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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Aug. 31, 1987)
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Cut & Style Guys Girls Computer Perms Eurotan Tanning (1 month) valid Aug. 31-Sept. 4 $13° $15 c additional $39 9S charge for long hair $30°° Vicky Wozencraft Formerly of That Place Elise Baker Formerly of That Place Linda Kay Formerly of Command Performance Sheila Hughes Formerly of That Place 2^01 S./ : ,Texas (Next to The Edge) Nancy Sparkman Formerly of That Place 696^TecIi your business deserves some prime-time Page 1 OC/The Battalion/Monday, August 31,1987 ‘Late Night’ worker see odd tryouts for TV show NEW YORK (AP) — They chug- a-lug beer, spin around in clothes dryers, dive head-first onto the fioor, play tunes on unusual parts of the body, inadvertently set off fire alarms and occasionally throw up. “I could send out a flyer that says, ‘We don’t care what you can stick up your nose, we aren’t interested,’ ” says Susan Hall Sheehan, the hard- nosed but good-natured and appar ently iron-stomached woman who auditions Stupid Human Tricks for “Late Night'with David Letterman.” Sheehan took over the job from Chris Elliott when he graduated to staff writer. She says he used to place ads in such outlets as college newspa pers that opened with the question, “Can you do something odd?” “We decided the word ‘odd’ was a mistake,” Sheehan says. “Between that and ‘For more information, call Susan,’ I got a lot of obscene phone calls.” the trick, the show’s producer, Barry Sand, sees it. Unusual aptitudes that might daz zle the average beer-bust crowd do not necessarily make it on network TV. “A lot of people can play the ‘Wil liam Tell Overture’ on different parts of their body,” Sheehan says. Just a dash of panache can turn a mundane trick like spinning in a clothes dryer into boffo late-night entertainment. “We had a lot of calls on guys who could ride around in a dryer, but it wasn’t enough,” Sheehan says. “This one guy called back and said, ‘Well, 1 can change shirts while I’m in the dryer.’ And there we had it. And it was terrific.” Perhaps the most memorable Stu pid Human Trick was performed by a Long Island bartender who stopped an electric fan with his tongue. erybody’s going to be talkinJ it -” 1 ft L Letterman does not see tit; p before they are performedxE show. He was clearly alarmedi bartender’s trick, but itwasa^ R^ll- Performers who make ii :• L show get a union scale pavc;^ | $490. Sheehan was disaDDor|£|T learn that each member ofa:« ely that formed a pyramid whileij^fiij, ing spoons on their noses .p)] r | j have to be paid, so the C expensive. Sometimes the trick goes rehearsal, but not on theshov ;enia If human tricks have merit and pose no immediate threat to her safety, Sheehan conducts first-phase auditions in person for those who can get to New York. Hopefuls in other parts of the country can send videotapes. If Sheehan approves of Sand failed to come up with amus ing stories of people desperate to get on TV, but the fan guy immediately sprang to mind. “That was one where you start to think, ‘Do we want to do this?’ ” he says. "That’s a gray area. But you say, tomorrow ev- Buffy, the stewardess, coil:B| uc ij ance seven spoons on her fiK||f e 4 not when she was nervoicE^ aN sweating. ays u “I don’t know if the huntt;M t j can produce Teflon, bu[R[ things would not stick to her,' says. Then there are theonesthl even get past the first-phaxj lion. Like the guy whosaiditj chug two dozen eggs. “As soon as he down, he threw them Sheehan says. “And you kin thought goes through myrp t hey don’t pay me enough." 0 fOL Star stands with producei against critics of TV series ftudi ust foi ilaa t.c re wrc allege B i LOS ANGELES (AP) — A bunch of glib television critics were ready to make toast of producer Stephen Cannell after screening his new show, the sugary-sweet, cliche-ridden “J.J. Starbuck.” Cannell, a sincere man who makes popular entertain ment that is anathema to critics, faced off with a room ful of them at a news conference during NBC’s preview week. Luckily, series star Dale Robertson was there to pluck Cannell from the jaws of cynicism. Robertson plays Starbuck, an eccentric Texas bil lionaire in Stetson and string ties, and with steer horns on his car, who has retired from the oil “bidniss” to go around helping others. Cannell, executive producer of the series, was asked by a reporter to respond to advertisers’ complaints that Robertson’s thick. Southern drawl was unintelligible in the pilot. Cannell said the print sfyqwn to advertisers must have been bad, and that he hadjfound no such problem. Robertson butted in, “yvell, another thing. We’re not putting a leather coat over that lapel mike, either. I agree with you. The print that I saw, I said the same thing. I couldn’t understand it. “Nobody’s ever mistaken me for Ronald Coleman. So I need all the help 1 can get when it comes to being un derstood.” His response broke the critics up. After that, the room was his. The next question was about Robertson’s World War II service under Gen. George Patton Jr. What medals did he get? The Cross of Lorraine, Sil ver Star, Bronze Star and Purple Heart. “Any decora tions I got I think that any man there would deserve the same thing,” Robertson said, chalking it up to'College the right place at the right iim< ISC s, Then he proceeded to defend Lt. Col. Olivt lr jmo in the Iran-Contra scheme and Richard Nixor low in tergate. las a lx Any plans for Starbuck to rescue hostages: (lay* 1 v “There may be,” Cannell said, sensingaston A Cc Rohetson said, “If I could find out a wavtoelo cor be the first one to volunteer.” rs, he Trving to get back into the critical mode,ant com