"Swifty and Me"

Sentimental lug that I am, I can often hear a piece of music and it will carry me back to a different time in my life. Both the good and the bad memories are treated the same -- for good or bad they all have one thing in common -- they belong to me. The good ones are cherished -- the bad are hopefully learned from.

The other day I saw someone being interviewed on a special about the composer, Cole Porter. Instantly my mind went back to a time when I was about 14-years-old.

Actually, I should begin by saying that I was acting the leading role in a play some years before I was 14. At the time, I had understudied the part for the boy who did the part on Broadway. During the rehearsals, I would be asked to get up and show the boy I was understudying how to do the dramatic scenes which, for a then ten-year-old boy, was pretty frustrating. Later, I played the part in the Chicago company which also toured the country. When the play was bought for the films, the producer wanted me to do it and sent me the contracts. When I was just about to reach Hollywood, I was informed that a deal had been struck between the producer and the studio who had put the other boy under contract.

It was a cruel blow, and I resolved then and there I would star again -- this time on Broadway, so that I could then do the film as well.

Years passed, and then, at age 14, I was starring in the title role of a Moss Hart play. We had just opened in Boston for the tryout run and everyone told us that I must wait for the New York opening so that we could pick and choose the best offers that were sure to come from all the studios.

On the morning after the Boston opening there came a knock on the door of the hotel room where we were staying. It was about seven o'clock, which is an unheard of time in the theater. An actor always sleeps to at least 10 or 11 a.m., because of having worked the night before. My mother went to the door and here was this actor's agent. Astounded, my mother said that I was still asleep and couldn't be awakened. By this time my older sister had gotten me up, and I went to see what was happening.

The agent insisted on coming in. He said that he was a good friend of Moss Hart's and that he wanted to have me put under contract to a new studio that was being formed called Eagle-Lion Studios. It was just after the war and was to be a joint film venture between England and the United States.

He wouldn't stop. "Call Moss," he insisted, "He'll tell you that you can trust me."

Tired and confused, we called Moss and were assured that the agent was indeed a friend and could be trusted. The contracts were then thrust in front of me, which I reluctantly signed and went back to bed.

As predicted, the Broadway opening was a hit which resulted in my getting numerous acting awards and being insured by Lloyds of London for what was then the largest amount ever written on an actor.

With that, the flood gates opened and I had offers from just about all the major studios. This was at a time when studios put people under long-term contracts and virtually assured their future.

Only one thing was wrong, I was already under contract to Eagle-Lion Studios and they wouldn't let me go. For months I fought to get out of that contract. Finally the play ended and the furor subsided. At that point I was just another out of work, teenage actor.

With a professional shrug, I was at last released and stranded in New York. No one was interested any longer. The parts planned to build me into a major film star were given to someone else. In truth, I was now as cold a property as yesterday's newspapers.

To my rescue came the production chief of RKO Studios for whom I had worked in the past. He put me under contract for a year which saved us all financially.

As the years passed, I would think of how close I'd come to having a totally different life. One that could have brought me fame and financial security instead of a film career based on the aggressive pursuit of mediocrity. All changed because of an actor's agent who took advantage of a sleepy teenage kid in Boston.

The agent went on to become one of the richest and most powerful agents in the film industry. His "after the Academy Awards" parties are legendary, and to know him or be in his company, is considered an "in" thing.

While most of you reading this may not recognize the name, Irving "Swifty" Lazar -- to those in show business and the literary world -- "Swifty" is a professional icon.

Some time ago a friend of mine, who was then "Swifty's" personal physical trainer, mentioned me to him, and he said he had no idea who I was. It was clear that he had profoundly altered my future, but not I his.

With all the memories rushing by as I watched the interview with "Swifty" Lazar, I was gradually, for the first time, filled with gratitude. In some strange way my life had taken a totally different turn because of him. If it hadn't been for him, I might never have met the people I have and would never have been blessed with my wonderful wife, Penny.

And of course, not incidently, I would not have been a chiropractic physician. So here's to "Swifty" Lazar, the man responsible for me becoming a chiropractor instead of a film star. For this -- believe it or not -- I'm grateful.