Paul Lynde - A Biography (4 page)

Chapter 1

Paul Lynde was a guest on the
Tonight Show
in May, 1976, when Joan Rivers was guest hosting for Johnny Carson. Joan complimented him on how slim he looked. She asked Paul if he was fat as a child.

Paul answered, “I was 260 pounds!”

Joan replied, “At birth?” The audience laughed.

Paul said, “Talk about stretch marks.” The audience roared.

Sylvia Bell Doup Lynde was rushed to St. Vincent De Paul’s Mercy Hospital, in Mount Vernon, Ohio, on June 13, 1926. She had just given birth in her home minutes ago, to her fifth child, Paul Edward. She is in critical condition. Hoy, her husband, arrived rushing through the hospital doors and carrying his newborn son against his chest.

Some of the Catholic nuns, who were also nurses, scurried silently past the worried husband in a blur of starched white caps and uniforms. Sylvia was overweight and she was having serious complications with this birth.

Hoy waited, and he tried to comfort the crying infant boy in his arms. After a while, the doctor appeared and told Hoy that his wife had to remain in the hospital. Hoy nodded, wondering how he would care for his newly born son with four other children at home. The doctor spoke to the nuns. Minutes later, Hoy exited the hospital empty handed.

The Lynde’s were Methodist, not Catholic. The nuns agreed to take care of baby Paul at the hospital, while his mother recovered. According to Nancy Noce (Paul’s eldest niece), it was an unusual arrangement for that time. Paul was adored by the nuns. They took turns feeding and holding him, and gave him lots of attention; he became the star of Mercy Hospital. Meanwhile, at home, Paul’s sisters Grace (who was nine years old) and Helen (who was seven) attended school. Paul’s two brothers Richard (six years old) and Coradon (Cordy — who was three) stayed at home, while family, friends, and neighbors took turns caring for them.

Hoy stopped in daily to check on his wife, but he could not stay long; he had to keep working to provide for his family of seven. Before he married Sylvia, Hoy worked at the Jewell Milk Company. Then, in 1925, he was deputy sheriff for a while. He found his niche when he was put in charge of the Pitkin’s Provision’s meat department, which would lead him to opening his own business in the future. Sylvia’s recovery took a long time, but she eventually regained her strength. She returned home and soon was well enough to care for all of the five children. Baby Paul was held in his mother’s arms, at home, for the first time.

As Paul grew up, he thought his parents’ names were quite comical. His dad answered the phone, “Hoy Lynde,” and people thought he was Chinese. His mother’s name was Sylvia Bell, and there were plenty of jokes about Tinkerbelle. Paul would later create Hoysly Productions which he named in honor of his parents. His parents often took him and his siblings to Olentangy Park, in Columbus. His Mom packed up lots of great picnic food, and after the feast they would all go to The Columbus Zoo. Picnics became one of Paul’s favorite pastimes throughout his life.

In 1928, Paul’s father was elected sheriff of Knox County. Paul told everyone, “I grew up in a prison,” and he literally did — for four years. Part of the benefit of being the sheriff included housing. Hoy, Sylvia, and all five of their children, moved into the apartment attached to the jailhouse. Paul’s father was well respected in Knox County, and it was usually a safe place, however, Hoy was sheriff during the time of Prohibition. “This made the job very dangerous,” Nancy explained about her grandfather. “Grandpa Lynde had to go out on calls to take the illegal stills down. He would round up his deputies and go after the people making liquor. Many nights, no one knew if Grandpa would make it home.”

That same year, Paul’s mother gave birth to her sixth and last child, Johnny. This time it was almost too much for her body to bear. She was near death. She was rushed again to Mercy Hospital, which was located right next door to the jail. Hoy was beside himself, and Paul was once again without his mother.

The nuns were happy to see Paul and gladly took him back into their care. This time they took in the new baby too. The nuns and nurses took turns holding and cooing over the new Lynde arrival. Paul wanted his mother, and he could not go to her. On top of that, Johnny was stealing his spotlight. He was so jealous of his baby brother that he told Jane Wilkie of
TV Guide
that he tried to put him in a basket with the hopes that if he shuffled him around with the other infants, the nurses would not be able to figure out who he belonged to. “This was a very hard time for Johnny and Paul and all the Lynde family,” Nancy said.

