I Love Lucy: The Untold Story (13 page)

I was in my office at the studio one morning, preparing for another in what seemed like an endless series of meetings on the subject, when I had an idea that I thought would go a long way toward making CBS
more comfortable. Why not arrange for a priest, a minister, and a rabbi to approve each of the “baby show” scripts, and to attend each of the screenings? If any of them found anything objectionable, we would simply remove it!

The meeting, with the network censor and two other CBS bigwigs who had flown in from New York, was a big success. Everyone was enthusiastic about the idea of having the baby shows “blessed” by local clergymen. The network executives were finally starting to get comfortable with what we had been telling them all along—we could deal humorously with pregnancy on a television show and at the same time keep the program on a high moral plane.

I took the three network men to lunch at Nickodell’s. As we sat down at our table, I noticed that the waitress coming to take our lunch orders was my old friend Shirley. I silently prayed that she wouldn’t make any serious mistakes with our meals. I even repeated all of the orders to her, just to make sure.

After Shirley left, we continued our discussion. What had started out as a rather tense meeting an hour or so earlier was now a relaxed conversation. Everyone was in a good humor. I had just finished telling a joke when Shirley arrived with our food. And to my great relief, I saw that for once everything was just what had been ordered. But she was still at a loss to remember which of us had ordered what, and started putting the wrong dish in front of each of us.

One of the network reps, sensing that he could have a little fun, started ribbing her about the mixup. And this flustered Shirley even more. Suddenly, she put all of the plates down and she said, “Please, gentlemen,
please! Don’t do this to me! I get very nervous. Just ask Mr. Oppenheimer—the least little thing wakes me up in the middle of the night!”

•   •   •

Photo caption (next page):

Lucy, Desi and I confer with Monsignor Devlin, one of the three clergymen who “blessed” each of the “baby show” scripts.

We filmed the first of the “pregnancy” shows in early October of 1952. In the show, Lucy visits the doctor and discovers she is pregnant. She is all set to tell Ricky when he comes home that afternoon, but he is called back to the club before she has a chance. She finally decides to visit the nightclub that evening and give Ricky the news during the
middle of his show. Ricky is just finishing a musical number, when the Maitre d' hands him a note:

RICKY.  Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, thank you.  Now for the—

 (The maître d’ walks on to the floor and hands Ricky a note.)

RICKY. 
(To maître d’.)
Oh, thank you.
(To audience)
Excuse me. Pardon me, please.
(He reads the note.)
Oh, isn’t this wonderful. Listen to this. 
(Reads.)
Dear Mr. Ricardo: My husband and I are going to have a blessed event.  I just found out about it today and I haven’t told him yet.  I heard you sing a number called “We’re Having a Baby, My Baby and Me.” If you will sing it for us now, it will be my way of breaking the news to him. 
(To audience.)
Isn’t that wonderful? Of course I’ll do it for you. Sure. Eh, Maes—  Oh, wait a minute.  I got a wonderful idea.  Why don’t we bring the couple up here and I’ll sing it right to them?

 (
The audience applauds.)

RICKY.  Come on – let’s bring ‘em up on the floor. 

 (The audience continues to applaud, as the band starts to play “Rock-a-Bye Baby.”)

RICKY.  Come on, folks. Come on. We’re just trying to wish you luck!...

Ricky walks from table to table, singing, “Rock-a-Bye Baby” and asking each couple, “Was it you?” While he’s doing this Lucy comes in and sits down at an empty table. When he gets to the table where Lucy is sitting, he gives her a pantomime “Hi” between the words of the song, and jokingly asks, “You?” Lucy slowly nods her head, “Yes.” Ricky gives her a wink, walking away as he sings the next verse of the song, and suddenly he does a tremendous double-take and rushes back to Lucy’s side.

On the night of the filming, Lucy and Desi got to this point in acting out the script. And then this strange thing happened. Suddenly they remembered their own real emotions when they had discovered at last they were going to be parents, and both of them began crying. It was one of the most touching moments I have ever seen.

RICKY.  Honey. Honey. Honey, no!

LUCY. 
(Through tears of joy)
Yes!

RICKY.  Really?

LUCY.  Yes!

RICKY.  Why didn’t you tell me?

LUCY.  Well I—you didn’t give me a chance!

RICKY.  Are you kiddin’?

LUCY.  No!

RICKY. 
(To audience.)
It’s me! I’m gonna be a father! How about that? I want you to meet my mother. I mean my wife, my wife!

At the end of the scene, our director, Bill Asher, remarked sadly to those of us sitting in the control booth that as beautiful as that first take was, there was a problem with it—Desi, overcome with emotion, had messed up the lyrics to “Rock-a-Bye Baby.” Pressing the talk-back button, he made the announcement to the audience: “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but due to technical problems we’re going to have to take that scene over again.”

The response to this announcement was immediate and overwhelming. The entire audience, most of whom had been crying right along with Lucy and Desi, jumped to its feet and shouted a thunderous “NO!!!”

Bowing to the audience’s instincts, we used the first take on the air, complete with the messed-up lyrics. The scene became one of the classic television moments of all time. In all of the airings that it’s had since
then, I’ve never heard of anyone outside of that control booth who noticed Desi’s mistake.

