Shirley, I Jest!: A Storied Life (12 page)

We were going to do a late set at the Improv in L.A. I would sit in the audience. He would start his Tony Clifton routine and go on about how women were inferior and how they belonged in the kitchen. At this point I would start heckling him from the audience; shouting back how he was a hideous little man and how he should be ashamed of himself.

That brings us back to the beginning when the audience was trying to stop me from going on-stage. Even though he was on
Taxi
and I was on
Laverne & Shirley
, I realized no one recognized us. When I finally made it on-stage as we’d rehearsed, we slung insults at each other volleying back and forth, then getting slightly physical, with him gently smacking my face. The audience screamed in horror. I tried to deck him. We circled each other and then at one point, I stood on a chair we had “pre-set.” I jumped on his back and he tried to throw me off. I shouted a few more insults, he shouted back and managed to “pretend-fling” me off. I ran off-stage and in my bad French accent screamed, “Yoo muzzure fukkah!!” Andy continued his routine as Tony, while I stood off-stage. I felt someone breathing on my neck. I turned around and it was Budd Friedman, the Improv’s owner, who usually loves Andy and me. He glared at me and waited until Andy got off-stage.

“What was that, what do you two think you were doing out there?” Budd asked.

Andy tried to explain that it was a bit he was trying out as Tony Clifton, a new character he was developing. Budd informed us both that it was awful and we can’t be doing that kind of material in the club. He asked us to leave.

We found ourselves out on the sidewalk on Melrose Avenue in front of the Improv right where we began on the night we first met. The circle was complete.

Except this time I was speechless in my humiliation. Andy was laughing, he thought it was great. I told him he was crazy and he should never try that character again. I gave him a ride home, and because of our hectic TV schedules we wouldn’t see each other for a while. But when we did, we would make up in spades for fumbling the comedy football that night at the Improv.

In 1979, Andy called me and asked if I’d be on his TV special, titled
Andy’s Funhouse
.

“Well, yes!” I said.

I had finally recovered from our debacle at the Improv in L.A. Andy was working a few soundstages away from me on the Paramount lot on
Taxi
while I did
Laverne & Shirley
. He hadn’t written the entire special yet, but he and Bob Zmuda had ideas. The special would be a talk show with Andy as the host sitting slightly elevated above his guests. Along with Howdy Doody, he wanted me to be one of his guests. We started throwing around ideas about what to talk about. I don’t know whose idea it was, but Edward Albee’s
The Zoo
story came up. Andy thought if he started off by asking me what I was up to I’d answer, “Well, I went to the zoo today.”

Then he would continue on prompting me into going through the entire monologue of the play which would end with me killing him. As he was dying, he’d cut to commercial. We, of course, thought it was hysterical. Bob and Andy ran it by the network and they flipped out. So instead they wrote an introduction for me that was something like, “She was in
American Graffiti
,
Travels with My Aunt
, and
The Conversation
. She is also a member of the prestigious Actors Studio. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Cindy
Laverne & Shirley
Williams!”

Then they had me come out to a podium with low lighting and read a poem about death. But the thing I had the most fun with was Andy insisting I was booked to sing “Mack the Knife” with the Rag Tag Band he had on the show. I told him I know nothing about this. I don’t even know the lyrics! Andy talked over me, leading the audience in applauding me on and I was
forced
to sing. (Of course this was all rehearsed.) Purposefully I never rehearsed or learned the words. I had the most fun trying to sing the song, stopping when I didn’t remember a line, and the band stopping with me. Andy would shout it out and the band would start up again. If I can remember, it did have a great flourish at the end or maybe I’m imagining that. Andy’s TV special was a big hit with both the audience and the critics. I was proud of my friend!

The next time I saw Andy was one night during the filming of our show. Penny and I were dressed as cave women. We were standing on the stage off to the side watching a scene being shot. Andy came up between us and whispered these words: “Penny, Cindy, would you girls mud wrestle me at the Shrine on Friday night?”

Penny and I looked at each other, considered it, but had to tell him no, we’d be too tired from rehearsals. Andy said he’d make it easy on us. We still had to turn him down. Discussing it later, I told Penny that maybe we should have made the effort. I could see the funny picture in my head. It was pure Andy Kaufman!

The very last time I saw Andy he had arrived late to my house for a party. Most of the guests had left and we were in the process of cleaning up. He sat down on the couch with Carol. Harriet, the bartender, took me aside and, gesturing toward Andy, asked, “Is that
Andy Kaufman over there?”

