Remembering Tony Randall

It's interesting how I came to today's post. I was looking at veteran comedy writer Ken Levine's blog. Truth be told, his daily efforts were the early inspiration for what I am doing here. In fact, from a visual standpoint, I modeled mine after his. Imitation is the sincerest form of....blah, blah, blah.

A little while ago, he had posted an entry on some personal dealings he had with Tony Randall. It happened on one of Tony's sitcoms following "The Odd Couple" that Ken and his partner got one of their first assignments. He had very fond memories of Tony and recounted some stories on what a professional stand-up guy Tony was. In the true spirit of blogging, that post prompted comments from over a dozen other people who had similar encounters with Mr. Randall. And then my mind had one of those epiphanies very much akin to a Nestea plunge.

Hell, I have my own Tony Randall story.

Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away (namely the Bronx), I was working at Fordham University's WFUV-FM, 50,000 watts serving the New York Metropolitan area, thank you very much. Most of my friends were working in play-by-play sports, and I, unfortunately, was incredibly inept at this. Indeed, on-air anything at the time was a huge stretch for me. When the microphone turned on live, I always sounded like Kevin Arnold asking Winnie Cooper out on a date. "Um, er, um, er, er, um, er, um, er." However, when I was being recorded for future broadcast, I could sound like Alistair Cooke. And, if I had a cold at the time, I would sound like....Alistair Cooke with a cold. But, of course, I am digressing...

To exploit this amazing phenomenon of being an extraordinary pre-taped radio personality, I took to developing regular Entertainment Tonight-like features for the station's evening newscast. I was the Leonard Maltin of 191st Street. And I slowly gravitated to attempting some "on the phone" interviews with celebrities.

Back in the day, it was a lot easier to gain access to celebrities. And they were a lot less snarly about who they were dealing with. All you had to do is call their publicist and they would set up the specified time for the phone interview. You would write up about some questions that would take about 15 minutes to answer and the rest was very easy. Most people were very nice and I eventually gained carte blanche with who I wanted to speak with. And, one week, for some bizarre reason, I decided that I wanted to interview Tony Randall.

Being a New York resident, I knew he would be easy to track down. In fact, it took just one call to his publicist and it was all booked. Mr. Randall would call me at the radio station the following day at 11AM.

Sometime during the night, I had a panic attack. It was summertime and, at 11AM in the morning, there was usually no one at the radio station. And I certainly wanted to convey to Mr. Randall that this was a top notch organization. So, I concocted a plan to answer the phone with one voice and then proceed to transfer Tony to me. I would then answer the phone in the tape studio with my regular voice. Tony would think he was dealing with something of the caliber of the Associated Press. End of panic attack.

The next morning, I showed up at the radio station three hours early, as I became convinced that my appointment would be upended by some wildcat transit strike. I got the tape machine set up. I checked for the appropriate volume levels. And then I sat. It was only 930AM.

Mr. Randall was as prompt as New Year's Day. At the stroke of 11AM, the phone rang. I quickly answered with the pre-rehearsed voice, which I am sure sounded like Don Pardo before puberty.

"Good morning. WFUV."

The voice on the other was unmistakably his. "Mr. Len........, please."

"Hold on, I will transfer you."

So far, so good. I hit the hold button.

Or so I thought.

I immediately hung up on Tony Randall. I never want to experience that dreadful realization ever again. The phone immediately rang again. Once more, I opted for the Don Pardo voice. But, this time, I probably sounded like Don Pardo doing an imitation of a pig being slaughtered. The voice on the other end was once again totally recognizable, but a little more pointed.

"Mr. Len.....please."

I did not need to prolong this agony with a lame excuse.

"Hold on, I'll get him," my voice cracked. This time, I almost broke my finger holding down the hold button. I waited about 20 seconds and then picked up the phone. With my real intonations, I introduced myself.

After the opening pleasantries, I began my questions. I was enraptured by the man. He was bright. He was funny. He was ultra-engaging. For ten minutes, I was pulled into some amazing stories about show business. This would be my best celebrity interview yet. I am thinking that I could perhaps keep him talking for at least a half-hour. I wondered how much tape I had left.

I had plenty. Because I had never turned the machine on.

Somehow someway, I mustered up the courage to interrupt him mid-memory. I decided to be as upfront and aboveboard as possible with my horrible faux pas.

I blamed it on the invisible engineer on the the other side of the control room glass. Mr. Randall was more than gracious and agreed to start over.

"Have you got plenty of tape loaded?" he asked. When I said yes, he replied, "Good, because I've got a lot to say today." I then almost broke another finger hitting the record button on the reel-to-reel deck.

And, yes, he had plenty to say. He virtually repeated every story he told originally. Every inflection was the same. Every chuckle was intact. Almost an hour later, I was out of questions.

"Is your interview over?" he asked.

I wondered if the tone of his voice signified that I had taken up too much of his time. "Yes, we're done."

I was stunned by his next words. "Good....because now I'd like to interview you."

And he did. He asked me about what I was studying and what I wanted to do with my career. (Despite my best efforts, I had obviously been outed as a college student.) He asked me how I liked Fordham. And, then, he took me through his memories of going to the movies on Fordham Road. Vaudeville shows he had seen. The Loews Paradise. I couldn't shut him up. Before I knew it, it was 1PM and we were still gabbing like teenagers. I figured I was being invited over for Thanksgiving.

But, the conversation did eventually end. I promised to send him an edited version of the interview, which now would have to be broadcast as a mini-series. And he and I hung up.

It actually was the best celebrity interview I ever did. Because it was so completely organic. I did dub off a cassette tape and forward it to his publicist. Two weeks later, I got a note with the return address labelled "Tony Randall, ___ Central Park West, New York, New York." In an incredibly legible penmanship, Tony thanked me for the tape and wanted me to know that I was always welcome to call him again.

Of course, I never did. I knew I couldn't ever top that day.

Dinner last night: I had a big lunch, so dinner was a Klondike Bar.