Backstage Pass To Broadway

by Susan L. Schulman

  At one well-attended production meeting at the advertising agency, Natalie turned to me and said, “I want you to book Mr. Merrick on Larry King Live.”

  I looked at her, paused and quietly said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The room went dead.

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Well,” I said, slowly and carefully, “It’s a live talk show and Mr. Merrick can’t speak. I would never put him into a situation where he might be embarrassed.”

  “I don’t care ... book it.”

  I was horrified, imagining how my pitch conversation with Larry King’s producer would go. “Would Larry like to chat on live TV with someone who can’t actually speak?????”

  A few days later Cynthia Tornquist, the savvy entertainment reporter for CNN, called, saying she had an odd request. She wanted to shoot some footage of Merrick so that CNN would have it on file when he died. After a nano-second I said: “Boy, have I got a deal for you. I’ll help you get your footage as long as I can tell Natalie it is for CNN.”

  We set up the shoot at Sardi’s Restaurant, with the Merricks to be seated under Mr. Merrick’s famous scowling caricature. He arrived with his entourage, wearing his trademark black hat tipped jauntily over the jet black toupee, clutching his gold headed cane in his white gloved hands. He seemed very happy to be the center of attention once again. I told Natalie I didn’t know if this interview would air or not, and she accepted that.

  I seated Cynthia, Natalie and Merrick at a Sardi’s banquette table, with Natalie in the middle. All three wore lavaliere mikes to pick up every golden word. Cynthia would ask a question, Merrick would mumble, and Natalie would give her interpretation of what he had supposedly said. It was a bizarre performance by all. I knew it was highly unlikely that any of this footage would air while Merrick was alive and that, when it DID air, it would be used as silent footage for his obituary with a voiceover narration by Cynthia. It didn’t matter what they were saying at that table in Sardi’s. At the end of the taping, Merrick’s ‘gang’ applauded this embarrassing display. The Merricks left smiling and Cynthia had her footage. Several years later, when David Merrick died, Cynthia’s was the first call I received. As soon as I heard her voice, we both burst out laughing. She had her exclusive obit footage for CNN.

  When the Merricks became involved with STATE FAIR, negotiations to bring the touring show to Broadway quickly escalated. The Serino/Coyne Advertising Agency was hired to re-think the show’s original, old fashioned logo, which featured a watercolor painting of a 1940s couple, seen from behind as they observed the wonders of a state fair. Almost every review for the touring show had, in one way or another, awarded STATE FAIR ‘a blue ribbon.’ Serino/Coyne decided the show’s new logo should be a large blue ribbon, the symbol of American excellence befitting the All-American nature of this wholesome new Rodgers & Hammerstein musical.

  Original STATE FAIR logo art and new blue ribbon logo created for Broadway and beyond

  (Courtesy of North Carolina School of the Arts and Serino/Coyne Advertising)

  STATE FAIR signed a contract to play at the Music Box Theatre on February 7th, 1996, and the first full color announcement ad ran in the Sunday Times on March 3rd, only 24 days before the official Broadway opening. I pitched the New York Times on the story of how STATE FAIR created an entirely new promotional campaign so quickly, and on April 4, 1996, writer Glenn Collins devoted the Times’ entire Advertising column to STATE FAIR. Glenn quoted me talking about the show’s old image and how we managed to pull the new ad campaign together so quickly. Glenn’s article ends with this quote from me: “It’s not an out-of-town tryout anymore, but we are still winging it. On this show we’ve learned how to improvise.”

  When the Theatre Guild unexpectedly decided to bring STATE FAIR to Broadway with Merrick’s money, I had to prepare a new AT-PAM contract for the Broadway engagement. When I was drafting my new union contract, I had in my possession all the materials needed to open STATE FAIR on Broadway — Playbill copy, billing clauses, production photos, advertising information, B-roll, radio and TV commercials, marketing materials, etc. I had everything needed to open the show on Broadway. It was probably the only time in my career that I literally held all the cards. The Merricks had begun replacing people for the Broadway engagement so I decided to make my new union contract ‘run of the play.’ This meant that as long as STATE FAIR played on Broadway, I had to be paid the weekly press agent’s salary under ATPAM’s rules. The Theatre Guild balked at signing a run of the play contract on principal, but I insisted. I knew I would win this battle and I did. (I obviously also had good instincts about what was to come.)