“Yes, it is!” I said.

“Do you think he’d wrestle me?” she asked.

“I’m pretty certain he would!”

“Will you ask him?”

I went over to him and said, “Andy, will you wrestle Harriet?”

Andy looked up. Harriet gave him a little wave and with that we all helped to clear the furniture from the center of my living room. Harriet removed her bartender’s vest and belt. Andy took off his jacket and handed it to Carol. They circled each other and then it was a melee of arms grabbing waists, quasi-chokeholds, and a little tripping.

“Cindy, get your camera!” Carol shouted. “Take a picture!”

I did and it was a good one. I’m sad to say I can’t find the picture to put in this book. Harriet had Andy in some sort of hold. He was going pale.

I thought,
she’s good!

Maybe Andy had finally underestimated his opponent.

Nine

The Adventures of Laverne and Shirley

Like many of the TV stars in those days, Penny and I were asked to record our own album, and we did “Laverne and Shirley Sing,” which consisted of hits from the 1950s and ’60s like
Chapel of Love
,
Da Do Ron Ron
, and
Sixteen Reasons
. One of our stops for the promotion of our album was Philadelphia to appear on
The Mike Douglas Show.
Then we were headed into New York where we would be staying for the next two weeks for more promotion and to be in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Instead of taking the train, a stretch limo was sent for us. The driver was a nice young man named Phil and this just happened to be his first day on the job. When he saw who he was driving he got very excited and told us what big fans he and his family were. Penny and I got into the car and settled in for the long drive from Philly to Manhattan.

We hadn’t been in a limousine as large as this, ever! It had a bar, television, and couch. It also had a moon roof that let light in, but we couldn’t find the switch to open it. I tried pushing on it with my hands, but it didn’t budge. Penny tried pushing on it with her feet. It still wouldn’t move. We asked Phil how it opened. He didn’t know either. Not only was it Phil’s first day, but Phil also didn’t know Manhattan! He had a map, but by now it was dark. We had somehow managed to get ourselves into Central Park so he couldn’t pull over and stop. We knew we needed to be on the other side of the park to get to the Sherry-Netherland Hotel where we were staying. Penny knew the city better than I did, and at some point told Phil to take a right. That took us onto a one-way street. The only problem was we were going in the wrong direction. We had just turned around when flashing lights came up behind us. It was the police. Phil pulled over obeying the voice on the loud speaker. Poor Phil! He was trembling.

“Oh boy,” he said. “My first day and I’m going to get a ticket and tomorrow I’ll be fired!”

Penny and I looked at each other. We flung the car door open, sank to our knees, clasped our hands together, and begged: “Please don’t give Phil a ticket! It’s his first day! It was our mistake!”

A huge spotlight from the police car hit us and from behind it an incredulous voice shouted, “Oh my God! It’s Laverne and Shirley!”

Well, Phil didn’t get a ticket and the nice policemen ushered our limo to the hotel! We thanked the officers, promised autographed pictures, and made sure Phil could find his way home. We offered him a room for the night, but he said he needed to get back to Philadelphia for his second day on the job. He thanked us many times over and we waved to him as he left, both of us hoping he would find his way.

The Sherry-Netherland Hotel on 5th Avenue and East 59th Street is an enchanting place. It has a small lobby with a beautiful, ornate marble floor, gorgeous chandeliers, and gracious staff. When you step into the lobby you get a sense of the wonderful people and things that have gone on there. They gave us beautiful accommodations. We each had a two-bedroom suite, and each one had a sound system with large speakers that sat on either side of the fireplace mantel. It was odd to me, but I guess since we were in town for our record promotion, Atlantic Records thought we might want to, I don’t know, play our album for guests? My suite was on the twenty-second floor. (There’s that number again!) I avoided looking out toward the park and the carriage horses standing in the cold. It has always made me sad. They seem so tired. Do they ever get to play?

The first day of promotion in New York we were taken out to Sam Goody Records in Paramus, New Jersey, to promote our album. We had been working so much that we honestly didn’t realize just how popular the show was. We were literally mobbed. We were pushed to the back of the store by the crowd they let in the door. Penny and I had to stand up on a table and ask everyone to settle down so we could have our meet-and-greet. It was bedlam. We had to have security guards holding back the wave of
Laverne & Shirley
humanity! The frenzy had just begun. The next day we were in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

During the parade our float stopped to let us off to lip-sync
Da Do Ron Ron
, which we chose because we thought it would be a crowd pleaser. We had just started the song when we saw the crowd break through the barriers and run toward us. Penny and I, still not used to our newfound popularity, looked behind us to see
who
it was they were rushing to see. Realizing it was us, we hastily hopped back up on the float to finish our song.

