Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1960)

and now one of your best friends won't believe you. What do they think? If I were going to die, I’d die with a bigger audience than this!” he thought to himself. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he jumped up. It was a group of reporters with the publicity man who had called before. “Well, Mr. Lewis,” one reporter greeted him. “How does it feel to be dead?” “I don’t know,” Jerry laughed. “I’m still warm. I can’t tell yet.” “It’s the pulse that counts,” joked another newsman. Jerry, looking serious, removed his sweater, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pressed his fingers on his wrist. He felt again. He couldn’t find his pulse. “Boys,” he said, “this is more serious than any of us thought. I have no pulse.” As he sat there, he could see the press boys eyeing him. They had that same old look of disbelief. “Look, fellas,” he said pleadingly, “after all, did you ever see a corpse like this?” Nobody answered. So, turning to his secretary, Rita Dillon, who just walked in, Jerry asked, “Tell them the truth, Rita.” “It’s true,” she said, talking to the reporters. “I got a call from an excited radio listener around noon. ‘Jerry Lewis is dead,’ she said. For a long time, I didn't know how to break the news to Jerry, but finally I, and a couple of other secretaries, went over to the set where Jerry was doing a scene wtih Anna Maria Alberghetti. We didn’t want to ruin the take so we waited until he’d finished. Then we told him. The first thing he said was, ‘Now girls, don’t you think I’d make a better-looking corpse than this!’ We laughed and had the publicity department take some pictures of him with Anna Maria so we could service them to the wire photo services.” Someone then said, “Let’s pick up the news,” and flicked on a small portable radio to a local station. The news was on. A voice was saying, “Comedian Jerry Lewis died today, here in Hollywood. The comedian was stricken while on the set of ‘Cinderfella,’ the picture he was currently producing and starring in. The actor was ill since Tuesday, when he suffered a collapse on the set while doing a scene requiring him to run at top speed up a long staircase. The studio emergency squad was rushed in and the actor was revived and continued to work, but undoubtedly, the strain was more serious than reported. The actor succumbed today. He was only 33 years old. . . Jerry looked around the room. “Fellas,” Jerry said. “You’ve got yourselves a scoop. The first exclusive interview with a talking corpse.” P 68 Within ten minutes, Jerry gave his interview to KMPC newsman, Chet Casselman, and it was recorded and broadcast over disc jockey Dick Whittinghill’s KMPC program, less than forty-five minutes after the other local radio station aired the erroneous obituary. Tapes were sent all over the country. The interview went like this: “Jerry,” said Chet Casselman, “it’s good to hear your voice . . . and I’d like to have you point out the exaggerated reports of your death to our listeners. . . .” “Thank you, Chet,” Jerry answered. “I just want to say that there is no truth to the reports that I died ... I know I’m alive because I can look at a mirror across the room and see me move . . . and breathe . . . I look bad . . . but not that bad . . .” “Wonderful, Jerry ... I want to get this word out to your millions of fans right away . . . we’re being swamped with calls here at KMPC News. . . “Well, Chet, I want to tell you for sure . . . that I just can’t die right now . . . otherwise I’d have to release ‘Cinderfella’ as a two-reeler ... I know I shouldn't joke about it . . . but the thing that really upsets me is that this is the third time I’ve been dead in the last two months . . . and I’m afraid that when I really go . . . nobody will care . . . !” “You couldn’t be more wrong . . . Take better care of yourself for a while now . . .” “Oh, I feel fine, Chet . . . just a little tired from all this . . “Dying takes a lot out of you,” Jer concluded as he finished the telephone recording, the press interview, the photographs, the telephone calls and the hundreds of wires of condolences. “It’s a good thing it doesn’t happen often.” He should have known something was going to happen, by the way that day had begun. The alarm clock didn’t go off until 4:30— that should have been an omen— then he got up and stubbed his toe and let out a shriek that woke up the baby. And by the time he reached the bathroom, to shower, nine-year-old Ronnie had already locked himself in and was reciting “Gunga Din” under water. He banged on the door. Ronnie didn’t hear him but Gary, fourteen, did. Jerry ’d been avoiding Gary for three days. He was not going to be talked into installing a fourth telephone. Gary was too young for a private telephone. He saw Gary coming down the hall to the other bathroom so to avoid telephone talk, Jerry slipped into the linen closet and sat on the floor, waiting till he passed. Gary must have seen him, though, otherwise why did