The Sunday Memory Drawer - Paul Lynde Not One But Twice

From the very first time I was exposed to Paul Lynde (and that certainly sounds wrong), I was a fan.    During my marathon week at the Loews Mount Vernon movie theater when I saw "Bye Bye Birdie" not one, not twice, but five times, there were two people who impressed me most in that movie.  Ann-Margret for all reasons that are extremely obvious.  And Paul Lynde for reasons that I can't explain.

I lived, breathed, and probably everything else-d that movie for the next year.  The soundtrack album was played over and over and over in my room.  The record cover alone had an ignoble history all its own.  I mean, look at it.   You don't really want to know, do you?

But, along with the "things" I was doing and thinking to this album cover, the other thing I was doing with the soundtrack was singing along.  To all the songs except "How Lovely to Be a Woman" and "One Boy."  Even then, I knew the difference.  And my favorite songs to chime in on were Paul Lynde's.  "Kids" and "Hymn to a Sunday Night."

I can only imagine what my family thought.

"E----ddd  Sulli-van!  E----dd Sulli-van!  We're gonna be on E----dd Sulli-van!"

The intonation was perfect.  And so was my imitation of Paul Lynde.

If I knew then what I know now.  Hell, if only my parents knew then what they would eventually know later...

I became a bit of a Paul Lynde geek.  As soon as the TV Guide showed up in our house, I would devour it to find TV shows he was guesting on that week.

Bewitched.

F Troop.

The Munsters.

The Mothers In-Law.

Dean Martin Presents the Golddiggers.  Yes, there was such a show. 

And, of course, as soon as he landed as the center square on the Hollywood Squares, I couldn't wait for 11:30 every summer morning.  Who doesn't remember questions like this?

A friend from school tells me that I once answered a question in class with a Paul Lynde imitation.  I vehemently deny that this happened and attributed it to a bizarre uban legend.   In retrospect?  I'll admit today that it is highly possible.

Once I grew up a bit, my Paul Lynde fandom subsided a bit.  When I got to college, it was absolutely mandatory that it be reduced to minimal levels.  After all, you don't impress the opposite sex by walking up to them at a mixer and whining "how are ya."  I had moved on.

Or, so I thought...

Regular readers here have already heard tales of my days working at Fordham University's WFUV.  In my early days there, I needed to find a niche.  I didn't have the booming voice of an announcer or news anchor.  I didn't possess the verbal quickness to do play-by-play sports.  And I had yet to dream up my own radio situation comedy called "Diploma City."

Nope, I was still a little lost and looking for something to do that was uniquely Len.  I had an idea I pitched to the station news director.  I could do regular reports on television.  Yep, a radio guy reporting on TV.  Looking back, I really was probably the forerunner for "Entertainment Tonight."  I had the idea before they did.  And, for my sophomore year at WFUV, I was Mary Hart.  Well, sort of.

One of the things I did regularly as WFUV's ace "boob tube" correspondent was phone interviews with TV celebrities.  Back in those days, it was a lot easier to get a hold of these folks and book them to a chat that would be recorded.  I have previously written here about the wonderful time I spent conversing with Tony Randall, but there were others.  Art Fleming, the original host of "Jeopardy."  Karen Valentine, be still my heart.  Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan.  Alan Alda.  Ted Knight. 

Access to these people was amazingly easy.  You called their publicist and asked politely.  Usually, the rep would set up a time and give you a phone number, usually their dressing room or sometimes their home.  I remember the sounds of hammers and nails when I interviewed Karen Valentine.  Her then-husband was doing a kitchen renovation in the background.  Alan Alda was munching on potato chips and his wife asked for the car keys in the middle of our talk.

It was all so simple.

And, then one day, I read a small item in the New York Daily News.  A new feature-length cartoon was opening in New York.  And one of its voices was in town to promote it.

Paul Lynde.

Gulp.

Damn whatever classes I had that week.  I was bound and determined to book my former idol for a one-on-one.  I was a kid with a single focus.

