Paul Lynde - A Biography (7 page)

Chapter 4

“That’s one woman I could have married.”

Paul Lynde

A 250-pound Paul walked alone on the crowded streets in Greenwich Village. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the city was swarming with tourists arriving to see the premiere of
Guys and Dolls.
He ached to be in a Broadway show like that. He couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t getting any call backs from the auditions he had gone on.

It had been two years since he walked out of Northwestern University with the best actor of the year award, and he couldn’t believe he wasn’t a big star yet. He thought that by now he would have had some real recognition. This was New York; he just couldn’t understand what was taking so long.

Paul was tired of living in a dump and being broke, he felt ashamed that he had conned his father into sending him money to help him with his “career,” but had used it all on excess eating and drinking. There would be no more money coming in. Those days were gone. So were his father, mother, and his favorite brother. The three of them abandoned him, almost all at once. Paul wasn’t giving up; he knew he was meant to be rich and famous.

He arrived at One Fifth Avenue, a supper club he frequented, and got himself a drink. Someone at the club suggested Paul enter their amateur contest, which they were having the following night. When he saw the prize money, he immediately ran back to his apartment and, in a frenzy, wrote an outlandish, dark, humorous monologue he called “My Four Swell Days in Africa with the Trip of the Month Club.” After a sleepless night, Paul returned to the club and grabbed a drink, hoping it would help calm his acute anxiety. Then he stepped on the stage to become Carl Canker, appearing before the audience with his head wrapped in bandages, with his arm in a sling, and leaning on a crutch. In his nasal Midwestern twang and sarcastic tone, he recounts his safari adventure, in which he gets gored by a rhinoceros, goes over a waterfall, and his wife gets eaten to death by a lion…yet he is determined to finish the tour:

We had been tramping on the trail about four or five hours, when my wife complained of her feet. The only shoes she had were those high-heeled sling pumps, she just couldn’t take it. So we had to leave her there out on the trail. A couple days later on the way back, I found this piece of her dress along with her purse and gloves and to this day, I don’t know what happened to her (lets out a cynical large Lynde Laugh) but what I really remember about that day was, it was the only day it didn’t rain, and I got to take some dandy snapshots…

The audience and judges loved this twenty-four-year-old comedian’s unique style and sardonic humor about a man who laughs his way through tragedies. Paul won the contest! He was handed the prize money and was offered one week’s engagement. After some celebrating, he left. And, just like Carl Canker but without visible wounds, he too was determined to finish the tour.

That performance awarded him two more gigs at top entertainment clubs. This was the chance he had been waiting for:now he would show New York his talent. He practiced his monologue over and over on the way to his new gig. He arrived at the very posh Versailles Supper Club on 151 East 50th Street, one of the finest restaurant-cabarets in the world. He nervously stepped on the stage, and in a matter of moments, he realized that no amount of practice could have prepared him for this crowd.

“I played sixteen weeks, two shows a night, and I would bomb every performance,” Paul told the host of the
Tonight Show
about his first experiences doing standup comedy. He begged the owner of the club to fire him, but he wouldn’t. Paul was doing his African monologue when, all of a sudden, the audience got up in the middle of his act and started dancing. “And there’s no music in my a-a-a-a-a-ct.”

Paul wasn’t so sure anymore if he wanted to continue this type of work. He found the past few weeks to be grueling, but he was booked for another performance that April, at Spivey’s Rooftop on 57th Street and Lexington. The club was on the top floor in a penthouse. It had opened in 1940, and was owned by Spivey LeVoe. She had become successful singing and playing piano in cabarets and speakeasies before she opened her own place. Described as a large and handsome woman, by one reporter, Spivey had a way of making songs sound quite risqué, as she did when singing, “I Didn’t Do A Thing Last Night.” Some of her supporting acts in the past had been Liberace and Carol Channing. She charged a three dollar entrance fee on weekends, and although her place seated 100, she packed in closer to 300 on some nights, when she had first opened her doors.

