by my personal butler, standing at the ready. I gave up on trying to seem appropriate. It would never happen, not even if I had been born in Paris. The ugly American smiled and entered the other ugly American’s room. I fell onto a bed and slipped into a wonderful coma.

The End of
Laverne & Shirley

Laverne & Shirley
ended abruptly for me. I had married Bill Hudson and was pregnant. At first there didn’t seem to be a problem with me returning to the eighth season of the show. When we shot the first episode, I was four months pregnant. But when it came time to sign the contract for that season I realized that the studio had scheduled me to work on my delivery due date. I thought this was an oversight, but my attorney assured me there was no mistake. That was Paramount’s schedule for the show.

I had assumed we were going to be doing wraparound shows.
(This is when one actor is only in the first and last scenes of the episode and the lion’s share of the show is carried by the rest of the cast.)
I thought we would handle it by me working most of the shows in the beginning of the season and as I was closer to my due date, Penny would work them.

Well, I guess I had assumed wrong. In the wink of an eye, I found myself off the show. It was so abrupt that I didn’t even have time to gather my personal things that I had brought from home to help decorate the set. That season my name was removed from the credits. So my eighth season of the show turned out to be my beautiful baby, Emily.

A few years later, I was doing a TV series with Telma Hopkins called
Getting By
. We shot on the Warner Brothers lot. One day, Rennie our prop man from
Laverne & Shirley
called and said he was also working on the lot, and would I meet him outside the commissary at lunch. When I arrived, Rennie wasn’t there. I waited for a few minutes and then heard my name being called. I turned to see him walking toward me. He was holding Boo Boo Kitty. I started to cry. My cat had been returned because of the tender thoughtfulness of my friend, Rennie.

Ten

Outtakes

Like most of the world, I continue to be enamored with all types of talented people; be it Rodney Dangerfield, Joni Mitchell, or Shaquille O’Neal. Here are some stories of encounters and situations I have found myself in with the great and talented—named and unnamed.

the tonight Show

I had been entertained by Johnny Carson since he hosted
Who Do You Trust?
I can still hear my mother saying, “It should be
Whom Do You Trust
? That’s the proper English!
Whom
Do You Trust?
” It didn’t matter who—or whom—we loved Johnny Carson and we
certainly
trusted him! When I was invited on
The Tonight Show
many years later, I was
thrilled
. I must offer a proviso here. I have not been able to review the shows I appeared in, or who the guests were alongside me. I have no personal tapes; the Internet offered little help and I could not find the shows on YouTube. The following are the general strokes to the best of my recollection.

So far, I’ve been on
The Tonight Show
seven times. The first time was with the man
himself
. I had no idea, really, just how prepared you must be to venture out on that stage and sit in that chair next to Johnny Carson. I naively assumed it was just a question of having a fun conversation. But it was more than that,
much
more. You are out there batting with the big boys! You had to be ready with your arsenal of wit. That’s what was expected of the guests on the show; seamless wit and snappy patter. I was (and had been for years) a loyal fan of Johnny Carson and
The Tonight Show
; entertained and soothed by the charm of Johnny and his guests. It comforted in the nighttime hours.

My publicist, Dick Guttman, booked me on the show. I was assigned to a segment producer. He asked me about fun things that had happened to me recently; little stories I might tell Johnny. The joke back then was if you’re an actress, tell a story about your cat! At the time I did have an apartment full of kittens I was trying to find homes, I thought
maybe I could make a plea to the audience to adopt them
. But this might backfire on me because I wasn’t allowed to have animals in my apartment and couldn’t run the risk of my landlord seeing the show and booting me and the kittens out! No, that wouldn’t be a story I could use this time. Maybe later, after I had found homes for them and was living somewhere else. But not for this show. I told my segment producer general things about my mother being a health nut and working in Bill White’s Foods for Health in Van Nuys; being directed by Larry Hagman in
Return of the Blob
; failing miserably at my high school cheerleading tryouts, and of course there would be talk about
American Graffiti
. Well, let me tell you that’s all well and good in theory, but when you’re out there you need nerves of steel, the strength of an Olympic athlete and the presence of mind of a William F. Buckley!

I arrived at NBC Studios in Burbank and was already experiencing a case of “monkey nerves” as Penny used to refer to them. I went to makeup. Doc Severinsen was sitting in the chair next to me and greeted me so sweetly that it almost had a calming effect on me, but then I caught a glimpse of Johnny in another makeup chair. My heart began racing again. (How do people do this without being sedated first?) After makeup, I went to my producer who was waiting in my dressing room to go over my “snappy patter.”

