In 1962, I was ten years old and one of my heroes was Allan Sherman. Sherman had been a comedy writer and producer, and had spent most of the preceding eighteen years going from job to job to job, constantly getting fired. His biggest pre-'62 success was co-creating and producing the popular game show, I've Got a Secret from which, of course, he got fired. He had done a bit of performing here and there, mostly singing song parodies for (mostly) Jewish audiences.
In late '62, Warner Brothers Records released an album of his song parodies called My Son, the Folk Singer. Everyone expected it to die a quick death in record stores, just like dozens of other comedy records by performers no one had heard of. Instead, it quickly became the fastest-selling comedy record ever and Allan Sherman became one of the biggest stars in all of show business…briefly. His stardom and success didn't last long.
His peak was probably the following year when a single off his third album was a smash hit. It was called "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh," subtitled "A Letter from Camp." He guested on all the big TV shows. He had his own special. He played The Hollywood Bowl twice — I was in the audience both times — and then his star began cooling…to some extent because he decided he didn't want to be a short, fat comedian who wore glasses.
He wanted to be…well, at times he seemed to want to be Frank Sinatra but he didn't have the voice or style or just about anything one would need to be Frank Sinatra, especially in the late sixties when Frank Sinatra was struggling to be Frank Sinatra. Sherman tried to be a playwright and composer for Broadway but his one attempt opened there in 1969 and lasted all of four days. Other failures followed other failures and he passed away in 1973 at the age of 48.
About fifteen different funny people inspired me to get into the business of writing silly things and he's on that list. He especially caused me to start writing song parodies and poems, as did Stan Freberg and MAD Magazine…especially MAD writer Frank Jacobs. I never met Mr. Sherman though I did have one unpleasant encounter with him via other parties. I wrote about it here.
I did meet a number of people who knew him, including several who claimed to have ghost-written a lot of his best material. I'm reasonably certain some of those claims were valid as were tales of Sherman not being as nice and funny in person as he was on a stage. Most used the term "self-destructive." Still, I admired much of what he did. Some of his records still hold up well if you can find your way through the outdated topical references.
In 1965, just before his stardom began its vertiginous plunge, he published his autobiography, A Gift of Laughter. At the age of thirteen, it had a big impact on me and on how I write when I write in the first person and try to be amusing. I have recommended it to many people and some time ago on this blog, I said the following about it…
I don't necessarily recommend the book as actual history, however. You may have seen me mention my high school buddy, Bruce Reznick, who occasionally sends in items I post on this weblog. Bruce's father is the great comedy writer, Sidney Reznick, and he was a featured player in one anecdote in A Gift of Laughter. Sidney says it ain't so. A number of other Sherman friends and co-workers I've encountered have suggested that what he wrote is not exactly what they remembered…and notably, Sherman omits one key verifiable fact from his life story.
He tells the rags-to-riches tale of how he went from unemployed, unemployable TV producer to Big Comedy Star practically overnight…but fails to mention that My Son, the Folk Singer was his second record. He had previously done a much less successful — perhaps because it was "too Jewish" — single of "Jake's Song" and "A Satchel and a Seck." I guess it would have cluttered his life story and made it seem less exciting to know that he wasn't a smash hit with his first attempt at a comedy record.
This is not uncommon in autobiographies. When Moss Hart wrote Act One, he told the tale of his maiden success as a playwright, making Once in a Lifetime sound like his first work to make it to Broadway. It wasn't. His friend, Alan Jay Lerner, also left some early failures out of his autobiography, The Street Where I Live. There are many other examples.
What's odd (and oddly endearing) about Sherman's book is that it's filled with flops and humiliations as a comedy writer and producer. He owns up to an awful lot of them but pretends like when he finally tried recording song parodies, he struck gold his first time out. I don't fault him for that. I just think it's…well, kind of strange. It doesn't make me love his work any less, though.
I should also mention that one of Sherman's old associates told me that the book was largely ghost-written. That also does not make me love it any less.
When I've recommended it to friends, I caution them that it can be hard to find. Well, it was…and Amazon is currently offering a hardcover of the original edition for $579. It ain't that good. Fortuitously though, they have a Kindle edition available for reading free as a loan or you can purchase it for $2.99. It's definitely worth even the higher of those two prices.
It will tell you the happy, rags-to-riches side of Allan Sherman's career, stopping just before the descent. There are also a couple of great, funny stories about Harpo Marx in it, especially in the first and last chapters. Go for it.