I was ready my pal Mark Evanier's website last night, and he wrote a lovely piece here about our mutual friend Mel Sherer who had just passed away.  (It's well-worth checking out.)  Mel was an absolutely wonderful guy with a long, deeply-admirable career in comedy writing.  He also had gotten pummeled by illness 15-20 years ago, and it largely took him out of commission, but he held on for a long time.  I last saw him about 10 years when I went over to his house for a visit, and it was tough, but a real pleasure.  Because Mel was a real pleasure -- generous and kind.  Though we hadn't seen each other since then, we did trade emails on occasion.  Too rare.

Rather than go into more detail about Mel's work, instead I want to re-post an article I wrote about him back about eight years ago.  Among all the other things, it goes into what was probably the most notable writing partnership he had, and reprehensibly the one he got the least-credit for -- working for years with Andy Kaufman.  And just to clarify upfront, no, it wasn't Andy Kaufman responsible for the "reprehensible" part. 

The point was to set the record straight.  And to celebrate a great career and terrific guy.  Which is quite appropriate today, well, when you get down to it.

From May 18, 2013.

​There was a long, well-researched article yesterday in the Huffington Post that was sort of the opposite-Obama.  The point of it wasn't that there are people who won't believe a birth certificate about where someone was born, but rather that there are people who won't believe a death certificate that says someone died.  In this case, the someone is Andy Kaufman.

But this here isn't to convince the unconvincable of anything.  I leave that to themselves.  This is to address one minor thing in the article, where it talks about "Kaufman's longtime partner-in-crime," as the article puts it, Bob Zmuda.  Every time you read an article about Andy Kaufman, it tends to quote Bob Zmuda.  There are books that reference Bob Zmuda, as Andy Kaufman's partner.  And all of that is true.

What isn't true is the impression all these articles and books give that Bob Zmuda was Andy Kaufman's sole writing partner.  What they all leave out is Mel Sherer.

Mel Sherer is a friend (and a wonderful, generous guy, beyond the ordinary levels of generosity) who has a long career writing comedy, from sitcoms to variety to stand-up.  He's been a collaborator with Kevin Nealon of Saturday Night Live for years.  Look him up on the iMDB.  Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley, Married with Children and a lot more.  And the very first credit you'll see there is -- Andy's Funhouse.
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​There is a lot of other writing that Mel has done than what's listed in the iMDB, but he's just not taken credit for it.  Because of his long, admired career in comedy, many people in the field have come to Mel for last-minute help or tweaks.  You know that famous scene in Roxanne, Steve Martin's updating of Cyrano de Bergerac, when Martin's character, 'C.D. Bales,' humiliates an adversary in a bar by coming up with a couple dozen great, nose insults?  Well...they needed a couple dozen great, nose insults.  And finally, at the last minute, ready to shoot but not pleased with what they had, they came to Mel for help.  Some of that scene is Mel.  Uncredited.  Mel has done a great deal of uncredited work because...that's Mel.  He regularly has given away story ideas.  "Here's a good one.  You can have it."

And through all that, Mel was partners with Andy Kaufman.  (And Bob Zmuda.)  Not just writing, but occasionally performing.  You may know there have been times when Kaufman appeared at the same time on stage as his obnoxious alter-ego Tony Clifton, and people couldn't figure out how that was possible.  Usually that was Bob Zmuda made up as Clifton -- and so the word has spread that it was always Zmuda.  But it wasn't.  Occasionally it was Mel.

Bob Zmuda had a lot to do with Andy Kaufman's career.  But so did Mel Sherer.  It's worth noting that on the Andy Kaufman website (which appears to be fan-based), there is a review of Bob Zmuda's biography on Kaufman that praises the biography in part, but criticizes it a good deal for self-aggrandizement, and at one point states --

"Why did Mr. Zmuda conveniently forget the following individuals?

Mel Sherer
Merrill Markoe
Little Wendy"

To be clear, it's not that Mel didn't get the full credit he deserves in the book.  It's that he didn't get mentioned.  It's bizarre and inexplicable.  Mel tends to shrug things like this off all the time.  He has a Buddha-like outlook on life.  Or maybe he's just so used to it that he gave up being bothered long ago.  I like the Buddha theory.

