Three Writers

"The Rule of Three" is one of those indefatigable principles by which comedy writers initiate comic runs (the first two items set up a series, establishing an expectation, and the third item undercuts that expectation). There is also a darker version of the "three" doctrine, which is that disasters occur in bunches of three--as do the deaths of celebrities. Though no more demonstrable than any other seemingly coincidental phenomenon, and no less constantly violated in the breach, this bizarre confluence of mortality has affected three local writers with whom I had major dealings in my formative years in Los Angeles. I encountered their obituaries in the Times in the appallingly short span of ten days.

David Shaw, who passed away last week at 62 of a brain lesion, was a prominent columnist for the Los Angeles Times, a witty Renanissance kind of guy whose interests ran from sports to food and wine. Though employed in various capaciities over a 40-year career, he is most noted for his investigations and commentary on the print media, including his own paper, which he savaged for improper dealings with a local sports arena in the early '90s. From this and subsequent writing he acquired the reputation for objectivity, honesty and integrity during an era when journalism began to suffer from the sloppy mischief of ambitious hoaxters such as Stephen Glass.

But apart from establishing a touchstone toward which honest and self-aware reporters could aspire, Shaw was the author of a particular piece that I've never forgotten. I knew him very sketchily, having dined with him and his wife, Ellen Torgerson Shaw, some twenty-five years ago. Ellen was a coworker with me at TV Guide Magazine, a clever, understated and perceptive talent. Tragically she succumbed to a recurrent cancer a few years later. David penned a column in her honor, and it was the most moving, heartfelt and elegant eulogy I'd ever read, surpassing even the famous one written by the early 20th-century journalist William White about his daughter, which had been required reading in college. Shaw's eulogy was testimony to the fact that deep emotions, which so often cloud political reasoning, can also contribute to the deepest artistic expression. I'd always wished to have a reprint of that column, and it would honor David if the Times were to reissue it, along with a collection of his many fine writings.

Danny Simon, best known as the brother of Neil and the model of all the older brother characters in Neil's "Broadway Bound" autobiographical plays, died last week at 86, a reasonably ripe old age. He had an early successful TV career as a writer, though hs most profound impact was mentoring his brother. He was also the prototype for Felix Unger in "The Odd Couple," a play loosely based on an early episode in his life. In the late '50s he started to write the play himself, but had neither the objectivity nor the discipline to complete it, so he handed the project to Neil. The rest is, of course, theater history. "The Odd Couple" is perhaps the greatest pure American comedy of the 20th century, the prime example of the conflict of opposing characterizations. It was somewhat gratifying to read, in his obit, that Neil had at least given him a percentage of the profits--though you'd think those points would have permitted him a more extravagant life style than what I witnessed when I visited him in his comfortable but unremarkable Sherman Oaks condo in the early '80s.

My dealing with Danny were confined to the Comedy Writing class he offered through the aegis of USC. This was a highly competitive course taken by ambitious comedy writers, a TV equivalent to the renowned Robert McKee film seminar popularized in the movie "Adaptation". I enrolled with my writing partner and for ten weeks was drilled with essential comedy writing principles (such as "k" is funny, the "rule of three," etc.) Familiar and formulaic as some of these tenets seemed to be, they did seem to result in success. A spec script we penned at the conclusion of this course led directly to our first paid writing assignment; and several others in the small class also achieved prominence in the both TV and screenwriting. I can't say I would not become a working writer without the input of Danny's principles--he never actually introduced me to anyone--but I wish to give him the posthumous credit he richly deserves.

Bizarrely, a mere week after confronting Danny's obituary, I read today the final notice on Gary Belkin, another lesser writer who devoted himself to teaching neophytes after his career started to falter. He taught his course in a delapidated hotel on Hollywood Boulevard in a makeshift extension school called the Sherwood Oaks Experimental College. The time frame was about the same as when I dined with David and Ellen Shaw. This was my first introduction to the business; the course itself was limited to ten students winnowed through a competition of submitted scripts. In the naive days of my youth, before I even turned 30, I thought to myself (correctly, I think), that if I could not outwrite ten other applicants to this course than I would not be able to compete in the greater industry. When I watch the current reality show "Situation: Comedy," which solicitted thousands of scripts for the reward of having two of them produced, I experienced a sort of deja vu.

Gary's class was less writing-intensive than Danny's; it relled largely on visits and lectures by other members of the biz, including Jimmie Walker of "Dy-no-mite" fame, whose name was attached to the title of the workshop. We were exposed to some of the practical realities of comedy writing and selling, and I wish I had gleaned from that course more wisdom regarding the politics of Hollywood. Still, I encountered some early friends (long vanished) whose cameraderie and shared experiences trying to break through were salutary and emotionally supportive. Like Danny, Gary helped light the way toward my career.

Besides being instrumental in jumpstarting my writing career, both Gary and Danny served as incidental role models for a post-active teaching avocation. Like those two I spent more than a decade traning, mentoring and lecturing about comedy writing, in universities and seminars and even through the Internet, until the famous dotcom debacle coupled with the decline of network sitcoms made the pastime unviable. That both of these progenitors would expire within a week of each other I find more than morbidly provocative.