The Andy Beckett Show

Andy Beckett was once the King of the Late Night with the top-rated variety shows of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Some of the best talent walked onto his show over the ten years he had on air. Many people could still recall some of the memorable moments he had in front of a live audience that included a young senator from Massachusetts who was running for president and a foul mouth comedian named Lenny Bruce. In his final season, he had a young kid from Seattle who would play at Woodstock before he passed away at age twenty-seven.

One thing most people don’t recall was Lance Conway. He was the second banana for those ten years. I remember him, because I am Lance Conway. My memory of Andy Beckett, however, is probably not as glowing as yours. I had a good reason for that. Andy Beckett was a jerk who never once appreciated my contribution to his success. My greatest regret is that Andy died of cancer before I could tell him how I really felt about him. I, on the other hand, have been blessed with a long life to ponder missed opportunities and a career filled with failure. The problem is I remember it all so well. So well…

“Uhm, Lance. Gromway.” Alan Beulwick looked at his clipboard.

“It’s Conway, sir.” I corrected him.

“Alright Conway.” He smacked the clipboard with the back of his hand.

“That’s me.” I stood up.

“Yeah, no kidding.” He snatched the cigar out of his mouth. “This way Mr. Conway.”

“Alright.” I walked into the office behind him.

“We are casting for the Andy Hackett Variety Hour.” He sat at the desk replacing his cigar. The room smelled of fragrant burnt tobacco. “I’m Alan Beulwick, the producer.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Beulwick.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he just looked at it as if it was diseased ridden. I pulled my hand back and sat in the empty chair in front of his desk. On the wall behind him there were pictures of some celebrities like Groucho Marx, Eddie Cantor, Bob Hope, Lucielle Ball and Milton Buerle. “As you know Andy Beckett is going to be a television star and he needs a second banana to fill in some of the gaps.”

“Gaps?” I echoed.

“Yeah, gaps.” He nodded like one of those mechanical monkeys at the funhouse. “While we move one act to get set for the next act, there will be gaps. We need to fill those in with some gags.”

“I see.” I swallowed hard. My agent Stu Stillman told me that this would be a big breakthrough for me. I began to feel that Stu oversold this big break. Second Banana was just another way of saying the elevator stops on the ground floor, good luck in show business.

“Here’s the contract, kid, if you’re interested.” He put the clipboard in front of me.

I read it over. It was not what I was hoping it would be. The money was minimum, and I would be willing to do whatever the director asked me to do, no matter how demeaning it was.

“Wha’s the matter?” He sneered. “It’s not what you’d thought it would be?”

“As a matter of fact-“ He cut me off.

“Kid, I go out there in the waiting room and yell Lance Conway, nobody’s gonna look up, but if I yell, “Andy Beckett” everybody will look up hoping to catch a glimpse of him. You’re a nobody, kid, but if you sign that contract, you could be famous in a couple of years.”

“I suppose.” I read the contract over again. What if this became a hit that I turned down? I signed the contract and handed it to him.

“Wise choice, kid.” He grinned with his cigar shoved in the side of his face.

My first year on the Andy Beckett Variety Show was eye opening. I was given an old car horn and a kazoo. For anyone who does not know what a kazoo is should listen to Spike Jones.The horn would sound when I did something that was lame-brained, and the kazoo signaled my pants were around my ankles leaving me standing there in my boxer shorts. I was always the fool in these clever skits and I tried not to let it get to me, but one day I walked into a delicatessen.

“Hey Herb, he’s that guy on the Andy Beckett Show. You know the one who can’t keep his pants on.” One of the heavy-set guys behind the counter called out to his buddy at the meat slicer. It took all of my courage not to walk out, but my hunger won out as I got a ham and Swiss on rye.

As the clerk rung me up for my sandwich, he chuckled, “You are one funny guy, ya know that?”

“So, I’ve been told.” I sighed.

“The kazoo sounds, and London Bridge is falling down.” He laughed so hard his belly shook like a bowlful of Jello.

After eating that tasty sandwich, I knocked on Paul Frazier’s door. He was the director of the show. I needed to tell him how I was feeling about the routine.

“Hey there Gus.” He waved me in.

“It’s Lance. Lance Conway.” I corrected him.

“Oh yeah, the pants guy.” He chuckled, “What can I do for you?”

“I am getting tired of the schtick.” I shook my head.

“What? You are one of the funniest guys on television.” He laughed.

“I don’t feel dignified.” I put my hands on my hips.

“Dignified? Are you pullin’ my leg Gonway?” His face was red.