he, at four o’clock in the morning, come in and sit on the floor of the linen closet, too? Jerry didn’t stop to ask him, but stumbled out, leaving Gary two telephone breaths behind. He was relieved when he got back to his room. There hadn’t been one word about a telephone, and he closed the door with a sigh. “Hi, Pop?” asked a voice from his bed. It was four-year-old Scottie; he was reading a picture magazine. Jerry finally got him out of the room, by reinstating Scottie’s TV privileges. They’d been taken away when he’d ganged up on Chris, two. Scottie’d promised he wouldn’t hit Chris with his mother’s good perfume. Later that morning, Patti called and told him that Scottie insisted this didn’t mean he couldn’t hit Chris at all! Leon Bennett, Jerry’s valet, had breakfast ready in his room, but by the time he sat down to eat, the orange juice was warm. If there was anything he hated it was warm orange juice, so he just picked on his egg and toast and left the house earlier than usual — at 5:15 instead of 5:30. It was still dark out, and the nine-mile ride from the house to the studio calmed his nerves. He enjoyed the drive. Leon was with him. Leon bad been working for him for two-and-a-half years. He had six kids, one more than Jerry. They made small talk. Jerry usually drove and Leon usually rode to work with him. “It’s been about two years — two years and a half — that we’ve been doing this together,” he’d SAVE WITH U. S. SAVINGS BONDS HELP STRENGTHEN AMERICA'S PEACE POWER 33/4% Interest on New U. S. Savings Bonds now in effect and the Bonds you already own are better than ever, too! said to Leon, feeling a little sentimental. Leon nodded and said, “You know, I was thinking the other day. I’ve learned one specific thing since working for you. One has to pass two tests. Namely, bow long can you stay awake and how long can you go without food? After you’ve passed these two, anything else you give the job is a plus.” As he drove along, Jerry couldn’t figure out if that was a compliment or a gripe. When they arrived at the office on the lot, Rita was already there waiting with a hot cup of coffee and three hours of dictation. Things had settled down. At nine, director Frank Tashlin called for the first take. “How should I greet you this morning?” he said with his usual fondness. “Should I pay you the deference due a producer, or should I treat you as the idiot?” “As though you had to ask.” Jerry flipped back. They went into the first scene. Then, around noontime, Rita came with the news. The rest of the day turned into a shambles. What he didn’t know then, but would find out much later, was that the rumors had made Patti’s and the children’s day a shambles, too. His family was hit hard. Particularly Patti . . . She was driving alone, on her way home from the market, when she turned on the car radio. The announcement was just being broadcast: “Jerry Lewis is reported to have died suddenly.” She didn’t know how, but she managed to stop the car without an accident, sitting there, stunned for about five minutes, before driving on to the nearest service station. From there, she called the studio. All the lines were tied up with calls. Jerry, in the meantime, was still trying to reach her — unsuccessfully— at home. By the time they got connected, Patti was hysterical. “What about the kids? Have they heard?” he asked her. She left the station and drove home, arriving just in time to get a call from Gary who was at school. “I’m calling from the principal’s office, Mom,” he explained. “When I was on the playground, I heard that Dad was dead. Is it true?” Patti quieted his fears. Ronnie didn’t say anything, but that night, when Jer came home from work, he kept following him around the house and clung to him without explaining why. Patti, who cooks most of their meals, had made him his special dish — Italian-style chicken. Gary didn’t say a word about the telephone and Scottie, without being told, gave up his TV privileges and agreed that under no circumstances would he hit Chris again. “It was almost worth it all,” Jer kidded. The house was quiet; the dinner, serene. The kids even went to bed without being told. “I must have made heaven, Patti,” he said. When only he and Patti were left at the dinner table, he said, thinking of the thousands of wires and phone calls, “It’s a wonderful feeling to know that there are so many people who are concerned about us.” Then, almost an afterthought, he added: “But you know what? Now, when I do die, do you think anybody’ll believe it?” Patti just smiled, and blew out the candles on her side of the table. “Wow, what a day,” he said and blew out the candles nearest bim. “Do you mind if I turn in early?” he asked, slumping down into his chair for a few seconds. “I’m dead.” “Jerry Lewis!” Patti screamed across the length of the table. Jerry jumped up. “What’s the matter?” “Don’t you ever say that word again!” THE END don't miss jerry in paramount’s “visit TO A SMALL PLANET” AND IN “CINDERFELLA.” LISTEN TO HIM SING ON THE DECCA LABEL.