Solow checked in with the producers of the other two studio owned series -- The Lucy Show and Mission: Impossible -- to get their approval. D’Agosta recalled, “I’d worked for Bruce [Geller] on Rawhide, and he said, ‘There’s nobody else.’ But my main interview was with Gary Morton [Mister Lucille Ball], because Lucy had to approve me. And she sat in the corner, sort of in the dark, while Gary interviewed me and she observed from an observation point. And, at one point, she said, ‘Here’s all I want to know -- Lucy is...’ -- she talked about herself in the third person -- ‘... a big-boned person and needs strong men to make her look feminine.’ And I said, ‘Well, that’s cool; I could do that.’ Then I said, ‘Can I ask you a question? How do you feel about women or girls that are prettier than you?’ She hesitated, then looked at me and said, ‘Bring ‘em on. I’ll eat ‘em alive.’ And I got the job.” (43-4)
Since D’Agosta would be hiring actors for three series, he was able to offer multiple appearance deals, which kept costs down. He said, “The only rate you’re locked into is scale. And most actors that you hire are ‘working actors,’ so they’re getting more than scale. So I came up with a two or three picture contract -- or understanding -- with the actors. I’d make a deal and say, ‘Okay, instead of paying $1,500, I’ll give you $1,000 [per appearance] and guarantee two or three shows. And, as long as I was above scale, I could make any kind of deal I wanted.” (43-4)
Dorothy Fontana remained as Roddenberry’s secretary. She would also write scripts. No one knew it yet but Star Trek had found one of its guiding lights.
Dorothy Catherine Fontana grew up outside of Paterson, New Jersey. Her house was on an acre of land, where her father built a brooder coop and a small one-level building for the raising of chickens and rabbits during the hard New Jersey winters. Fontana said, “Our neighbors raised chickens, ducks, donkeys, etc., but it was (then) a typical suburban town – just a tad more rural than city.” (64-4b)
Fontana spent her time reading from a very early age, and wanting to write. She said, “As I got older, when I was in the seventh and eighth grades, I was writing stories that were adventures with scary elements that featured all my friends and me.” (64-2)
After college, Fontana went job hunting and spotted an ad for the New York offices of Screen Gems. The company’s president, Ralph Cohn, nephew of Columbia Pictures’ Harry Cohn, was looking for a secretary. Fontana was persistent in calling until she was finally granted an interview. Cohn, impressed by Fontana’s skills as well as her spunk, put her to work. Fontana remembered, “The first time a television script crossed my desk, I said, ‘I can do this.’ That’s when I got really interested in writing for television.” (64-2)
D.C. Fontana, circa 1960s (Courtesy of Dorothy Fontana)
Once Fontana realized that the main suppliers of programming for TV were relocating to Los Angeles, she also decided to make the move. Landing in LA in 1959, she learned that Revue Studios, the maker of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Wagon Train and Leave It to Beaver, needed typists. It was a nowhere job for most but, once inside the studio system, Fontana kept a watchful eye on the job postings. One was for a western called Overland Trail. The producer needed a secretary, and that brought Fontana to Samuel Peeples. He became more than a boss; he was also a mentor.
Peeples knew Fontana wanted to write. When she showed him a treatment she had written for Overland Trail, he agreed to give it a read. She later said, “He didn’t like the first story I turned in. But he did tell me to keep trying.” (64-2)
Peeples’ next series, The Tall Man, was a western based on the relationship and adventures of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. Fontana was still Peeples’ secretary by day and writing treatments by night. The next story she handed to her boss made the grade. Peeples bought the story, but then handed it off to a seasoned TV writer to flesh out into a teleplay. Fontana was given a few hundred dollars -- the going price then for providing the storyline for a half-hour episode -- and a “story by” credit. It was a start.
A short time later, Fontana tried again, and again was given only the money and credit for contributing a story to the series; someone else got the bigger paycheck and the bigger acknowledgment that came with writing the script. When Fontana turned in a third treatment that Peeples liked, she hesitated in accepting the standard deal. She told him, “I seem to know the show now, why not let me have a shot at a script?” (64-2)
Peeples liked Fontana’s confidence and told her to start writing. That first script was credited to Dorothy C. Fontana. Peeples had no qualms about associating a woman writer with his shoot-’em-up series, but others would.
“I was being turned down for interviews,” she recalled. “They were saying, ‘Oh, well, I don’t think a woman can write this show.’ And it would be a western. And I’d say, ‘But I’ve got six credits on westerns. Why don’t you think I can write this?’” (64-2)
The answer was always the same: writers for television came with first names like Gene, Sam, and Rod -- not Dorothy. And so the pen name of D.C. Fontana was born.
With the pseudonym now on the title page, Fontana was able to sell a spec script entitled “Did Your Mother Come from Ireland, Ben Casey?” to Ben Casey. It was her first hour-long teleplay -- a character-driven story which blended comedy and drama, much like some of her best future work on Star Trek.
