My Happy Days in Hollywood by Garry Marshall Read Free Book Online Page B

it not only funny but also unique. Maybe they wanted to laugh more than they wanted to listen to music. We entered our act in a few contests. Much to our surprise we won the All-Korea Event, followed by the All–Far East Competition. Before we knew it we were being invited to fly to Washington, D.C., to compete in the All-World Entertainment Competition.
    I never thought doing the act with Jimmy would be a way to get out of the army. I just thought of it as a way to make my time in the army more interesting. However, once we were in Washington, we found ourselves performing for the secretary of defense. I had only two months left on my two-year service contract. Jimmy and I did our routine in the All-World event, and we came in third as a specialty group in the nonmusical grand finals of 1958. We celebrated, and then they offered us the opportunity to continue in an army show called
Rolling Along
, which would tour all over Europe. The catch was that I had to sign up for another two years of service.
    Although I liked performing, I did not want to do two more years in the army. I was just months from getting out, and I wanted to be done and go home. When I declined, I think they didn’t see the point of sending me back to Korea, so I was restationed to Fort Belvoir in Alexandria, Virginia. At my new post I met Barry Kurtz, who was a good basketball player from Hostra University. Barry helped me get on a basketball team at Fort Bevoir, and I volunteered for the newspaper, where I wrote a sports column. I got up every day and wrote about national sports and played basketball. Not a bad job in the army during peacetime.
    I wanted to get out of the army, but I have never been the best at navigating paperwork. One day on the basketball court I started talking to Barry Kurtz, who was the company clerk. Barry was an athletic con man always looking for a deal. He told me that because of my service and circumstances, if I filled out the right paperwork I could get out by springtime. So that’s what I did after two years of service. In the spring of 1959 Barry helped me fill out the proper forms and I was released. I grabbed my duffel bag, snare drum, and the plaque Jimmy and I had won, said goodbye to my friends, and headed off on the next train bound for New York City.
    I arrived at Penn Station and then boarded another train for the Bronx. I got off at Bedford Park on 204th Street and walked the five blocks to my house. By the time I got home, dragging my duffel and drum, it was 11:00 P.M ., but I remember feeling so happy to finally be home. I rang the bell of my apartment, and my mother and father opened the door to welcome me. Then Dad said, “It’s late. Go tobed,” and we all went to sleep. But as I got undressed in my room, with my dog tags and army uniform, there was only one thing on my mind: How was I going to make a living now? In the army, I could play sports, write articles, and perform music. But now, without the clear structure of camp or the army, I wasn’t sure where I fit in or who would pay me to fit in.
    That night I lay awake looking at the sports stars who still lined the walls of my childhood room. It was obvious that a career as a professional athlete was still not a possibility for me, but maybe I could forge a career as a sportswriter. After all I did have a degree from Medill, Northwestern’s journalism school and one of the best. The problem was that most of the top-notch Medill graduates got sent right out of college to small-town newspapers in places like Boone, Iowa, and I didn’t really want to live in Boone, Iowa. So I came up with another plan. I would apply as a copyboy at the New York
Daily News
. I also decided that I would call my college writing partner Fred Freeman and tell him I was back in town, ready to write some new comedy material. I wasn’t sure whether journalism or comedy writing was going to be a profession for me, but I knew I had to try to make a living at something.

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