  The minute the Theatre Guild signed the contract for the Music Box Theatre, we all went into overdrive. We opened the show with less than two months’ advance notice — something of a record for a big Broadway musical. Everyone worked night and day. I believed STATE FAIR’s charm and simplicity could find a place on Broadway and hoped the critics would agree.

  The morning of the Broadway opening I received a frantic phone call from Robert Franz. One of the associate producer’s promised one million dollar investment had unexpectedly fallen through. A bank loan had been called and we were screwed. We were opening a big expensive Broadway musical with zero dollars in the bank account. Disaster.

  That night, I fluffed myself up in my “A” opening night outfit and proceeded to open the show with a heavy heart. I set up photos of the Merricks and other celebrities as they arrived at the Music Box Theatre, greeted the critics and handed them their tickets and press kits, and when all the critics were seated, walked down the center aisle to the orchestra pit, smiled at Musical Director/Conductor Kay Cameron and gave her the ‘go’ to begin the familiar Richard Rodgers overture. I handled the TV news crews shooting the celebratory curtain calls and oversaw the press covering the opening night party for 500 company members and friends at the Tavern on the Green Restaurant in Central Park. Only a few of us knew we were running on fumes.

  Natalie is interviewed by a TV news crew opening night while David Merrick looks on from his wheelchair. I’m standing behind Natalie with my smiling associate Phil Thurston on Natalie’s left.

  (Photo credit: Susan Cook)

  Robert Franz, who had paid actress Margot Kidder $1,000 to be his date for the opening, got blind drunk and wound up spending the night in the lobby of the Merricks’ apartment building, hoping to waylay them after the party and convince them to invest more money in STATE FAIR.

  At STATE FAIR opening night party at Tavern on the Green (left to right) producer Robert Franz, Natalie and Robert’s ‘date,’ actress Margot Kidder, supporting Merrick, as I wave the press over to take the shot. Merrick’s dapper bodyguard is standing behind Kidder.

  (Photo credit: Susan Cook)

  The Merricks never went home that night, staying instead at a hotel. I never knew why. The next morning we had our scheduled post-opening meeting at the Serino/Coyne ad agency, to go over the reviews, select quotes to use in the ads and plan the newspaper and TV advertising campaign. About 30 people were scheduled to meet in Serino’s large conference room — associate producers, ad execs, group sales people, marketing folks, Robert Franz and Philip Langner of the Theatre Guild, general manager Ralph Roseman, the company manager, Merrick’s ‘people’ and me. The reviews were mixed but the show could have a life if we could afford to mount an effective PR, advertising and marketing campaign.

  David Merrick gives me his undivided attention at opening night party of State Fair. Natalie at left.

  (Photo credit: Susan Cook)

  Robert Franz rushed into the meeting late, with a red, sweaty face and disheveled clothes. Trying to protect him in his manic state, I pulled him into a small side room and asked what was happening. Camped out in the lobby of the Merricks’ apartment building, Franz had not slept since he left the Tavern on the Green party the night before. I knew if Franz remained in the meeting in this agitated and possibly inebriated state, he would d
estroy any remaining credibility he had with the people in the room, not to mention in the industry. I urged him to remain in the small conference room while I asked the group in the main conference room to wait. I brought general manager Ralph Roseman and the Merricks’ accountant in to talk with Franz and the accountant called the Merricks. I bounced back and forth between the main meeting and the side meeting. The people in the main room quickly realized something was wrong. One by one, the associate producers, with whom I had close relationships, pulled me aside and pressured me to let them join the ‘other meeting.’ After vamping for about an hour, I convinced Franz to cancel the ad meeting while the backstairs negotiation continued.

  By the end of that long painful day, the Merricks agreed to invest more money in STATE FAIR to keep it going. He and Natalie wanted to keep the show, and, more importantly, Merrick’s name, alive on Broadway. They didn’t seem to care what it cost.

