Week In Words

Talk Show Host - Part 1

Now obviously I hope you have all bought my book and enjoyed reading it. But there might still be a few who haven't and are maybe waiting until the paperback comes out.

If that's the case then you be pleased to know that in the lead up to Christmas I will be putting extracts of my book onto the website for you to take a look. They are all taken from one chapter entitled Talk Show Host and they take a look at the early days of the Parkinson show. 

So why not read on and you never know you might even want to buy one from my webstore.

Talk Show Host - Part 1

I was thirty six when I walked into the television centre in 1971 and never imagined the show I was about to do would define my working life for the next thirty six years.In the seventies the BBC was a much different organisation than nowadays. For one thing there were a lot of Indians about but not too many chiefs, and the people who ran the organisation – Paul Fox was Controller One, David Attenborough, Head of Programmes, Bill Cotton, Head of Light Entertainment, Brian Cowgill, Head of Sport – have their own special place in the television Hall of Fame.They presided over the biggest television factory on earth and the most prestigious.When I was in Israel for the Six Day War I discovered my official accreditation came a poor second to my BBC Club card in the matter of impressing people and opening doors.It was the time of massive audiences, only three channels and an industry created by a remarkable generation of men and women who must look now at much of what they see and hear on television now must make them cringe.

Walking into the BBC in 1971 was, to my fanciful imagination, like walking into MGM in its heyday. I was soon to discover that then, unlike now, the BBC did not pay Hollywood rates.

Bill Cotton had seen the Jack Paar show in America and liked what he saw. Before Paar the late night slot had accommodated a range of variety shows. He refined it into the talk show as we know it today. He was a volatile talent who once walked off halfway through a show because of a dispute with NBC. He told his audience “There must be a better way of earning a living than this”. Three weeks later he returned with the line: “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted”. Cotton liked his interviewing style and commissioned a series of shows to find an equivalent in Britain.

At the same time Richard Drewett, a young producer on BBC2’s Late Night Line Up, had seen the Dick Cavett Show in America and admired the way the host mixed current affairs and light entertainment interviews.He badgered Bill Cotton with his idea for a similar kind of late night talk show. There was a vacancy. Simon Dee had disappeared; Derek Nimmo wasn’t going great business. Bill took the idea to Paul Fox suggesting I was the man to fill the gap.Paul told him I was an idle fellow.Nonetheless he thought it worth a punt providing they found the right producer. Bill teamed me with Richard Drewett and we were given eleven shows in the graveyard slot of summer broadcasting to show what we could do.

I felt comfortable with Richard from the first moment we met. He was tall and thin with blue eyes and a droll take on life.We had much in common, we loved red nosed comics, the Goons and Woody Allen, movies, sport and music.Richard played trumpet and piano and shared my love of Sinatra, the Great American Songbook and jazz.

When we met, even before we discussed editorial policy, we indulged our love of music by commissioning a signature tune.Richard wanted a Big Band in the studio and asked the musical director, Ken Jones, to provide it and write a signature tune.Ken said working Saturdays would interfere with watching West Ham United play so turned it down.I wanted Laurie Holloway as musical director. He was a neighbour and I greatly admired his wife, the singer Marion Montgomery.Sadly Laurie had been offered a job working in America as Englebert Humperdinck’s MD. We couldn’t compete with the money on offer, never mind the Vegas lifestyle.
Then Ken Jones recommended Harry Stoneham and when we met liked what we saw. We asked Harry to write something upbeat and jazzy, a tune which would sound good played by a big band.We sat in a basement at the BBC and Harry doodled on the piano. Too slow, we said. He changed the tempo. After about an hour we agreed on the theme and Harry – although we didn’t know it at the time – had a nice little earner.

I said I wanted to walk on to the set down a staircase which lit up individually with every step I took, like Georges Guetary in An American in Paris. What kind of chairs? What colour for the set? How many guests? Do I do a piece to camera at the top of the show like Johnny Carson?

All this was chewed over before any general discussion about the show’s editorial content because, frankly, Richard and I didn’t want any debate about the kind of guests we should book. Between us we had made up our minds that we could blend serious interviews with showbiz; that we would seek unusual combinations and, moreover, keep the guests on throughout the programme so that the interview might become a conversation. We decided that the music should encompass everything from jazz to classics and much in between except the pap designed specifically for the hit parade. When I tell you the year we went to air the big hits included ‘Grandpa’ by Clive Dunn, and ‘Chirpy, chirpy, cheep, cheep’, you will see we were not being elitist or even particularly finicky.

We excluded others from our discussion because from the very beginning Richard had misgivings about the show coming under the aegis of light entertainment. He suspected, correctly as it turned out, that enthusiasm for our idea of a new kind of talk show might quickly disappear at the thought of Pierre Salinger, President John Kennedy’s former spin doctor, sitting next to the glamorous and sexy film star Shelley Winters, which was likely to be our second show.

We had a second show but not an opener. The problem booking a high profile talk show is that until it becomes high profile potential guests are reluctant to appear. We needed a big showbiz name for the opener. Richard’s parents had a place in Ibiza next door to Terry-Thomas. Thomas was the gap toothed comedian and actor whose ultra posh, upper class accent had brought him great renown. As a favour for the friend and neighbour Terry-Thomas said yes. It was Wimbledon week and the most intriguing of all the tennis stars at the time was Arthur Ashe, the first male black tennis pro to win at Wimbledon. Seeking a possible headline we booked Ray Bellisario who was one of the first paparazzi. He specialised in snatching pictures of the Royal Family and, in those innocent times, the nation was divided between those who would have him flogged and those who would prefer to see his head on a pike on Tower Bridge.

In the hope of creating a row in the studio we arranged to have the leader of the League of Empire Loyalists in the audience. With this motley crew, we set sail.