Also new to the Star Trek team was John D.F. Black, hired to serve as a second associate producer. Justman, the other associate producer, was in charge of production. Black would focus on scripts.
John Black grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the late 1930s. He recalled, “I got my first taste of show business at three years old when someone pushed me up on stage at the Charm House -- a nightclub in Pittsburgh -- and had me sing ‘The Music Goes Round and Round,’ all the way through! The audience threw money but I didn’t have an appreciation for what it was. I just knew they were throwing something at me and I didn’t like it. So I threw it back.” (17)
Black hadn’t found his calling yet. That would come later.
“I lived next door to Bob Gerstrich, who wrote for The Fat Man radio series [1945-1951; Dashiell Hammett’s follow-up to The Thin Man series]. I used to love the The Fat Man. I’d been listening for a couple years and, when I was in the third or fourth grade, I finally couldn’t stand it anymore -- I couldn’t resist the temptation -- and I said, ‘If I write something down will you read it,’ and he said, ‘Sure.’ So I wrote it on a yellow pad; he read it, and he loved it. He said, ‘You’re a writer.’ And he said, ‘Here’s five dollars.’ I got five bucks for ten storylines! That was a lot of money back then for someone that age [about $60 in 2013], so, as far as I was concerned, that made me a professional.” (17)
Now a professional name was needed. John D. Black’s signature came next.
Black had been born and raised Catholic, and baptized John Donald. In his early teens, while going through Confirmation, he chose his second middle name – Francis. When asked about the double middle initials, he would usually just say, “The D.F. really stands for ‘Damn Fool.’” (17)
While Black was in high school there was an opening on a radio program called The Sponsor Show with The Carnegie Library System out of Pittsburgh. Black recalled, “I went in as a kid actor from high school. And they said, ‘Oh no, we need a writer. Can you write?’ And I said, ‘Sure. I’ve written Fat Man.’ So I wrote maybe five or six shows for the Carnegie Library. And then they made me a director, and then they made me a producer. So that’s where it began.” (17)
After completing a hitch in the Army, as a Military Policeman, Black surrendered to his call of pursuing a career as a writer and moved to California. He said, “I was working for The Los Angeles Times selling classified ads and I got a call to go see a film producer named Boris Petroff. I went to see him and asked, ‘What kind of an ad would you like?’ He said, ‘I want an ad for a writer.’ And I said, ‘You can save yourself a lot of money and hire me. I’m a writer.’ So we talked story and conce
pt and all of that for a little while and I ended up doing a picture for him called The Unearthly, starring John Carradine.” (17)
It was hardly a prestigious start. Variety’s review of The Unearthly for its July 3, 1957 issue, read:
The mad doctor bit again. There’s nothing to recommend this one beyond its cheapness. Fodder for a very unsophisticated audience.
However, what The Unearthly got in bad reviews was made up for at the box office, as part of a “hook in the kids” double feature with the sci-fi film Beginning of the End. A full page ad in the June 26 issue of Variety boasted:
IT’S JUST BEGINNING! BEST SCIENCE-FICTION OPENING OF ALL TIME! BEST OPENING OF YEAR OF ALL PICTURES!
John D.F. Black, in his home office – a two-car garage (Courtesy of Mary Black)
With a hit picture on his resume, Black soon found work in television, often writing for Lawman, Mr. Novak and Laredo, as well as occasional scripts for The Virginian, The Fugitive and The Untouchables. In 1962, the industry was abuzz for “Survival,” a gripping episode Black wrote for Combat! Viewers and critics alike were stunned by the dark, graphic story where Sgt. Chip Saunders (Vic Morrow), with severely burned hands and in shock, tries to evade German patrols and find his way back to the American lines. Daily Variety called it “a shocker... a taut, stirring drama... clutching in its suspense and projecting the nobility of raw courage against overwhelming odds.” The Washington Post said, “We will be hearing more about Vic Morrow and ‘Survival’ when Emmy nominations roll around.” While Black missed his Emmy nod for this teleplay, the edgy material helped Morrow win his well-deserved nomination as Best Actor in a series.
Mary Stilwell, the future Mrs. John Black (Courtesy of Mary Black)
Gene Roddenberry met John D.F. on March 24, 1966 at a Writers Guild award show where the latter had just won for a Mr. Novak script. Black said, “I wasn’t into science fiction. If I hadn’t won the Writers Guild award that year, I wouldn’t have been invited to his house after the awards for a drink. So we went. I had my father and my mother with me, and an actor friend, Jimmy Goodman [later to be cast in Star Trek as Lt. Farrell in three episodes]. And Harlan [Ellison] was there; he was invited also.” (17)
Mary Stilwell, later to be Mary Black, John D.F.’s constant companion, was there, too. She remembered, “Harlan did most of the talking. He and John had just won, and everyone was just absolutely floating. It was like we were drunk without drinking, although we did drink a bit. Gene had a bar in his home and we seemed to spend a good part of the night around that. And Gene and his wife were terrific hosts. They were extremely pleasant, but nothing was said about John coming to work on Star Trek, other than maybe doing a script assignment. And Harlan had an assignment on the show as well.” (17a)
“No writers were there other than Harlan and me,” John D.F. said. “Then, a couple days later, my agent called, Roddenberry had made an offer for me to work on Star Trek. When I talked to Roddenberry, he told me he had had a problem with The Lieutenant, and the problem was that he rewrote some things and the writers didn’t like him. The writers liked me, and he wanted me on his show, as Executive Story Consultant and Associate Producer.”
