Backstage at The Price Is Right: Memoirs of A Barker Beauty (2 page)

After the production meeting, we had fifteen minutes before beginning the actual rehearsal and blocking for the first show. There were three stage managers, each assigned to a specific door. My favorite stage managers were Doug Quick and Bob Cisneros. Doug was really helpful and understanding. I think the reason we hit it off so well was because we were the same age
—
Baby Boomers
—
and we had children around the same age. Cisneros was also special because he was a minorit
y,
like me.

During the rehearsal, Dian was my saving grac
e.
She took me under her wing and showed me the ropes. Janice and Holly were somewhat helpful and gave me a few tips on the do’s and don’ts, but I somehow sensed that they were not happy about having a fourth model on the show—and color had nothing to do with it! A fourth model meant that their on-air time would be cut down and could possibly take away from their popularity. After seventeen years, they were household names and well-established Barker Beauties. They were about to undergo a drastic change and could do nothing about it. I don’t think anyone was overjoyed about it, except the few minority crewmembers working behind the scenes. For as long as I had been in the television and motion picture industry, there was always a code of acceptance between the few black folks hired to work on the set. This made me feel a little more at ease.

I didn’t have time to chat with each model. I was extremely focused on making a good impression and trying to understand the stage layout. I managed to stumble through the rehearsal, and then we had one hour for hair, makeup, and wardrobe fitting
,
which also included lunch. I thought,
you’ve got to be kidding!

Barker never came to the production meetings or the rehearsals. He would arrive shortly after we’d finished the first rehearsal. I remember the first time I saw him in person. I was on my way to the commissary to grab a quick bite to take back to my dressing room, and there he was, walking down the hallway straight toward me with his garment bag draped over his shoulder, greeting others with a pleasant smile and well wishes. When he passed me, I didn’t know what to say or how to introduce myself, so I casually waved, said “Hi,” and whisked by him. I figured I’d wait for the appropriate time with the proper introduction back at the studio.

Prior to the start of the first show, stage manager Bob Cisneros introduced me to Barker. When the six-foot-three, handsome and charismatic Mr. Barker extended his hand, I felt his genuine sincerity as he welcomed me to the show. I was speechless while something inside of me was saying;
Don’t put your foot in your mouth. Just say ‘Thank you’ and keep moving.
I felt like a privileged groupie with a backstage pass at a big rock concert just being in Barker’s presence.

As I took my place behind the sliding stage doors and heard the melody of one of the most famous musical theme songs in the history of television game shows
,
my adrenaline began pumping. For a brief moment, it felt like an out-of-body experience. The thunderous applause continued to build as the familiar voice of announcer Rod Roddy called the first four contestants to “come on down” to Contestants’ Row. Just when I thought that it couldn’t possibly get any louder, the applause became deafening when Roddy announced Bob Barker’s name and Barker walked through those priceless doors as he had done for the past seventeen years.

At last, it was show time. Thanks to many years of experience performing on stage in front of live audiences, I felt comfortable, and I was eager to make my debut as the stage doors parted. Having Dian by my side to work the first item up for bids was an additional comfort and confidence booster. After our presentation and before the stage doors closed, Barker introduced me to the audience and the millions of viewers at home by saying, “Meet our Barker Beauty hopeful for this week, the lovely Kathleen Bradley.” I received a warm round of applause, and I waved
as I felt
the overwhelming sensation of reality setting in. The first show was rather hectic, but I managed to pull it off without a hitch.

Just when I thought I could take a breather and relax before the second rehearsal began, the wardrobe lady, Marcelle Harden, immediately rushed me to my dressing room for more fittings. Marcelle was the sweetest, most caring mother figure one could ever hope for. She had already been busy in my dressing room, lining up quite a few outfits for me to try on while we were taping the first show. Taskmaster Sherrell Paris was also running in and out, bringing dresses, swimsuits, and shoes to fit, which left me literally no time to do anything except prepare for the second show. In addition to being Barker’s executive assistant, Sherrell was the show’s booth assistant, and she assisted Marcelle with the wardrobe. She was also Barker’s right-hand, gofer, confidant, and snitch.

Paul Alter, the show’s director, also paid me a visit in my dressing room with a few notes and critiques. He stated, “Kathleen, overall, everyone was pleased with your performance; however, there were a few minor things I want to bring to your attention to ensure that the second show goes even smoother. Make sure your hand is not over the product label when you hold it up on your close up shot, and try not to tilt your head too far to the side. You’re looking a bit too animated, so just remember to relax, but have fun.”

