At this time, we were doing Truth or Consequences in the old Metromedia building on Sunset Boulevard. George Putnam was anchoring the news broadcasts for Channel 11 in the same building. I was so desperate by this time that I went to George and begged for his help. “George, I know this is an awful lot to ask, with everything going on in the way of news and everything you have to do, but I am trying to find my dog. If you would do something on the news about it, it might help me.”
He said, “I’ll be glad to do that.”
I was astonished that he responded so quickly. I said, “Will you, really?”
“I will—really.”
“George,” I said, “you have no idea what this means to me.”
He said, “Maybe I do.” He asked me to come around his desk. I went around his desk, and under the desk, his dog was lying at his feet!
George Putnam went on the air that night and told the story of the missing Mr. Hubbard. He did that on the most watched broadcast, the 6:00 Evening News. After searching again for several hours the next morning, I called in to Dorothy Jo from a pay phone. When she answered, she was very excited.
“There’s a man up on the hill above us who thinks he has our dog!” I had thought I was on Mr. Hubbard’s trail—and I was, but I was a day’s travel behind him.
I talked with this gentleman on the telephone and I said, “Is he brown and white?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have scars along his right back leg?”
“Yes, he does.”
“That’s my dog!”
My heart was pounding as I went rushing up that hill. Mr. Hubbard was on the front porch and this gentleman was sitting beside him. Mr. Hubbard was lying there, just completely worn out by his travels. The kind man was petting him and comforting him.
When Mr. Hubbard saw me his tail began thumping loudly on the porch.
Our hero had indeed seen the story of Mr. Hubbard on George Putnam’s newscast, and within the hour, looked out his window and saw Mr. Hubbard sitting dejectedly in his driveway. Mr. Hubbard had apparently come to terms with the fact that he needed help and allowed this benefactor to take him in.
After profusely thanking the gentleman who saved Mr. Hubbard’s life and trying unsuccessfully to give him a reward, I brought the tired, weary, hungry Mr. Hubbard home to a reunion with Dorothy Jo and Mother, complete with tears and lots of laughter. My only regret is that we didn’t have a hidden camera. It would have been perfect for Truth.
Then I took him out in the yard. He was so hoarse that he could hardly make a sound. He had probably been barking at everything and everyone. He and I lay down in the grass to rest, but when he heard the dog next door barking, he dragged himself to his feet and made a sort of croaking sound as loudly as he could. He was back home and back in charge!
After Mr. Hubbard settled down for a rest, I called George Putnam. “You did it,” I said. “This man had seen the story about my missing dog on the news. When you showed a picture of Mr. Hubbard, he knew that he had the right dog. I just called to thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
He said, “No, you’re not through yet. You’ve got to bring that dog down here and we’re going to show the world what we did.”
So I took Mr. Hubbard down, and we were on the 6:00 Evening News again and we told our story. I had gotten Mr. Hubbard back after two days and two nights in Hollywood, in heavy traffic over blocks and blocks of strange streets—an old, deaf dog—all thanks to George Putnam, who loved animals, too.
• • •
Suerte (which means “luck” in Spanish) was a little beige mixed-breed dog that Dorothy Jo and I picked up one night in a restaurant parking lot. The attendant said, “She has been hanging around for several days. I give her water and something to eat from time to time.” Dorothy Jo and I decided that she should be hanging around our house and being fed on time, every time. Hence, the name Suerte.
Juan, a completely charming little dog that my mother found on the street, was a mixed breed. He was so mixed that it was impossible to tell what and how many breeds he represented. He had large ears that came to a point, short legs, a long body, and a bushy tail. He was all black in color. One day I was sitting in the living room talking with Dick Woollen, director of programming for Metromedia at the time, when Juan came up to a window and looked in at us.
Dick asked, “What kind of dog is that?”
I said, “He’s a Yugoslavian St. Azzi.”
Dick said, “A what?”
I repeated, “He’s a Yugoslavian St. Azzi. They are very rare in this country.”
Dick said, “He looks like a mutt to me.”