After the parade I went back to the hotel. Fans stood outside asking for autographs. It was all very flattering! Penny had gone off with some friends so I ordered Thanksgiving dinner for myself. Dinner had just been brought up when there was a knock at the door. I answered it to find John Belushi standing there. If I could describe this man to you I would tell you that I found him magical, and crazy as a hatter. I adored him, but what was he doing here? I asked him to come in. The waiter was still setting up my Thanksgiving table. John was eyeing it. The waiter was eyeing him. I asked him if he had had dinner yet. He said no. I asked him if he’d like me to order one for him. He said yes. I asked the waiter to please bring up another Thanksgiving dinner. And while we were waiting John started looking out the window.

The day before, I had been in Penny’s suite when John showed up there. The three of us were having a good time chatting. Then we started discussing the sadness people feel around the holidays. Penny’s sound system and speakers were on the mantel. I had brought my Electric Light Orchestra cassette tape with me and wanted to play them a cut from it explaining how uplifting it was to me. I put it on and we all started listening. It was pretty spectacular music. John walked over to the speakers putting one up to each ear as if they were headphones and nodding his head in time with the music.

He said, “Oh yeah. Yeah I’m gettin’ it now. This is doin’ it! This could change somebody’s mood. It’s changing mine right now.”

And with that, he ran for the window. Penny and I leapt up in unison and ran after him each grabbing an arm just as he got to the window, which was wide open. We pulled him back. He was laughing. Now, we knew he wasn’t going to fling himself off the twenty-third floor of the Sherry-Netherland. We knew it was all in good fun. And we also knew he ran full speed knowing darn well we’d catch up with him. I have to admit it was funny. Scary, but funny.

Finally, the waiter showed up with John’s dinner and we sat down to eat. He put his napkin up to his face and pretended to sneeze endive out of his nose. It really made me laugh. When we were sitting there eating dinner, he looked at me and said something like, “I have to tell you something. I think my apartment is burning down.”

“What? Your apartment is burning down?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure, but I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe I should go check on it.”

“Maybe you should!”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

And with that, he took a dinner roll off the table, put it in his pocket, and left. I tried to call after him, “Wait! John, maybe we should call somebody!”

But he was already gone. I tried calling Penny, but couldn’t get ahold of her. I never did find out if there was actually a fire.

I called home. I asked my mother if she had watched the parade. She had and of course loved our performance. My mother had become a one-woman booster club. She was now working at Bill White’s Foods for Health in Van Nuys, dishing out healthy organic food. Bill White’s was very popular with actors like Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw, all kinds of celebrities came in. And I was happy to sign pictures as she dispensed health advice for her adoring friends and customers. This was her purpose-driven life and it made her happy, kept her healthy, and she reveled in it. One day a reporter came into Bill White’s and asked my mother for an interview for a ladies’ magazine. My mother, of course, was thrilled to participate. They even took a picture of her. Well, when the article came out, lo and behold it was not for a ladies’ magazine as she had been told, it was for
The Enquirer
and the headline read: “Daughter Makes Millions While Mother Works as a Waitress.”

It was accompanied by a picture of my mother in a waitress uniform holding a plate of food in each hand and smiling into what seemed to be a fish-eyed lens. My poor little mama, sucked in by a show business rag sheet. But you know what I hope? I hope the reporter did think long and hard about how she turned something that should have been upbeat into crap. My mother phoned the “reporter” not to give her a piece of her mind but to ask her why and how she could deceive her. My mother said she wanted her to think about it. The reporter had no answer except to say “I’m sorry, Frances.” If that reporter had only asked, she would have known that I had tried many times to get her to stop working, and she turned my offer down every time. She loved her job and at this point in her life she had no intention of quitting. She also knew I would have given her anything her little ol’ heart desired. All she had to do was ask!

In 1980, Penny and I were sent by Paramount to the TV Festival de Cannes. It’s a once-a-year gathering of foreign distributers seeking to buy shows for programming in their country. We were the ambassadors for
Laverne & Shirley
and were scheduled to attend cocktail parties and dinners, hosting and meeting distributors. Paramount was hoping to sell the show to foreign markets.

