In 1969, I directed a Simon and Garfunkel special for CBS. Because of Paul and Art’s prominence, they were given a prime-time slot on Sunday night. My television directing credits at the time were my two firings from Candid Camera.
Actually, Paul and Art didn’t ask me to direct the special. They asked me to go out and meet with the leading documentarians in the field, which I did. They were all impressive but were talking about something other than what we had in mind. Eventually, I said, “I think I should direct it.” Paul and Art said, “Fine.”
I’m not sure what the network was expecting—most likely a musical special with maybe one or two guest stars—but Paul and Art were more than open to my idea that we make a documentary special intercutting footage of what was going on in America and in Vietnam that provoked Paul to write some of his songs.
To be upfront with everyone, I sent the network an outline of exactly what the show would be: It would include the Poor People’s march on Washington; footage of our three slain leaders, President Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.; and Robert Kennedy with the migrant workers’ leader, César Chávez.
Paul and I traveled to Delano, California, to meet with Mr. Chávez, and our crew followed Paul and Art around the country, filming them in concert. Paul and I attended a union meeting that César Chávez chaired. The discussion was whether they should have a mariachi band or food—they couldn’t afford both. Paul arranged it so they could. I have a letter from Mr. Chávez thanking Paul and me for giving him so much of our time. He was an inspiration to me, a role model for helping others in need.
We made the show using the facilities of Robert Drew Associates. Robert Drew was considered by many to be the father of video vérité, meaning documentaries. He had two credits on the special, executive producer and executive in charge of production. He was a self-described Rockefeller Republican—whatever that meant. He had a portrait of Nelson Rockefeller on the wall behind his desk.
Nelson Rockefeller gave us the Rockefeller Drug Laws, which were the harshest in the nation and responsible for ruining thousands of people’s lives. More about that later.
Governor Rockefeller, that paragon of virtue, died from having a heart attack while having sex with his mistress.
Anyhow, while I was working on our special, Robert Drew was off in an editing room of his own putting together an entirely different special from our footage: the making of a song or something.
When he saw my “rough assemblage,” he called Paul and Art and me into his office and pronounced it “not airworthy.” He then said, “The only way this show can be saved is if Chuck removes himself from control and turns the reins over to me.” Paul and Art looked at me for my response—a thirty-four-year-old newcomer challenged by the father of documentaries.
I said, “Bob, you’re off in another room making a special none of us have any interest in. I suggest you leave the premises and let me complete what I’m doing.”
I worked through the night with the editors and took the rough assemblage to its next step: a rough cut. Bob looked at it and said, “That’s the best rough cut I’ve ever seen.”
When the special was completed, we waited for the reaction. There was a very loud sound of silence, and then urgent meetings were called.
I was angrily confronted by a representative of the ad agency for the sponsor, AT&T. He said to me, “You’re using our money to sell your ideology!” I asked him what he saw as my ideology, and he snapped, “The humanistic approach.” I was honestly baffled. I said, “You mean there are people against the humanistic approach?” He said, “You’re goddammed right there are!”
What I was too naïve to understand was that in the sixties as well as today, unfortunately, people will almost always put their economic interests over any concern for equal rights, which this special clearly was calling for, and AT&T felt it might offend some of their Southern affiliates. Also, not everyone was necessarily against the war in Vietnam in 1969. As a result, AT&T removed their name from the special after having paid for it.
Right around that time, I was having dinner with some friends at the Russian Tea Room in New York. Sitting nearby was the fellow from the ad agency, and we all heard him say, “Simon and Garfunkel are under the spell of this Svengali figure, Charles Grodin.” One of my friends immediately spoke up to let him know I was sitting right there, and any further talk of me or Svengali, for that matter, stopped. The man from the ad agency obviously didn’t know Paul Simon or Art Garfunkel, because I’ve never met anyone with stronger opinions than Paul or Art. The idea that they would be under anyone’s spell, mine or even Svengali’s, is ludicrous.