•   •   •

The problem of the sex of the expected baby didn’t come up until we were approaching the filming of the show on which it was to be born. Normally one merely waits and lets Nature decide, but we were faced with a complicated logistical problem of filming duplicate scenes, one with a boy and one with a girl, and then, at the last minute, incorporating into the film the one that corresponded to Lucy’s real baby.

Desi and I were discussing the technical and the financial aspects of the problem when I turned to him and said, “Desi, we’re going to break our backs and spend a small fortune making sure that the sex of Lucille Ball’s baby and of Lucy Ricardo’s baby is the same. But the two babies won’t have the same name, so why do they need to have the same sex? As a writer, if I had to choose, I would give the Ricardos a baby boy. I think it would give us more comedy situations.
For instance, we could have Lucy insisting on dressing him in feminine clothes, or not wanting to get his hair cut.”

I could see from Desi’s face as I spoke that he liked the idea of Lucy having a boy. But his reasons were decidedly different from mine. “Look,” he said, “Lucy gave me one girl, she might give me another. This is my only chance to be sure that I get a son. So you give me a boy on TV.”

•   •   •

Three months after my conversation with Desi about the baby’s sex, I sat alone in my kitchen, waiting for word from Desi at the hospital. I had written a baby boy for the Ricardo family, but at the moment that was the best-kept secret in Hollywood. Whether Nature would cooperate and give the Arnaz family a baby boy as well, nobody yet knew. I had been hanging on the phone, waiting to find out, for more than a half hour, thinking back over all the twists and turns of fate that had led me to this moment.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Desi came back on the line. “Jess!” he shouted. “Lucy followed your script! Hey! Ain’t she something?”

I laughed. “Terrific!” I yelled back at him. “That makes me the greatest writer in the world!”

And then, before Desi could run out to address the anxiously waiting press corps, I added, “Tell Lucy she can take the rest of the day off!”

I
LEFT
I Love Lucy
in the spring of 1956, one year before it went off the air as a regular weekly series. Although I had faith that reruns of the 153 episodes I had produced would stay on the air for quite some time, I was concerned that if we kept on trying to turn out new ones, the show would start to go downhill. Even with Lucy’s tremendous talent, there are only so many stories that you can do within a particular premise and set of characters. We had already taken them to Hollywood, and then Europe. Where were we going to take them next—to the moon?

I knew that Lucy was such a phenomenal performer, and that the other people complemented her so well, that the TV audience would continue to watch the show indefinitely, simply because she was the best thing around. But we were already starting to hit areas where we had been two or three times before, such as jealousy, or running the house on a budget, or getting into show business, and it just wasn’t fresh enough anymore to please me. I sat Lucy and Desi down and explained how I felt.

“Here we have a series that is number one,” I told them. “We’ve lasted for five years, and won every award and magazine poll imaginable. Why don’t we just retire undefeated—let there be one series that isn’t driven right into the ground.”

Despite my pleas, they ultimately decided to do just one more year of weekly episodes.
But my own five-year commitment to Desilu was up, and my old friend Pat Weaver, then chairman of NBC, had offered me an attractive position as a programming development executive with the rival network.
Lessons I had learned years earlier about the dangers of “staying on too long,” as well as the continuing friction between me and Desi over production credit, convinced me that the time had come to move on to other projects.

Photo caption (next page):

Lucy and I go “face to face” just before filming the
I Love Lucy
episode of the same name, a few weeks after I announced my decision to leave the show.

After we wrapped my last
I Love Lucy,
(“Return Home from Europe”), in April of 1956, Lucy and Desi gave a big party in my honor at their home in Beverly Hills.
It was an evening filled with tears and laughter—tears when we said our
good-byes, and laughter at a musical comedy revue, performed by Lucy, Desi, Bill, Vivian, and others, entitled “You Are Theirs.” Lucy’s lyrics in the revue even recalled that time eight years earlier when I walked out on her because of her tirade over one of our radio scripts:

LUCY. I’ll never forget the first time we met—He handed me a script—There was a light in his eyes that lit up his map. He just wasn’t prepared for: “Who writes this crap?”

. . . .

LUCY. But I want you to know this, Jess. Seriously. We don’t feel we’re losing a producer. We feel we’re gaining a parking space.

I had had special “Oppy Awards” manufactured for the occasion, which I presented to members of the
I Love Lucy
cast and staff in appreciation of their long and devoted service on the show.
The bronze statuette looked a little bit like an Oscar, but more like me—a little man with glasses, very little hair, and his hands discreetly positioned in front of his crotch. Lucy, no stranger to awards ceremonies, was close to tears as she accepted her “Oppy.”

At the end of the evening, after all the goodbyes had been said, Desi walked me and Es down the long driveway to where I had parked our car. As I opened the car door, Desi put a hand on my shoulder. “Partner,” he said, “You know, if you change your mind, and you can see it in your heart to do it, I wish you’d come back.”

“I’ll think about it, Desi,” I replied, looking Desi in the eye, “but I don’t think I will.”

•   •   •

Photo caption (next page):

Lucy was close to tears as she accepted her “Oppy Award.”