How I Got This Way Page 26

  One day, about thirteen years later, after Joy and I had moved to a new West Side high-rise apartment, I walked through our lobby and into the elevator and was startled when the only other person inside that elevator was . . . a very, very tall man, with the longest curls, which covered most of his rather handsome face.

  Yes, for the first time ever, I was meeting Howard Stern. Alone. Trapped together in an otherwise empty elevator. Sometimes fate does funny things! Then again, I’d heard that he’d recently gotten an apartment in the building—and so here we were. Now you’ve probably experienced that sort of queasy feeling—when you’ve had a lot of fun putting down someone you don’t know and then you meet him or her in person and suddenly feel a little guilty? Maybe I was wrong, but the minute our eyes met I sensed that Howard had a little rush of that feeling.

  We looked at each other for a moment and he said, “Go ahead: Hit me. Punch me. Kick me.” And I said, “Howard, welcome to the building.” And by the time we reached the fiftieth floor we were good friends. He wanted to see my apartment. I wanted to see his. Remember that old line—“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”? Well, that’s exactly what we did, giving each other private house tours. And we had a few laughs, too. (How can you not, with that guy?)

  Pretty much beginning that day, I learned that Howard is not exactly what he sounds like on the radio. That’s show business Howard—a professional persona he’s managed to perfect, as his megadeal contracts have kept on proving. What you get in our apartment house, on the other hand, is a good neighbor, always gracious and pleasant in every exchange, and funny, too. And I mean that.

  One night recently I couldn’t sleep, got up, and flipped on the Letterman show, and there was Howard on a tirade about my moving on from our morning show. Howard was exaggerating the situation a bit, getting big laughs, talking Dave to death like nobody else alive can. And then he said something I thought was both flattering and touching, if not profound. He said, “Yeah, Regis is leaving—but he could walk across the street tomorrow, get a new show, and take his old show off in two weeks.”

  Well, I don’t think it’s going to happen, Howard, but it was nice hearing you say it.

  WHAT I TOOK AWAY FROM IT ALL

  People who outwardly seem the most intimidating are usually quite the opposite—once you get to know them a little better.

  Nice and unpredictable things can happen during elevator rides. So try to tolerate all the “ups and downs” in between.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  CHARLES GRODIN

  Charles Grodin is one of the most unique characters I know. And one of the most versatile. Certainly I’ve never met anyone like him. Probably because there couldn’t possibly be another who could even come close. For instance, Chuck began his writing career at the age of nine (smarter than the average kid stuff, I’m sure), has authored a handful of great memoirs over the years, and now, in his mid-seventies, he writes and delivers a fresh commentary every day about the world at large for the CBS radio network. As an actor, which is how we all first got to know of him, he studied with masters like Lee Strasberg and Uta Hagen, then starred in some big Broadway hits, and even directed the smash stage production of Lovers and Other Strangers in 1970. His first taste of movie stardom came a couple years later in Elaine May’s terrific dark comedy and everybody’s favorite, The Heartbreak Kid.

  Not too long before that, he’d been cast to star as Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate, but the deal fell apart over a salary dispute and Dustin Hoffman went on to make movie history in the classic role. That didn’t stop Chuck. His résumé is stacked with so many memorable film performances, always brilliant and subtly hilarious, including playing the conniving villain to Warren Beatty in Heaven Can Wait and the neurotic mob accountant under the protective custody of no-nonsense bounty hunter Robert DeNiro in the great Midnight Run picture. The younger generation may know him best on-screen as the helpless dad in those two box-office sensations about that dog named Beethoven.

  I remind you of all this so you can share my own shock and disbelief that for the last fifteen years he has simply turned down one movie role after another. Unlike so many other veteran actors who continually yearn for just one more job, Chuck says no over and over again, and he means it. Since we’re pretty close in age, I’m not only surprised by his unbendable position, I’m actually impressed. I mean, where does this guy come off saying no, when so many other actors in his age bracket, and beyond, are saying, “Please, think of me—I’d love to get an offer for . . . anything.”

  But really, there’s so much more to Charles Grodin than many people know. Truth is, he’s deeply involved in matters far more important to him than making just another movie. First and foremost, he’s a relentless advocate for those who, to put it mildly, haven’t been as lucky as he’s been. I refer especially to those people locked away in prison who, maybe, shouldn’t be there. Immersing himself in the dark circumstances of such desperate cases is quite a jump from the world of his show business friends. But Chuck loves battling against injustices of all kinds. Always doggedly and in complete earnest, too. You would never expect it from that guy with the defensive sarcastic persona he perfected as a regular guest on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show years ago. Johnny actually happened to love playing with that “character” of Chuck’s—this angry, bitter guy firing verbal bullets at the great host and getting zinged right back in return. It’s an act that he’s continued on Dave Letterman’s show—and on mine as well—ever since. And yet some people have still never figured out that it’s always been a put-on, just a way for Chuck to keep things lively and different.

