“Good.” He said, “You’re a liar. That’s a good beginning.”
In a short time, he told me of his adventures as a producer on Broadway. He’d never had an actual hit. But somehow, he made enough money to stay in business. Like many other producers, he always raised a little more money than the budget called for, just in case of unforeseen troubles.
Somewhere in the back of my mind was the phrase “You could make more money with a flop than you could with a hit.” Without my realizing it, The Producers was actually taking shape somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind.
My first job was to place show cards in store windows that told of the appearance of Mexican born singer and actor Tito Guízar, who was doing a one-man show at Town Hall in a few weeks. In addition to putting on plays, variety shows, musicals, etc., Mr. Kutcher also presented single performers in one-man shows.
Kutcher was smart. He said, “If they say no, give them a couple of passes to the show.”
They all said no, and pretty soon, I was out of passes. So I went back, got more passes, and dutifully covered the neighborhood with the rest of the Tito Guízar cards.
Mr. Kutcher raised most of his money from a bevy of backers consisting of elderly women that he would flatter to pieces. I don’t think that he ever went as far as Bialystock in The Producers, who when asked what the name of the play was would answer, “Cash. The name of the play is Cash. Make it out to Cash.” That was my own invention.
Sometime later that year Mr. Kutcher bought the rights to a play called Separate Rooms. It was written by a well-known actor, Alan Dinehart, and was originally performed by Alan Dinehart and Lyle Talbot. It was an old chestnut, a backstage comedy that appeared at the Plymouth Theatre for almost a year in 1940–41. It was fraught with a lot of bad jokes. My job was to help put a cast together and take the show on the road. I decided to give myself a part in the play, which was okay with Mr. Kutcher, and we debuted the road company of Separate Rooms at the Mechanic St. School theater in Red Bank, New Jersey. （By the way, Red Bank is famous for being the birthplace of the talented swing band giant Count Basie.）
The part I had chosen for myself in the show was that of Scoop Davis, the press agent for the play within the play in this backstage comedy. I think I chose it for my opening line. All the other actors are onstage, anxiously waiting for me to come in with the reviews.
As I hit the lights they ask: “Well? Well!”
I shout, “Not to worry, not to worry. It’s a hit! It’s the greatest thing since pay toilets.”
I got my reward: a great big laugh.
I worked for Benjamin Kutcher Productions for almost a year. I still remember an unforgettable image of him wearing his navy blue double-breasted coat, a white silk scarf, and on his head was perched a well-worn dusty gray homburg hat. He wore spats and was always sporting a black walking stick with a fake gold tip. What a guy. Thinking back, I was probably the precursor of Leo Bloom—The Producers na?ve accountant who just dreams of being in show business.
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Sometime in late 1947 I reconnected with Don Appell. He called to tell me that one of his discoveries when he was a social director at the Avon Lodge, a guy by the name of Sid Caesar, was actually going to be opening at the Copacabana as the leading comic. He asked me to join him on opening night to catch Sid’s act. As we were headed to the Copacabana, Don told me that back in the Borscht Belt Sid was actually a saxophone player in the band, but Don had caught him telling jokes and breaking everybody up so he pulled him out of the band and decided to make him a comic in his variety shows. Don told me that even though he was a wonderful saxophone player, he was an even better comedian and that he always scored. He also told me that Sid was in the Coast Guard during the war and was the starring comic in a film about the Coast Guard called Tars and Spars. （Which I got to see later, and was very impressed with Sid’s performance.）
When we arrived at the Copacabana, Sid had arranged a front-row table for Don so we got to see his performance unimpeded by other people’s heads. Needless to say, Sid’s performance was absolutely terrific. His comedy was completely different. He had an amazing range of talent. In his monologue that night, he did a satire of a war picture playing both the good-looking American pilot and the evil-looking German pilot. And the sounds he made were amazing: the plane’s engines, the machine guns, and the hero’s dialogue as well as the villain’s guttural crazy German. In addition to that he played a sad pinball machine that was sick and tired of getting hit by heavy metal balls. Once again, the sounds he made were incredible. I don’t remember laughing so much in my life.