Me, my parents and my younger sister when 'Uncle Ted' came to dinner, circa 1959.

My Personal TV Connection
Long before American Idol and Simon Cowell encouraged ordinary people to make asses of themselves on national TV, a kinder, gentler program charmed the country. Aimed at showcasing genuine talent, it was hosted by a very nice man named Ted Mack, in his day an American Icon.

Ted Mack and my parents were close friends. It's their fault I got into so much trouble so young. We'll get to that in a minute.

Uncle Ted's show was called "The Original Amateur Hour," a wholesome if more sophisticated version of amateur talent shows flourishing in churches, schools, community centers and even movie theaters around the country during the 1950's and 60's.

Building on that folksy theme, Ted Mack took his show on the road to state fairs throughout America. He also included established, big-draw performers. The ultimate goal of the Amateur Hour was to find and groom new faces to fill the ever growing hunger of the public for more TV shows and stars.

Stars Large, Small and Ginormous


My younger sister on the left, (a very short) Pat Boone in the middle and me on the right. No, we never sighed, "He's Divine." We thought he was a dork.

-- Arthur Godfry, mentioned in the newspaper caption above, refused to come to our house because we were Jewish. As kids we weren't told that but I didn't like his TV show anyway, he seemed a smarmy creep.

There's smarmy and then there's kitsch...

-- Liberace did come to dinner and even played our piano. That's another story for another time.

Because...

-- During that time we took regular trips to New York as a family to see Broadway shows. Always stayed in a suite at the Waldorf. Yes, it was a charmed life. Briefly. On the outside. But that's another story.

"Daddy" (our biological father, not the one I now refer to as Dad) hosted poker games in the suite. With Ted Mack and... wait for it...

The Rat Pack. Yep. Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey. I don't think Peter Lawford ever came. Others did who I don't remember. I wouldn't have known or cared.

The game was our main draw. A cloud of smoke hung over the table, circled throughout the room. Constant laughter and chatter. My sister emptied ashtrays when she wasn't watching TV.

I brought them snacks and drinks, picked up dropped poker chips. A nine-year-old cocktail waitress.

They'd chuck my chin, flip me some change or a dollar. Once or twice somebody 'd pinch my cheeks... top and bottom. Frank and Dean were both head patters. I guess because they had kids of their own.

The cursing was fierce and incredibly colorful (our favorite part). We had no clue who these guys were in the pantheon of American stardom, just that they were "famous." Mostly we were fascinated by Sammy's glass eye.

No photos were ever taken. No newspaper pieces, no autographs, no record. For us, just a post-trip two-week chronic cough and a lot of unusual, exciting childhood memories. Not exactly Mom and Apple Pie. Still, in retrospect, pretty damn cool.

Where was our mother? She was certainly there somewhere but I don't remember her interacting with any of them except Uncle Ted and his wife. No other women came. At least I never saw any.

My Summer As A Witch

Me as a peace-loving, slightly chubby witch.

Ted Mack needed to diversify so he opened a 'performing arts camp' in the Berkshire Mountains near Tanglewood. Our parents sent us there as a gesture of friendship ... we showed little talent as performers. Though I was a wannabe actress, had done community plays with Daddy.

Months before camp, one of the acts we'd met through Uncle Ted made a big impression on me. He was a hypnotist, I've forgotten his name. He showed us some of his 'secret' methods to hypnotize others. Power! I was hooked.

From nine-year-old cocktail waitress to ten-year old Svengali.

Off we went to Ted Mack Camp, really a regular summer camp with sports, swimming, bunks, campfires, the usual. The camp did put on three plays a summer and offered voice and dance lessons.

As you might imagine, Ted Mack's position on TV meant the camp attracted more than its share of Stage Mothers. They all thought their little twits had Major Talent.

One such girl was in my bunk. Even at age ten I knew a phoney when I saw one. She was, frankly, a major pain in the ass. The phrase Drama Queen hadn't been popularized yet, but hooboy, she personified it.

She made "entrances" everywhere. Largely unnoticed. She'd drop into a chair or to the ground at the drop of a hat, sighing dramatically, hand to forehead. She clung to any counsellor in sight at the sight of a bug or a bee. Especially the boy counsellors. A ten-year-old Lolita.

We both tried out for the same small role in "South Pacific." I got it. She got a non-speaking, non-singing part. Little did I know what I was facing. A woman scorned and evil retribution weren't yet concepts I understood.

I knew the word bitch. Plus a few others I'd picked up at those poker games. But I didn't use them. Until.

During down times at camp I'd been showing kids my hypnotism tricks. Everybody pretended to be hypnotized, everybody tried it on others. We were goofing around, playing make believe, pretending to put each other "under" and make each other cluck like chickens.

Except.

Drama Queen knew an opening when she saw one. She announced she was Under My Spell. Every time I came near her she'd "go into a trance." This involved a lot of the aforementioned hand-to-forehead moves, refined cries of fear, eye rolling and graceful drifting to the ground in swoons.

Mostly we just laughed at her. Until one day at the lake. She was swimming with others, I walked onto the dock and dropped my towel, ready to plunge in.

Uh Oh, Reality Takes A Holiday

Ted Mack Camp's beautiful Lake Buel

Right there in the lake she shrieked, pretended to go into a trance and sank under the water. Seems she wasn't prepared for that water to pour into her wide open, emoting mouth. She began to drown, in earnest.

Yes, of course she was pulled from the lake, scared but breathing, and carried to the infirmary. Then sent back to our bunk, unharmed. A harmless prank. Not.

Kids started looking at me funny. I went from Popular to Pariah in one dramatic splash. Eyes averted, whispering groups made a wide path around me. No one spoke to me. No one would sit with me. Not even the boy who'd become my friend and co-hypnotizer during play rehersals.

Within a few days the office started getting calls from worried parents. Letters were arriving home: there's a witch at camp casting spells on people.

Ted had a good sense of humor, but unhappy campers and parents could ruin his reputation, and worse. I was questioned by a far less friendly Uncle Ted. My parents were called to  camp.

Meanwhile counsellors were assigned to segregate me from the rest of the kids. I was devastated. Terrified. And, well, pissed off.

Drama Queen's mother arrived, full of indignation and excitement. This could be her daughter's ticket to the Big Time. Our two families met in Ted's office. Bless my mother the shrink. She questioned the girl, gently but firmly. And got her to tearfully admit she'd concocted the whole charade.

No swoons, no spells. Just a stab at acting and a bid for attention. I was exonerated, officially Not A Witch. Our parents took us to Tanglewood for a picnic and a glorious concert on the grass. Drama Queen's mother took her disgraced daughter and her dimished dreams home.

Surrender Dorothy... 

Ted Mack, my mother and me at camp, after the witch hunt.

The rest of the summer continued as planned. Well. Except for the boy from the play, Jimmy. I had a crush on him, which was apparently reciprocated.

His 11-year-old declaration of love: during a play rehearsal he threw a handful of live worms into my hair.

My screams hit a pitch-perfect High C, echoing through the mountains for hours.

I'd like to see Simon Cowell beat that act with a stick.