But at least he was discussed in Bill Zehme's biography of Kaufman, Lost in the Funhouse.  And there have been things like the E! True Hollywood Story on Andy Kaufman where Mel Sherer was properly included.

​By the way, just so you know, I embed these images so that it's clear this is not just a friend speaking up for another friend, but can't support it.

It can be supported.  There's so much more.  Mel Sherer and Andy Kaufman were writing partners for a very long time.  Not Kaufman's only partner, but significant, and integral to his career.  And for too long, he's put up with being much-too overlooked, and not saying a word about it.  I just like the guy so much that every once in a while I like to point all this out, even if Mel is content being Buddha. 

And this will not be the last time I point it out.  I like saying it too much.

As a brief addendum to the above article, I want to mention that when it was originally posted, it received a terrific user comment.  It's arguably one of the most meaningful I've received.  Actually, no, there's nothing "arguably" about it.  The person wrote -- "Thank you, Bob, more than I can say here. This is the greatest thing anyone has ever done for me outside of medicine and sex. And it's damn close to at least one of those two. Mel Sherer."

To which I replied -- "​I had the easy part. You did the work."

Sorry to hear about the passing of Hal Holbrook yesterday at the good old age of 95.  He long-since passed the age of Mark Twain who he portrayed in his one-man show for 62 years and 2,100 performances.  In fact, Holbrook didn't retire from doing the show until the age of 91.  Twain himself died at age 75.

I actually met Holbrook once, in a manner of speaking.  He was doing his Mark Twain Tonight! show in Chicago, and I went to it -- and then afterwards went backstage, spoke briefly and got his autograph on the program.  

The program itself was funny but, even better, explained his legendary skill playing Twain.  It listed about 30 pieces that "Mr. Twain: might be performing from, but that he didn't want to be pinned down to.  And so he might decide to do any of them, or something else.  The point being that Holbrook knew the role so well that he could just pick-and-choose what he wanted to do at any given show.  I've seen a bunch of highly well-regarded one-man shows like this -- Emlyn Williams as Charles Dickens, James Whitmore as Will Rogers -- but Holbrook as Mark Twain was the best, by a lot.  With the others, you thoroughly enjoyed the show.  With Holbrook, after a while you came close to forgetting you were watching a show, and instead felt you were watching Mark Twain give one of his lectures.  Really.  It was that great.

Holbrook began performing Mark Twain Tonight in 1955.  He wrote a wonderful book in the mid-1960s -- aptly titled Mark Twain Tonight!: An Actor's Portrait.  It was part-memoir, telling how he developed the show, and part a collection of Twain's works that he used in the show.  One story that I remember is that he had performed on television, and afterwards got a call for an acting job from the appearance.  When he showed up -- as himself, of course, a young actor in his late-30s -- the producer was aghast.  He'd thought he had hired an old man.

Holbrook won a Tony Award in 1966 when he brought his Mark Twain Tonight! to Broadway -- and during the run the performance was recorded for a CBS TV special.  (Holbrook brought the show to Broadway three times, the last time in 2005 at age 80.)  For such an iconic role, he was able to transcend it and had a long career in TV and film, winning five Emmys and getting one Academy Award nomination for his role in Sean Penn's movie Into the Wild.  He also famously played 'Deep Throat' in the Oscar-winning Best Picture, All the President's Men.  One of my favorite of his shows was a little-remembered one.  It was one of the "wheels" on the series The Bold Ones which alternated shows each week, Holbrook's being called The Senator about an idealistic, somewhat controversial U.S. Senator.  Only eight episodes were made over two years, but they were wonderful.  One of my good friends, David Rintels (who won several Emmys of his own and the Broadway play Clarence Darrow with Henry Fonda) wrote on The Senator, and he and Holbrook stayed friends.