Mutt or Yugoslavian St. Azzi, Juan was a winner.
Enrique was a black Labrador mix, a sweet, gentle dog that captured your heart on sight. One of the nurses, Kathy Burns, who cared for my mother after her stroke found him in front of our house when she arrived for work. She brought him in, and he decided to stay. He never got on a bed unless my brother was visiting with us. Then he crawled up on Kent’s bed and slept with him. Kent thought that was pretty neat.
• • •
I want to tell you about some of my more recent canine companions. Late one Friday afternoon, I got on the Hollywood Freeway and headed for Riverside to spend the weekend with my friend, Nancy Burnet. As usual on Friday, traffic was heavy and I did not arrive in Riverside until after dark. As I drove down a street beside a vacant lot, I saw the body of a dead dog that had been hit by a car. I continued on toward Nancy’s house, but as I drove, I became concerned about the remote possibility that the dog I had seen might not be dead, but badly injured.
When I arrived at Nancy’s home, I told her what I had seen and asked her to go back with me and check. When we reached the dog’s body and got out of the car to check it out, we heard another dog growling from some shrubbery in the vacant lot. The dog in the street was indeed dead, and it was obvious that the dog growling at us from the shrubbery—a black long-haired terrier mix—was protecting the body.
You didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the two dogs were companions. One had been killed by an automobile, and the other was protecting his friend. Nancy and I were able to get the dog in the shrubbery to come out to us, but he wouldn’t get in my car. He would not leave the body of his friend.
Nancy and I lifted the little body and carefully placed it on the backseat of my car, and promptly, the other dog jumped into my car to be beside his friend. It was such a beautiful display of love and loyalty that Nancy and I were both in tears.
The courageous little dog who so bravely protected the body of his friend was not wearing a collar. He had no identification of any kind. But his days of running the streets as a stray were over. I decided on the spot that he deserved the very best life that I could provide for him and that is exactly what he had for the rest of his life.
I named him Federico. He and I were in a picture together that was featured on a poster distributed all over the country during a national spay/neuter campaign sponsored, on my behalf, by CBS. That same picture of Federico and me became the most popular fan picture I had during my years on television. People didn’t just write for a picture. They wrote and asked for “that picture of Federico and Bob.”
• • •
I also had a wonderful huge black Labrador retriever named Winston. Winston was not only a huge dog, he was a huge character with a huge personality. He appeared on The Price Is Right to celebrate my eightieth birthday, and he was a huge success there, too. Everything about Winston was big, including his appetite. He ate more like a horse than a dog. I named him Winston because when he folded his hind legs and sat with his front legs straight out in front of him, from the rear he looked very much like that famous photo of Winston Churchill taken from the back, as Churchill sat at his easel painting.
Nancy Burnet picked Winston up off the streets. She used the old dodge “Please keep him for a few days while I find him a home.” Of course, the idea is that yo
u will become so fond of the dog that you will keep him. I have used the trick myself—and frequently, it works. I laughed at Nancy for trying it on an old pro, but I took in Winston and was happier for it.
• • •
My house isn’t all cats and dogs. I have rabbits, too—Mr. Rabbit and his Honey Bunny. Mercedes, my house manager—she’s beyond housekeeper—found Mr. Rabbit one winter morning, shivering from the cold in a yard up the street. He was only a baby. When I couldn’t find where he belonged, it became obvious that he belonged with me.
I had just bought a big-screen television set and two recliners for what was to become a television room. I decided that room could be a temporary home for my new friend, whom I named Mr. Rabbit. Before I could buy more furniture or decorate what was to have been a television room, Mr. Rabbit destroyed it. He tore up the recliners, chewed the wires in the television, and chewed holes in the carpet and the curtains. You might say that he redecorated the room more to his tastes. Knowing that I didn’t really need a television room and that Mr. Rabbit was thoroughly enjoying himself, I just let him have at it. A man has to have his priorities.
