OSCAR OSCAR OSCAR

(The latest in a series of stories from a lifetime)

By Budd Mishkin

“Felix, I just won a car.”

One line. One of a thousand lines that I’ve seen and heard over and over again. And every time, it makes me laugh.

This week marks the 50th anniversary of the debut on ABC of one of the greatest shows in American television history.

The Odd Couple.

The mere mention of it makes me smile. Yes, the movie The Odd Couple is terrific with Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau. But since the 1970s, The Odd Couple has been must see TV, in its first run of five years and then decades of reruns. You’ve seen the episode 20 times? Doesn’t matter. You’re watching it again. There are phone calls and texts between friends (“Hey. Channel 11. The Password episode.”). And more than a few lines that have been committed to memory (“A chicken with no bones? How did it walk?” “You’re my eyes, Gloria.” “I’d like to be there.”). A love affair that has never ended and never disappoints.

In the spring of 1998, Jack Klugman and Tony Randall were starring on Broadway in a revival of the Neil Simon show “The Sunshine Boys.” At the time, I was a sports anchor/reporter for NY1, New York’s 24 hour cable news channel. Part of my job was hosting a nightly sports show that included taped interviews with in studio guests. The understandable assumption was that these guests would be connected to the world of sports. Spring also means the Triple Crown in horse racing, including the Belmont Stakes in New York. Jack Klugman was not only a horse racing fan. He was an owner. His horse Jaklin Klugman was in the money at the 1980 Kentucky Derby, finishing third. And so he was a perfectly legitimate guest to have on our sports show to discuss horse racing, the 1998 Belmont Stakes and his years as an owner.

And of course, The Odd Couple.

The date for the interview was set. Friday, May 22, 1998. I had done my share of in studio interviews with some bold face names. But this was different. This was Jack Klugman. Oscar Madison. He and Tony Randall were part of my life, in my room, elating me in good times and sustaining me in hard times. I was nervous, jittery, unable to focus. Klugman was staying in Midtown Manhattan. A car service was scheduled to pick him up at an appointed time. The instructions to the car service were clear, including the pickup and drop off locations plus the fact that I would be waiting with a voucher. I told the car service company that Klugman did not know the drop off location and he wouldn’t have a voucher. I would have the voucher. I said this more than a few times. We were all set.

The time of the pick up came. And went. Nothing. I started to panic. I spoke to Klugman’s representative. There was a problem. I called the car service. They told me that the customer didn’t have a voucher and a drop off location. My blood started to boil. I reminded them that I HAD TOLD THEM that the customer wouldn’t have the drop off location and I HAD THE VOUCHER. I called the representative back. Apparently Klugman got in the car and was asked by the driver for a voucher and an address. Having neither, a “discussion” ensued. It’s not clear how that discussion ended. But by the time it was over, Jack Klugman was not getting a car service ride to NY1. I called the car service back. In an understated way, I told them that they had ruined my life. Thanks to the mix up, there would be no meeting Jack Klugman, no interview, no reason to go on living. Again, understated.

I was livid. I was apoplectic.

I was not happy.

So I decided to take a walk around New York. Fortunately, I did not have the address of the car service company. That probably would not have ended well. I walked around New York for a good two hours, thinking unkind thoughts. About the unfairness of it all. Dreams unrealized. And why didn’t I rent a chopper for the pick up?

I walked and I walked and I walked and eventually my boil reduced to a simmer. Walking around New York will do that to you. I wish that I could tell you that I was a better person, that I witnessed some of life’s true hardships during my walk and that put the “Klugman car service debacle” in perspective. Sorry. There was no perspective that day. But for two hours, I walked and managed not to commit a felony. Baby steps.

I returned to NY1 at the corner of 42nd St. and 10th Avenue. I was in the elevator when I got beeped by NY1(this is only about two decades ago. Not the Civil War. Yes, I got beeped. It was a different time). I got out of the elevator and went right to the NY1 assignment desk.

“Get out to Shea Stadium. Mike Piazza has just been traded to the Mets.”

May 22, 1998 would become one of the great days in the long and tortured history of the New York Mets. Mike Piazza would lead the Mets to the post season in 1999 and the World Series in 2000. A team that had literally traded away a player known as “The Franchise” was trading for a franchise player. Mets fans rejoiced. I rejoiced for a much more selfish reason. I now had work to do and could stop thinking (briefly) about the “Klugman car service debacle.”

