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as you may know, of being a funnyman. Nor did he give evidence of any talent for comedy. Far from being the exhibitionistic, life-of-the-party type, when he went to parties he always sat on the side-lines, watching everyone. He still does.
Far from being a funnyman, Sid's dream was to be a long-hair musician which he gave up (for the saxophone, the clarinet, and the writing of popular songs) when he realized that Juilliard, where he was studying, and the Paris Conservatory, where he'd hoped to continue his studies, were too rich for his bank account. "I wasn't in rags on the street," he'll tell you, "wasn't starving exactly, but I remember putting cardboard in my shoes and eating a lot of boiled potatoes and sour cream."
He's very observant, and that is how lie gets his material. He watches — although not consciously, he insists — people on the street. Situations, rather than individuals, are his source. Last winter, for instance, the Caesars came up from a vacation in Florida on a DC-4, a non-stop flight, which turned out to be so cramped, uncomfortable and rugged that Sid survived it — even enjoyed it — only because it gave him the idea for the routine he and Imogene did with Joan Bennett when she was their guest on the show. The three of them were jammed together like sardines on the front seat of the plane, you may remember, and Sid on their laps, in their hair . . .
O'
kNE evening a friend of ours dropped by Florence remembers. "He had had a fight with his wife. He started telling Sid, 'It's the finish, this is the end, the finish and no more.' 'Now, take it easy,' Sid counselled, 'relax, have some dinner, sit down.' 'No, I can't eat.' So he eats. As he eats, he's raving on, 'She's a nice girl, a nice woman, she's a fine girl — but she's miserable.' The next thing you know, the telephone rings, it's his wife and he's on his way home . . . and maybe you saw Sid as the husband who has left home on Your Show of Shows. Our friend and his wife saw it — they were in the studio audience that night as Sid's guests — and they died."
His success hasn't changed Sid. He's still shy. Still nervous. Modest to a fault. "A lot of the credit for Your Show of Shows goes," he tells everyone, "to my producer, Max Liebman, and the writers." Even his ambitions are modest. "I don't have any aspirations to be a millionaire," he tells you, "just enough to pay the butcher and the grocer." Yet he likes nice things, likes clothes, is neat as a new pin. Likes good cigars. Good food. Good cars.
Last Christmas, Sid gave Florence a mink coat. "We don't take her out anymore," he kids, "we take the coat out!"
He loves their new home, the eight-roomand-three baths co-op apartment on Park Avenue in the 80's which Sid bought.
"This is our first home after sub-letting all over the place for years," Florence says, "and Sid loves the idea of owning it."
That their home is on Park Avenue is another joy for Sid. "As a kid, my father used to drive me down Park Avenue, clear from Yonkers where we lived," he says, "and it seemed to me like being in another world. I never dreamed . . . But here I am and isn't it," Sid asks, his eyes serious, "a small world?"
Should you talk to a house-party guest you haven't met?
I I Check wifb your hostess fj Give him fhe freeze Q Defrost
He didn't happen to be around when introductions were going on. So now, when he speaks— you're a snub-deb. Defrost! Accord
ing to Emily you-know-who, it's correct to talk with any guest. Learning how to cope with every situation can build up confidence—
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