Blah, blah, blah Mama, health food. Blah, blah, blah, The Blob. Blah, blah, blah cheerleader
. None of it seemed funny to me. He then invited me to wait in the Green Room. I did. It was too lonely in my dressing room. I had instructed Dick Guttman, agents, and managers to stay away—this was
not
the time to hang out! The Green Room was like the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, filled with actors and their friends and reps. I was offered a drink but declined. There was a TV mounted on the wall so you could watch the show as it progressed. I watched as the guests scored in their stories and repartee with Johnny. It neared the end of the show and looked like I was going to get bumped. Secretly I was relieved. Then all of a sudden my producer came in; pointed at me and said, “You’re on!”

He led me backstage to stand by. He left me in the trusty hands of the stage manager reminding me about
Blah, blah, blah Mama, health food. Blah, blah, blah, The Blob. Blah, blah, blah cheerleader
. I don’t mind confessing I was faintish. I was standing in front of a full-length mirror with a TV monitor hanging above, broadcasting the show in
real
time. The stage manager was standing there smiling at me.

I gave a weak smile back and said, “Hi!”

“You look nice!” he said.

I glanced at myself at the full-length mirror. I was dressed in all brown, the only good outfit I owned at that time.

He continues, “Okay, here’s how it goes. When you’re announced, I pull the curtain back for you, and you’ll step out on to the stage. The audience is in front of you and Johnny will be to your right. Take a bow if you like, turn right, and cross to Johnny.”

“Do I kiss him or hug him?” I asked.

The stage manager took a beat to ponder as though he had never been asked this question before, “Uh, usually Johnny acknowledges you by standing, the rest is up to you. But then you go to the seat stage-right of Johnny’s desk, and if the audience is still applauding you can take another acknowledgment and then sit.”

“OK,” I said, weakly.

“You OK?” he asked.

“Just nervous.”

“Yeah, everyone is!”

I stood there during the commercial watching it on the monitor. I could see myself in the mirror, full-length, of course. The commercial was over, and all I saw now were the curtains I was supposed to step out from. Everything was backward to me! Now Johnny was saying something like:
My next guest recently starred in
—.

I stood there listening to Johnny Carson introduce me. Still watching the monitor and the curtains and glancing down to see myself in the full-length mirror. I got all turned around as though I was caught in the Bermuda Triangle. The stage manager snapped me out of it when he beckoned me to stand by him, and he prepared to pull the curtains back as Johnny finished.
Please welcome Cindy Williams
.

Doc Severinsen struck up the band to play me onto the stage. I don’t remember what they played, maybe “Rock around the Clock.” The stage manager said, “Here you go, and remember, Johnny’s on your right!”

And with that, he pulled the curtain back. I stepped out to the audience applauding. In my head, I was saying
Johnny’s on my right, Johnny’s on my right! Whatever possessed me to agree to do this?

Doc threw me a smile. I bowed, looking over to see Johnny standing.
What did the stage manager say about the hugging and kissing?
I couldn’t remember, but I think I hugged him, then took my seat while the audience applause died down. Freddie de Cordova, the show’s producer, was also standing as well as the affable Ed McMahon.

Johnny couldn’t have been sweeter. He asked me a few questions about
American Graffiti
and if I had been a cheerleader in high school as I had played in the movie. I answered no, that I was the drill team captain.
Uh-oh!
I was at once aware of my slip-up. I had not been the drill team captain; I had been a squad leader on the drill team. I was mentally kicking myself for this
faux pas
and snapped myself out of the momentary guilt in time to respond to a question Johnny was asking. Somehow we were on the subject of
Return of the Blob
. I told Johnny that in this movie I had been eaten by the blob in a drainpipe in Glendale. This made the audience and Johnny laugh. At that moment, Johnny said,

“Well, we’re out of time. Will you come back, Cindy?”

I couldn’t believe it. It’s every guest’s dream to be asked back. Fred de Cordova and Ed McMahon were smiling at me and nodding.

“I would love to,” I blurted out.

And with that Johnny thanked all his guests and the show was over. Johnny got up, said good night to everyone, and apologized to me for having so little airtime. I had scored! God bless Larry Hagman for giving me that little part. Well, everyone loved me, my family, my friends, my segment producer—so much that I was invited back for a second round with Johnny.

This time I would like to say I wasn’t nervous, but that would be untrue. After makeup I was walking to my dressing room and noticed “The Amazing Kreskin” name on the dressing room door next to mine. I was a fan and had always been mesmerized by his mental genius. The door was ajar and I saw him standing there. I knocked and introduced myself and told him I was a big fan. He was delighted and thanked me. I told him I thought I was a little psychic.

