It was a kind of a nothing day until word seeped down through our groupvine, that Jan and Dean (Jan Berry and Dean Torrance) by Baby Talk and White Tennis Sneakers would be coming by for a cover shot. Then there developed a kind of boogie tension, everybody sneaking peeks out the window down Pacific Coast highway.
These guys (19 each and both from Unihi) came on like missile trajectory, so you couldn’t say they arrived. One minute there was just space out front of the Movie Teen office and the next minute they were filling it . . . every molecule of it. They’re like turbines. They manufacture energy.
There were four of us gals on tap to meet them and Jan and Dean can make it seem they are
devoting themselves to each of you, no matter how many there are.
Dean wore a pair of jean that looked as if he’d been caught in a melon patch and the shotgun had
found its mark this with a bright red Ivy League shirt. Jan’s trousers were black and whit check and
his shirt was varicolored coin print Ivy League.
Even their white T-bird was Ivy League – had a bolt in the back . . . Jan’s jape, not mine. The top
was down, but I happen to know that when it’s up it’s covered with lipstick prints and fans’ names
and phone numbers. Dean says it beats keeping pad and pen handy.
Dean made himself right at home at one of the MTI typewriters, and got off a poor first line of White
Tennis Sneakers -- “Dip, ditty, Bom” and no more because he couldn’t spell the next bopperism.
Then Dean saw Jan grab a phone, so he took the cue and grabbed another. With Denice, our gal
with the tape recorded, trying to interview them, they went into a routine that had her merely slack
jawed and boggle-eyed.
“Sir, Ah, sir, you have a banana in your ear,” said Dean into the receiver.
“What?” asked Jan on the other end of the line.
“I said, ‘You’ve got a banana in your ear!’” cried Dean.
“What?” said Jan?
“YOU’VE GOT A BANAN IN YOUR EAR!” yelled Dean.
“I can’t hear you, son, I’ve got a banana in my ear,” replied Jan.
The gals merely howled. Jan put down his phone, but Dean began taking his happily apart. Off came the mouthpiece cover and soon he had parts spread all over Denice’s desk.
Lifting what was left of the cradle, he deadpanned, “Ah, so you are surprised I speak your language. You see, I was educated in the telephone company.”
He put it back together then and it worked. The dial tone came out the wrong end, but it WORKED.
Denice and I managed to corral them for a second to get the straight dope about a style change they plan. Like so many rock stars, they plan a few moody ballads.
Publisher Pete Martin showed up then to flush them outside for an action sequence and he got it. Faking a fight, Jan figured a way to seem to float through the air on the end of a haymaker from Dean. Dean threw the right, Jan vaulted off an outside water spigot and the whole works crumbled under his weight. Water spewed all over the place.
Drenched, Dean tried the Dutch-boy bit, but just got a wet thumb. Jan grabbed a broomstick a jousted with the pipe, but he couldn’t get the “lance” into the right spot for a cork and they both got drenched.
Then Pete shuffled them into his clunker and whisked them up to the hilltop at La Costa for the now-historic cover shot (See this issue’s cover).
Back at the office, it figured these dynamos would finally succumb to hunger, so Audrey went out for pizzas all the way. Dean tried his on our office gramophone, but an anchovy got stuck on the needle.
Our four gals now were somehow 14, the way the word gets around, and the zany pair had a big time writing little four-line funnies for each in place of the tired, old autographs.
They’re tireless and it could have gone on forever and if it had, the whole of Malibu and maybe San Berdoo would have converged on the MTI office, but there was a Jenna wine phone call then and Audrey took it on one of the right-side-to phones. It was Jan and Dean’s agent reminding them of a club-singing session.
They were off then on a T-bird that seemed to have wings, saving and mugging it to the bitter end.
A deadly, but contented silence fell over the MTI office then and Denice, still somewhat in a fog, was seen and heard vowing on her latest copy of Editor and Publisher to catch those two on the rebound some time and get a real interview.
. . . .