Now in his mid-fifties, De Cordova’s personal friends included Ronald Reagan, James Mason, Walter Annenberg (founder of TV Guide ), the Shuberts of Broadway, George Burns, and Bob Hope. His closest pal was Jack Benny, whose Emmy award–winning television show he produced and directed.
I had never seen or heard anybody like him. I immediately fell under his spell, enamored by his sophistication and charm. Woe to anybody, cast or crew, who messed up, for they became immediate fodder for a De Cordova put-down. Defending yourself was useless; his sharp tongue could cut a challenger’s ego to pieces in seconds. Even MacMurray seemed intimidated and was not spared from his acerbic quips.
I’m not sure what De Cordova saw in me, but we bonded fast. Perhaps I was a surrogate son he never had. Whatever the case, De Cordova became my best new pal and role model.
The instant I finished my studio schooling for the day, I’d make a beeline to wherever he was. We’d talk about sports, movies, or headlines, and I’d try to make him laugh with my own sarcastic quips, imitating the master. After the day’s work was done, we’d hop onto his flaming-red golf cart, dubbed Mr. D’s Dragon, and race up to his office. He’d make himself a vodka martini, I’d grab a Coke, and we’d head for a screening room to view the dailies. Half the time we’d make jokes about the other actors, laughing at their quirks that were so naked and exposed in the rough uncut footage. After the dailies, he’d chauffeur me home in his Cadillac, the only brand he’d drive. Then he’d race away to spend the rest of the evening at some elegant soiree up where a Kennedy or a Rockefeller was being feted. It was just another average day in the life of Frederick Timmins De Cordova.
One day De Cordova invited me to go with him to a Dodgers game. Naturally, he knew the team’s owner, Peter O’Malley, and had the best seats. Game day arrived, and I was hoping to leave early for the park to watch batting practice. Fred told me to relax, that we had to wait for a friend of his who would be going with us. The doorbell rang, and Fred ordered me to get it.
I did my best De Cordova imitation and huffed, “What do I look like, a servant?” The doorbell rang again, and Fred insisted that I open the door.
This time I obeyed. I opened the door, and Jack Benny was standing there. “Well, you’re a bit young to be a butler, aren’t you?” he said.
I shot back, “And you’re a bit old to be selling Avon.” Ba-da-boom! As I had hoped, both men laughed, especially De Cordova, and that was all that ever mattered.
Driving to the ballpark, I soaked in the conversation between these two funny men. One particularly funny moment came when Benny started to describe an encounter with the son of Vin Scully, the Dodgers announcer.
Benny said, “Fred, I can’t tell you how much Vinnie’s kid looks just like his old man. I swear, if I were lost in a snow storm in Alaska, and I came upon an igloo, and inside that igloo I saw a family of Eskimos sitting around a fire, eating whale blubber, and in their midst I saw this redheaded kid, I would say ‘ That’s Vin Scully’s son! ’” Benny’s timing was impeccable.
Once we got to the exclusive Club Level of the stadium, De Cordova, Benny, and I were escorted to Peter O’Malley’s private box. I was in Dodgers heaven, gorging on free Dodgers dogs, ice cream, Cokes, and hanging out with two of the funniest men on the planet while watching my favorite baseball team from the best seats in the house.
After the game, De Cordova drove the three of us in his Caddie to the eastern end of the Sunset Strip and the old Cock and Bull Restaurant. We finished the day with massive steak dinners and drinks, martinis for the men and a tall Roy Rogers for me. It was another typical day in the life of De Cordova, and a pretty amazing one for me.
A few feature films were coming on to the CBS studio lot to film and, naturally, De
I had never seen or heard anybody like him. I immediately fell under his spell, enamored by his sophistication and charm. Woe to anybody, cast or crew, who messed up, for they became immediate fodder for a De Cordova put-down. Defending yourself was useless; his sharp tongue could cut a challenger’s ego to pieces in seconds. Even MacMurray seemed intimidated and was not spared from his acerbic quips.
I’m not sure what De Cordova saw in me, but we bonded fast. Perhaps I was a surrogate son he never had. Whatever the case, De Cordova became my best new pal and role model.
The instant I finished my studio schooling for the day, I’d make a beeline to wherever he was. We’d talk about sports, movies, or headlines, and I’d try to make him laugh with my own sarcastic quips, imitating the master. After the day’s work was done, we’d hop onto his flaming-red golf cart, dubbed Mr. D’s Dragon, and race up to his office. He’d make himself a vodka martini, I’d grab a Coke, and we’d head for a screening room to view the dailies. Half the time we’d make jokes about the other actors, laughing at their quirks that were so naked and exposed in the rough uncut footage. After the dailies, he’d chauffeur me home in his Cadillac, the only brand he’d drive. Then he’d race away to spend the rest of the evening at some elegant soiree up where a Kennedy or a Rockefeller was being feted. It was just another average day in the life of Frederick Timmins De Cordova.
One day De Cordova invited me to go with him to a Dodgers game. Naturally, he knew the team’s owner, Peter O’Malley, and had the best seats. Game day arrived, and I was hoping to leave early for the park to watch batting practice. Fred told me to relax, that we had to wait for a friend of his who would be going with us. The doorbell rang, and Fred ordered me to get it.
I did my best De Cordova imitation and huffed, “What do I look like, a servant?” The doorbell rang again, and Fred insisted that I open the door.
This time I obeyed. I opened the door, and Jack Benny was standing there. “Well, you’re a bit young to be a butler, aren’t you?” he said.
I shot back, “And you’re a bit old to be selling Avon.” Ba-da-boom! As I had hoped, both men laughed, especially De Cordova, and that was all that ever mattered.
Driving to the ballpark, I soaked in the conversation between these two funny men. One particularly funny moment came when Benny started to describe an encounter with the son of Vin Scully, the Dodgers announcer.
Benny said, “Fred, I can’t tell you how much Vinnie’s kid looks just like his old man. I swear, if I were lost in a snow storm in Alaska, and I came upon an igloo, and inside that igloo I saw a family of Eskimos sitting around a fire, eating whale blubber, and in their midst I saw this redheaded kid, I would say ‘ That’s Vin Scully’s son! ’” Benny’s timing was impeccable.
Once we got to the exclusive Club Level of the stadium, De Cordova, Benny, and I were escorted to Peter O’Malley’s private box. I was in Dodgers heaven, gorging on free Dodgers dogs, ice cream, Cokes, and hanging out with two of the funniest men on the planet while watching my favorite baseball team from the best seats in the house.
After the game, De Cordova drove the three of us in his Caddie to the eastern end of the Sunset Strip and the old Cock and Bull Restaurant. We finished the day with massive steak dinners and drinks, martinis for the men and a tall Roy Rogers for me. It was another typical day in the life of De Cordova, and a pretty amazing one for me.
A few feature films were coming on to the CBS studio lot to film and, naturally, De
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