Tracking Paul down, however, was not easy.  After many attempts, I finally got a hold of the movie publicist. 

"Mr. Lynde is very busy.  But I will see if I can squeeze you in."

More silence as I waited.  I called again.

"It's not looking good, young man.  Mr. Lynde is very, very busy."

Crap.

More silence as I waited some more.

"I've left a message at the Plaza Hotel where he's staying.  But I can tell you he is completely booked.  Sorry."

Sorry?  For what?  You just gave me a great idea.

The Plaza Hotel.  For a nano-second, I thought about camping out in the lobby and simply wait for him to swagger through the lobby.  But, in this case, I opted to be a little more professional.  I would try to call him myself.  In those days, the "do not disturb" feature had not found its way to very many hotel switchboards.

I gave my future phone call a long and hard think.  I rehearsed my quick thirty-second request for an interview.  No fuss, little muss.  I'd get to the point and expect a fast "yes" or "no."  That wasn't the tricky part.

How would I know when he would be in his hotel room?  I thought about my youth and how I would comb through each week's TV Guide to see when Paul was on the tube that week.  Hmmmm?

If this guy is as big a ham as I think he is, he's going to be in his room if he's set to guest on some show that week.  Sure enough, he was.  This meant I would be calling his room at 9PM but a determined reporter has to do what he has to do.

No sooner than fifteen seconds after the conclusion of the TV show, I hit the digits on the phone. 

"Mr. Paul Lynde's room, please."

The switchboard operator didn't flinch in connecting me.  The phone rang once.  Twice.  A third time.

Well, this idea was all wet, I thought. 

And then...

The voice was unmistakable.

"Heelllllllllllllo."

Bingo.

I ran through my thirty-second request in less than twenty.  I probably sounded like a raving lunatic to the renowned center square.  But, like the switchboard operator, Paul Lynde didn't flinch either.

"I'd be happy to do.  Call me here on Saturday at 1PM."

And that was it.  I had score some face/phone time with Paul Lynde.

My interview preparations were nothing short of David Frost's legendary session with President Richard Nixon.  When I looked down at the questions I had composed, I realized that I had gone into triple figures.  I needed to pare this down some.  Perhaps I shouldn't ask about his favorite brand of ketchup.   And I didn't really need to know the pre-sets on his car radio, did I?

Saturday at 1PM took forever to get there.  And, in some respects, it all happened too fast.  

I also began to wonder if Lynde had completely blown me off.  Maybe he wouldn't be there in his hotel room at 1PM.  I began to doubt the whole connection had ever happened.  I fully expected to have the telephone operator tell me "Mr. Lynde has checked out."

But, he hadn't.  I called promptly and he answered almost as quickly.  Nerves became an issue as I stumbled on the first question.  But, once I got my bearings, I moved the interview along and completed it in an efficient half-hour.  There were moments of pause when I could tell that the comic was taking on his cigarette.  This was even more noticeable when he begged off for a bit so he could have a coughing fit. 

Overall, Paul was very polite, respectful, and compliant.  As I look back, most of my queries were the softball-like questions that Larry King used to ask on CNN.  But, for me, this was sheer heaven.  Years after laughing hysterically with my grandmother as we listened to his latest Hollywood Squares zinger, I was actually an adult.  Talking to Paul Lynde like a professional.

A few years later, Lynde did a nightclub act that toured the country.  One of the stops was the Westbury Music Fair.  Of course, I was a ticket buyer.

Back in those days, it was not uncommon for stars to do an autograph signing in the lobby after such a show.  We queued up as did most of the patrons that night.  As we approached the table, I got a good look at Paul Lynde.

Dressed in a brightly colored caftan.  Frilly slippers.  And laughing like a school girl.

After all those times playing the "Bye Bye Birdie" cast album.  After all those years of fandom.  After that amazing phone interview. 

I finally got it.  A-ha.

Dinner last night:  Hollywood Bowl hot dog.