Here's part of a very interesting reminiscence that Hal Holbrook gave for the Television Academy three years ago when he was 92.  He talks about how he unexpectedly developed the Twain show (oddly with somewhat of a roundabout personal connection with Twain himself).  It's only about 10 minutes and ends with the creation, before getting into the later development of the show, but it's fascinating -- in large part because he not only tells the story, but in a way acts it out, as he remembers the details.  The "Ruby" he mentions at the beginning is his first wife, Ruby Johnston, with whom he was performing at the time, I believe in a two-person show.
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​And here is seven minutes of Hal Holbrook in easily his most famous role, that 1967 TV special recorded live during a performance of Mark Twain Tonight! on Broadway.  Keep in mind as he slowly creaks around on stage that he was 42 at the time.

I was extremely sorry to read about the passing of Rebecca Luker at the age of 59 from ALS.  She was one of my very favorite Broadway performers.  How wonderful was she?  She starred in the revivals of The Sound of Music, The Music Man and Show Boat.  And starred as 'Winnifred Banks' in Mary Poppins.  She had the most glorious, pure, soaring voice, and I was lucky enough to see her once near the start of her career when I drove down to San Diego to see the pre-Broadway tryout of the musical Harmony, a show I've written about here often (such as here), with music by Barry Manilow -- even though I didn't have a clue who she was at the time.  Also in that production was Danny Burnstein, who later went on to star in the recent revival of Fiddler on the Roof...and all the more important, later married Luker.

The best I can offer here is a piece I wrote back on October 27, 2015 when I was posted videos from that production of ​The Music Man.

​Here's the next video from our festival of the 2000 Broadway revival of The Music Man, which I wrote about yesterday.  It also comes from that same Boston Pops concert, which I'm guessing did a tribute to the show.

This is Rebecca Luker, who starred as Marian Paroo, singing "Goodnight, My Someone.". Yesterday, I told the story about how a good friend of mine who grew up in New York and saw the original production of The Music Man repeated times and swore by Baraba Cook's original performance, said that it wasn't until seeing Ms. Luker that anyone came close.  (Readers of these pages will also recall the many articles I wrote about seeing the World Premiere 1997 production of Barry Mannlow's musical Harmony in San Diego,  and Luker was in that show.  And not shockingly, was a gem.)

When they did a TV version of The Music Man in 2003 with Matthew Broderick, they cast Kristen Chenoweth to play Marian.  It always bothered me that they didn't have Rebecca Luker re-create her part.  It's not that Chenoweth was better known -- again this was back 12 years ago, and she wasn't.  She'd done a few things on TV, but all in small supporting roles.  She was largely a Broadway star -- but then, so too was Luker, who had three Tony nominations at that point.  (More since.)  And great as Kristen Chenoweth's singing is, Luker's voice is, I think, the more proper range for Marian.  One odd possibility that I've wondered is that Matthew Broderick is pretty short, and Ms. Chenoweth is extremely short.  Rebecca Luker might be taller, and therefore not as good a "fit."  Or...maybe they just wanted Kristen Chenoweth.  I like her.  She was absolutely fine.  But I think Rebecca Luker is better for the role.  And deserved the chance to re-create it on film.

In my article yesterday, I also more accurately described her has "the ethereal Rebecca Luker."

If you don't know her work, here's why.

For that article, I added a Bonus Note, writing -- "After posting this, I came across Rebecca Luker singing this song onstage during a live performance.  I thought about swapping out videos, but I figured that since Craig Bierko got his Boston Pops performance with good sound quality, Rebecca Luker deserved her, as well.  But if you want to see that onstage video, as well, just click here.

But rather than make you bother going to the effort of clicking today, I'll just post it instead --

And it's only proper that we add one more video from that 2000 revival.  Here is the scene leading into the song and then Rebecca Luker singing to Craig Bierko, "Til There Was You."  Leading into the following dialogue into their reprise of "76 Trombones" and "Goodnight, My Someone."

And we'll end with a finale encore.

Here is Rebecca Luker and the Von Trapp children from the 1998 Broadway revival of The Sound of Music" singing "Do-Re-Mi."

​Happily, videos and albums exist.

A moment of personal privilege today.

I found out yesterday that my friend Jeff Wright passed away on Monday.  It wasn't from the coronavirus -- Jeff had gotten pounded by cancer 2-1/2 years ago and battled strongly against it, going through lots of procedures, having it come back, and fighting it again, but ultimately it was just too much.