I listened intently, nodded, and replied, “Thank you for the help, Mr. Alter and for taking the time to steer me in the right direction. This opportunity really means a lot to me, and I want to make sure I get it right.”

As we geared up for the second rehearsal, I felt a little more relieved, knowing that the first round of initiation was over. But in no way could I let my guard down. This was the real deal
—
not a drill. I was grateful for Mr. Alter’s help and was eager to work the second show so I could implement his suggestions.

During rehearsal, while interacting with the other models, an urge to prove my worthiness manifested. If they had any say whatsoever as to whom they would like to see become the newest Barker Beaut
y,
this was my chance to make an impression. I had to pull out all the stops and talk shop. I initiated my strategic plan by drumming up a little conversation with Dian, Holly, and Janice to boast about my world travels and drop several well-known celebrity names. They appeared to be genuinely interested and impressed. I was making headway
—
so I thought.

Over a period of six months, the search to find the first black Barker Beauty intensified from New York to Miami, Texas, Chicago, and of course, Los Angeles. I was called back to tape more shows along with a few other favorite hopefuls who were contending for this highly sought-after position. One such hopeful was Tonya Lee Williams
,
who actually turned down the position because she was offered a permanent role across the hal
l at
CBS Studio 41 on
The Young and the Restless
. Thank you, Tonya!

By this time, I was becoming frustrated and disenchanted by the amount of time it was taking the production staff and Barker to come to their senses and see the obvious choice
—
ME! My sister-in-law, Dawn Redd, who just happened to work in the production office for Mark Goodson, gave me some rather serious and helpful feedback as to what was being said on the inside. Evidently, too much bragging didn’t go over too well with some of the Beauties, and she instructed me to back off and resort to a more modest and nonchalant approach.

Finally, after taping no less than thirty-six shows and six months of high anxiety, the call finally came in November 1990.

“Kathleen, this is Judy. How would you like to be the next Barker Beauty?”

Before I could answer, I jumped for joy and blew a big sigh of relief. My husband overheard the conversation and expected the obvious. “Of course I want to be a Barker Beauty!” I exclaimed.

Judy and I talked for a long while. She said that she would get back to me with the particulars, and the production assistant would soon be in touch with further details. Terrence took me in his arms and twirled me around just like in the movies. We made our way to the bedroom to celebrate before our daughters came home from school and before the baby, Little T., woke up. Our celebration was better than popping a bottle of Moet
&
Chandon or Dom Perignon.

Chapter 2

The New Barker Beauty

W
hen the word got out that Kathleen Bradley was chosen as the first black model to join ranks as the newest Barker Beauty on the number-one-rated daytime television game show,
The Price Is Right,
you might have thought that the results of the presidential election had just come in. Not only was I the first permanent black Barker Beaut
y,
it was also the first time a fourth model had been added to the existing threesome. All of the major TV entertainment shows, as well as the local black radio stations and newspapers, where ringing my phone off the hook for interviews; even the tabloids wanted dibs on the latest breaking development. I was thrilled that the auditioning process had ended, and I was happy to know that my life was about to take a huge leap forward. I entered a totally new arena in the world of television and entertainment. My family and friends were delighted and proud of my most recent accomplishment.

When I was seven years old, in my little hometown, while sitting in the colored only section of the movie theater, I would gaze at the big screen and dream of going to Hollywood and becoming a famous movie star. For now, this was about as close as I could get to that dream
—
which was perfectly fine with me. It was difficult finding work in the competitive television and motion picture industry, and at last, I felt a sense of security, knowing that I had a steady-paying gig.

Throughout the audition phase, the models were paid union scale under the guidelines of the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA), which was merely $230 per show. I assumed that after I became a permanent fixture on the show my paycheck would increase
—
WRONG! I had been a professional model for many years and was accustomed to making anywhere from $150 to $500 an hour. Yet, there I was, appearing as a top model on a primetime television show, being paid kibbles and bits. (During my tenure on the show, I received several periodic small raises. Whoop-de-doo!)

After being there a few months, I had the nerve to ask Holly what she and the other models were making per show. At first, she was a little hesitant to answer the twenty-four-million-dollar question, but she eventually replied, “Well Kath, I can’t speak for Janice or Dian, but when I was the low girl on the totem pole before you were hired, I was making about forty to sixty dollars less than they were per show. Now that you hold that position and you’re making AFTRA scale, you’re probably making about fifty dollars less per show than I am. You do the math.”

