He looked at me for a long time. “We’ll see.”
Hurdle number one.
Hurdle number two: A memo from a vice president of NBC:
I have discussed your pilot script with several of my creative staff. We all agree that this is not going to work. It is a one-joke show, which means that it will be short-lived.
I was beginning to wonder why the network had bought the show in the first place. I sent my reply:
You are quite right. Jeannie is a one-joke show, and that’s exactly why it’s going to work. I Love Lucy is a one-joke show. The Beverly Hillbillies is a one-joke show. The Honeymooners is a one-joke show. The trick with all these shows is to entertainingly vary the joke each week. We all hope that Jeannie will last as long as I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, and The Beverly Hillbillies.
I heard no more about it.
It was time to start casting. I found this to be the hardest part of being a producer. It was difficult for me to say no to an actor who came in to read for a part. They all felt that every audition was going to be the breakthrough they deserved. They had had a sleepless night, arisen early in the morning, bathed, dressed carefully, and tried to be optimistic.
I’m going to get the part.
I’m going to get the part.
I’m going to get the part.
And they walked into the audition with clammy hands and bright, fake smiles.
Casting the part of Jeannie was going to be of primary importance because our genie had to be seductive without being blatantly sexy, and likable with a sense of whimsy. We were fortunate because the first and last person we auditioned for the part was Barbara Eden. She was perfect.
She had a warm and naive quality that would appeal to an audience, along with a wonderful comedic sense. Barbara was married to Michael Ansara, an actor.
The next bit of casting was for the part of Anthony Nelson, her astronaut master. We tested half a dozen actors before Larry Hagman came up for the role. Hagman, the son of Broadway star Mary Martin, had been doing a soap opera, The Edge of Night, in New York and had not yet established himself. His screen test was brilliant and we immediately signed him.
We needed a confidant for him and we auditioned dozens of actors. I chose a hyper nightclub comic named Bill Daily who had never acted in television or films.
We had long discussions about directors. Norman Jewison, who later directed the hit movie The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming, read my script. He sent his agent into Screen Gems to make a deal, but when the agent insisted that Jewison get a percentage of the show, we had to start looking for another director.
Gene Nelson, who had starred in musical pictures at Warner Brothers and had directed The Andy Griffith Show and other television programs, came in to see me. We spent an hour talking about the show and I felt that he was right for it. He was hired.
Nineteen sixty-five was the year that every show on television changed from black and white to color. Every show, that is, except I Dream of Jeannie. I asked Jerry Hyams why Jeannie was not going to be shot in color.
“Because each show would cost an additional four hundred dollars.”
“Jerry, this show has to be in color. I’ll pay the difference out of my own pocket.”
He looked at me and said, “Sidney, don’t throw your money away.”
What he was really saying was that no one expected Jeannie to go into a second year.
In 1965, while the studio was getting the Jeannie pilot ready to go, I returned to New York for a few days to see how things were going on Patty Duke, which was ending its second season.
John and Ethel were determined not to let anything separate them from their windfall. Whenever The Patty Duke Show was on hiatus, they took Patty along on their vacations. They arranged it so that Patty would never have an opportunity to meet a young man. When Patty was invited to a social or charity event, they went along to keep an eye on her. She was virtually a prisoner.