“It’s Conway, sir.”

“Whatever.” He was still grinning. I’m sure he was hearing the kazoo and what always followed it. He directed this kazoo thing. It was a sure laugh every time. “Lemme tell ya what’s goin’ on here. Every time we get a laugh, our rating go up. Right now we are pushing that Ed Sullivan guy for his rating slot. You are a funny guy.”

“It’s not me who’s funny. It’s my loose pants that are getting all the laughs.”

“So what, Chance?” He shook his head.

“It’s Lance.” I corrected him yet again.

“Yeah, yeah.” He held up his hands. After a full season he did not know my name. “You do your job or we will find another guy to take your place.”

His finger protruded into my fallen chest.

“I’ve directed television shows for almost ten years. As long as there was television. And in that time, I learned ya gotta stick to the formula.”

Upon those words, he dismissed me from his office. I called Stu.

“Hey there Lance.” I heard him giggle which meant he was entertaining good-looking starlet.

“Stu, I need to get out of this gig.” I exhaled.

“Oh, no can do.” He snapped, “You are on a successful television show. People are talking about you. It’s everything you and I talked about. You’ve got it now.”

“No, I don’t Stu.” I closed my eyes. “I am a fool.”

“So? Don Knotts is the fool and The Andy Griffin Show is a big hit.” He explained. “That fella don’t care as long as he is funny.”

I hung up the phone. I had no way of knowing that I would be under contract for almost a decade still letting my drawers drop at the sound of a kazoo. Second banana was becoming this weight I carried with me to the studio each week. No one knows what it’s like to be the brunt of every joke, no matter how poor the joke is. I did manage to get a five percent raise each season, but it just didn’t seem enough to me.

“Hey, just wanted to say, Micky that you are doing a fine job.” Andy said as I passed his dressing room.

“It’s Lance.” I corrected him, “Why can’t anyone remember my name?”

“Hey there Mitch, take it easy.” He held up his hands

I no longer felt the need to correct him. He was the big star on the cover of Look and Time Magazine. I had become lost in the shuffle, and I resented him for his ignorance. I resented Alan and Paul for the same reasons. As long as I played the fool, everything would be hunky-dory.

“Tonight’s show, we are going to do the kazoo thing a few more times.” He smiled as the makeup artist combed his golden locks of hair, applying an ample amount of hair stray to keep every strand of hair in place. His blue eyes sparkled like the deep blue ocean. My eyes were dull gray. No wonder some are chosen to be the star and others are cast aside to fill in the empty spaces.

“Sounds great.” I saluted with two fingers. “You’re the boss.”

“No, no, I ain’t the boss, but Paul wants happen.” He smiled, but his smile offended me for some reason. “We will have several gaps since there are more acts scheduled than last week.”

“So, in each gap, the kazoo sounds, and my pants come down?”

“That’s what I like about Chet, you are a team player. We need you on our side.” He nodded, “Oh, Gwen, easy on the hair grease.”

“Yes sir.” She said it as if she had become an automated machine.

“Team player.” Andy held his thumb up as I passed his dressing room on my way to the closet they had given me to put on my costume.

I had plenty of time before we would air the show. Losing control of my emotions, tears began to roll down my cheeks. I had to be careful that they would not smear my makeup, not that anyone would notice.

“Lock him in the closet.” I heard someone say.

“What?” I sniffed.

“Andy Beckett is an overrated son-of-a-bitch.” A face appeared to pair with the disembodied voice.

“Who are you?” I asked quite shaken that someone had invaded my small dressing room.

“My name is Devicci.” He bowed.

“Devicci?” I shrugged.

“I am an angel from below.” He winked.

“Below?”

“You know, down there.” He pointed to the floor. I stared at him expressionlessly. “So, you wonder why your pants keep falling down.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“The big boss figured you might needs some assistance.” Devicci checked out a photograph of me with my pants down.

“I can take care of things.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head.

“Can you? Can you, really?” His gaze was fixe on me. Oh, those evil eyes. “Seems to me, you pants will be hitting the ground more than ever tonight.”

“So?”

“And you are okay with this?” He laughed, but it sounded more like a blood curdling scream.

“Well…no.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He poked me in the chest with one of his pointy fingers. “When I was on earth, I was the jester for a king. He did not have a great sense of humor.”

“What did you do?”

“I poisoned him. I was working for the Medicis at the time.” He flicked some dirt off the cuff of his sleeve. “Most of that old gang are down there with me, keeping me company just like the old days.”