I couldn’t believe it. It was rather disturbing news and very disheartening to imagine that, for over seventeen years of service, these dedicated models were outrageously underpaid. I decided then to milk the opportunity as a Barker Beauty for as long and as hard as I could. I intended to get the maximum exposure possible to help advance my career.

I knew little about the other models’ personal lives when I began to work on the show, with the exception of Dian. Dian was extremely helpful when I first started the auditioning process, and I was grateful to her for her kindness and friendship. Janice and Holly were a little more distant with me, especially when I was around Dian. But I slowly became more connected to Janice and Holly as time went on and our relationships began to grow through idle chitchat during rehearsals. Whatever disputes, dissension, or disagreements transpired between Dian and the other models over the years was off my radar
—
I remained neutral. I had no intentions of getting caught up in the he said/she said bullshit.

I received numerous calls from inquisitive tabloids, hoping that I would cooperate and leak the latest dirt happening on the set
,
but I always declined any comments. Although I was well-liked and respected around the studio, I had my guard up, realizing that “for what is given
,
can easily be taken away.”

Besides Dian befriending me when I first came on the scene as the newest Barker Beauty, there was also a pretty light brown young lady named Debbie Curling. Debbie was a prize administrator and worked primarily out of the Green Room. She was one of CBS’ employees, assigned to work on the show. She had been working on
TPIR
for about two years. She had also, in her own right, helped to break down the color barrier at the production level. Debbie’s family hailed from Belize and was very proud of her for holding this prestigious position at CBS.

In the Green Room, Debbie was privy to certain conversations regarding the contestants that only a few others on the production staff knew about. After Debbie and I became better acquainted, she advised me to be cautious of whom to trust. She also shared with me that some of the producers and our director frequently made disparaging racial comments about certain minorities in her presence and copiously tossed around the N-word.

She said, “A few times, when the N-word was used, they caught themselves and looked up at me and said, ‘Oops! Sorry’ and continued laughing. You’d be surprised what people say after someone has left the room or if they think no one is paying attention.”

“Now that’s so wrong, tactless, and downright disrespectful to use that kind of language, especially when you’re in their presence,” I said.

Debbie never specified who the culprit was, and I think, at the time, I was better off not knowing, as I would have had a totally different perception of the person whom I had looked up to and respected. I rarely perceive non-black people as racist just because they use the word “nigger,” but I do recognize them as thoughtless, ignorant, arrogant, and sometimes, pompous assholes. I’m certain that if they were to dig deep enough, they too would discover some Negro blood running through their veins.

Some may have thought that I was just the token colored girl, put on the show to satisfy the NAACP so they wouldn’t boycott the show, and they had no choice but to accept me into the fraternal order of
TPIR
. Perhaps it was just timing, as well as a sign of the times. I never repeated to anyone what Debbie had shared with me, nor did she and I ever talk about it again
—
but I did stay on high alert.

The Price Is Right
was a fast-paced show. Every show was different and always exciting. Not only was it fun being an integral part of the show, but it was also exciting to watch the TV monitors while the show was being taped, either in the Green Room or in my dressing room between changes. However, there is nothing worse than looking at the TV monitor during the taping and realizing that there is no model on the set to demonstrate the merchandise, and it turns out that it’s
your
showcase.
Gulp!
My heart sank and I felt sick to my stomach, knowing the inevitable was comi
ng:
the dreaded meeting in Barker’s room.

Generally, it was a pleasure to be invited into Barker’s dressing room for one reason or another. Usually, it was to celebrate someone’s birthday or for a special occasion, when we’d have a cake-cutting
or
champagne-bottle-popping event. Typically, celebrations took place between tapings or after the last show. But to be summoned to Barker’s dressing roo
m
when there was no cake or champagne
meant bad news
.

My presence in Barker’s room was requested twice in one month for failing to appear at my post when the doors opened to showcase a prize. Paul Alter and the associate director, Bart Eskander were waiting with Barker in his dressing room both times to reprimand me for my oversights. I could feel the sweat beginning to pour from my brow before I entered the room. I tried desperately to think of an excuse
for
why I had failed to show up when the doors opened: “I was in my dressing room and misjudged the time it took to make a wardrobe change, and I failed to make it on stage on time,” or “I got caught up on a very important phone call about one of my kids in my dressing room, and I lost track of time.” In reality
,
I was either watching the taping of
The Young and the Restless
across the hall on the TV monitor feed in my dressing room or I got distracted and caught up in the Green Room chitchat. I was certain they didn’t want to hear any of those lame excuses. Excuses weren’t readily tolerated by the producers and it would be the kiss of death. During this short intervention, they asked if I thought this job was too much for me to keep up with, and if so, there were many other young ladies waiting in the wings to take my place. I cringed when I heard those words and began to plead my case. I promised that it would never happen again
—
and it never did.

