Of course, it’s an inevitability of life that as we get older we lose loved ones. In my experience it’s most unusual that we would also gain new loved ones, but that’s what happened to me ten years ago when I met Henry Schleiff, who now runs the Hallmark Channel.
It certainly wasn’t love at first sight. He was working for a television syndicator and wanted to meet me to discuss cohosting a morning talk show with the beloved Dana Reeve, Chris’s wife. We met in my agent Jimmy Griffin’s office. Henry sat on a sofa, Jimmy sat behind his desk, and one of my producers, Clay Dettmer, sat on a chair to my left.
Henry first said the show would air at nine a.m., which was when my close friend Regis Philbin was on with Kathie Lee. Even though I knew it was out of the question, because I would never compete with a friend, not to mention lose to Regis, I didn’t interrupt, as Henry had clearly prepared for this meeting, which he proved by pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and began to read to me scribbled notes he had written on it.
Surprisingly, they weren’t notes about his ideas for the show, but criticism of me as host of my nighttime cable show. I could see Jimmy and Clay eyeing me warily, waiting to see if I’d get up and leave—or worse—but I was so taken with Henry’s nerve that I didn’t interrupt him.
He said he felt my monologues sometimes ran on too long. I didn’t disagree, so I didn’t say anything. He wondered what I was looking at when I sometimes looked to my right of camera, where someone was standing with a note on a card reminding me of my next subject. That was something I soon abandoned, so even though I again didn’t disagree, I still didn’t say anything, because I was marveling that a stranger was giving me all these notes without being asked.
I chose not to do the morning show, but it was an odd beginning to a relationship that was to become so important.
I next ran into Henry at an event for our mutual friend Regis. He approached me with his wife, Peggy, who also became a dear friend. He knew that I was very close to a legendary broadcaster, and he wanted me to tell my friend that he was welcome to do anything, anytime, for Court TV, which Henry was then running. I told him my friend had retired and wasn’t interested in coming back to TV. Peggy then said to Henry, “Why don’t you invite Chuck to do whatever he wants on Court TV?” Henry paused for a moment and then said, “Sure.” That’s all.
Sometime later I asked to meet with him. His head of daytime programming, Marlene Dann, who had been my wonderful producer at CNBC, was there with another woman. I told Henry about the interviews I conducted with women who were in prison under the Rockefeller Drug Laws. The time was getting close to a decision on clemency, so I said I felt it might be useful for me to interview the women’s children on Court TV and send those interviews to Albany to perhaps help the cause. When I finished talking, Henry leapt to his feet and basically repeated everything I had just said, except he did it pacing around with great excitement and waving his arms. I found it odd and strangely charming. When I left, I had a feeling this program was going to happen, but I heard nothing for a week or so. I called Marlene Dann to ask what was up. She said, “When you left, Henry turned to me and said, ‘He’s going to cost a lot of money.’”
I called Henry and asked him if money was an issue. He said it was. I said, “How about I do it for nothing?” That was always my intention anyway. He quickly replied, “It’s a deal.” I interviewed two kids, sent the video to Albany, and it definitely helped in getting clemency for their mothers.
I began to run into Henry at various events and realized that he was the single funniest person I’d ever met. That was a big deal for me. We began to chat on the phone, and he would consistentlysay things that I would write down and would ask his permission to use in a play I was writing.
Here’s an example: it’s absolutely true, and no name is changed. A friend of ours had a colonoscopy. Henry went into the recovery room and told our groggy friend, “Everything’s fine. There’s one slight complication. Doctor Schmeerin can’t find his watch.”
Once Henry called me after he had hernia surgery and said, “I’m not allowed to laugh. That’s why I called you.” Most of his jokes are on himself and his bad golf game. He told me recently that people call his club wanting to know when he’s playing so they can have a winning day.
Along with his unending humor, he has also stepped over the line twice with me in recent years. I called him on it both times, and he more than made up for it in the following weeks. In my experience, that’s not necessarily the norm.
He had Ethel Kennedy call me to host an event at her house. She said, “I hear you’re not only highly respected, but beloved.” I said, “Can I ask you a question?” She said, “Sure.” I asked, “Who is this really?”
For me, and I’m sure for most everyone to have someone in your life who is not only a tremendous human being, a wonderful father, and also consistently hilarious is like a dream.
Oh, yeah. Henry read an earlier draft of this book and told my editor, “This can’t be the final draft, because I’m not in it.”
Now, he deservedly is.