  Over the years I’ve introduced Chuck to some friends of mine like Jack Paar and TV exec Henry Schleiff who were, of course, instantly delighted by his company. Henry happens to be one of the funniest behind-the-scenes guys in the business. And when he gets going with Chuck over dinner, it’s like seeing Midnight Run all over again, with the two of them happily quibbling away and Chuck always wanting to get to the bottom of things. That, by the way, is Chuck’s specialty, no matter what the topic—he needs answers. Meanwhile, I brought Jack and Chuck together about a year before Chuck launched himself into the nightly talk-show business with his own, yes, lively and different CNBC interview program back in 1995. He loved Jack, and Jack took quite a fancy to him, especially when probing Chuck’s unusual mind, which always led to great rounds of laughter for all of us present.

  Jack, in fact, had been extremely encouraging from the get-go when he heard Chuck was starting up that CNBC show, calling him regularly in the weeks and days before its debut, offering big boosts of support and pointers. Well, near the end of his first week on the air, I’ll never forget, Grodin phoned me, barely containing his panic. He hadn’t heard a word from Jack all week and it was driving him crazy. He wanted me to find out if there was a problem. Was Jack Paar, the forefather of all true talk shows, disappointed in his performance on the program? He needed answers! And I had to get them for him! I softly mentioned it to Jack, who as it turned out had been so pleased with Chuck’s work that he’d actually spent time that week calling various critics and influential pals, urging them to watch. He simply hadn’t gotten around to letting Chuck know how terrific he thought the show was.

  But it was a wonderful kick whenever the three of us and our wives gathered for dinners—and maybe all the more so after Chuck had gotten his show up and running. I remember the first time we all went to my favorite Greenwich restaurant, Valbella, and at the end of the evening, Tony, the maitre d’, insisted that he was so thrilled to have three talk-show hosts at one table that there would be no check. Chuck was very proud to be recognized as a member of the host fraternity but also just as elated that there’d be no charge for the great meal. That was when Jack devilishly leaned over to remind Chuck: “It’s still going to cost you at least a buck to pay the parking attendant outside.” And Chuck being Chuck instantly let his glee turn t
o gloominess. He shook his head in mock defeat and said, “There’s always a catch.”

  Anyway, Jack and I guested together on Chuck’s final CNBC show, which turned out to be Jack’s last appearance on TV, and it was a great conversation. We still talk about it and, of course, about Jack and how much we miss him. But in retrospect, Chuck’s passion for helping those who’ve been wronged by the system all began with that CNBC program of his. At first he wanted the show to be a true mix of guests from show business as well as from real life. Before too long he chose real life—not only as the main focus of his show but also for himself. He simply couldn’t stand the way certain laws destroyed the lives of essentially innocent people, and he wanted to help correct that. I know there is skepticism about the good intentions of well-known people these days. You might think that maybe it just makes for good publicity—but there are no maybes about this guy. He means it. For instance, drug use and the legal penalties surrounding it were then as always a hot topic in the media, and Chuck pounced, in particular, on New York’s notorious Rockefeller Drug Laws, considered by far the nation’s toughest at the time. Someone caught selling two ounces or carrying four ounces of marijuana could be sent to prison for fifteen or twenty years to life. Chuck took cameras up to the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, a maximum security prison, and interviewed four women serving time for such minor offenses. He wanted to illustrate how these harsh laws were victimizing a lot of helpless poor people, not the drug lords and dealers. And despite those laws, he hammered home that the drug situation in New York had become more rampant than ever. Three of the women were granted clemency that year and the fourth the following year.

  In 2004 the Rockefeller Drug Laws were finally reformed, long after Chuck’s show had gone off the air. But Governor Pataki made a point of citing the work of Charles Grodin in prompting these reforms to be implemented (even though Chuck believes they’re still too harsh). Anyway, Chuck’s persistence helped make that happen, even without the continued benefit of a nightly television platform. He has studied and taken a personal interest in so many hard-luck cases over these years. One that sticks in my mind concerns a woman named June Benson, who was caught pawning some jewelry a few years ago while high on crack. She received a 27½- to 55-year sentence. It took Chuck and others two years to persuade New York’s Governor Patterson that she had suffered enough to earn clemency. After her release, Chuck chose to take it upon himself to financially support her and her children until she could reestablish herself in our society, which tends to shun those with even the smallest criminal records, not to mention those who’ve been penalized with apparently unjust cause. Recently Chuck has also been quite enmeshed in the case of a young Florida man named Ryan Holle. Holle lent his car to his roommate, who, along with several others and unbeknownst to Ryan, committed burglary and murder while using the borrowed car. Ryan was at home asleep in his bed when those crimes took place, but he was nevertheless sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. He’s a victim of the unintended consequences of the felony murder rule. But then again, with Chuck on the case, who knows what could happen?

  And there’s another young man in the Los Angeles area named Brandon Hein, who was involved in a drunken backyard brawl with other teenagers. In the fight, one boy stabbed another, who bled to death. Hein didn’t stab anyone, nor did he steal anything, but he, too, was still sentenced to life with no parole. He’s been imprisoned since he was eighteen, but through the efforts of Chuck and other legal eagles, his sentence has now at least been reduced to the point where he will be eligible for parole when he turns forty-six years of age. Of course, there is no guarantee of Hein’s parole even then, but Chuck continues to fight the good fight for this young man. And he does this all completely under the radar, choosing not to have a press agent. These stories drive him crazy and he becomes obsessed with trying to do whatever he can to correct things. I hope he doesn’t mind that I’m sharing them here with you, but I tell you these things because I stand in awe of his quiet conscientiousness on behalf of good people in trouble.