I knew Jeff for 30 years.  We weren't in close, regular contact -- we spoke or sent emails a couple times a year, and every once in a while we would have lunch...though it was a treasured friendship that lasted for 30 years, well-worth keeping up for three decades specifically because he was an absolutely wonderful guy.  Truly nice, just gentle and selfless, decent almost to a fault.  Really.

No, really -- so decent that it genuinely was almost to a fault.  Sometimes you'd almost have to shake him silly to stop being so freaking decent.  Really.  Jeff was a very talented writer.  Years back, in the very early days of his career, he co-wrote the first draft of a screenplay with another guy I know (who we'll call Ralph).  Ralph had a touch more experience and credits, and told Jeff that it would be far beneficial to both their careers if he, Ralph, took sole credit on their draft so that when he and another highly-established writer did the second draft, Ralph's stock would rise more separately than as a team and allow him to bring Jeff along when they did their next script together.  Jeff knew it would be important for him to get credit, but with his ethereally good, selfless nature didn't want to stand in the way of the insistence of his slightly-more experienced partner, didn't want to block the project which was moving forward when the new writer got involved, and agreed on the future benefit.  (I found all this out after the fact.)  The movie got made, was moderately successful, and Jeff was paid, but deeply warm-hearted Jeff never got that boost on their next "we're partners" script together, since it never occurred,  But whenever I see the movie every time it shows up on TV -- and it periodically does -- I think of it as Jeff's script, as much as anyone's.

Okay, another screenwriting story on his decency almost to a fault, though fortunately with a better ending.  Jeff had written a lovely children's adventure screenplay and gave co-story credit to the person who typed the script.  I couldn't understand -- Jeff explained that he didn't have enough money to pay her in full what she deserved but she'd given him some feedback on the script, so he said he'd give her co-story credit.  He knew full-well that giving feedback was not even remotely writing, but...he'd given his word.  However, when I made clear that he'd never be able to use the script as a sample of his work with someone else's name also on it and kept pounding that in relentlessly against his insistence that he'd promised, he'd promised, "but I promised," he finally agreed to change the title page, worked things out with the typist and thank goodness took his proper full credit.

Happily, Jeff did get a co-writing credit on a fairly-high profile movie that made it to the theaters, though it didn't do well (long story about that...), the comedy BASEketball from David Zucker that starred Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park.  That was back in my dark days of PR and I did the publicity on the film -- the screenplay was a lot of fun, unfortunately the filmmakers just mucked it up trying to make a sweet PG movie into something R-rated, which they acknowledged later.

Aside from being so nice and decent, Jeff also loved baseball.  So, he gets a double-bonus on being an absolutely wonderful guy.  As I said, we didn't get together often or talk often, but it added up to a lot over 30 years, and every time we did I just felt better afterwards.  I'm just better for knowing Jeff.

The last time I saw Jeff was last year when we met for dinner at a restaurant in the Silverlake district that made Chicago-style deep dish pizza.  It also gave me the chance to finally meet his wife Laurie.  They'd married a few years back, but schedules never worked out.  Boy, did he marry well.  Just an absolutely lovely woman who Jeff adored, and who was a total, impressive, loving Rock of Gibraltar during his last very difficult couple of years.  It wasn't the proper ending, but -- sorry, I've got to use the pun because it fits too well -- it was the Wright life.

I'd met Jeff when I was hired to be the publicist on the Naked Gun films, and Jeff was working with the Zucker Bros. company.  And since they tended to put people around them in small roles of their films, Jeff was in a bunch of them.  In fact, because he'd started out as an aspiring actor before becoming a writer, he actually got lines!

And so, here he is in Naked Gun 2-1/2: The Smell of Fear.  ​Jeff plays a stock boy who comes in around the 30-second mark.

However, the walk-on role that Jeff got the most attention for came in the original The Naked Gun film -- because it involved the famous, hugely-popular sequence when Leslie Nielsen pretends to be opera singer Enrico Pallazzo and destroys singing the National Anthem.  Jeff played the Dodger Stadium usher who has to go get Signor Pallazo and bring him to the field.  That's Jeff coming down the hallway at the 2-minute mark.
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So, happily, Jeff Wright will live on in film.  But of course SO far, far, far more he will live on for his profound decency, warmth and glowing kindness in all those people who so-dearly admired and appreciated him.