The toddler soon found something to look forward to three times a day: the meals at the hospital. Paul just loved eating with the nuns. Food was bringing some comfort, along with the way the nuns fussed over him. These surrogate mothers took little Paul with them all over the hospital as they made their rounds. The nurses spoiled him too and allowed him to have the run of the place. The nuns took turns telling him bedtime stories each night. As he grew older, they even taught him to read.

When Paul was able to return home, he would sneak next door again, back over to the hospital. When he turned five, the nuns took him to see his first movie:
Ben Hur.
It had a cast of 150,000. Young Paul watched wide-eyed as Raman Novarro rode his chariot and commanded his white horses with their thundering hoofs to race faster. He was mesmerized by the powerful roman officer, played by Francis X. Bushman, and he sat with his mouth open during the during the epic sea battle. When the picture ended, he was determined to one day be an actor, for that was a sure way to become rich and also famous.

After a very long recovery, Sylvia was released from the hospital. She returned to the things she loved: her husband, her children, and cooking. Sylvia was an excellent cook, and the table talk revolved around food as they ate their meal. “At breakfast we discussed what we were having for lunch; at lunch we discussed what we were having for dinner,” an adult Paul told Jacquelyn Nicholson, of
Bon Appetit
magazine.

Paul continued with his love affair with food. After lunch, he would go out to play with the kids from the neighborhood. Sometimes he spotted a hot pie cooling on someone’s window sill, and he would grab it and run. He would then hide out while he ate the evidence. He was growing wider faster than he was growing taller. The nine-year-old was a bit chubby, and as he walked to Elmwood Elementary School, he was sometimes made fun of. One kid used to taunt him by taking his hat and playing keep away with it. He was shy and had a hard time defending himself.

When Paul was ten years old, his appendix burst and he became gravely ill. The doctors at the hospital were concerned about operating because their young patient was overweight.

Paul had peritonitis — an inflammation in the wall of the abdomen — which, during the 1930s, usually resulted in death. Gangrene had also set in. The doctors hooked the ten-year-old up to an I.V., which dripped saline solution into his veins. It would be the only source of food he would be permitted to have for a while. It was another trying time for the Lynde family. His parents took turns going to the hospital to sit with their critically ill son day after day, month after month. The nuns were there too. When the doctors saw their patient was getting well, they put him on solid food, but instructed him not to overeat as they wanted him to lose weight. Paul knew so many of the staff there that he always charmed someone into getting him more food. After seven long months, Paul was allowed to go home, but with orders to stay in bed. Hoy then went into his son’s room and carried his bed into the dining room, next to the kitchen. Sylvia spent much of her day at the stove, so here she had a perfect view of the patient. Sylvia used lots of starch in her meals to feed her family of eight; this was during the Depression, and starch was cheap. Every time she left the kitchen, she would bring her son a plate of biscuits and gravy, and potatoes. She often joined Paul for the meals, sitting beside him as they ate. Once again, Paul found comfort in food.

Sylvia was happy to see her son eating and getting well. When the time came to remove his bandages, Paul gasped at the new design he had on his body. “My incision looked like the surgeon tore my appendix out with his hands,” he said. After nearly a year of being bedridden, the young boy was ready to get out of bed. He forced his legs over the side, and when he attempted to stand, his legs couldn’t endure the weight. He had gained one hundred pounds. “I had to learn to walk again.” Paul said. When his legs built up some strength, he was finally able to go outside. Some of the kids in the neighborhood began to make fun of his size. The quiet kid went back inside.

It was time for the fifth grader to return to school. Sylvia had a hard time finding pants that would fit her son, who now weighed more than her husband. His mother saw how much his size bothered him. She looked at his sad green eyes and said, “You hold it well.”

As Paul walked to school, a few kids started to call him names, but Paul said something that cracked them up. He was relieved they were laughing with him, not at him. When he entered the classroom, he was packing an orginal wit, one that would boomerang and ricochet around the classroom. His fellow students found him to be the funniest kid in the school. Many were magnetized by the big kid’s personality. The school photographer captured his effects when he snapped the class photo: The boy standing next to Paul, who was half his size, in both weight and height, put his arm around his pal as they posed for the picture. “I made them laugh to distract them from my being fat. I was never called ‘Tubby’ or ‘Lard Ass’ like other overweight kids.” Paul said, “I was grateful for that.”

