Jack Benny's Temporary, Embarrassed Writer

Many a theatre and concert hall were saved in North America because of fund-raisers featuring that not-quite violin virtuoso, Jack Benny. One of them is the Orpheum Theatre in Vancouver, the "new" Orpheum where he appeared in 1928 (he also played at the "old" Orpheum, torn down decades ago.)

Jack’s efforts to help preserve the 1927 structure prompted a reminiscence by Vancouver Sun columnist Jack Wasserman. He was something that doesn’t exist in Vancouver any more. He was the night-life reporter. The supper clubs with their big-name entertainment are long gone from the city. But there was an era where people in Vancouver didn’t have to go to Vegas to see Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett or Bobby Darin. They could head downtown to the Cave or Isy’s and watch them. A little sign memorialising Wasserman survives the rain at Georgia and Hornby not far from the ghosts of his night haunts.

Here’s his column from April 5, 1974, about six months before Jack died.

THE PATTER OF LITTLE FETES — For more than 20 years I've been brooding about the occasion when Jack Benny embarrassed the dickens out of me in a small cottage on the General Studios lot in Hollywood. His action, in fact, shoved my career in a totally different direction. I've finally stopped blushing but I still occasionally plot revenge. Jack couldn't possibly realize what happened and I've never discussed it until now.
A couple of weeks after this column began on a daily basis, the boss called me in and told me was going to Portland. It was a rainy day in May, and even Portland sounded like a wild trip. It was carefully explained that Jack Benny was bringing a big show to the old Denman Auditorium. In addition to Benny, there would be Gisele MacKenzie (Canada's own!) and The Will Mastin Trio, starring Sammy Davis Jr., who might its well have been Vancouver's own. The instructions were to interview the stars, cover the show, file a story and split.
The plane slopped in Seattle and Jack Benny got on. Les Wedman worked for the rival Province in those days. We introduced ourselves to Benny and his long-time associate, Irving Fein, on the aircraft. When we arrived in Portland, there was a big civic greeting and a police escort into town. Benny insisted that we had to ride with him. I don't know about Les, but it was my first time in an open convertible with a siren-shrieking motorcycle escort.
Because of the flukey meeting aboard the airplane, we wound up being greeted in Portland as part of Jack Benny's group. As I was to learn later, Jack is totally uncomplicated in his personal relationships. Certainly we would be doing some stories that meant publicity for his show. But Jack Benny is a star of the first magnitude. He didn't have to adopt us, but he did. It was Les' misfortune that he had to return to Vancouver late the following day. But I'd recently graduated to the columnist racket. I could go anywhere as long as I managed to get a column back to the news desk before morning.
For the entire week, I was included "in." When Portland big shots and political leaders entertained for Jack, I was automatically invited. It wasn't hard to get copy. Although Sammy Davis was well known in Vancouver from his Beacon-Palomar-Commodore days, he was only then reaching national prominence with a hit record called Hey There. I think he secretly suspected that The Sun had assigned a columnist to cover his triumphant return to the territory. "Wait until we get to Vancouver," he announced all over Portland, "I'm the mayor of that town."
Anyhow, I finally limped back to Vancouver a day ahead of the Benny road company. Then they arrived and it began again. By now, Mary Livingstone had flown up from Hollywood to join Jack because she has relatives in Seattle and Vancouver. Although Jack had a connection with Chrysler and there was a fleet of Imperials waiting to drive him where ever he wished to go, he'd look around and say, "Never mind, Jack will drive us." And he and Mary went everywhere in my beat-up Ford. There were days at the races, and the night at the old Stanley Park Armories when they made Jack an honorary Irish Fusilier.
Jack looked around the rickety old building, since destroyed by fire, and announced, "Imagine. I am now a star of stage, screen, radio AND GARAGES!"
When the group moved on to play a week in Seattle, the phone rang every day and when I picked it up I'd get a solo of Love in Bloom long distance and an invitation to a party. So, on the next weekend, I wound up in Seattle. All of which was pretty heady stuff for a neophyte columnist.
Several weeks after the tour, I received a small package in the mail. It was from Hollywood and it contained a gold money clip, engraved, "From Jack Benny." I wrote back, "I want to thank you for two things; one for remembering me, and two, for assuming that I have money."
Many months passed and I was in L.A. on vacation when I ran into Irving Fein, Jack's close friend and associate. Although I'd been on the entertainment beat for several years I've never made it a practice to look up people I've interviewed who generally conclude with an entreaty to "please phone when you get to Hollywood." But Irving insisted. And once more I was included "in."
Only these were working days. Jack was still doing a weekly radio show and a weekly TV show. I was privileged to watch an entire TV show take shape, from the writing session that started it all, to the final wrap-up. And that's when it all happened, the embarrassment I mentioned earlier. Still a neophyte, I was in a room with one of the world's top funnymen and his four writers, at that time considered to be the absolute tops in the trade.
It was a rare privilege and I was taking it all in as the situations and gags were honed into a hilarious script. Suddenly Jack looked at me and said, "C'mon, you can join in." Then he turned to his writers and announced that I was a very funny fellow, too, and recounted what he considered to be the priceless gag in my thank-you note. Laugh! I thought they'd never start.
I cringed in the corner, wishing the floor would open up. As I mentioned, it reshaped my career. And that's why I leave all the light humor to Allan Fotheringham.
But I've been plotting, Jack. If you happen to see a streaker run behind you during a solo at tonight's Save The Orpheum concert, well . . .