Paul gave a short nod to the elevator man as he stepped inside with his crutch and rolls of bandages. They rode to the ninth floor, where Paul got off and found Spivey and introduced himself. Paul waited for the crowd to show up, but Spivey told him not to expect too much because business had been lousy lately. A while later, they heard the sound of the elevator moving and Spivey shouted, “Get you’re your props, you’re on!” Paul scrambled, in vain, as it was only the elevator man, who just wanted someone to talk to. The next time the elevator doors opened, it was the landlord trying to hunt Spivey down for the rent money.

The weekends sprouted some customers, and Paul did his African safari adventure for them. When he finished his act, he told the audience Spivey would now perform for them, but then she would disappear. “Most nights she would lock herself in the john,” Paul said. He couldn’t understand it because after she closed the club, she would let Judy Garland, Martha Raye, and Judy Holiday come in, and she would sing for them. Paul was not aware of it, but years later Spivey told the press she often experienced stage fright with nightclub audiences. Paul was just grateful to be getting a paycheck each week. One day, he was heading to work and was suddenly stopped in his tracks, “I arrived at the club and saw the piano under the canopy on the sidewalk and knew it was over.”

Paul left empty handed and watched the bright lights of his beloved city fade. He went to his new apartment on the east side of Manhattan and waited by the phone for more offers, but the phone never rang. New York was failing him, and he was forced to leave town. He packed a bag and left for summer stock in Corning, New York. His first paying job as an actor was at the Corning Summer Theater, playing Pon in
Happy Birthday.
Paul would go over and over his lines beforehand, but still had his bout with stage fright. He was consumed with fear, but once he stepped onto the stage, he appeared perfectly composed.

Paul finally felt someone had noticed his talent, when he was cast as one of the leads in
Anything Goes,
as Billy Crocker. Next, he played the role of the district attorney in
Dream Girls,
with Judy Holiday. Now he was bumping elbows and touring with some real names. Paul was becoming very fond of the theater life, and the audiences enjoyed him. He was disappointed after that production when he was only given a small part in
Showboat,
and again just a supporting player as Steve, in
A Streetcar Named Desire.
Paul was filling up his resumé, but not with many lead roles. He realized that part of the reason was his weight, so he began to eat less and dropped a few pounds.

In 1952, Leonard Sillman was putting together another revue of
New Faces.
The first one was in 1934, and each show would also consist of new talents: singing, dancing, and comedy skits. This was where so many greats like Henry Fonda, Van Johnson, and Imogene Coco were first discovered. Paul just had to be in that show. He called Mr. Sillman, and he auditioned right over the phone for him with his African monologue. He made the cut.

After unending hours of practice and hard work by the new talent, the anticipated opening night arrived on May 16. Paul waited backstage with sixteen other excited and nervous new faces. Among them were Eartha Kitt, Alice Ghostley, Virginia De Luce, Robert Clary, Jimmy Russell, Virginia Bosler, along with Leonard Sillmans’s sister, June Carroll. Each one hoping this would be their big break.

Outside, white shiny Rolls Royce’s and other swanky cars pulled up to the Royal Theatre on 45th Street. The show would attract big stars such as Ethel Merman, Greta Garbo, and Rex Harrison, along with politicians, and some royalties, who would be seen sitting in the best seats in the house. Dressed to the nines, tourists and New Yorkers mobbed the buzzing lobby, as they gave in their ticket and were handed the playbill. There, the names of the new talents were typed below the smaller print warnings: not to light matches during the show and to obey the management in the event of an air raid alarm. Ads of Bellows whiskey and Philip Morris cigarettes followed. Ladies were reminded to remove their hats.

Paul paced backstage, reading his lines in the crowded dressing area. He lit another cigarette as he rehearsed. His anxiety was mounting as his thoughts taunted him. He was afraid he would forget his lines. What if no one laughed? Then someone announced, “Places everybody.” Some of the cast members were chatting about how many movie stars and important people were in the audience that night. Paul’s eyes bulged with fear, his anxiety climbed; he couldn’t listen anymore and had to remove himself. His costars looked baffled. He walked away with increased mental strain. If he found out that anyone famous would be watching, it would cripple him.

