Approaching the stage door after his pre-show walk, Sullivan stamped out his cigarette and was immediately surrounded by autograph seekers. These admirers would be in tonight’s studio audience, a mix of young couples in their Sunday best, some older folks, a few servicemen in uniform, and teenage rock fans. The Sullivan show was one midtown Manhattan event that never attracted the tuxedo and evening dress crowd. It was only a couple hours before show time yet he took the time to sign several autographs, as he would again after the show. He never stopped being willing – happy – to sign autographs. During a tour with Frank Sinatra, while the singer avoided the crowds, Sullivan stood for lengthy periods not just signing but asking fans how they wanted them inscribed. When it came to his audience, his energy appeared boundless.
In truth, the 68-year-old producer was feeling his years. In the old days he never would have taken a nap after dress rehearsal, as he now did. Privately, his family saw signs of senility; the forgetfulness had become frequent. So tonight after the show, dinner at Danny’s Hideaway, a short Courvoisier at the Colony, then home.
As the guard let him into the theater, there it was. The nerves. He still felt the butterflies after all these years. But there was no time to worry. On to room 21, his dressing room, where the make-up artist worked her magic, during which the celebrities he would introduce from the stage stopped by. Then, several last minute changes with show staffers, a flurry of details; tonight he would perform a humorous sketch with the Italian hand puppet Topo Gigio – were his lines ready? As always, he touched up his introductions; he would rewrite many of them four to five times the day of the show, sending his assistant scurrying to the ditto machine to re-make the master script.
Then, at 7:50 P.M., backstage went dark. The telephone bell was turned off. He stood in the wings, where he could hear the studio audience. He was in his own world at this point, focused on his introduction, the myriad aspects of the show, unaware of the last minute movements of stage hands. All across America, people were expecting to see him, tens of millions of them, sitting in their living rooms with the TV tuned to CBS, the teenagers, the parents, the little ones. And then it was 8 o’clock sharp.
“Tonight, from the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway…the Ed Sullivan Show…and now, live from New York…Ed Sullivan!…”