Read Online Call Me Lumpy: My Leave It to Beaver Days and Other Wild Hollywood Life by Frank Bank, Gibu Twyman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank Bank, Gibu Twyman
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Topcat in the cartoon. He was Meek Millie's boyfriend.
Every time you saw a nebbish in the movies back then it was Marvin Kaplan. He was a better nebbish than Arnold Stang.
Through all this, my brother was writing and acting. My dad always said, "Doug, when you gonna get a job?"
Maybe this fell back to the dad who didn't work for seven years. He sees this kid graduate with honors from USC and not go get "gainful employment." He's just hanging out with a bunch of shiftless actors.
My brother was in a ton of movies. A ton of movies. Most of them were bit parts, but he was in them all the same.
I betcha Doug had a hundred movie credits, all like two-day wonders. Couple lines here, couple lines there. Nothing big, but he was in a lotta movies just the same.
Page 50
One of my brother's real close buddies was Ira.
Only you knew him by the name of Jeff Chandler, one of the major leading men of the '40s and '50s.
All I knew was, he was Ira.
Ira used to come over to our house. He was this big galloot with an Adam's apple that stuck way out.
I remember I smarted off to him once. I don't remember what I saidsome wise-ass thing. He grabbed me by the neck and he goes, "Your little brother's quite a guy."
But his voice was saying "irritating little schmuck." And while he's talking nice, he's holding me real tight in these hands like a vise and he's moving my head back and forth.
When he left, I said, "Doug, I don't like that guy."
He was a good-looking stud, Ira, was. Another guy who died for no reason at all. They killed him during an operation in Culver City. He was having a slam-dunk operation, a nothing deal. Bled to death on the table.
Big scandal.
I didn't hate him anymore. I felt sorry for him.
Anyway, he was Ira, one of my brother's best buddies, and he turned out to be Jeff Chandler.
My brother always knew people and he did have a glimmer of hope for his future. Some of the films he was in were:
"The Red Ball Express" (with Ira).
"Purple Heart Diaries" (with a guy we knew as Bernie Schwartz at the time, whom the world later knew as Tony Curtisanother guy who was in and out of The Group.
"Frogmen" and "The Good Humor Man" with Jack Carson.
Heck, Doug was in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."
He was just a punk in it. He got a day's work out of it because his buddies were doing some work on the film.
My brother kept writing at the same time. And him and his buddy, Jay something-or-other, decided, "We're going to go out on a limb."
They got enough scratch together to open up this Beverly Hills Playhouse over on Robertson. This was sort of a job, but it wasn't really a job because it was just kind of drifting.
As usual, it was good old Mom who came to the rescue again.
My mother got on the horn and started selling theater parties. She kept the Beverly Hills Playhouse going. She had these parties for all these groups coming through, and the place was always full.
Then, in the late '50s, my dad went out of business with the grocery. Same deal. Mom is the U.S. Cavalry again. In she comes, riding at the full gallop to save the day.
Page 51
Sylvia got on the phone again. She picked up the phone book and said, "OK, we're gonna start another business. This time it's the meat business."
My mom started the meat business out of the back of our house. My dad would go down and get the meat.
They would cut it up on the washer and dryer.
I would wrap it on the kitchen table and deliver it in the afternoon.
Sylvia got the biggest people in Hollywood as customers. I was a movie star and I was delivering meat in the afternoon. It was 1958 and '59. I'm a regular on "Leave It to Beaver."
And I'm walking up to Edward G. Robinson's house with his meat.
I'm walking up to Jack Benny's house with his meat.
They all knew I was in the movies and on TV. But it was cool. It's just the way things were back then. Movie stars were more regular people. So it was only natural that I would be walking up their driveway with a load of meat and I'd be a guy
Every time you saw a nebbish in the movies back then it was Marvin Kaplan. He was a better nebbish than Arnold Stang.
Through all this, my brother was writing and acting. My dad always said, "Doug, when you gonna get a job?"
Maybe this fell back to the dad who didn't work for seven years. He sees this kid graduate with honors from USC and not go get "gainful employment." He's just hanging out with a bunch of shiftless actors.
My brother was in a ton of movies. A ton of movies. Most of them were bit parts, but he was in them all the same.
I betcha Doug had a hundred movie credits, all like two-day wonders. Couple lines here, couple lines there. Nothing big, but he was in a lotta movies just the same.
Page 50
One of my brother's real close buddies was Ira.
Only you knew him by the name of Jeff Chandler, one of the major leading men of the '40s and '50s.
All I knew was, he was Ira.
Ira used to come over to our house. He was this big galloot with an Adam's apple that stuck way out.
I remember I smarted off to him once. I don't remember what I saidsome wise-ass thing. He grabbed me by the neck and he goes, "Your little brother's quite a guy."
But his voice was saying "irritating little schmuck." And while he's talking nice, he's holding me real tight in these hands like a vise and he's moving my head back and forth.
When he left, I said, "Doug, I don't like that guy."
He was a good-looking stud, Ira, was. Another guy who died for no reason at all. They killed him during an operation in Culver City. He was having a slam-dunk operation, a nothing deal. Bled to death on the table.
Big scandal.
I didn't hate him anymore. I felt sorry for him.
Anyway, he was Ira, one of my brother's best buddies, and he turned out to be Jeff Chandler.
My brother always knew people and he did have a glimmer of hope for his future. Some of the films he was in were:
"The Red Ball Express" (with Ira).
"Purple Heart Diaries" (with a guy we knew as Bernie Schwartz at the time, whom the world later knew as Tony Curtisanother guy who was in and out of The Group.
"Frogmen" and "The Good Humor Man" with Jack Carson.
Heck, Doug was in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."
He was just a punk in it. He got a day's work out of it because his buddies were doing some work on the film.
My brother kept writing at the same time. And him and his buddy, Jay something-or-other, decided, "We're going to go out on a limb."
They got enough scratch together to open up this Beverly Hills Playhouse over on Robertson. This was sort of a job, but it wasn't really a job because it was just kind of drifting.
As usual, it was good old Mom who came to the rescue again.
My mother got on the horn and started selling theater parties. She kept the Beverly Hills Playhouse going. She had these parties for all these groups coming through, and the place was always full.
Then, in the late '50s, my dad went out of business with the grocery. Same deal. Mom is the U.S. Cavalry again. In she comes, riding at the full gallop to save the day.
Page 51
Sylvia got on the phone again. She picked up the phone book and said, "OK, we're gonna start another business. This time it's the meat business."
My mom started the meat business out of the back of our house. My dad would go down and get the meat.
They would cut it up on the washer and dryer.
I would wrap it on the kitchen table and deliver it in the afternoon.
Sylvia got the biggest people in Hollywood as customers. I was a movie star and I was delivering meat in the afternoon. It was 1958 and '59. I'm a regular on "Leave It to Beaver."
And I'm walking up to Edward G. Robinson's house with his meat.
I'm walking up to Jack Benny's house with his meat.
They all knew I was in the movies and on TV. But it was cool. It's just the way things were back then. Movie stars were more regular people. So it was only natural that I would be walking up their driveway with a load of meat and I'd be a guy
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