Gym class was brutal for the overweight kid who had been immobile for the past year. The boys at school were kept in shape, as it was a time of war and Paul was battling his own. “I looked like Kate Smith’s niece,” he said. The gym teacher blew the whistle signaling the class to start their calisthenics; Paul prayed his shorts would not split. Paul noticed some of his classmates were excused from gym to go to band practice, so he told his teacher he wanted to play an instrument. He was relieved he no longer had to go to gym class, but had a problem with the band’s school uniform; he couldn’t close the jacket and it was the largest one there. He then decided he would play the bass drum; it was so big it went over the front of his uniform and no one knew it wasn’t able to button.

On Saturdays, Paul headed to the movie theater in town, with huge bags of popcorn that his mother had made. He was still in awe of the actors, and the big screen still captivated him. After the show, he would wander around the neighborhood looking for just the kind of house he pictured a movie star would live in.

According to Connie Rice, Paul’s youngest niece, there was a mansion in town that stood out from all the other homes, and Paul used to fantasize that he would live in it one day when he became rich. He used to sit on the steps of that house and wave at the cars passing by, to make it look like he lived there. He told a reporter, “I guess I fought back having delusions of grandeur.” Those delusions, along with his passion and determination, would allow him to buy that house one day if he wanted to, or an even bigger one.

When Paul was eleven years old, his father opened Lynde’s East Side Market. At first he liked the idea of his father owning his own business and he got a charge out of seeing his last name on the sign. What he didn’t like was that his dad was a butcher; he didn’t like the image it could conjure up.The next time someone asked him what his father did for a living, he would say, “He’s a cattle surgeon.” Most everyone in town shopped at the store. It had great cuts of meats and the atmosphere was friendly. Hoy often had his two oldest male children, Richard and Cordy, help him out. A few years later Paul and Johnny were recruited. The four boys didn’t mind when they had to help behind the counter or package the meat. It was the mid-week rush, which they dreaded; that’s when they had to actually become butchers. “They just hated it,” Nancy said. “They had to kill chickens on Thursday and clean them and dress them so they would be ready for the customer’s Sunday dinners. Paul’s classmates would make squawking noises, when they saw him, and they called him “Chicken Plucker.”

As Paul got a little older, his father let him work behind the counter, alongside of him, to help sell the meat. His shy demeanor along with his irresistible grin seemed to get the customers to open their purses a little wider. Hoy told him he outshined his brothers when it came to selling. This was a huge compliment coming from his father. For the first time, Paul felt a sense of pride. It was the only thing he felt he was good at. “Basically an actor is salesman,” he summarized years later. He thought his three brothers were all better than he was. He described them as “Richard the athlete, Cordy the brain, Johnny the baby, and Paul the nothing.”

Paul’s favorite brother was Cordy. His parents favored him too over all their children, but Paul never seemed bitter about that, “He was my mother’s favorite and deserved to be,” he said. Cordy was choir president, President of the French Club, carnival manager, and in drama club. He also edited the high school year book. Paul had the same teachers as his brother had in school, and they had high expectations for him, but Paul preferred clowning around to studying. The teachers called Cordy “The brain,” and they referred to Paul as “The silly goose.”

After Cordy graduated, he enlisted in overseas action. No one was aware of it then, but Cordy was about to fight in what would be one of the largest and bloodiest battles fought in World War II: The Battle of the Bulge.

While Cordy was off at war, Nancy recalled The Lynde family visiting them at their home in nearby Danville, Ohio. Though Paul was her uncle, he was only eleven years older than her. “Johnny was close to Paul’s age and they ran together. They would pick me up in the car and Paul would be driving and the two of them would just tease me to no end,” Nancy said. At the end of the afternoon, the cousins would head back to join the rest of the relatives for dinner. Paul’s sister, Grace, and his mom would prepare the meal. Nancy remembers Paul’s mom as sweet, “Grandma Sylvia had a big heart, as big as the outdoors. Grandpa Hoy had a great sense of humor.”