The Mailroom: Hollywood History from the Bottom Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

of television. Milton Berle and the Colgate Comedy Hour . The only players were William Morris and what was then MCA. I thought it was an interesting opportunity.
    I came in cold. Sid Feinberg interviewed me. I was eighteen; I already had my college degree and was starting law school. I gave it up for a job in the mailroom.
    LEONARD HIRSHAN: I could say I loved movies and went all the time when I was ten years old, and knew about directors and scripts, and loved the actors, and said to my father that one day I would grow up and be an agent—but that’s not true. No one tells their parents they want to grow up to be an agent. Until I applied for a job at William Morris, I hadn’t the slightest idea of what the agency business was, or any desire to be in show business. The fates pushed me there.
    I got out of the navy in December 1947 and applied to NYU. I’m a very compulsive person, so I went to school all year long and graduated in about half the normal time, in August 1950, on a Friday. Having been accepted at NYU law school, I started the next Monday, but after a few months I burned out. I decided to take a leave of absence after the first semester, get a job for a while, and then go back.
    I asked my uncle, who had booked shows at the Temple Emmanuel, what kind of temporary situations I could find. He lived in the same building as Nat Kalcheim, an important agent at the Morris office, who told him to have me call Sid Feinberg.

     
RULE # 1
     
    WEISS: We called the boss Mr. Lastfogel, never Abe. Years later I was sitting with him and Elvis’s manager, Colonel Parker, at Hillcrest Country Club in Los Angeles, and Colonel Parker said, “Abe, why don’t you let Lou call you Abe?”
    Mr. Lastfogel said, “He can call me Abe.”
    I said, “I don’t call my father Sam. I’m not going to call you Abe.”
    It was automatic with all of us.
    HIRSHAN: There was a Nedicks stand in the lobby of our building, 1270 Sixth Avenue, where they sold hot dogs and orange drinks. Whenever I walked by, I’d want something to eat and drink, but I wouldn’t do it because I didn’t want anyone from the office to think that’s where I got my food—until the day I saw Mr. Lastfogel standing there with a hot dog and drink. That’s when I realized the democracy of William Morris and dropped all my airs.
    WEISS: Mrs. Lastfogel—Frances Arms—was a comic and a performer, and it was rare that she’d ever come up to the office. But one day she did and said, “Get Lou Weiss out of the stockroom.” I couldn’t imagine what she wanted. To my surprise she said, “Lou, let me see the new dance steps.” We put on a record and I danced with the boss’s wife. I couldn’t say no. Even after I became an agent, whenever she and the boss were in town, she’d say, “Lou, hang around.”

     
KIDS AT WORK
     
    WEISS: First I was a delivery person. If an actor had to sign a contract, you got on a bus, went to the actor’s house. I once waited for Mae West to sign a piece of paper. That was exciting.
    HIRSHAN: I was told to deliver a script to Judy Garland at the Palace Theater. It was a matinee day. I brought it over between shows. I went down to the dumpy-looking dressing rooms, looked in one, and saw a little girl in a ratty bathrobe sitting on the floor watching television. I said, “Excuse me, young lady. Do you know where I can find Judy Garland?” She turned around and said, “I am Judy Garland.” It was so embarrassing.
    AUERBACH: I delivered to Marilyn Monroe. She had just started, but I knew who she was. Her guy at William Morris was Johnny Hyde, a terrific agent, and there was some romance going on between them. I also took something to Gloria De Haven. She opened the door in her underwear. I was too young to know if I was getting an invitation to come inside, and if I was, I didn’t know what to do about it. The only thing I remember is that her underwear was pink. Later I decided that I had really blown it!
    WEISS: Belle