ShowBiz to Sunday School


By Sharon Leann Wyatt aka Sharon Leigh



There were about 15 of us; Judy Stoner and Jerry Hathaway were among this harmonious group. There must’ve been something in the air for I could do no wrong that night, nor could anyone else for that matter. Night work was very often not a pleasure, so to be able to make it fun was always welcomed by all. When a truckload of dummies pulled up. We all had comments to make about them being our replacements because they were much more serious than any of us were that infamous Friday night.

Over the bullhorn the second director called out for all of us to get into our places. As it turned out since there were 15 of us, one of us would be left without an escort, I would be walking alone. But that truckload of dummies was parked just around the corner, and I mused that the studio had provided this illustrious mass of masculinity just for me. Everyone laughed, but I doubt they expected me to do anything about it. I proceeded over to the truck and picked my “date.” He was a charmer, tall dark and definitely the most handsome and well behaved of the group. He was no Phi Beta Kappa, but he was nattily dressed. Everyone got into their places, then we were told to relax for a few minutes.

Apparently someone’s makeup was in need of a touch up. Certainly not back where we were. They had our area very dimly lit. Everyone wandered back to the benches that were always provided for extra talent.   There were also a number of chairs, and when they all came back they found me with my gentleman friend, Guy Cavalier, sitting in our respective chairs, holding hands. Oh, we made a handsome couple, everyone was totally amused at the sight of Sharon Leigh and her consort, Poopsey Whoopsey. It was at this point in time that I told my coworkers of our intentions and plans for the future. I was working “Guy” like a large puppet. It was just a riot, I wish I could have looked on. The dummies hand landed on my lap, and I slapped his face. His head hung there like a dead herring, and the calamity continued. Again we heard the voice over the bullhorn telling us to get back to our places, this time I was not alone, I managed to make “Guy” walk to some degree, when we heard “background action.” Guy and I went along with the crowd. We were only about halfway across the street when we heard the director yell out, “Cut.” “Who the hell’s the drunk with Sharon Leigh?” His remark sent us all into hysterics, and we all duly returned to our respective places to do it again. I did feel bad that I had spoiled the shot, but my peers consoled me, and soon my remorse was replaced with the feeling of camaraderie and the humor of it all.



There is no possible way to recount each and every day as an extra, heaven forbid! And it is fortunate that I cannot, for truly this book would have to be written in several volumes. For just about all the work that is done has a story behind it. So, at this point, I will leap ahead pass the holidays, as Christmas time of 65 found my mother in the hospital, and I was not able to follow up Bob Hope’s offer to perform in his USO show that season. (Mother’s illness was ongoing for several months before she was finally hospitalized with muscle spasms).

I do look back to that time with some nostalgic regret, as I would have loved to have been on tour with Mr. Hope, and his illustrious show. In retrospect I can see that had I been gone, and mother then in the hospital, it would have been such a worry, and she did need me to care for her when she was released from St. Joseph’s.            (Continued next month)






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