I didn’t want Mr. Rabbit to be lonely, so I went to a rescue group and found a little black female friend for him. It seemed logical since he is white. I adopted her and called her Honey Bunny. Folks warned me that the two rabbits might not get along well at first—they might require a period of adjustment. Not so. It was love at first sight!
Somehow Mr. Rabbit broke his leg a few months ago. During his rehabilitation, he had to be kept in a corral to restrict his movements. Honey Bunny insisted on staying in his corral with Mr. Rabbit and nursing him. She would come out of the corral and romp around occasionally, and then she’d go back to the gate and wait for it to be opened so she could get back on duty as Mr. Rabbit’s nurse. Mr. Rabbit and his Honey Bunny are a darling couple.
My loyal house manager, Mercedes, adores Mr. Rabbit and his Honey Bunny. She does everything possible to assure that they are a healthy and happy couple. She is sure that they have every toy a rabbit might like, stools and a couch to jump up on—she even constructed a burrow for them. If you stepped into the room, you would assume some sort of disaster had occurred. Not so; it is a Mercedes-created rabbit heaven.
Dulce (which means “sweet” in Spanish) was a calico cat who came into the yard one day and meowed her way into my heart. Dulce was about ten years old when Mr. Rabbit came to live with us. Before I adopted Honey Bunny, Dulce would go into Mr. Rabbit’s room and groom him or just hang out. Even if Mr. Rabbit became too obstreperous in his play, Dulce never scratched or bit him. Dulce would just lift a paw and gently push him away.
Winston liked to visit Mr. Rabbit’s room, too. Mr. Rabbit would stand on his hind legs and examine Winston’s large ears. It was always very congenial, but I made it a point to be right beside them any time Winston visited Mr. Rabbit.
• • •
For a short time, I didn’t have a dog living with me, which was unusual. At that time, my brother Kent went out to an animal shelter in the Valley once a week and took pictures of dogs and put them on the Internet to try to help them get homes. He saw a sweet mix of golden retriever and chow named Jessie out there. She was fairly big and she was certainly no puppy, but he thought she was a wonderful dog and that she would be a good companion for me. He started selling Jessie to me that day. I told him I had several trips coming up and that I didn’t want to get a dog at that point. He let it drop for a few days. Then he noted sadly, “You know, this dog hasn’t been adopted and the shelter will have to euthanize her. They really have kept her longer than usual because she is such a great dog, but it’s getting close.”
Finally, a few days later he said, “The time has come, you’re going to have to—”
I cut him off: “All right, bring Jessie to my house.”
That night he showed up with Jessie, and she immediately checked out the yard, looked the house over, and made herself at home. Right from the beginning, she won the hearts of all my friends and visitors. She is very friendly with people, but other dogs were a different story. She was once more aggressive with other dogs than any dog I had ever had. The first time we took a walk she saw a dog half a block away and barked wildly. When she actually got near another dog, she reared on her hind feet like a stallion, pulling against the leash and pawing the air. It shocked me how really aggressive she was. The chow breed is very possessive, very protective. I suspect she thought these other dogs were going to attack me. She seemed to be trying to protect me. She had been trained to sit, and I took advantage of that. When another dog approached, I told her to sit and then forcibly restrained her. When the other dog went on its way, I said, “Good girl,” and gave her a cookie. In a short time, Jessie was so much improved that I had to switch from cookies to tiny treats. Jessie was losing her girlish figure.
Jessie has trained me very well. Now I take a pocket full of treats with me on our walk. When we meet a dog and she behaves, she gets a treat. Occasionally, when she doesn’t behave herself, she’ll look up for the treat and I’ll say, “No.” She’s bright enough to figure this all out.
Another story involving Jessie began like a scene out of a Lassie movie. I let Jessie out one morning and sat down to eat breakfast. In a matter of moments, Jessie burst back into the breakfast room. The expression on her face plainly said: “I have seen something most unusual. Please follow me and see for yourself.”