  The Merricks’ total investment in STATE FAIR was now rumored to be around $3 million. And, of course, the more they invested, the greater their power. Within days, all the key production players in the show, who had already proven their loyalty and professionalism over the previous nine months, were summoned — one by one — to meet with the Merricks and their ‘people’ at Sardi’s. We were grilled by Natalie about how and why we did our jobs. Merrick sat idly at her side, often falling asleep at the table. Then she started firing people. General manager Ralph Roseman, a gentleman of the theatre who had loaned Robert Franz money when he was unable to pay some touring bills, was the first to go. He was happy to be out of it. Then the company manager was fired. Some of the associate producers disappeared.

  Then the Tony nominations came out and STATE FAIR was not nominated for Best Score because the majority of the Rodgers & Hammerstein songs were written for another medium (film.) The Merricks and Robert Franz were incensed, and decided to sue The League of American Theatres & Producers (who administer the Tony Awards® along with The American Theatre Wing) for what they felt was a violation of the Tony eligibility rules. They cited VICTOR/VICTORIA, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST and SEVEN BRIDES FOR SEVEN BROTHERS, all Broadway musicals featuring songs originally written for film, and all deemed eligible for a Tony in the ‘Best Score’ category in past seasons.

  Merrick had been famous for taking on anyone with whom he disagreed, so Serino and the Theatre Guild created an ad campaign featuring tongue-in-cheek ‘Memos from David Merrick’ poking fun at the Tony nominations. Robert Franz wanted to emulate Merrick’s well-known provocative and adversarial relationship with the media. The ads featured an old photo of Merrick in his heyday with snarky, tongue-in-cheek quotes, supposedly from Merrick. In fact, Merrick never saw the ad copy before it appeared in the Times. The series of ads, written by the advertising agency, were clever and funny and got favorable coverage in the media about Merrick being up to his old tricks. No one questioned if Merrick had written the quotes or even approved them.

  Natalie began calling me in the middle of the night to discuss strategy for publicizing the Merricks’ law suit against The League. Then her attorney began calling me at 3 am, usually right after Natalie had called her. The attorney asked if I was being paid extra for handling this bizarre, complicated and probably fruitless law suit. “No,” I said. She replied, “You are a fool” and advised me that $10,000 was an appropriate fee for this job which was over and above anything normally covered by the show’s union contract. I discussed this fee with Natalie who readily agreed. I drew up a letter of agreement which she immediately signed. The law suit against The League (now called The Broadway League) quickly escalated with legal papers filed by both sides. Everybody was suing everybody. I struggled to absorb all the legal ramifications and transmit that information clearly to the media. I was quoted almost daily in the papers as the press representative for David Merrick and STATE FAIR.

  Everyone in the industry considered the suit to be a classic Merrick publicity stunt but no one seemed to notice that David Merrick actually had nothing to do with it. He could not speak or participate in any way except through Natalie’s questionable interpretation. The tumult surrounding the law suit went on night and day for several weeks. Natalie continued calling me at 3 am and I was stupid enough to take her calls.

  At the same time this was going on, I was, bizarrely, negotiating with the producer of the Tony Award® TV broadcast to include a musical number from STATE FAIR. STATE FAIR, which was not nominated for Best Musical, had been understandably excluded when the show’s on-air performance line-up was announced. I approached CBS-TV producer Gary Smith, saying that omitting a musical number from a NEW Rodgers & Hammerstein show starring John Davidson, the performer with the highest TVQ on Broadway, just didn’t make sense. (TVQ is an industry measurement of an actor’s familiarity to the TV viewing audience plus his or her appeal. After years guest hosting The Tonight Show and various game shows, John had a very high TVQ.)

  I wore Gary down, and he gave STATE FAIR a two minute slot on the Tony broadcast, worth millions of dollars in free publicity, allowing us to reach potential theatre-goers around the country. I’d just earned my union salary in spades.

