Folks still ask me what it was like working with Marvin Zindler.
There was a piano in Studio B, and when things were slow and Marvin had checked his stocks enough, or he’d had his daily fight with the News Manager, he’d sit down and play.
I’d listen and enjoy.
“Simon,” he said, smiling Texas-wide, twinkling eyes behind blue lenses, never missing a key, “we’re bigger whores than the ones at the Chicken Ranch. They just got themselves prettier makeup.”
You know, early in his career, he got told he was too ugly for television.
These days, nothing’s too ugly.