He said, “Great! I’ll use you in my presentation tonight!”

I immediately tried to backpedal and said that I thought it would be better if he used someone else. Why did I open my
big
mouth? He said I’d be perfect and instead of telling a long story about how I couldn’t trust myself because when put on the spot I might not be clear-headed. I just said, “Thank you, but I really think it would be better if you used someone other than me.”

My “snappy patter” went well enough that night. I moved down on the couch on cue. Johnny announced the Amazing Kreskin. You could tell Johnny liked him and was looking forward to whatever mentalist fete Kreskin was planning for the night. By this time I had forgotten all about being asked to participate and as Johnny was questioning Kreskin about performances he had brilliantly executed recently, he led him into saying something like, “Well, Johnny, tonight I would like to try something with you!”

Johnny was jazzed by this and Kreskin went on. “I’m going to need someone else.”

“How ‘bout Doc,” Johnny said. Doc smiled.

“No,” Kreskin said.

“I’m going to ask Cindy to help us.”

“No,” I blurted out, “Use Doc!”

“No,” Kreskin said, turning to me. “I’d like to use you, Cindy.” (I was psychic enough at that moment to know this was
not
going to end well.) Obviously Kreskin was not picking up on the thought!

If memory serves me correctly, the mental trick went something like this: Kreskin predicts, on a piece of paper, which hand Johnny will hide it in. He folds the paper and gives it to Johnny who puts his hands behind his back, placing the paper in one of them, and then holds his hands out in front of him. Kreskin asks me to predict which hand the paper is in based on his telepathic guidance.

Johnny was ready, the audience was waiting and Kreskin gave me the cue to reveal my bold prediction. Left or right? My first thought was left, then wait, oh no, right! It’s the right hand. No, no, left. Definitely left. And so I boldly predicted “Right.”

There was a slight pause and Kreskin asked me if I wanted to change my mind. I knew then and there my initial instinct was correct. I wrestled with myself for a nanosecond.
Which would be more embarrassing; to have guessed wrongly or if I changed my mind, the audience perhaps thinking Kreskin was signaling me in some way?
I stuck to my guns knowing I was taking the Amazing Kreskin, whose powers of mental prowess I thoroughly believed in, down into the crapper.

Johnny revealed that indeed it was his left hand that had held the paper. Kreskin revealed that he had predicted the left hand. Yet I had chosen the right.

Dear me, even while I’m writing this forty something years later, I’m humiliated! I think,
if only I’d been smarter, gotten my nursing degree, I could have avoided all this mortification!
But then again, what mistakes might I have made with my patients? No, better to take this hit publicly than mix up somebody’s apple juice with their urine sample!

While we were still standing there and Kreskin was going on with his challenge I blurted out, “Well, we won’t be taking
this
act to Vegas!”

No one laughed!

Later, backstage I apologized profusely to Kreskin and I have to tell you he was so gracious and self-effacing in letting me off the hook!

However, I must have done something right because Freddie de Cordova paid me the huge compliment of asking if I were interested in guest hosting
The Tonight Show
. My mind was clear, my heart rate calm and steady as I respectfully declined.

Cary Grant

The familiar and charming voice called my name: “Cindy.” Every cell in my body and mind responded with delight. I turned and in what seemed to be a beam of heavenly light stood Cary Grant. I made an audible gasp. “Well done,” he continued, smiling at me. I managed a “thank you.” He nodded, still smiling. Dazed, I reluctantly turned and made my way back to the table in the clubhouse at the Hollywood Park Racetrack.

I had just come up from the winners’ circle where I had picked a name from a barrel to announce the recipient of a year’s worth of groceries. It wasn’t easy trying to get thousands of horse racing enthusiasts to quiet down long enough so I could read the winner’s name. But finally the lucky family made their way from the stands to have their picture taken together with me and the winning horse and jockey. When I got back to my table, my mother and my friend, Doodles Weaver, the wonderful comic actor, were waiting for me. I was about to tell them I had just met Cary Grant when my mother shouted at a deafening decibel level, “Oh, my God, it’s Cary Grant!”

I looked up to see him walking toward us. I could see my mother was about to shout out again, so I gently kicked her under the table signaling her to keep quiet. In that same moment Cary Grant arrived at our table.

“Ow! You kicked me,” my mother said.

“No, I didn’t!” I said demurely.

“Yes, you did!” she protested.

“No, I didn’t!”

Cary Grant was standing there smiling down at us. I knew he sensed that I had indeed tried to “quiet” my mother down with a swift kick to her shin. Standing there he seemed to absolve me of my transgression. “Good afternoon, ladies!” He turned to acknowledge my mother.