There are two great stories about Danny Simon, the veteran comedy writer who just passed away. Well, actually, there are probably a lot more than two. Danny was a major force on TV variety shows of the fifties and sixties, and I even worked on one with him in the late seventies. He was also a director and a teacher of comedy writing, and the inspiration for the Felix Unger character in The Odd Couple, and a frantic, little man who was always hustling and selling. So there are probably a lot more than two, but I always loved these…
Danny Simon Story #1: Danny is going to visit his mother. This is some time in the sixties after another of the Simon kids has made a pretty big name for himself on Broadway. Danny walks in and finds his mother entertaining some of her friends. His mother says, "Girls…I want you to meet Neil's brother."
Danny Simon Story #2: Danny is working on some TV show. This is also some time in the sixties, long after he and Neil are no longer working as a team. The producer of the show decides to fire Danny, telling him his work is no good. Danny protests the decision, arguing that his work is very good. He says, "I'm the funniest writer in the business." The producer looks at him and says, "You aren't even the funniest writer in your family."
You might be interested to know where I heard those stories. I heard them from Danny. I'm sure he didn't like being the butt of a joke but he had a great appreciation for a funny story. Early in my career, I worked for him for a few days before he got fired as Head Writer and his replacement made a clean sweep of the staff, ousting me. I found him intractable, dominating and intent on lecturing everyone about the way to do things, which in his case meant only the way they'd done things in the fifties. Still, I liked him very much. He liked the fact that I'd seen and loved a then-recent production he'd directed of Plaza Suite starring Carol Burnett and George Kennedy, and that I'd noted how many gags he'd added with his staging. He also liked that I'd read and enjoyed a little-known play of his called The Convertible Girl, and he gave me a Xerox copy of an early draft so I could see how diligently he had tweaked and refined every line in it over the course of several "tryout" productions.
Danny was said to be the master of the evolving pitch. That's when you try to sell someone on a storyline or idea and, based on a lack of approving recognition, you start modifying the idea on-the-fly. It goes something like this: "So this is a western…well, it's not really a western. It's set on the west coast…or I guess it could be set on the east coast if you prefer. Anyway, the hero is six feet tall…but of course, he could be five feet tall…he could even be a woman…" The idea is that you keep changing until the buyer smiles at something. I even saw Danny do this once at lunch, trying to come up with an order that the waitress would think was a good choice. He went from a corned beef sandwich to a Chinese chicken salad in about 80 seconds.
He knew comedy. He taught comedy. For years, all the local trade journals carried ads for his workshops, with quotes from Woody Allen and brother Neil attesting to Danny's ability to instill great comedy writing talent in anyone. I never took his classes but I knew people who did and they found them valuable, if only for the anecdotes. Danny had worked with everyone. I think the main reason he got fired off that show we worked on was that some of us were too appreciative an audience for his stories so he entertained us instead of putting that energy into the script.
I suspect that, now that he doesn't have to worry about upsetting Danny, Neil is going to pull some half-finished play out of a drawer and finish it. Danny turns up in many of Neil's plays, not just as Felix but as every older brother, starting with Come Blow Your Horn, which was Neil's first. But I'm sure there were aspects of Danny that were too sensitive and perhaps too painful to address. It can't be easy to mentor your little brother and watch him pass you to become the most successful playwright of the century. No one ever lost a bout of sibling rivalry so decisively but with such good humor.