(That's Reiner's daughter Annie in between him and Brooks.  The photo was taken two days ago.)

​I was going to say that I didn't have any stories from crossing paths with Carl Reiner ​...but then I remembered that I did, although we didn't talk.

In late-2005, during "awards season," I went to a small Academy screening of Hustle & Flow, the film that won a Best Song Oscar for "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp."). It was held in a screening room that could seat about 70 people.  Only a handful of us were there early, when I noticed by the door that Carl Reiner had showed up to check in.  What stood out was that the young guard checking in guests had no idea who Carl Reiner was and had to ask his name and slowly go through the list of names.  Through the slow process Reiner was incredibly polite, with no whiff at all of "How dare you!" petulance for not being recognized and having to wait.  However, the few of us in the screening room saw all this and burst into laughter. When Reiner finally get OK'd for being on the list and walked in, those few of us gave him our "thumbs up" for getting approved, and he just graciously and sort of sheepishly shrugged. Mainly, I admired that Carl Reiner -- then 84 -- went to Hustle & Flow ​.

I did get to meet with his son.  I only mention that because the two were very close, and I sense that Rob Reiner got his core and compass very strongly from his parents.  It was when Reiner and his partner were looking to hire a story editor. I eventually got called in to meet with him, and we spent an hour talking.  He came across as extremely personable, a highly-focused and smart, fun guy who was a terrific storyteller.  Which, again -- from all I know about them, and to bring the story back full circle -- I have always sensed he got from his mother and father. 

(Quickly, to finish the tale, in the end the partners felt their two-man operation was too small -- their Castle Rock company was still a few years away -- and so they didn't hire anybody.) 

​​There's so much video to choose from to show for Carl Reiner, but I don't think you can go with anything first other than him with Mel Brooks as the "2,000 Year-Old Man."  So, here they are in 1966 on the Hollywood Palace, ​hosted by Phil Silvers.

And as a bonus, because this is Carl Reiner, after all, so why limit ourselves to just one video, here he is as the host on the classic parody from Your Show of Shows of the TV program ​This is Your Life.

​Last week, I mentioned that the Jimmy Kimmel Live show had a full half-hour tribute to the late Fred Willard, who made a great many appearances on the show in sketches.  Only one nine-minute segment was made available online, but now, after a week they make the full program available on their website.

I can't embed it, but you can watch the whole thing here, and it's wonderful.  Very funny, very touching and full of great testimonials from people who worked with him with admiration over the years.

Today is the 96h birthday of Broadway lyricist Sheldon Harnick, who won a Tony Award for Fiddler on the Roof, a Pulitzer Price for Fiorello!, and such other musicals with Jerry Bock as She Loves Me, The Apple Tree, The Rothschilds, Rex (with Richard Richard Rodgers), and the opera Captain Jinks and the Horse Marines -- and much more.

I interviewed him years ago when I was a student at Northwestern, and he returned to campus as Homecoming Grand Marshall.  I made a radio documentary from it and two decades later when I finally tracked down his address through a mutual friend to send him a copy -- and when I told my mother that I finally found someone who knew where Harnick lived, she said, "Oh, you mean, Aunt Joan?"  I was floored.  I never had any idea that they grew up together and went to college together.  Though. no, she didn't have her address.  When I sent him the radio documentary though and explained my further connection, he sent a handwritten note back, and the first line was, "OH, MY GOD!!!  JOAN SERED!!! (which was her maiden name.  And yes, this is the Aunt Joan who I wrote about here back in January for her surprise 90th birthday party.)  Though they've periodically crossed paths over the many decades, I was able to get them together 13 years ago when we all saw a production of his show She Loves Me at the Writers Theatre in Glencoe, Illinois.  (And yes, this was the production I've written about several times that starred Jessie Mueller before she left for Broadway and won a Tony Award for starring in the musical Beautiful.)

