We'll be here for the rest of our lives: a swingin' show-biz saga by Paul Shaffer; David Ritz

Author:Paul Shaffer; David Ritz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Shaffer, Autobiography, Performing Arts, Late night with David Letterman (Television program), Entertainment & Performing Arts - General, Television Plays And Programs, Late show with David Letterman, Conductors (Music), Conductors (Music) - United States, Composers & Musicians - General, Composers & Musicians, Television, Popular Music, Entertainment & Performing Arts, United States, Personal Memoirs, Musicians, Musicians - United States, General, Biography, Biography & Autobiography, Paul, Entertainment & Performing Arts - Television Personalities
ISBN: 9780385524834
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2009-10-13T07:00:00+00:00

The name Hereafter was changed to A Year at the Top, but it wasn’t a year at the top. It was a year in the middle. It wasn’t awful and it wasn’t great. After shooting four shows, though, it became clear that it wasn’t going to be the next I Love Lucy.

Nonetheless, I had to concentrate on the job at hand. A Year at the Top was shot on the KTTV lot where Lear’s famous productions, like All in the Family, Maude, One Day at a Time, and The Jeffersons, were all taped.

If our show became famous it was only famous as Lear’s first flop.

Flop or not, I’d wander over to the One Day at a Time set, where I met Valerie Bertinelli. She and I had a few fun dates. Enchanting personality. She was sixteen, I was twenty-seven, but, as R. Kelly would say, who’s counting? I also met Valerie’s friend and costar Mackenzie Phillips, whose dad was the Mamas and Papas’ John Phillips, a man of great wit and musical talent whose trademark vocal arrangements—think of “California Dreamin’”—were exquisite.

One evening, after Mackenzie and I had helped out at a charity event, we went to Roy’s on Sunset, an uber-hip hangout for Hollywood movers and shakers in the seventies. If you knew Mackenzie well, by the way, you called her “Laura,” her real name. Mackenzie, her middle name, was given to her in tribute to Scott Mackenzie, for whom Papa John wrote “San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair).”

Anyway, we get to Roy’s, and Roy turns out to be a former music agent, Roy Silver. Given my fascination with fast-talking New York Jews, I’m pleased to meet Roy, and Roy is pleased to meet me because he knows about my connection to Lear and Kirshner. When I introduce Roy to Mackenzie, he’s ecstatic.

“I held your father in my arms,” he tells Mackenzie, “so people wouldn’t see that he was vomiting all over himself.”

Nice, Roy, I say to myself.

“Come to the bar, kid,” he continues, “and I’ll tell you more stories about your dad.”

Mackenzie whispers to me, “Everywhere I go in this town, someone has another horror story about my father. I can’t take it.”

So we’re at the bar. Mackenzie wants to get away—and I want to help her—but Roy’s already deep into his next story.

“Funny story about your dad,” he says. “We’re in San Francisco. It’s me, John, Scott Mackenzie, and Mama Cass. We’re at the Fairmont, about to be served lunch, when the hotel manager comes up to us and says, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.’

“‘What are you talking about!’ I say. ‘Who has to leave?’ “‘Your entire party.’

“‘Why?’ I ask.

“‘Because we have discovered an inordinately large accumulation of chicken bones in Miss Cass’s room. The bones are everywhere—in the bed, under the bed, on the couch, under the couch. The walls are smeared with mayonnaise and mustard. The sheets and towels are covered with ketchup. I’m asking your party to leave right now.

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