The Other Side of Me

Larry became more and more miserable, and it was upsetting everyone on the set. Barbara was very patient with him. I finally had another talk with Larry.

"Larry, do you like this show?"

"Sure."

"But you're not happy doing it?"

"No."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "I don't know."

"Sure you do. You want to be in a show where you're the star."

"I guess so."

"You're a very important part of this show, Larry. But if you want to stay in it, you have to take the pressure off yourself. I think you should see a psychiatrist. And I wouldn't wait."

He nodded. "You're right. I will."

A short while later, he told me he had made regular appointments to see a psychologist. It helped to a degree, but the tension was still there.

Chapter 32

At the start of the second season, Jeannie went to color. I was hiring other writers to help me carry some of the load, but I was dissatisfied with many of the scripts they turned in. A lot of writers believed the best approach was to pile fantasy on fantasy. They wanted Barbara to meet a Martian or some other fantasy character. I felt that the success of the show depended on a bedrock of reality: the incongruity of putting Jeannie in ordinary, everyday situations.

As an example, I wrote a script with the following premise: Tony was away at work, and a man from the IRS came to his house and was greeted by Jeannie. To impress her visitor, Jeannie blinked in wall-to-wall genuine Rembrandts, Picassos, Monets, and Renoirs.

"See," she told a stunned tax investigator, "my master is very rich."

Tony had to get out of it.

In another sequence, Tony was having Dr. Bellows over for dinner. Jeannie thought the house was too small, so she blinked in an enormous ballroom, an ornate dining room, a huge garden, and a large swimming pool. Tony has to explain the transformation to Dr. Bellows.

From February 1966 to April of the following year, I wrote thirty-eight consecutive scripts under my own name. In Hollywood, screen credits are the criteria by which a writer exists. Everyone fights to get a credit because that leads to the next job. I had a problem. I felt that I was getting too many credits. My screen credits on Jeannie read: "A Sidney Sheldon Production . . . Created by Sidney Sheldon . . . Produced by Sidney Sheldon . . . Written by Sidney Sheldon . . . Copyright by Sidney Sheldon." It felt to me like an ego trip. I called the Writers Guild and told them I was going to start writing for the show under three different pseudonyms: Christopher Golato, Allan Devon, and Mark Rowane. From then on, my doppelgangers wrote many of the scripts, and I had one fewer credit.

After the first year of Jeannie, Gene Nelson had other offers and decided to leave the show. I knew I was going to miss him. I used a variety of directors, most often Claudio Guzman and Hal Cooper.

And the show went on.

Sammy Davis, Jr., was over at our house one night for dinner.

"Sammy, have you ever watched I Dream of Jeannie?"

"All the time. I love it."

"Would you be interested in doing an episode?"

"I'm in," he said. "Call my agent."

The next morning, I called his agent. "Sammy wants to do I Dream of Jeannie," I said. "Can we set it up?"

"Sure. How much are you paying?"

"A thousand dollars. That's all we pay our guest stars."

I heard a snort. "You must be kidding. Sammy tips his manicurist that much. Forget it."

"Call Sammy."

One hour later, the phone rang. "When do you want him?"

Sammy did the show and was wonderful.

We also used Michael Ansara, Barbara's husband, in the show as the Blue Djinn.

Groucho Marx called me. "It's too bad you don't have an eye for talent. I know a guy who would be great for the show. He's young and handsome and brilliant."

"Who did you have in mind, Groucho?" I asked.

"Who else? Me."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

A week later I wrote an episode for Groucho called "The Greatest Invention in the World." As usual, he was dazzling.

One night, when Mary was in a play at school, Jorja and I were going to see her. I asked Groucho if he would like to come with us, and to my surprise, he said yes.

After the show, Mary had some of her classmates back to our house. They were fascinated by Groucho. One of my fondest memories is of Groucho Marx sitting in a chair in our den, with the boys and girls sitting in a circle on the floor, listening to him talk to them about show business.

The first year of Jeannie had been very successful and the merchandising was tremendous. There were Jeannie dolls and Jeannie bottles. Jeannie even had her own magazine, The Blink. The fan mail was enormous, but nearly all of it went to Barbara Eden. Larry could barely conceal his anger.

Jeannie was going fairly smoothly, but I was constantly putting out fires. Meanwhile, there were big emotional problems on the set of The Patty Duke Show. Patty had reached the point where she refused to let the Rosses control her. There was constant friction among the three of them.

One evening, they had a heated argument and Patty moved out of the house and found an apartment. Harry Falk flew to California and he and Patty were married. That was the end of the Rosses' power over Patty.

But on the set, the conflicts continued, and it finally got so bad that at the end of the year, even though the ratings were satisfactory, the network decided to cancel the show.

In 1967, during the second season of Jeannie, I was nominated for an Emmy. At the awards ceremony, I met Charles Schulz, who was also nominated for writing Charlie Brown. I was a big fan of his and his friend, Charlie Brown. Charles and I started talking, and he turned out to be a warm and wonderful pixie. He said that he was a fan of Jeannie.