Once the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan Show was all over, one or two of the performers couldn’t bear to remember it.
For Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall, it had all started so well. They were a sophisticated young comedy duo, striving to make their mark. They had, in their own words, been ‘sitting at home, starving’ in Los Angeles, when their manager called. ‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘I got you on The Ed Sullivan Show.’
They let out a yell. This was the biggest show in America, miraculously able to transform jobbing performers into national stars.
They immediately set to work honing a routine. ‘We rehearsed and rehearsed and we fine-tuned it … and we told everybody, in fact I think I sky-wrote it over Hollywood: “We’re on The Ed Sullivan Show. Yippeeee!” We were on our way!’ They were excited, too, by the chance to meet some of their idols: they had been tipped off that two big musical theatre stars, ‘Two Ton’ Tessie O’Shea and Georgia Brown were on the same bill, along with the impressionist Frank Gorshin. Someone also mentioned this new pop group they’d never heard of, from England.
On the way to the studio, Charlie and Mitzi were still finessing their routine when their cab came to a halt. The streets had been cordoned off, with thousands of people queuing around the block. They couldn’t understand why.
Low on the bill, they were shown to the worst dressing room. In the corner was a soda machine for the use of one and all. Presently, they were called for a dress rehearsal. After it, a voice came over the loudspeaker: ‘McCall and Brill, Mr Sullivan’s office, please!’ So they went downstairs, and were shown in. ‘And there he was! Ed Sullivan! He was sitting on the chair getting made up and I looked at the man who could make our entire careers!’ Sullivan had been observing their rehearsal, and he was not pleased. ‘The piece of material you’re doing is too sophisticated for this audience,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be mainly fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen-year-old girls in the audience tonight, and kids.’
In an hour’s time they were going to be live on television, and here was Mr Sullivan ordering them to change a routine they had been fine-tuning for weeks! Determined not to panic, they got down to work.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. ‘And there was this guy standing there with funny hair and granny glasses,’ recalled Charlie, ‘and he said, “Givvuzza coagluv,” And I said, “This guy wants a glove or something, I’m not sure what he wants.” And he started to laugh, and he said, “No – givv uzz a coag luv,” and he pointed to the Coke machine. And I said, “Oh – yeah! Come in!” And he said, “Can you give me a dime, 10 cents?” And I said, “Oh, I gotta buy you the Coke as well. Whaddya think, we’re made out of money, kid?”’
The young man took the Coca-Cola, then sat down on the sofa in their dressing room and started chatting away. ‘While he’s talking to us, he takes out a pen and a napkin and he’s drawing me. He’s looking at me and he’s drawing some pictures of me and Mitzi on napkins.’
Eventually the show began, and the young man was onstage with his group. They were singing ‘Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you’, but neither Charlie nor Mitzi could hear them. ‘Honest to God, the screams all through were so loud I never got a chance to hear what they sounded like. I never heard or saw such bedlam in my life! And when they finish, the screams keep going on!’
McCall and Brill were the last act before the reappearance of the Beatles in the second half of the show. Before they came on, there were screams from the audience, who thought the Beatles were next. Undaunted, the two of them launched into a jaunty satirical routine in which Charlie played a casting director while Mitzi, an energetic mimic, played a succession of different women, from a stage mom to a method actor. Each of their gags was met with silence.
‘We were up there for two years … We didn’t know what we were doing. We didn’t know if we’d finished the act or not finished the act. The band leader had the punchline, and he played it – Ta-da!’
They now reckon it was the worst three minutes of their lives. In fact, they had bombed so badly that when they came offstage the other performers looked away. Meanwhile, the Beatles were singing ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ and ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, and the screams were unabated.
After the show, Frank Gorshin took the couple out to Sardi’s and tried to comfort them. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘This is not the end of your lives.’ But they were so downhearted and embarrassed that they couldn’t face returning home to California. Instead they headed south to Florida, for a week’s break.
In Miami, they were walking to their car one night when a limousine pulled up alongside them. Inside were the Beatles, there for a second appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show, which was being recorded at the Deauville Hotel. John Lennon remembered them from their dressing room, and cheerfully introduced them to Paul, George and Ringo.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Escaping from you,’ they replied.
Back in Los Angeles, their agent failed to call them for six months. Eventually their careers got back on track, but they would never forget the day that had held such promise, and delivered such disappointment.‘We were in the midst of greatness. We didn’t know it,’ says Charlie. For the rest of the sixties they couldn’t help but wince every time they heard the Beatles. And it was still only 1964: an awful lot of wincing lay ahead.