Read Online Could It Be Forever? My Story by David Cassidy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Cassidy
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quickly. The casting directors hear about you and the next thing you know you are working a lot. That began happening to me. In 1970, I appeared on episodes of a half dozen network series. You could’ve seen me acting on
The FBI
(the episode called ‘The Fatal Imposter’ which aired on 4 January 1970 on ABC);
Marcus Welby, MD
(‘Fun and Games and Michael Ambrose’, 13 January 1970, ABC);
Adam 12
(‘A Rare Occasion’, 14 February 1970, NBC);
Bonanza
(‘The Law and Billy Burgees’, 15 February 1970, NBC);
Medical Center
(‘His Brother’s Keeper’, 1 April 1970, CBS) and
Mod Squad
(‘The Loser’, 7 April 1970, ABC).
I was gaining experience quickly. My acting was lame on my first couple of shows, but I was really pleased with the job I did on
Marcus Welby.
I played a diabetic youth who, as a way to punish his father, wouldn’t take his insulin. I had to do some highly emotional stuff. Ruth said it was a great piece of work and she would help me get more. That sounded good to me. So long as I could make enough money to live simply, I’d be happy.
Sam Hyman and I used to enjoy driving up to Laurel Canyon, so we decided to buy a house there. Because of his apprentice film-editing job and my assorted TV acting jobs, we had enough money to make a down payment. My income was not steady, but we knew we could carry the house for at least the next three months. We just crossed our fingers that I’d keep getting enough guest shots on television to cover our bills beyond that point. Because I was making more money than Sam, I offered to pay about two-thirds ofthe mortgage. Our monthly payments were $315; I paid around $200 and he paid the rest. Sam and I were good friends. We’re still friends. When I became famous, he went all around the world with me; he went through the whole experience with me. Although we rarely see each other now, he’s still one of the only people I really can talk to and trust.
Back in that first home in Laurel Canyon, we lived like hippies. No furniture to speak of. I found an old mattress someone had discarded behind a supermarket and carted it home. We had no money in our pockets, but we were in great spirits nonetheless. We were the most successful guys from our high-school years, the only ones who had made it and were living independently.
Sam Hyman: At 19 years old, we got a house together in Laurel Canyon so we could have freedom and act grown-up, a place to bring your girls. Our first house consisted of a mattress on the floor in each bedroom. In those days they used to deliver fruit in flimsy wooden crates and so we went to the supermarket and picked up orange crates that became our nightstands. It was a real funky bachelor pad and neither of us was accustomed to doing housework.
We considered Laurel Canyon the hippiest place in town. Bohemian Rhapsody. It was just very cool there, still very much in the spirit of the 60s. Hippies next door, acid rock everywhere you went. I used to think,
This is the life. Freedom in Laurel Canyon.
In mid 1970, with only eight network TV appearancesto my credit, I was hardly someone the average American would have known. I was just one of a thousand faces on the tube. But I could take pride – and figured my dad could also take pride – in the fact that I was becoming, like him, a reliable working actor. My career seemed to be on the upswing. And, at least as important, I was totally satisfied with my life outside of work. What more could I possibly ask for?
If anyone had told me that by year’s end I’d be a household name, a best-selling recording artist, the number one ‘teen idol’
with my picture on the back of Rice Krispies boxes, I would have asked him if the acid had kicked in yet.
6 Get in the Partridge Family Bus
‘L isten, David, don’t start.’
I can hear Ruth Aarons’ voice now, silencing me when I tried to say I wasn’t too interested in auditioning for a situation comedy that was being developed over at Screen Gems, the
The FBI
(the episode called ‘The Fatal Imposter’ which aired on 4 January 1970 on ABC);
Marcus Welby, MD
(‘Fun and Games and Michael Ambrose’, 13 January 1970, ABC);
Adam 12
(‘A Rare Occasion’, 14 February 1970, NBC);
Bonanza
(‘The Law and Billy Burgees’, 15 February 1970, NBC);
Medical Center
(‘His Brother’s Keeper’, 1 April 1970, CBS) and
Mod Squad
(‘The Loser’, 7 April 1970, ABC).
I was gaining experience quickly. My acting was lame on my first couple of shows, but I was really pleased with the job I did on
Marcus Welby.
I played a diabetic youth who, as a way to punish his father, wouldn’t take his insulin. I had to do some highly emotional stuff. Ruth said it was a great piece of work and she would help me get more. That sounded good to me. So long as I could make enough money to live simply, I’d be happy.
Sam Hyman and I used to enjoy driving up to Laurel Canyon, so we decided to buy a house there. Because of his apprentice film-editing job and my assorted TV acting jobs, we had enough money to make a down payment. My income was not steady, but we knew we could carry the house for at least the next three months. We just crossed our fingers that I’d keep getting enough guest shots on television to cover our bills beyond that point. Because I was making more money than Sam, I offered to pay about two-thirds ofthe mortgage. Our monthly payments were $315; I paid around $200 and he paid the rest. Sam and I were good friends. We’re still friends. When I became famous, he went all around the world with me; he went through the whole experience with me. Although we rarely see each other now, he’s still one of the only people I really can talk to and trust.
Back in that first home in Laurel Canyon, we lived like hippies. No furniture to speak of. I found an old mattress someone had discarded behind a supermarket and carted it home. We had no money in our pockets, but we were in great spirits nonetheless. We were the most successful guys from our high-school years, the only ones who had made it and were living independently.
Sam Hyman: At 19 years old, we got a house together in Laurel Canyon so we could have freedom and act grown-up, a place to bring your girls. Our first house consisted of a mattress on the floor in each bedroom. In those days they used to deliver fruit in flimsy wooden crates and so we went to the supermarket and picked up orange crates that became our nightstands. It was a real funky bachelor pad and neither of us was accustomed to doing housework.
We considered Laurel Canyon the hippiest place in town. Bohemian Rhapsody. It was just very cool there, still very much in the spirit of the 60s. Hippies next door, acid rock everywhere you went. I used to think,
This is the life. Freedom in Laurel Canyon.
In mid 1970, with only eight network TV appearancesto my credit, I was hardly someone the average American would have known. I was just one of a thousand faces on the tube. But I could take pride – and figured my dad could also take pride – in the fact that I was becoming, like him, a reliable working actor. My career seemed to be on the upswing. And, at least as important, I was totally satisfied with my life outside of work. What more could I possibly ask for?
If anyone had told me that by year’s end I’d be a household name, a best-selling recording artist, the number one ‘teen idol’
with my picture on the back of Rice Krispies boxes, I would have asked him if the acid had kicked in yet.
6 Get in the Partridge Family Bus
‘L isten, David, don’t start.’
I can hear Ruth Aarons’ voice now, silencing me when I tried to say I wasn’t too interested in auditioning for a situation comedy that was being developed over at Screen Gems, the
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