This is an upbeat or downbeat story depending on your
perspective.
And, of course, since I’m writing it,
It is easily guessable in which direction it is likely to
lean.
Although that’s actually not fair.
I lived it, my reportage thereby colored by the way it
turned out.
Although,
Were I not a congenital pessimist,
It may have possibly turned out otherwise.
“The Shadow of Pessimism” –
Darkening lives.
And subsequent narratives.
Well, ending this ruminative fore-section,
“Whattaya gonna do?”
(Note: This story mentions “The Cosby Show.” In case that’s a problem.)
Every show biz career suffers the inevitable “ups” and
“downs.” At this moment in history, I
was experiencing a “downs.”
1984. Known for many
things, some of them more important than my personal experience. Although not to me.
Shortly before, I had suffered a disappointment with the
cancellation of Best of the West. (Difficult because it was over, but also a
relief because it was over.)
My friends, Glen and Les Charles, who created Cheers, generously hired me to write
scripts for it, though I knew little about bars and even less about pre-marital
hi-jinx. I wrote mostly the
“Coach”-featured episodes. Because I
knew about baseball, and I was familiar with not knowing what was happening
around me. As long as at least one character has an atypical “take” on
reality, I would comfortably continue to work.
But I was not working a lot.
Let me interject with a saying I made up, which should
probably appear earlier but it just returned to me now.
My oft-uttered aphorism went:
“I’d rather be a
boss than have a boss.”
This insight entered my consciousness after seven or so
seasons of “having a boss.” Before that,
I was quite happy to be anywhere.
My bosses were nice enough – Stan Daniels was a particular
standout – and when they weren’t nice
enough, I – respectfully – reminded
them to be.
The primary annoyance was the comedic template.
They set it; I, dutifully, though not always
enthusiastically, followed it.
My bosses were superior joke writers. By contrast, my brand of comedy, derived primarily from noticing things, was
less traditionally organized.
As a result, I was categorized as “A good writer who doesn’t
write jokes.”
Rather than “A good writer, finding surprising ways of
eliciting laughter.”
If I were a boss –
rather than having a boss – I could establish the comedic
template. And that would be better.
Rather than “me, writing like them” there’d be a staff of
“Thems”, writing like me.
And so, when I was shown a Cosby Show presentation – which was fourteen minutes long, rather
than the “pilot-length” twenty-two – and I went nuts over it – because its comedy was also about noticing – I
immediately said I wanted to work on the show.
“What do you want to do on the show?” I was asked by one of
its co-owners.
“I want to run
it!” I replied, in a burst of exuberance.
(Mixed with mistakenness.)
And so, I was given the job as the first “Executive
Producer” on The Cosby Show.
I lasted seven episodes of the first season.
And then I went home.
(The Cosby Show
was produced in New York, one of the reasons I departed the show, but not close
to the more explanatory, “He couldn’t handle the job.”
It turned out there were more things to being a boss than
“establishing your comedic template.”
And I was not terrific at any of them.
(It also turned out no one could follow my comedic template.)
The “up” side of the story…
My experience on The
Cosby Show led to a lucrative development deal at Universal, where I developed the commercially successful Major Dad. (Which I also ran, but left after one year for
virtually identical reasons.)
Retooled Aphorism (tempered by personal experience):
“I’d rather have a
boss than be a boss.”
(The Reason You Went Wrong: Your reputation creating the situation
causing the temptation.)
The thing is, however, after you’ve been a boss, it is
really difficult to go back.
You can see the problem that engenders.
If you can’t be a
boss and have difficulty having a
boss…
I mean…
Those are the only two they make.
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