But enough of all that.  On with the show.  Here's a wonderful, hour-long interview with Sheldon Harnick at the Kennedy Center six years ago when he was 90, and you'll see he's vibrant and entertaining.

And here's one of my favorite of his lesser-known songs, "In My Own Lifetime," from The Rothschilds, which starred Hal Linden who won the Tony Award as Best Actor.  Harnick writes poetically and richly with the simplicity of almost everyday language, which is his hallmark.

And we'll end our celebration with this video from two years ago -- when Harnick was 94 -- singing absolutely wonderfully one of his classics, "Do You Love Me?" from Fiddler on the Roof with Judy Blazer.
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 I was a little surprised to learn that Broadway songwriter Jerry Herman passed away at the age of 88.  Not surprised that he died, but that it took me almost a week to know about it, and that only by accident.  I've since learned that it got well-covered in the New York Times (as it should) and in the trade papers (as it should), but it rally went under the wire everywhere else it seems.  I didn't see it even mentioned on MSNBC, and I had the station on for hours a day every day.  

The thing is, whether one was a big fan of his work or thought he was slight, that's beside the point.  He wrote three Broadway musicals that were massive hits.  (The first-ever to write three musicals that each ran over 1,500 performances.)  Two of them were significant.  One was critically important to popular culture. In fact, its title song knocked The Beatles out of #1 on the charts.

The three were Hello, Dolly! that ran for 2,844 performances (that's around seven years), which at the time made it the longest-running musical in Broadway history.  Mame had 1,508  performances, and La Cage aux Folles ran for 1,761 performances.  He also had a big hit with his first book musical, Milk & Honey.  In addition, the Broadway revue Jerry's Girls with his songs had a successful run, and he wrote the enjoyable score to the CBS movie, Mrs. Santa Claus, as well as several other Broadway shows, none which were successful, though most had very nice scores.  He won two Tony Awards and received a Lifetime Achievement Tony.
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I was trying to figure out which of his songs to post here -- and which version of them -- and then I figured that the best thing to do was post two videos -- the first from his Kennedy Center Honor (there are two videos of this, but the first part doesn't seem to be accessible. Happily this is the entertainment portion), and the second from a tribute celebration at the Hollywood Bowl.  

This begins with Kelsey Grammar who starred in the revival of La Cage aux Folles.

​And here's about 25 minutes from a wonderful tribute to Jerry Herman at the Hollywood Bowl in 1993, which ends with a rousing performance by Herman himself at the piano singing his song, "The Best of Times" from La Cage aux Folles, joined by the entire cast.

Sorry to hear about the passing of Tim Conway whose work I loved -- though I suspect I'm not alone.  He was 85.  I don't have much of a story about crossing paths with him, it was only once and very brief.  I was a few years out of UCLA grad school and visiting CBS Television City on some work-related appointment.  I got on the elevator, and Tim Conway was on, as well.  I've always been pretty low-key about stargazing, but still this was Tim Conway whose work I loved.  So, for me, I went all out and nodded with a smile.  And he gave a nice, warm greeting back.  It's not much to convey, I know, and it's hard to get across, but this actually stood out to me all these years -- not for the nod, but because I've dealt with enough celebrities over time, and even an brief exchange this brief and minimalistic was actually very warm and friendly.  From what I've later hear over the years, that was not surprising in the slightest.

For all his work on TV and in movies acting with others, Conway was probably best known for his sketches with Harvey Corman.  It wasn't just because they were so good together, but because it was difficult for Corman to keep a straight face, and much of the fun was seeing how long he could go before breaking.

Here's a sketch they did later in their career, live at some event.  What stands out is how long both of them, but Conway in particular, are able to stretch out something as simple as buying a ticket, and keep it funny.  What also stands out is the musicians -- who tend to be jaded, having seen it all -- behind them laughing,   And as much as Korman is able to make it through the sketch in one piece, yes, he does fight to keep from breaking a few times.  Without full success.

And okay, here's a bonus.  It's Tim Conway and Harvey Korman's most-famous sketch, 'The Dentist' on The Carol Burnett Show.  Famous (again) not just for being funny, but for Korman's eventual inability to keep from laughing at Conway and his struggles trying not to.