Maybe We'll Have You Back: The Life of a Perennial TV Guest Star by Fred Stoller, Ray Romano
Authors: Fred Stoller, Ray Romano
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even came to see my act at a little comedy club in West L.A.
But by August 1993, six months had passed, and I hadn’t found work. I had read an article about how Murphy Brown was bringing in Scott Bakula and some other new characters that season. So I took a shot. I wrote them a letter asking for a meeting because I had an idea for how I, too, could be a new regular character on their show.
At the pay phone one day on Victory and Van Nuys, I beeped in for my messages for the umpteenth time and was surprised to hear that Steve Peterman had responded to my letter. My favorite pastime is beeping in for my answering machine messages. It’s amazing how happy it makes me when the machine picks up after just two rings, indicating that there is a message. In the three seconds it takes the machine to rewind and play it back, my fantasy goes everywhere. Maybe this message could be something big that changes my life. Anything is possible. Perhaps it’s some job offering. Maybe someone always had me in mind and now has the power to make a movie and wants me in it.
Or maybe it’s love. Maybe some woman from the past is available and confesses she always liked me and now she can’t contain it any longer.
Or if not something big like that, maybe there’s an audition.
Or maybe the message is good feedback. Maybe someone has news that someone likes me and, not now, but at some future point this can lead to something good.
Some days I’ll beep in practically every ten minutes, even though most of the time even if there’s news, it isn’t that pressing. I try hard to wait. The longest I can hold out is a half an hour.
That day, Peterman’s message was: “We got your letter and we usually don’t take outside suggestions from actors about how they could be on our show, but we, being former actors ourselves, have an understanding, so why don’t you just come by during lunch and say ‘hi’.”
I was torn between thinking I had made some headway, or that the guy just felt sorry for me and was being polite. Now that I think back on this, it’s kind of amazing that he responded so kindly. Many producers would likely be offended by some outsider giving them self-serving input. The last thing they want to hear is someone like me telling them, “I know you guys are coming up with story arcs for your season, but I’ve got a way to go you haven’t thought of, better than what you’re all coming up with here.”
I took him up on the offer of stopping by and I paced outside their office until an assistant came out and told me they were done with their important meeting. I thanked them for letting me drop by and sat down hoping I could blow them away with my idea. I told them that my idea was that I’m this guy that always comes by the office, because I have a crush on Corky (Faith Ford). Each episode I come by with a new personality trying to impress her. Maybe one week I’d be my pathetic version of a cool brooding actor, and one week I’d think I was a tough-as-nails Jeff Bridges type.
When I finished, there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. They just sat there, looking at me like I was a crazy person on a bus, who had just screamed gibberish at them.
I tried to recover. “I’d do funny things thinking I’m impressing her.”
That was followed by more uncomfortable silence. My pitch was too vague. I suppose I was hoping that they’d see something in my idea and riff off of it and come up with their own ways I could be on the show.
In essence, I was saying to them, “Please just make me a regular! That’s my idea. Find some way to squeeze me in. I’ll only take a few seconds of each episode. Come on, you know I’m funny! Me in your show is the idea!”
I tried one last time to save face. “Or maybe once in a while I could pop up, not every episode, just once in a while. You know, I’m like having a crush on her.”
One of them shrugged his shoulders. To be nice, and they both were, he might have
But by August 1993, six months had passed, and I hadn’t found work. I had read an article about how Murphy Brown was bringing in Scott Bakula and some other new characters that season. So I took a shot. I wrote them a letter asking for a meeting because I had an idea for how I, too, could be a new regular character on their show.
At the pay phone one day on Victory and Van Nuys, I beeped in for my messages for the umpteenth time and was surprised to hear that Steve Peterman had responded to my letter. My favorite pastime is beeping in for my answering machine messages. It’s amazing how happy it makes me when the machine picks up after just two rings, indicating that there is a message. In the three seconds it takes the machine to rewind and play it back, my fantasy goes everywhere. Maybe this message could be something big that changes my life. Anything is possible. Perhaps it’s some job offering. Maybe someone always had me in mind and now has the power to make a movie and wants me in it.
Or maybe it’s love. Maybe some woman from the past is available and confesses she always liked me and now she can’t contain it any longer.
Or if not something big like that, maybe there’s an audition.
Or maybe the message is good feedback. Maybe someone has news that someone likes me and, not now, but at some future point this can lead to something good.
Some days I’ll beep in practically every ten minutes, even though most of the time even if there’s news, it isn’t that pressing. I try hard to wait. The longest I can hold out is a half an hour.
That day, Peterman’s message was: “We got your letter and we usually don’t take outside suggestions from actors about how they could be on our show, but we, being former actors ourselves, have an understanding, so why don’t you just come by during lunch and say ‘hi’.”
I was torn between thinking I had made some headway, or that the guy just felt sorry for me and was being polite. Now that I think back on this, it’s kind of amazing that he responded so kindly. Many producers would likely be offended by some outsider giving them self-serving input. The last thing they want to hear is someone like me telling them, “I know you guys are coming up with story arcs for your season, but I’ve got a way to go you haven’t thought of, better than what you’re all coming up with here.”
I took him up on the offer of stopping by and I paced outside their office until an assistant came out and told me they were done with their important meeting. I thanked them for letting me drop by and sat down hoping I could blow them away with my idea. I told them that my idea was that I’m this guy that always comes by the office, because I have a crush on Corky (Faith Ford). Each episode I come by with a new personality trying to impress her. Maybe one week I’d be my pathetic version of a cool brooding actor, and one week I’d think I was a tough-as-nails Jeff Bridges type.
When I finished, there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. They just sat there, looking at me like I was a crazy person on a bus, who had just screamed gibberish at them.
I tried to recover. “I’d do funny things thinking I’m impressing her.”
That was followed by more uncomfortable silence. My pitch was too vague. I suppose I was hoping that they’d see something in my idea and riff off of it and come up with their own ways I could be on the show.
In essence, I was saying to them, “Please just make me a regular! That’s my idea. Find some way to squeeze me in. I’ll only take a few seconds of each episode. Come on, you know I’m funny! Me in your show is the idea!”
I tried one last time to save face. “Or maybe once in a while I could pop up, not every episode, just once in a while. You know, I’m like having a crush on her.”
One of them shrugged his shoulders. To be nice, and they both were, he might have
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