I followed her out into the yard, but I was not very surprised to find two mallards, a male and a female, swimming slowly about in our pool. In past years, when they were migrating, ducks had landed in our pool to rest. I explained this to Jessie and assured her that the ducks would leave soon. I was wrong. The ducks stayed, built a nest out of the way behind the pool, and the mother duck laid twelve eggs—that’s right: an even dozen. For the next three months, Mercedes and I were busy, busy, busy.
I had a temporary fence installed to protect the mother duck and her babies from Jessie. The father duck had already taken a few bows and split. He did return three or four times during the three months, but apparently he was satisfied with what Mercedes and I were doing because he never hung around long.
Mercedes and I took a crash course in duck care and feeding. My pool man quit. I hired another pool man, and he quit, too. I hired a third pool man and he stuck it out. He’ll be my pool man forever. Mornings and late afternoons, Mercedes laid out a veritable buffet for the duck family: corn mash, bread, chopped lettuce, the works.
I’ll never forget the day Mercedes shouted, “Mr. Barker, Mr. Barker, come quick.” There were all twelve baby ducks lined up on the edge of the pool. The mother duck was in the pool and you just knew she was quacking, “Come on down! The water’s fine!” Gradually, one or two at a time, the babies jumped in and swam for the first time. It was an exhilarating moment for the duck family, for Mercedes, and certainly for me. I was also happy to see that the three little ramps we had installed on the edge of the pool allowed the ducklings to waddle safely up out of the pool and back into the nest.
That first swimming lesson was matched only by the thrill Mercedes and I felt when we saw the baby ducks fly a few feet above the water. Next, the baby ducks were able to take short flights—first in our yard and then around the neighborhood. Finally, they were ready to move on with their lives. Just as they had first jumped in the pool, they flew away—one or two at a time. That wonderful mother duck stayed for two days to be sure all of her babies had made it; then she flew away, too.
Having the ducks visit was really a beautiful experience, one for which I am genuinely grateful. However, when the beautiful experience was concluded, I had the pool drained, thoroughly cleaned, and painted, and I installed a new pool filter.
9
What’s Right About The Price Is Right?
When I started doing the revised version, The New Price Is Right, in 1972, the show was an immediate smash success. Ratings were strong, attendance was robust, and the
show’s popularity gained momentum rapidly. Still, none of us could have predicted that the show would go on to be the longest-running game show in television history. Many of us involved in the show continued to work for The Price Is Right for decades and decades. That includes directors, producers, stagehands, cameramen, models, contestant coordinators, announcers, and, of course, me. That is a tribute not only to the success and longevity of the show, but also to the fun we all had. The reason many of us continued to do the show for such a long time was because we all loved it. When you do something you love for work, that is indeed a blessing. We took pride in keeping the show fresh and lively, and we took pride in the tremendous success of the show.
One of the reasons for the fast-moving and always changing nature of Price was the number of games we had in the rotation. We constantly developed new games. The audience loved the variety, and, of course, people picked out their favorite games and looked forward to seeing them on the program. The fundamental concept of all the games was always based on price, but we had so many variations and so many fun sound effects, lights, bells, and amazing props that it was a kaleidoscope of visual entertainment. Nevertheless, these games were carefully conceptualized, and we continued to brainstorm and experiment and try new things. Of course, we would play different games every day.
We were not only playing different games on Price each day, but within the same game, each contestant was different with a different personality and the prizes changed, and it made for an entirely different game. Let’s say you play Ten Chances with one lady. The next time you play it, it is entirely different because now you have a male contestant or a teenager or another woman with a completely different personality. Who knows? And the game changes completely with the personality of the contestant.
I used to say when you watched Truth or Consequences, you never knew what was going to happen—because I was the host, and I never knew what was going to happen. I felt the same way about The Price Is Right. When I arrived at the show, they would hand me a list of the games we were going to play. I would look them over and I knew how we played them, but I had no idea what might happen with the contestants, and I would not know until I got a contestant onstage and saw his or her reaction and the audience’s reaction to the contestant. At that moment, I would decide in which direction to go to get the most out of the game.
Priceless Memories Page 13