The Word - Vol 90

Do You Know the Way?

The late 80’s saw me freelancing in the TV game show market, and to do that I had to do what Michael J. Fox once said when asked why he went to Los Angeles to work. He answered, “I’m like a lumberjack, I go where the trees are.”

During the late 80’s and early 90’s there was a lot of game show activity in the City of Angels, so I thought I’d take a shot at the big time. It was a case of not wanting to be sitting in my rocking chair in the late Autumn of life and saying, “I should have done it, maybe I would have made it.” I didn’t want to play the “shoulda, coulda, woulda” game. So, I found an agent on the advice of a good friend and TV producer in Los Angeles and took a chance. 

It wasn’t easy, because for one thing I didn’t have a green card or work permit for the U.S. so I had an understanding with my agent that if an audition looked promising, or if a producer wanted to have a meeting, I would pay my own air fare, pay my own expenses just for the exposure I would get with the big networks. 

Here’s the way the system worked back then. Networks would put an order to the producers or production companies that they were looking for a new game show. If the producers had something in the works, they would send a one-page synopsis of what the game was and if the network liked the idea, they would throw the producer some money to put together something called a run-through. A run-through is one step before a pilot, and a pilot is one step before actually producing a season of shows. So, I was involved in the run-through part of this system. 

The run-throughs were very bare bones, there were no fancy sets, no actual prizes, and contestants were usually employees of the production company, or more often just friends and neighbours of the producer. Often the show was staged in a hallway of the production company. A couple of times I was fortunate enough to be in an actual theatre with a stage and some lighting. Once we rehearsed the show a few times, the producer would call the network and say he was ready to show them his product. Network executives would show up and sit in the front row, usually with their arms crossed and a look on their faces that seemed to say,”Entertain me, let’s see what you’ve got!” I would be introduced by some staff member and out I’d come and run the show the best I could with the fake contestants, keep score, award the nonexistent prize and thank everyone for watching. I’d never get applause from the network guys, they would just nod, or just stare, get up and tell the producer they would send him “notes” and then head for the door.

By the end of that exercise, I was the walking definition of “flop sweat” even if I had done a good job. There was a lot on the line, or so I thought.

After participating in a half dozen or so of these run-through shows I started to realize that it seemed the networks were just going through the motions, throwing money to the group of producers that were known for creating game shows. If they were seriously looking for a new game show, they would usually award the contract to a member of the “old boys network.” They gave seed money to the other producers just to keep them in business in case one day they needed them. At least that was my take on what was going on, so my big dream was starting to fade. I did reach the pilot stage of the game show biz with a game in New Zealand and one in Belgium, but those are stories for another time. 

My little jaunts to Los Angeles were an experience that I always think back on when I hear the song by Dionne Warwick, “Do you know the way to San Jose.” It’s this lyric that sums up my time in the City of the Angels.

“LA is a great big freeway
Put a hundred down and buy a car
In a week, maybe two, they'll make you a star
Weeks turn into years, how quick they pass
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas.”

Or driving a cab. I know there aren’t many taxi cabs to be found in L.A. but I found one to take me to the studio to shoot one of the shows. The driver was a young guy, very talkative and I asked him how long he had been driving a taxi. He said, “not very long, I’m just doing this till I land an acting gig, or one of my screenplays hits it big.” I mentioned to him that you don’t see many cabs in L.A. because most people have and need a car of their own to get around. He agreed and said, “it’s tough to make a go of it.” I asked him how he made it all work. He said, “well, the money I make off the cab fares and tips take care of my rent, and for food, I usually check the paper for funerals and see where the funeral reception is going to take place. I show up at the reception and fill my pockets with the little sandwiches they always serve.” 

And then he finished with a line I’ll never forget.  He said, “There are always lots of sandwiches at those receptions, because the bereaved ain’t hungry.”

It was during that cab ride I realized we were brothers with a common goal, chasing a dream. But without the sandwich buffet.

Till next week… 
Wayne

WATCH: Dionne Warwick - Do You Know the Way to San Jose

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