The Mailroom: Hollywood History from the Bottom Up by David Rensin Page A
Authors: David Rensin
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Morris is much better than MCA.”
“Just trying to get a job,” I said.
“Fuck that. You still living in Pasadena? What’s your number? I’ll call you.”
It was an early lesson: Politics were involved in even the social aspects of show business.
RON MARDIGIAN: I went to Stanford in anticipation of going into medicine. Then the theater and the movies turned my head. I never performed, but I loved the production, the creation, the history. I transferred to UCLA, graduated in 1958, and went looking for a job. I was twenty-four, married, had one child. I lived in Glendale, in an apartment. Unfortunately, that was a depressed year for the entertainment industry. They just weren’t hiring. But a friend who worked for Paul Henning, who created The Beverly Hillbillies, said, “You look like an agent.” Whatever that meant. Maybe it was the dark suit I wore to interviews. He said, “Let me introduce you to someone.”
ROWLAND PERKINS: I went to Beverly Hills High and was always interested in the entertainment business. I thought I wanted to be a producer, movies primarily. After college and the navy reserve I figured I’d give myself two years to get established. If not, I’d practice law.
My girlfriend’s best friend was going with William Bowers, a successful writer who’d won an Oscar. We became good friends, and I told him my plan. He said, “Look, you can always be a producer, but I think you’d be a good agent. And more important, it’s the best way to learn about the business.” I ended up with an appointment at MCA.
That evening I had a dinner with a friend and his aunt, Loretta Young. I told her what I was doing, and she said, “Did you talk to my agent at William Morris?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re gonna talk to him.” She picked up the phone right then and called Norman Brokaw at his house.
Both William Morris and MCA offered me jobs. I decided I’d be better off at the Morris office because I’d more easily fit into that culture. MCA was much more competitive by design. They pitted people against one another to see who’d survive. William Morris was supposedly more familial, and I wouldn’t have to spend all my time watching my back.
JOE WIZAN: I am the only son in a Jewish family. My dad had a couple of retail furniture stores in East Los Angeles. He wanted me to take over the business. I hated it; I got such migraine headaches that I thought I had a brain tumor.
I graduated from UCLA in 1956 and went into the National Guard. There I met a young guy named Vic Friedman, who was in the mailroom at the William Morris Agency. Vic got me an interview. I never expected to be hired, because I didn’t know anybody, but it looked good until they asked me if I was married. When I said yes, they said they couldn’t hire me because they paid only forty-five dollars a week.
“Money is insignificant,” I said. “I have my own.” I wasn’t bullshit-ting. I had accumulated a vast sum playing poker in college. I mean a vast sum, especially for 1952. I didn’t have to work.
I bought a light gray sharkskin suit, a nice white shirt, and a black tie for my first day. Then I walked up the steps to 151 El Camino and became a different person: amazingly focused and very straight. No one there knew my poker-playing background. No one knew I loved practical jokes. This was work. This was it.
CULTURAL AND OTHER IMPERATIVES
MARDIGIAN: William Morris was very Jewish. I’m not, so I had to learn all the Yiddish stuff and become sort of baptized in that world. I’m joking about that, of course . . . but it was not unimportant to get the culture.
DEBLASIO: One guy said, “Aren’t you a little intimidated? You’re a gentile.” I said, “Why? I’ve been around Jewish people, I understand them, they understand me.” There was no intimidation of that sort whatsoever.
MARDIGIAN: The office was primarily men and primarily short. The story was that there was a rack of suits—thirty-six
“Just trying to get a job,” I said.
“Fuck that. You still living in Pasadena? What’s your number? I’ll call you.”
It was an early lesson: Politics were involved in even the social aspects of show business.
RON MARDIGIAN: I went to Stanford in anticipation of going into medicine. Then the theater and the movies turned my head. I never performed, but I loved the production, the creation, the history. I transferred to UCLA, graduated in 1958, and went looking for a job. I was twenty-four, married, had one child. I lived in Glendale, in an apartment. Unfortunately, that was a depressed year for the entertainment industry. They just weren’t hiring. But a friend who worked for Paul Henning, who created The Beverly Hillbillies, said, “You look like an agent.” Whatever that meant. Maybe it was the dark suit I wore to interviews. He said, “Let me introduce you to someone.”
ROWLAND PERKINS: I went to Beverly Hills High and was always interested in the entertainment business. I thought I wanted to be a producer, movies primarily. After college and the navy reserve I figured I’d give myself two years to get established. If not, I’d practice law.
My girlfriend’s best friend was going with William Bowers, a successful writer who’d won an Oscar. We became good friends, and I told him my plan. He said, “Look, you can always be a producer, but I think you’d be a good agent. And more important, it’s the best way to learn about the business.” I ended up with an appointment at MCA.
That evening I had a dinner with a friend and his aunt, Loretta Young. I told her what I was doing, and she said, “Did you talk to my agent at William Morris?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re gonna talk to him.” She picked up the phone right then and called Norman Brokaw at his house.
Both William Morris and MCA offered me jobs. I decided I’d be better off at the Morris office because I’d more easily fit into that culture. MCA was much more competitive by design. They pitted people against one another to see who’d survive. William Morris was supposedly more familial, and I wouldn’t have to spend all my time watching my back.
JOE WIZAN: I am the only son in a Jewish family. My dad had a couple of retail furniture stores in East Los Angeles. He wanted me to take over the business. I hated it; I got such migraine headaches that I thought I had a brain tumor.
I graduated from UCLA in 1956 and went into the National Guard. There I met a young guy named Vic Friedman, who was in the mailroom at the William Morris Agency. Vic got me an interview. I never expected to be hired, because I didn’t know anybody, but it looked good until they asked me if I was married. When I said yes, they said they couldn’t hire me because they paid only forty-five dollars a week.
“Money is insignificant,” I said. “I have my own.” I wasn’t bullshit-ting. I had accumulated a vast sum playing poker in college. I mean a vast sum, especially for 1952. I didn’t have to work.
I bought a light gray sharkskin suit, a nice white shirt, and a black tie for my first day. Then I walked up the steps to 151 El Camino and became a different person: amazingly focused and very straight. No one there knew my poker-playing background. No one knew I loved practical jokes. This was work. This was it.
CULTURAL AND OTHER IMPERATIVES
MARDIGIAN: William Morris was very Jewish. I’m not, so I had to learn all the Yiddish stuff and become sort of baptized in that world. I’m joking about that, of course . . . but it was not unimportant to get the culture.
DEBLASIO: One guy said, “Aren’t you a little intimidated? You’re a gentile.” I said, “Why? I’ve been around Jewish people, I understand them, they understand me.” There was no intimidation of that sort whatsoever.
MARDIGIAN: The office was primarily men and primarily short. The story was that there was a rack of suits—thirty-six
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