Our plane was late arriving in Orly Airport in Paris and we were both in a pretty wretched state. Of course neither of us spoke French and making our connecting flight to Cannes was more than challenging. We had to gather our luggage and run like bats out of hell to catch the flight. We didn’t understand any of the instructions we were given. All we could figure out was that we had to hurry from one terminal to another with our luggage piled on one trolley. Penny pushed, I steered! It must have been a mile. We rounded one corner and lost our balance, careening into a wall, ping-ponging back, and trying to keep the luggage from falling. We sailed down one corridor after the next. We ran faster and faster. Finally we rounded one last bend and made it. Our luggage was checked. We now had to run to the gate and run we did! We were out of breath when we got there. The last few passengers were boarding. There was a table with boxes and bottles of wine. The people ahead of us each grabbed a box and a bottle. We did the same.

Everyone on the plane had skis and was dressed in winter attire. We took our seats at the back of the plane, which took off like a rocket and without much warning. People immediately started drinking wine and eating their lunches. We did the same. Neither of us drank, but halfway through the flight, when we were over the Alps, we hit major turbulence. Penny frantically lit a cigarette. I gulped down all of my wine. The turbulence never ended. We looked at each other, then at the passengers around us. In fact they were oblivious to the bumpy flight. It looked like a disco party in full swing. We shrugged our shoulders figuring everything was fine. We finished the wine. The landing was like the takeoff, fast and sudden. But we made it.

We were picked up and taken to one of the most beautiful places on earth as far as I’m concerned, the Hotel du Cap Eden-Roc in Antibes, France. It sits on the Mediterranean Sea. We were jet-lagged and exhausted. Our rooms were next door to each other and were beautiful. Each room provided a butler and a maid. They were situated in the hallway in little cubicles. Whenever we’d come in or go out of the room, they’d both stand at attention. They were each dressed impeccably. I commented to Penny that they were dressed better than we were.

Penny commented back, “Ugly Americans, Cin, we’re ugly Americans!”

I told her to stop it. We were so exhausted, but we had to stay awake because we had a big business dinner that night. Even though it was cold, we decided to take a walk. The hotel is situated on the Mediterranean with a beautiful, lilac-trellised path that leads to the sea. It was spectacular. There was a hothouse where they grew the flowers that sat in large vases in the hotel, and fruits and vegetables for the restaurant. We were so tired we huddled together as we walked, keeping in step with each other.

At one point Penny lit a cigarette and the smoke was blown into my face by a nice little ocean breeze. There was no use asking her to put it out. I knew she wouldn’t and anyway I didn’t want to see her stomping it out among the lilac petals scattered about the ground. We kept in step, never missing a beat, and made it to the stone cliff that rose high above the water. We didn’t stop. Gazing briefly at the crystal turquoise sea, we headed back. Penny lit another cigarette off the butt from the first one; a lovely picture of delicate charm. As we made our way back up the path to the hotel, still walking under the lilac-strewn trellis, I noticed up ahead what I thought to be a graveyard, only with small headstones.

“Look!” I said to Penny. “They have their own pet cemetery.”

“What?” Penny said.

“Look!” I pointed. “They have their own cemetery where they bury their pets.”

Penny glanced to the tiny headstones. “That’s not a pet cemetery.”

“What is it then? Look at the headstones, they’re so small.” We were getting closer to where the headstones were lined up.

“It’s probably a place where they bury the help!” she said.

“The help? Don’t be crazy!”

“Yeah, the help, the small help—the butlers, the maids that have worked here.”

“I’m telling you it’s a pet cemetery; the French love their animals.”

“The French love their butlers and maids who die here too,” she said, taking a final triumphant drag from her cigarette. We had arrived at one of the graves.

“Really,” I said, reading a headstone to her.

“Au revoir mon petite Skippy?” I turned to her, “Skippy was the butler?”

She didn’t care, she had gone on to light another cigarette.

That evening we were scheduled to have dinner with buyers at Le Grand Hotel in Cannes. We were wretched creatures by this time. We were among the living dead! We tried to dress up, but no matter what either of us put on, we always looked like we were wearing pajamas and slippers. When we walked out of our rooms to meet in the hallway, once again the butler and maid stood at attention in their cubicle. Again as we walked, Penny says, “Ugly Americans, Cin, we’re ugly Americans!” Once again, I told her to shut up.