I do remember that before AT&T removed their name, the fella from the ad agency had asked for certain changes. One I particularly recall: they were concerned with Coretta Scott King saying, “Poverty is a child without an education.” They wanted me to lower the sound on her speaking. I asked to what level? The answer was, “Make it inaudible.” (I recently learned that my phone service is with AT&T. I hope they don’t read this and make it impossible for me to get a dial tone.)
We made no changes. Next, I was called in to meet with the head of program practices for CBS, or what would be more popularly known as the censor. His name was William Tankersly. We spoke at length, and he and to their great credit CBS decided to let the special run exactly as we had presented it with no changes at all.
The Alberto-Culver Company became the sponsor by simply paying for air costs, as I recall $180,000. They also had the late actor Robert Ryan come on before the special, Songs of America, began, to say the network felt that Simon and Garfunkel had earned the right to express their opinion.
On the broadcast, the American public heard “Bridge Over Troubled Water” for the first time. It was played over a shot of the train carrying Robert Kennedy’s body across the country as people on train platforms stood in silence, saluting or weeping. After that we went to our first commercial break, and one million people switched to another channel.
The special did not get a good rating. The Washington Post ran an editorial expressing amazement that the special even got on the air. The Nixon White House requested a copy of it, and my agent suggested I pursue work in some other aspect of show business.
However, the special became a CBS entry in the worldwide Montreux Television Festival, and forty years later the Paley Center for Media, formerly known in New York as the Museum of Television and Radio, is hoping to honor the special, Paul, and Art.
Beginning with that special, I’ve always been identified with being on the left. The truth is I don’t have any politics and actually have more positions that would be considered conservative than liberal.
When I had my cable show, I often spoke about the homeless and people in dire need, or those I felt were being treated unfairly. I also was on television during the impeachment of President Clinton, which I was strongly against, but then it turned out most on the right agreed with me. Recently, I was contacted by a group that wanted me to join them in trying to impeach President Bush. I had no interest in that, either.
People tend to make snap judgments, because they don’t have the time or intellectual energy to look further. Once I spoke at an event where one of the other speakers was the late William F. Buckley, Jr. I said I don’t measure people by right or left or liberal or conservative but by those who care about others and those who don’t. Mr. Buckley let me know he appreciated what I had to say, even though some of his positions, in my opinion, obviously lacked compassion. May he rest in peace, his positions were heartfelt, but that doesn’t make him, if you’ll pardon the expression, right.
I believe everyone should work for a living, but those who are truly unable should not be abandoned by the government. I think we should have much greater punishment for bullies.
I do not think drugs should be legalized, and I believe we should have stronger protection and punishment for drinking and driving. I’m against the estate tax. Frankly, I see myself as a compassionate conservative—whatever that or any label means. I have a friend who always identifies himself as a Reagan Republican, but he can’t tell me what that means. I don’t know, either. The two R’s work nicely, though, just as the two C’s in compassionate and conservative do.
I am willing to give up certain rights to privacy for more security. On other questions I respond specifically given the circumstances of our times, and I’m not even remotely uncomfortable in saying, “I don’t know.” That’s why I say I have no politics, unless you want to say paying a lot of attention to people in dire need is a political position instead of a human one.
Years ago I became good friends with a New York Mets pitcher who at this writing is part of the New York Yankee broadcasting team, Al Leiter. Recently, a reporter wrote me and said he was doing a story about Al, who may or may not run for political office, and Al suggested he talk to me. The reporter wrote in his letter that Al had told him, “Even though Chuck and I are on opposite ends of the political spectrum, we’re friends.”
I called Al and asked him what made him think we were on opposite ends of the political spectrum? Al then asked me a series of questions. One was, “How do you feel about all this f this and f that?” He seemed surprised that I was as much against it as he was. He then asked me a number of other political questions and was startled to learn that our opinions were almost identical. Al knew that for years I was hanging out with a very famous liberal, so he assumed I was one, too. I told him my friend and I were always in a constant debate.
You really don’t know who anyone is or what they feel unless you ask them specific questions or live with them.