Stories I Only Tell My Friends: An Autobiography by Rob Lowe Page A

for my daily on-set schooling. I’m studying my tenth-grade French when a production assistant stops by with my very first fan letter.
    “Here ya go, Rob. Got a bunch more up at the offices.”
    I don’t know what to say, it’s all new. Someone has written a fan letter to me .
    “Oh, and one more thing … from now on, no one under the age of eighteen will be allowed in the studio audience,” he says mildly as he heads out.
    I don’t know whether to be upset or even whom to be upset with. I do know that this new edict marks the end of my ear-splitting receptions. I turn my attention to my fan letter. I open it carefully, excited to read it.
Dear Mr. Rob Lowe:
I enjoyed you very much on the TV show The New Kind of Family. You are a great actor. Can you please send me an autographed photo of yourself? If possible in a bathing suit or in your underwear.
Sincerely,
Michael LeBron
#4142214 Pelican Bay Prison
    In our second week, our ratings are even worse. (Although today any network would absolutely kill to have our numbers. In 1979, if fourteen million people watched you, you were at death’s door. Today, a huge smash like Two and a Half Men averages about that.) Our executive producers are two smart and energetic women, both of whom are married to powerful husbands who run movie studios. This is their first big producing job, and they go on the offensive to boost our ratings, orchestrating a press barrage, personal appearances, and a trip to New York to compete against actors on other ABC shows on The $10,000 Pyramid . (That’s right, The $10,000 Pyramid —can you imagine that amount of prize money today? You’ve made it all the way to the final rounds and you’ve won almost enough to buy a used car!)
    The network doesn’t want to be known as a home for idiot actors, so they gather their young stars for a “game show” audition, to pick out who goes to New York. I religiously watch Pyramid and am no slouch at charades, trivia, or similes (thanks, Mom), so I’m chosen to go to New York.
    On the big day, I draw a cute twenty-something actress from Eight Is Enough as my partner. We will play Tony Danza, a young ex-boxer who is a huge hit on the smash comedy Taxi , and a sultry brunette, about my age, from ABC’s other big new comedy hope, Out of the Blue , starring some young comedian the network thinks will be the next Robin Williams. (He won’t be.)
    I love Dick Clark, the host of Pyramid and already a TV legend—and I will continue to. But the man is absolutely mangling my introduction.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ron Loeb!”
    I stop. He stops. I go back to enter again.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, Rob Lone!”
    This goes on for a good ten minutes until finally the game begins. The woman from Eight Is Enough reads me the clues.
    “Okay, um, okay … it’s … it’s … something the astronauts…”
    “TANG!” I shriek.
    Ding! Yessss. I don’t know what’s gotten into me; I’m in the kill zone and I can’t miss.
    “Okay … okay … um … um … It’s a … It’s a … um … they’re really old. They are really old … um…”
    “THE PYRAMIDS!” I yell. Come on, girlfriend, we’ve got ten grand to win.
    Ding!
    We easily beat Danza and his little minx partner in straight rounds. At the final round in the Winner’s Circle, I figure we have to cut our times down. I’m treating this celebrity charity show like it’s Wimbledon.
    “Let me give the clues.”
    “You sure?” says Eight Is Enough.
    “Yes.”
    Dick Clark has my name right now. “Rob, for ten thousand dollars, here is your first clue … GO!”
    It appears in the screen in front of me.
    “Founding Father. Flew kite.”
    “Benjamin Franklin!”
    Ding!
    “Cordoba.”
    “Ricardo Montalbán!”
    Ding!
    And so it goes. We win with ten seconds to spare.
    I donate my winnings to the Cleveland Amory Fund for Animals and the Wilderness Society. As we all squeeze together for the “good-bye shot,” Tony