“Sounds charming.” I shook my head.

“So, what would you do to get rid of that pain in the neck?” He ran his pointy finger along my forehead.

“Which one?”

“Good question.” He nodded, “We could start with good old Alan Beulwick.”

“We could.” I shrugged.

“Just like the good old days. Ground up glass in one of this cups of coffee.” Devicci nodded.

“That sounds pretty awful.”

“Oh, it is. It’s wretched.” Devicci laughed.

There was a knock on the door and a voice, “Places.”

“I’ve got to go.” I stood up and turned the knob on the door. When I glance back at him, he was already gone.

The evening on stage was humiliating. Kazoo and pants so many times, I lost count.The laughter sounded like jeering to me after a while.

When I went back to my room, I was alone, no Devicci. Just as well, I figured why would I take advice from a fallen angel? With my luck, I’d be condemned to Hell where everyone there would blow a kazoo, and you know what that meant.

The next day, I got the news that Alan Beulwick had died in his office, the cup of coffee upended on his desk and was dripping on the floor.

I felt suddenly haunted by Devicci, but he never showed his face for the rest of our ninth season, but at the start of our tenth season, he reappeared.

“I’ve been quite busy.” He scowled, “But now, I’m baaaacccckkk. Miss me?”

“Hell no.” I sighed.

“Hell, yes, thank you.” He laughed his wicked laugh. “Now I’ve been thinking about Paul Frazier. He is a director with no talent whatsoever.”

“How can you say that?” I tried not to smile.

“Oh pla-ease. The man does not know stage right from stage left.” He rolled his eyes. “He was doing theater before he was hired for this show only because Andy and him were friends.”

“Friends?”

“Sure, they were thick as thieves and I know an awful lot about thieves, trust me.”

“I didn’t know that.” I let the thought run through my head.

“I was thinking levitation.” Devicci closed his eyes and the picture on my wall began to rise in the air. Opening his eyes, the picture fell to the floor. The frame and glass were shattered.

“Hey James.” Paul was sitting his director’s chair when he called for me.

“It’s Lance.” I corrected him.

“Whatever.” He shook his head. “On the show tonight, I need you to do a couple of pratfalls after your pants fall down.”

I wanted to tell him to go to Hell, but I remembered who was ghosting me.

When the lights came up and the cameras were rolling, Paul signaled for me to do my pratfall, but instead his director’s chair began to levitate.

“Hey, what the hell?” He cried out as he soared up to the Frenzel lights on the ceiling. Suddenly as if the floor dropped out beneath him, Paul Frazier began a freefall that ended badly. People in the live audience screamed. Medics and police rushed in, but there was nothing they could door for poor Paul Frazier.

On the evening news broadcast, the newscaster reported on the horrible accident that pre-empted out broadcast. Not a single kazoo had sounded.

“How was that?” Devicci was waiting for me in my dressing room.

“Perfectly awful.”

“Ah, thank you very much.” He bowed. “Now what about Andy Beckett?”

“You seem to have all the answers.” I shrugged.

“Andy has always been the narcissist.” Devicci stroke his pointy beard. “What if we embarrassed him to death?”

“You can die from embarrassment?” I asked.

“Assuredly.” Devicci nodded, “Every night you walk out on stage, you pants fall down in front of millions of people in the audience and watching television.”

“I am embarrassed.” I nodded.

“And yet you’re used to it and you don’t die, but Andy Beckett is not made of the same meddle. If his pants fell down he would die on the spot. What say you switch places.” Devicci handed me a kazoo. “Let’s turn the table on Andy Beckett and see what falls down beside his pants.”

“Alright.” I took the kazoo.

We went on-stage right-on time with a new director filling in for the late Paul Frazier. Andy Beckett made the announcement about the horrible accident that befell the director. Then he turned to me and smiled.

I pulled out the kazoo from my pocket and played it. No sooner had I put it to my lips, than Andy Beckett’s pants fell down. The audience gasped. What I did not know is that Andy Beckett did not believe in wearing underwear. He moaned and fell to the stage.

“Somone get a doctor!” Shouted the stage manager. Andy would never be revived. Just as Devicci forecasted, Andy Beckett had indeed died of embarrassment. So unique was his passing that it became part of television lore.

“You are free, Lance.” Devicci patted me on the shoulder as he vanished. It’s been nearly fifty years since I last saw that old devil, but I can’t say I miss him. My days of being the second banana had ended that night and I was grateful for it. But I still get nervous if I happen to hear someone playing the kazoo. Some things never go completely away.