When Paul heard his cue, he hobbled on stage with his crutch, his head wrapped in bandages, and his arm in a sling. He began by explaining how he won the trip of the month, and then he told the bizarre story, “There are several approaches to the jungle,” he said in a shaky, nasally voice, “my wife and I found them all, being dropped from an airplane was our favorite.” He delivered his “Trip of the Month Club” — the African Safari Monologue — with what would become his signature sardonic delivery. He got through it with perfection, and the audience loved him.

Paul realized he may not be the main attraction in this show, the way he had been at Northwestern. He couldn’t get over how much talent was in one room. He hoped he would stand out. Paul also performed in a few other skits, including one called “Of Father and Sons,” with Alice Ghostley, Ronny Graham, Allen Conway, and Jimmy Russell, written by Mel Brooks.

Jimmy Russell, Ronny Graham, and Paul were in a skit together called “Crazy Man,” which Ronny also helped write. Ronny solely wrote the lyrics and music for “Lucky Pierre.” Pierre was played by Robert Clary, who later became well known from his role as Corporal LeBeau, the French prisoner, in
Hogan’s Heroes.
According to Robert, the whole cast got along well. Previews were fair, but opening night was the complete opposite. Alice Ghostley stopped the show with
Boston Beguine
in the first act, Robert stopped the show with
I’m In Love With Miss Logan,
and in the second act, Eartha Kitt did the same, with
Monotonous.
They stopped the show every single time seven days a week. They were a big hit!

When the opening show was over, Alice, Eartha, and Paul were among the ones who received great recognition for their performances. Paul was thrilled when New York critic Walter Kerr singled him out as, “The funniest bit of the evening.” Brooks Atkinson of the
New York Times
wrote that he had a hard time picking the best talent of the seventeen performers. He mentioned six of them by name, and among them was Paul Lynde, The
New York Daily Mirror
along with many other critics raved. Paul was ecstatic at seeing his name so many times in print, and they were praising his unique style and humor.

During a performance, Robert Clary recalled Paul’s sharp, unscripted wit: a lady heckled from the balcony during all the skits and kept saying, “I don’t get it.” So Ronny Graham complained to the stage manager who then called the police. When they arrived, they escorted her out as Paul yelled out, “Now you’re going to get it!”

As the weeks went on, Paul watched after each performance, his fellow actors being greeted with bouquets of flowers and proud hugs from their families. He thought how surprised his parents would be if they could see him now. The show went to a theater in Chicago, and one evening after it finished, Paul was heading backstage, and as he looked up, there was Marilyn. His high school girlfriend had come to see him perform. He was happy to see her. She congratulated him and they talked for a bit. When it was time for her to head home, she wished Paul success. The actor packed up his crutch and bandages, then exited the theater.

Paul was now making some money and bought two basset hounds. He named them Orville and Wilbur, after the Wright Brothers, who he admired. His niece, Nancy, remembers those dogs as being such characters. The loveable long eared pups were spoiled by Paul and the three became a family. Paul did not want his dogs cramped up in a small apartment, so he went looking for a larger place. He liked living in Greenwich Village and found one he liked in the same area. He knew Robert Clary was living in a hotel so he let him have his former place. The rent was higher in this apartment so Paul began to cook at home to save the cost of eating out. He found he had a knack for cooking and invented his own recipes. He eventually invested in a cook book and found he loved being in the kitchen. He felt so confident as a chef, he began entertaining with small dinner parties. His friends were impressed and raved about the meals. Jimmy Russell, the captain of the dance team for
New Faces,
had dinner with Paul often. This seemed to be his first serious relationship with a man. Paul had kept his personal life as private as possible, but most of the cast knew they had been spending a lot of time together. Eventually things got complicated between Jimmy and Paul so they went their separate ways.

Robert had not been close friends with Paul during
New Faces,
but was always grateful he had let him have his old apartment. As years went by, they crossed some roads together and their friendship grew. Robert bumped into Paul again in the 1970s, and Paul was very open to him about his lifestyle. Robert was in awe of his honesty.