Should anyone entering the world of film production be fortunate enough to have a boss/mentor as talented as Richie Zeifman, let me know. To this day, I thank God for putting him in charge of the early part of my career.
Richie worked for Levinson, Israelson & Bell, one of the better commercial production companies in the New York City of the 1980’s. Their offices sat in the shadow of The Metropolitan Museum of Art just off Fifth Avenue at 12 ½ East 82nd Street. I’m not making this up. My first conversation with their stunningly beautiful receptionist, Irene Vlak, went as follows:
“Levinson, Israelson & Bell,” came a voice that, at the time I didn’t know belonged to a snow-white Dutch blonde woman who was so stunning male PAs walked into the office for the first time and swore they’d never leave.
I had the advantage of living with a woman who was even better looking than Irene, so while not immune to her charms, I didn’t act like a resident of Dogpatch when Stupefyin’ Jones walked by. The phone call continued.
Me: “Is your office really at 12 ½ East 82nd Street?”Miss Netherlands: “Yes.”
Me: “How come your phone number doesn’t have any fractions?”
Miss Netherlands: “Uh, is there something I can do for you?”
Me: “I’d like to speak to Richard Zeifman.”
Miss Netherlands: “It’s Richie.”
Me: “You’re kidding.”
Miss Netherlands: “Who is this?”
Me: “My name’s George Young and I’m a freelance PA.”
Miss Netherlands: “Hold on. I’ll see if Richie has a minute.”
Me: “Richie? Really?”
Miss Netherlands: “Do you want to speak with him or not?”
Me: “Why wouldn’t I want to speak with him?”
Miss Netherlands: “Richie! It’s a freelance PA named Greg Young.”
Me: “George.”
Richie: “Hello!” A voice somewhat in the style of Jimmy Breslin came over the phone.
Me: “Hi Richie (my voice broke). My name is George Young
and some mysterious woman at BBDO gave me your name.”
Richie: “Denise . . . she’s gotta stop doing that.”
It took some doing, but after several entreaties over the next month, Richie hired me to PA a job for the new Sony Video 8 camcorder, a precursor to the Hi8, which was a precursor to the digicam, which was a precursor to digital SLRs with video capability, which has landed us in our current cultural pickle of every half-wit on the planet believing they’re DeMille because they own an iPhone.
Therefore, don’t blame Millennials for everything. Blame Sony.
Richie put me on for a prep day and told me to come in at eight am. Having stalked 12½ East 82nd for weeks prior to landing that first PA job, I found my way over there easily, especially since Lee and I lived on East 80th Street. Levinson, Israelson & Bell was actually domiciled in an East Side split-townhouse. Just as I landed, the front door of the 12 East 82nd Street half of the property opened. Pam Dawber of Mork and Mindy fame waltzed out. She lived with Fred Levinson at the time.
I steadied myself and rang the buzzer, clearly marked with “12½.” No keys from above fell and caved in my skull.
Miss Netherlands: “Can I help you?”
Me: “I’m here to see Richard Zeifman.”
Miss Netherlands: “Richie.”
Me: “You know, I can’t—”
BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: “Okay. Okay, I’m in.”
An elegant hallway lay in front of me, and the aforementioned Miss Netherlands sat behind the first desk.
Miss Netherlands: “Around to the left, and then straight back.”
Me: “Good morning, I’m George.”
Miss Netherlands: “Around to the left, and then straight back.”
But I swear she smiled at me.
I walked down another elegant hallway and then an explosion of noise hit me as I entered the, ahem, bullpen. Phones ringing. People yelling. Desks lining the walls to my right and to my left. However, in the middle of the room stood Richie Zeifman, about six-one and athletic. He had a strong resemblance to Dick Tracy minus the fedora. He was jabbing his finger into the chest of another man, well over four feet tall, who looked like Richard Dreyfuss.
Dick Tracy: “Get me a stuffed squirrel.”
Dreyfuss: “How close up you gonna be on this squirrel?”
Dick Tracy: “Get me a stuffed squirrel.” He increased the finger jabbing.
Dreyfuss: “Do you know what shoot day it works?”
Dick Tracy: “Get me a stuffed squirrel!”
Drawing his considerable nose into contact with Dreyfuss’s not inconsiderable schnoz.
Dreyfuss: “Got it.”
His vapor trail covered the two elegant hallways I’d traversed to get to the bullpen.
Zeifman didn’t acknowledge me. Of course, the room continued to shuck and jibe with the rhythm of a Cab Calloway swing number, but didn’t distract him. He turned and took his seat at a desk just one size too small for his frame while behind him a dark-haired young man wired on Dexedrine was discussing either nuclear disarmament or problems with a delivery. Hard to tell which. To Richie’s left sat a brunette who needed a cigarette or a Rolfing or both.
Richie (not lifting his head from the legal pad): “You’re the PA?”
Me: “What? Yes.”
I said this, cleverly covering any hesitation, thinking that the same sort of delay could get me into an intense conversation about stuffed squirrels.
Richie swiveled his chair in my direction. I approached. He handed me a piece of paper with Egyptian hieroglyphics on it. I looked it over with as much scrutiny as I could, given that I’d been on zero archaeological digs, but to my credit, I’d watched the classroom scene in Indiana Jones and the original Mummy with Boris Karloff.
Richie snapped the paper back.
Richie: “Sorry. Wrong list.”
Me: “Thank goodness.”
Richie: “How’s that?”
Me: “I—”
Richie: “Sit down. You have a pen and paper?”
Me: “Of course. During my internship—”
Richie: “Write this down.”
Richie added some more hieroglyphics to another list, and without looking up from his desk, explained the chronology of my day from the time I walked out of 12½ East 82nd Street to the next morning when I would arrive on set with all the items I had to retrieve. Here’s just a sampling of what I stowed into a cargo van that resembled a rolling Tetris game by the time I finished:
- Four “Big Wheels”
- A four-by-eight-foot piece of fluted glass (Google it)
- A four-by-eight-foot piece of milk plexi (not white, mind you)
- A fire hydrant
- A Barca-Lounger
- Eight Sonotubes (Google it)
- Two children’s bicycles
- A park bench
- A stuffed squirrel (Just joking)
However, the best awaited me when I returned to Levinson just before the close of business. I strolled in. Miss Netherlands, dressed to kill, passed me on the way out to her date with her heartbreakingly handsome boyfriend/soccer star/international attorney. She blew me a kiss.
I swear.
TOMORROW: PART 2. DON'T MISS IT!
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