A while ago, but not so long that I can put this story anyplace else and have it make as much sense, my brother, Jerry, had a problem with his kidneys and needed a transplant. While he was on the waiting list, I changed my will to say that he could have mine if I happened to die before he received one. I thought that was pretty considerate, big brotherly, and reflective of the type of person I try to be, and so did he.
In fact, Jerry called me every single day. What a guy, right? Then, as soon as I answered the phone, he said, “Oh, you’re still alive.”
Yes—and alive I remain. While I have reached that point in life where, like it or not, I am circling the drain, I am happy to report that I am still with all my wits and faculties, still working, still getting calls, and counting my blessings for all of the above. As such, it seems like a good time to finally jot down some of my life’s more important stories, and some of the lesser ones, too.
I have endeavored to write the kind of book I think people want from me. It’s also the kind of book that I want from me. It covers my sixty-plus years in show business, including my starring roles in The Dick Van Dyke Show and Mary Poppins, two projects that have withstood the test of time and will, I am proud to say, likely go on entertaining future generations. I also write about my family, my personal struggles, and a few lessons I may have learned.
As you will discover in the following pages, I never planned any of it. The only career strategy I had was in the early days when my goal was simply to feed my family and keep a roof over their heads. I went where the jobs were, anywhere the wind blew, as I like to say, and most of the time things worked out.
I attribute a lot of it to luck—to being the right person in the right place at the right time.
But a word of warning about this book: If you are looking for dirt, stop reading now. I have had some tough times and battled a few demons, but there is nothing salacious here. I may be a Hollywood anachronism in that way (and possibly in a few other ways). I have tried to write an honest story, with lightness, insight, hope, and some laughs. I have also woven in bits of wisdom, opinion, and lessons learned, like this, my favorite: You can spread jelly on the peanut butter but you can’t spread peanut butter on the jelly.
Michelle always liked that one. It made her laugh.
“What does that mean?” she would ask.
“I don’t know,” I would say. “But it makes a whole lot of sense.”
Michelle Triola was my beloved companion of thirty-five years. I always expected her to be looking over my shoulder if and when I wrote this book, reminding me of stories that I might have forgotten. Sadly, she succumbed to cancer shortly after I started this memoir. But in her battle, as in every other aspect of her life, she reminded me of the qualities that go into living a good, full, and meaningful life. Even though she hasn’t been here with me, I have still employed her in this effort as my muse, asking many times throughout the process, “Honey, what do you think of this one?”
And it was with her rich, hearty laugh in mind that I decided to start this book with the one true scandal in my life.