  Anyway, after reading all that, you may think Chuck Grodin—that droll funny guy you know from the movies—is so consumed by nonstop outrage that he no longer smiles, much less laughs, anymore. Far from it. He still loves to play jokes on friends, still tells great funny showbiz stories, and keeps in regular touch with all his pals in our industry. But even with those who know and love him, he can also be very persistent about the damnedest things. He wants to know why even the smallest stuff goes wrong and who is responsible for it . . . and until he gets his answers, there is no rest.

  So to demonstrate this, let me tell you one more Charles Grodin story. Among his pet charities is an organization called Help USA. Every now and then, if you’re a show business friend, he will call on you to participate in events to benefit the cause, and you have no escape. Just like that, you’re part of a charity show, which Chuck produces and micromanages down to the tiniest detail. On one such night a few years ago, he had commandeered a Broadway theater stage where Martin Short, Chuck, and I were each taking turns performing bits and entertaining a packed house. Suddenly, while Marty Short was in the midst of his very funny act, out of seemingly nowhere, the fine comedian and Law & Order: SVU actor Richard Belzer strolled out onto the stage, with his dog on a leash. This was not a planned surprise appearance, to say the least. As far as anyone could guess, he’d been wandering through the neighborhood walking the dog, happened to notice that the backstage door was open, and . . . he just walked in. It was all quite harmless, I thought. But nevertheless, Belzer and his cute little dog more or less stole the show.

  I was sitting next to Chuck just offstage at the time and he asked me immediately, “Did you invite Belzer and the dog?” I said, “No, I didn’t.” Chuck was simply stunned. A few moments later he asked again, “Tell me the truth. Did you invite Belzer?” And again—after a few more minutes, “Honest to God, Regis, tell me! Did you invite him?” But he still couldn’t comprehend it, so over and over again that night—and many more times during the months that followed—he brought it up. In fact, he still brings it up. His rigid old-school theater training couldn’t accept that his perfectly orchestrated show had been upstaged, out of the blue, by Belzer’s spontaneous walk-on. But boy oh boy, did we all pay for that. Chuck still suspects that Marty Short or I must’ve had a hand in it—and both of us laugh about it to this day. But no one, least of all Grodin, knows how or why it happened. And it drives Chuck nuts. But remember, he’s persistent—he needs answers! He hasn’t solved it yet, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying. Not ever.

  SPECIAL ADDENDUM

  All right, are you ready for this? Exactly four days have passed since I finished writing the chapter above—and I swear to God, you won’t believe what just happened. A few minutes ago Chuck Grodin called to discuss upcoming dinner plans, among other things. Then, without my even mentioning that I had shared the Belzer story with you, Chuck once again brought up the topic! The never-ending mystery of Belzer and the dog—which, I remind you, is now about three years old and counting! Like I said, he still hasn’t let it go. I had to stifle a laugh.

  “Wait,” I said. “You’re telling me you have new information about the Belz?”

  “I ran into him a few weeks ago,” he said. “He was sitting near me at a restaurant and I just had to get up and ask him: ‘How did you and your dog ever wind up on the stage that night during our benefit show?’ ”

  “A few weeks ago this happened?” I said. “And you’re telling me about it now? Well, I can’t wait to hear his answer. You’ve driven us all crazy about this for years! What did he say?”

  “He didn’t answer me.”

  “What do you mean he didn’t answer you? I can’t believe that he didn’t answer you!” I practically screamed. Then I decided to just bait him one more time. After all, at this point it might as well just go on forever. So I instructed him, “You know
you’re just gonna have to be more persistent.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “One day I’m gonna find out who did it.”

  WHAT I TOOK AWAY FROM IT ALL

  There’s a difference between wanting answers and desperately needing answers. Especially if you ever hope to get any sleep at night.

  Helping others will, more often than not, help you yourself find a greater sense of fulfillment.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  DAVID LETTERMAN

  Not to jump too far ahead here, but let’s just face this one head-on:

  David Letterman and I have somehow established what is probably one of the more unique television talk-show relationships of all time. Hard to fathom, I know—but true. It’s a strange, electric, and always feisty bond—but an important one, too—and it took a while for us to get to this point. Nevertheless, for years now, hardly a week or sometimes even a single night would pass without my name coming up in the course of his CBS Late Show broadcasts. Usually in some new giddily insulting way . . . usually during the monologue . . . and usually just as I’m trying to settle quietly down for bed. I hear it all stems from his affection for me—which, of course, is reciprocated—but there are moments when you’d never guess it. In fact, before I even begin to tell you of how our worlds came to meld so significantly, let me share a sampling from one evening a few years ago, when I arrived at his desk with a list of grievances I’d gathered up in the form of jokes he’d recently unloaded at my expense.