The weekend passed. Piazza played his first game for the Mets, had an RBI double and the Mets won. By Monday, my temperature was back close to normal. I called Klugman’s representative, who was understanding and kind and wonderful. “Can we give this another shot?” He said he would try. I reiterated my love for Klugman and horse racing and The Sunshine Boys and The Odd Couple and oxygen and corned beef and coffee and anything else that would convince Klugman to do the interview. It worked. Klugman would come in later that week and the representative would bring him in. No car service pickup.

And there he was. Jack Klugman. Oscar Madison. And me. After thousands of nights on my TV. The voice was more hoarse after surgery for throat cancer. But the spirit and energy and humor were all there. He talked about his unabashed love of horse racing, recalling how Fred Astaire once told him that if he had a choice between winning an Academy Award or standing in the winner’s circle with his horse, he’d choose the latter. Klugman thought Astaire was crazy…”full of beans” was the exact quote. But he soon learned that Astaire was right.

And we talked about The Odd Couple, referencing specific episodes. Mostly, he talked about his love and admiration for Tony Randall. Klugman told me, “you think you know how good he (Randall) is as Felix Unger but you don’t REALLY know how good he is.” When I asked if he and Randall ever switched roles in rehearsal to prove their flexibility as actors, Klugman instead chose to tell a story about Walter Matthau. Matthau played Oscar in the movie. But according to Klugman, Matthau was a Felix in real life, getting up in the middle of the night to vacuum. And all I could think was “I am getting inside Odd Couple information here.”

It was everything I wanted it to be. Fun, funny, memorable. I was at peace.

And then it was time for Jack Klugman to leave. We had called a car service to take him back home. This time would be fine because they would leave from NY1 and I would hand the address and the voucher to the driver. What could go wrong?

The car service didn’t show.

The hell with it, I thought. I’ll drive him home. And that’s what happened. I got the keys for one of the station’s cars, a beat up Chevy Cavalier. I opened the door and Jack Klugman got in.

Now I’m driving a beat up car with one of my heroes in the passenger seat. We were heading west on 42nd St. I was going about 6 miles an hour. You can’t be too careful. I needed to make a left turn onto 8th Avenue. And so I put my signal on….about a half mile before I had to make the turn. If I’d had a bullhorn, I would have used it. “Attention New York City. Jack Klugman is in this car. I will be making a left turn at 8th Avenue. Please be advised.” I made the turn. No complications. Klugman was chatting away. I tried to engage. But all I could think was I can’t get into an accident and end up on the front page of The New York Post with a bold face headline (ICONIC ACTOR HURT IN CAR CRASH CAUSED BY SLOW DRIVING “JOURNALIST”). I took a right onto 56th Street, pulled up in front of his place, said goodbye and thanks and breathed the sigh of a contented man. The interview had gone beautifully and Jack Klugman was home.

Five years later, we repeated it all again, without all of the car service aggravation. Klugman came back in studio for another interview. I asked him if he watched the show analytically. I’ll never forget his response. “No, I laugh.” And suddenly I realized that Jack Klugman and I had something in common.

We both loved The Odd Couple.

Tony Randall died in 2004. I’ve been incredibly fortunate to interview so many fascinating people from so many fields. I’ll always regret never having the pleasure of sitting and talking to Randall. But I got to know him a little bit better through the two interviews with Jack Klugman. He died in 2012, a sad day laced with sweet memories.

Both Tony Randall and Jack Klugman won Emmy Awards for their performances as Felix and Oscar. But the show never won an Emmy Award. Imagine that. Fans can recite specific lines chapter and verse (“it was a Pluto ashtray!”) decades later and the show didn’t even win an Emmy for writing.

During its initial five year run on ABC, The Odd Couple’s ratings suffered because it was moved around from time slot to time slot. Klugman once told me that Randall said at the time, “you watch. They’ll find us in syndication.” Truer words have never been spoken.

So Happy Anniversary to Tony and Jack, Felix and Oscar and the entire Odd Couple team. Here’s to the unexpected pleasure of coming upon a rerun while channel surfing and the subsequent brief communication between friends that speaks of the love and laughter created by a little bit of TV comedy magic.

“Hey. Channel 11. The Password episode.”