v porter suggested that Robertson’s character iistdiy, too many homilies. Ran The Cannell he admitted he might have "overdo jane li writing the pilot. Rd g Siding with the reporter, Robertson said, I Jin ad agree with you t hci <■ \ c ■ mplc .1 show is pleni' ompcti But it’s the steer horns that really get kieeds s goat. jameit' “Let me tell you, we don’t always agree wit;w*We thing either, like the loons.' Robertson said. Tibpit' i guy I ever knew with horns on his car was Nuditwane, out here, and he wasn't from Texas." Ryea Cohen owns Nudie's, the Hollywood cowboi eople store once favored by rock stars. edone Later, Robertson explained he’d inventedbl“We background story to explain the steer hormtoblnt to satisfaction. R; an He figures a gratef ul recipient of Starbud oth. sophical largesse must have given him thestee iThe and good or Starbuck just couldn’t say no. tent wi Robertson, an Oklahoma horse breeder,'INjov. known for his series “Tales of Wells Fargo" i udder ago. Recently, he has done guest shots on T'|st tw< and had a stint as a regular on “Dynasty" in 1981 (ayed c |:s. ' 'America's clown' stays busy entertaining U.S. with classic comedy readers use exposure. these pages to see whafs happening on the tube, let them know whafs happening with you. call 845-2611 to place advertisements in at ease. LAS VEGAS, Nev. (AP) — Red Skelton, America’s classic clown for five decades, leans forward so his message can be heard above the clatter of dishes at the swank cafe. “Today’s comics use four-letter words as a shortcut to thinking,” Skelton says, toying with a bowl of soup. “They’re shooting for that big laugh and it becomes a panic thing, using four-letter words to shock people. “You’ll laugh, but when you leave and your dignity returns, you say ‘Why?’ I know more dirty jokes than any guy who ever lived. But I don’t do them on stage. I have too much respect for my audience.” Skelton became a national institu tion on radio in the 1930s and ran a record 20 consecutive years on tele vision before his program was yanked in 1971. Today, at 73, he still is tickling America’s funny bone with 75 concert dates a year plus vi deos and TV reruns of his old shows. The passing of time has proven Skelton’s comic genius. At a recent performance at Cae sars Palace, Skelton received a standing ovation before he had even delivered his first line — something that rarely occurs in Las Vegas showrooms. Skelton mesmerized his audience during the one-man, two-hour show. He kept asking them if they were tired, always drawing a chorus of “nos.” Skelton admits that Tuesday nights — when his show ran — still are tough on him, after decades as a staple in America’s home entertain ment menu. “Our show was never out of the Top 15 on radio or TV,” Skelton says. “When CBS canceled us they said we weren’t reaching the buying public, the college age. “They said we were reaching chil dren and the elderly, but not the buying power. “They forgot the little kids were going to grow into buying power. They’re the ones coming to see me now.” Skelton was born July 18, 1913, two months after his father died. His mother raised four boys, work- “Mom used to say I didn’t run away from home; my destiny just caught up with me at an early age. ” — Red Skelton, comedian ing as a cleaning woman and eleva tor operator in an Indianapolis of fice building. She taught him an appreciation for art, which evolved into his sec ond love, and she sparked his inter est in comedy by providing tickets to vaudeville shows on her meager sal ary. At the age of 10 Skelton left home to join a medicine show trav eling through the South and Mid west. “Mom used to say I didn’t run away from home; my destiny just caught up with me at an early age,” he says. Two years after his TV show was canceled he headed out for the col lege campuses he continues to play throughout the United States. He often donates the money he makes from his appearances to stu dent projects. In mid-July, he celebrated his an nual birthday party in Honolulu, bringing together art connoisseurs who have paid $25,000 to $81,000 for his original oil paintings. The paintings are big business for Skelton, who began his art career at 5 by painting faces on old round- topped clothes pins. Today, he esti mates the sale of his lithograph re productions alone annually tops $2.5 million. Oddity wort for guitarist on 3rd albui tered i l TEANECK, N.J. (AP)- Scholz’s method for creaE multi-platinum album id odd: Get rid of your band guitar stretched outonyouii spend six years writing and ducing the record, add* then release. T he finished product: B 1 ' chart-topping third als “Third Stage.” Scholz played lead f rhythm guitar, acousdc 5 grand piano, electric piar ; gan and drums on “Third hut only after writinganda^ ing each song. Scholz ato duced the record. “It was a relief to hart (Delp) come in to do vocal somebody else was arf' Scholz says. “It’s easier n wear all those hats." . Boston has become a ctf of the studio, brought to Scholz in the Massachusc 0 ] cility the MIT graduate f rom scratch, Tom Scholia away Studio. The down to Scholz playing and singing. Scholz worked with otw sicians more on the first bums than on “ThirdStage It worked in 1978, whet ton followed up its smasli album of two years prior"' 1 other hit, “Don’t Look Bad when Scholz went back for No. 3, the problems began A back injury caused ty household lifting was pounded by a basketballai The result was extreme suiting in six months fl< back. He recorded the $ last song, “I Think I 1^1 playing guitar while lying a makeshift diving board. Scholz admits he was how the album would fare “If the guys at the ban court like it, or a guy f gas says, ‘Like your record tells me something,” Schob l