  Meanwhile Natalie had not paid me one cent of the agreed-up-on fee for handling the law suit against The League. I was behaving honorably, acting in good faith, and continuing to handle the law suit without payment. Why wasn’t she honoring our agreement? I became testy with Natalie. The Merricks’ law suit was finally heard and, to no one’s surprise, the Judge ruled against Merrick and STATE FAIR. But the Merricks had accomplished their goal which was to create the impression that Merrick was still a Broadway power player, up to his old tricks, thumbing his nose at authority and generating publicity for himself and his show. The fact that he’d been a silent observer and non-participant during the entire episode was, once again, missed by the press.

  Natalie was annoyed that I kept asking for payment for handling the law suit. After several more 3 am calls to me, Natalie demanded I return my tickets to the Tony Awards®. STATE FAIR would be performing on the Tony broadcast because of my efforts, and I desperately wanted to be there, cheering for my cast. I’d originally had a pair of seats for the broadcast and tickets for the formal, post-broadcast industry dinner party. Now she said I could have one seat for the broadcast but no party tix. Her conditions changed hourly, daily. In disgust, I returned all the tickets and watched the Tony broadcast from my bedroom — the only member of the STATE FAIR family who did not attend the awards.

  A few days later I received a hand-delivered letter from Robert Franz, now Natalie’s puppet, firing me as the general press representative for STATE FAIR. I was angry, hurt and embarrassed. My friends in the media heard about it and called for my response. I issued the following carefully worded, slightly tongue-in-cheek statement to the press: “I am honored to join the long list of distinguished theatre professionals to be fired by David Merrick.”

  The theatre reporters ‘got it’ and wrote about my dismissal with respect and even admiration. I came out of it with my reputation and dignity intact, although my heart was broken. This show, which I had lovingly handled from day one, meant so much to me. Now I had been shoved out the door — not because I hadn’t done a good job but because I’d had the audacity to expect to be paid for my hard work. The only bright spot was my ‘run of the play’ union contract which the Theatre Guild had signed months earlier. The ATPAM attorney stood up for me and I was, eventually, paid for the remainder of the Broadway run.

  Natalie arranged for someone to pick up the press materials from my office in exchange for a check for the outstanding salary owed to me. The check didn’t arrive. Instead, the Merricks appeared with a large bodyguard and the newly hired company manager. Natalie waved an envelope that supposedly contained my check. It was after 4 pm, and she knew there was no way I could cash the check before relinquishing the press materials (my only bargaining chip.) I did not know if their check was good or if there even WAS a check in the envelope. I was alone
in my office, so I asked Natalie to slip the envelope with the check under the door. She refused. I declined to open the door. She started screaming loudly outside my office, ringing the doorbell incessantly.

  I called my attorney, who heard Natalie’s shrieking over the phone and advised me not to open the door under any circumstances. He put me on hold while he called the Merricks’ attorney who was stunned at the ruckus but had no solution. Natalie continued screaming in the hall while keeping her finger stuck on my doorbell. Merrick sat impassively in his wheelchair. People in neighboring offices came out into the halls to watch the spectacle.

  My attorney told me to call the security desk in my building lobby and ask them to escort the Merrick party out of the building. A few minutes later, two uniformed New York City Police officers appeared with the Paramount Building’s security people. They had called the cops. On the advice of my attorney, I let one of the police officers into my office and explained the situation.

  The officer spoke to my attorney on the phone, and agreed to escort the Merricks off my floor and out of the building. In the middle of this hysteria, Peter Marks of the New York Times called, and heard the commotion in the background. I told him what was happening and, hearing the panic in my voice, he offered to come over. (The New York Times was, at the time, located around the corner from the Paramount Building where my office is located.) It would have made a good story, and I would have been happy to have a strong, male friend at my side at that moment, but I said no. This was not Peter’s fight and it would have been unprofessional (if tempting) to turn this horror show into a media spectacle. I pledged Peter to secrecy and he agreed.

  The Merrick group was finally escorted off my floor by the cops. I was shaking and feared the Merricks might be lying in wait for me outside the Paramount building. Hearing about the drama, one of the STATE FAIR stage managers came over and walked me out of my office building. Happily, there was no sign of the Merricks. A few days later, I brought the 10 boxes of press materials to the ATPAM office and they handled the check transfer for me. I thought it was finally over.