After those meetings, there were still times when I was hard pressed to make a mad dash onto the stage without breaking my neck or position myself behind the doors before they opened and appear as though I was cool and calm. Holly was famous for making mad dashes to get behind the doors on time or for sliding into Contestants’ Row, where the bidders were eagerly waiting to bid on the next item. She would literally slide to a halt as soon as the doors opened and would appear poised and calm
,
no one would suspect the contrary.

The show was shot and taped in real time with short breaks for commercials. There was no going back if you flubbed something, unless it was under extreme circumstances. It was rare to stop tape and do things over. There were a few occasions when we had to stay after the last show to do a pickup shot, which would later be inserted and edited into the original show. This might have occurred through no fault of the models, perhaps a technical problem. The professionalism on
TPIR
was phenomenal, and the show ran like clockwork.

After being enlightened by my conversation with Debbie regarding the usage of the N-word within the confines of the Green Room, I noticed a twinge of racial prejudice hovering backstage, which made me feel a little uncomfortable at times. But for the most part, the hard-working stagehands and crew showed me a lot of love and respect.

There was a period when the set of
TPIR
was a place where offensive and discriminatory remarks
,
including those against blacks, women, gays, and other minorities
,
were tolerated. Actually, the main culprit was a black man named Richard Auther. Thank God they threw away the mold after Richard was born. Richard was a high yellow, light bright, almost white Louisiana Creole boy. You might not suspect that he was black until he opened his mouth. Richard was the stage right head prop master and he had worked for
TPIR
for many years. He was quite a character, the backstage clown, who was always joking around, pulling pranks, and flirting with the models. He was the type of guy who wouldn’t think twice about belching or farting in anyone’s presence
—
and he’d brag about it. More than anything, he was annoying and loud as hell, extremely obnoxious, and had a bad habit of touching the models inappropriately.

Initially, he was too overbearing for me to put up with, so I decided to report him to the producers for sexual harassment, but a lot of good that did. I later found that there was a list of other models and female employees who had the same complaints against Richard. The higher ups never took action, and he was merely given a slap on the wrist for his bad behavior. The Price Is Right Productions leases space from the CBS Studios, which employs all the camera operators, crew, and stagehands. The sexual harassment rules and regulations weren’t heavily enforced during the early eighties and nineties. I’m certain that if the rules had been imposed back then, probably half of the stagehands, crew, and several members of the production staff would have been fined or fired for their actions.

If anyone could appreciate the thin line between sexual harassment and a good old-fashioned compliment
,
it was me. Who wouldn’t be tempted to stare at a beautiful woman in a one or two-piece swimsuit, standing right in front of them with a 36-DD bust, a twenty-four-inch waist, and thirty-six-inch voluptuous hips? I had always been a little flirtatious and enjoyed a good, strong hug from those I cared about; however, I began to think that Richard mistook my kindness and openheartedness for something more.

Enough
was enough.
I got fed up with his antics and his “accidental” brushes against my intimate body parts
, so
I took matters into my own hands and decided to put Richard in his place. One day during rehearsal, I was showcasing a set of golf clubs, and since Richard was head of props, I said, “When I get off stage from blocking the scene with the golf clubs, I would like to try out a club or two before you put the bag away.”

Richard replied, “Sure, why not?” I knew he’d played a little golf in the past and asked him if he could show me how to properly hold the club. He grinned and said, “Hell yeah. I’d love to show you how to swing the almighty shaft.”

I think
,
in his mind
,
he envisioned this as a good opportunity to get up close and personal. He demonstrated the interlocking golf grip and swung the club a few times. He then placed the club in my hands and got behind me to demonstrate how I should properly hold and swing. Naturally, he was beginning to feel his oats. He was pressing much too hard against my backside and had his arms strategically placed under my breasts. I pretended to go along with it for a minute, but then I suddenly disengaged, swung around with the club in my hands as if to ask him a question
, and
then conveniently nailed him straight in the groin with the club. It is true what they say: when a man gets hit between his thighs, his voice graduates a few octaves and he drops to his knees in excruciating pain. Such was the case for poor Richard.

“Oh, Richard!” I cried. “I am so sorry. I really didn’t mean to swing around so quickly. Are you okay?”

It took him about a minute to respond as he gasped and blew air from his pie-hole. “I think you should take up another sport,” he said.