Mary Black added, “He also stated, with John in that job he’d be able to direct the writers so that a lot of rewriting wouldn’t really be necessary. It was sort of a dream thing at that time; it was going to be this wonderful series where writers actually wrote.” (17a)
John Black was allowed to pick his own secretary and he wanted Mary by his side. She said, “I had been in the Media Department at Foote, Cone and Belding [ad agency], so I typed well, but I never thought of myself as a secretary. I had done research, critiquing, public relations, trying to figure out how to get Variety to notice something, just a general mishmash of what needed to be done. But that was part of what a wonderful place it was; Roddenberry said, ‘Sure, anything you want,’ … other than the private bathroom.” (17a)
Robert Justman had the private bath. John D.F. Black said, with a smile, “The reason why Bob Justman had the private bathroom is because he got there first. And that’s the only reason.” (17)
Irving Feinberg (on right) in his Star Trek workshop, 1968 (Inside Star Trek, issue 4)
Several others joined the series at this time.
Greg Peters, after working in an unofficial capacity as assistant director on “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” was instated as the full-time A.D. He had performed this job well on the 1965 picture Harlow and, more recently, on The Lucy Show. His involvement freed Justman to concentrate on his demanding producing chores.
Irving Feinberg was brought in to build props. The 58-year-old was a property master at Desilu. He was now being asked to make things he had never even dreamt of. Matt Jefferies and Wah Chang designed some, but most -- especially the smaller ones -- came from Feinberg. Cast and crew would christen the props “Feinbergers.”
Jim Rugg, 46, became Star Trek’s special effects wizard. His experience came from numerous TV series and movies such as Mary Poppins. Matt Jefferies dubbed Jim Rugg’s inventions as “Ruggisms.” Among the various Ruggisms were blinking lights, flying sparks, and explosions. A few of those explosions resulted in some injuries on set, including ones involving the series’ leads.
Star Trek also needed a new cinematographer, someone able to imitate the look achieved by Ernest Heller for the second pilot. Roddenberry wanted Harry Stradling, Jr., Gunsmoke’s director of photography, but it was unlikely the busy DP would leave a secure by-the-numbers job on a hit western for a massive headache like Star Trek, which, by the way, could only guarantee five months of employment. Roddenberry nonetheless had Justman call Stradling ... and then call again ... and again. After several more attempts, the elusive cinematographer’s dad dropped by the Star Trek offices.
Father Harry Stradling, Sr., a famed feature film cameraman, had won two Academy Awards for Best Cinematography on My Fair Lady and The Picture of Dorian Gray, with 12 additional Oscar nominations in that category, including one for A Streetcar Named Desire. He told Justman that his boy was absolutely not interested. Then he suggested someone who would be.
Jerry Finnerman during first season production (Courtesy of Gerald Gurian)
Jerry Finnerman, Harry Stradling, Sr.’s godson, was 34. He had been working in TV as assistant camera operator with his father, Perry Finnerman, a director of photography at Warner Bros.. The elder Finnerman was only 56 when, while filming an episode of Maverick, suffered a heart attack. Young Jerry was assisting at the time and stood by helplessly as he watched his father die.
Harry Sr. helped get his distraught godson back to work by adding Finnerman to his crew and, in time, advancing him to the position of camera operator for My Fair Lady, followed by Cary Grant’s last movie, Walk, Don’t Run.
Finnerman later said, “The interesting thing is, in our profession, we have three basic steps.... The ‘Assistant’ [camera operator] -- he follows the focus, he threads the camera, he cleans the camera, he puts the filters in if the director of photography asks for it.... [Then] the ‘camera operator’ sits behind the camera, turns the wheels and composes the shot.... [and then] the director of photography creates the vision of the show.” (63-3)
Stradling, one such visionary, believed Finnerman had the gift as well, and expressed this to Justman. The opinion of an Oscar winning cinematographer carries weight. The opinion of an in-demand director does, too. James Goldstone, who continued to be a guiding force for Star Trek, told Justman he had seen Finnerman’s work as a member of a camera unit and was also confident the kid had the right stuff. Justman was sold.
Roddenberry’s reply to Justman: “If you want him, I want him.” (94-8)
Finnerman recalled, “So I get a call from Star Trek and am asked to come over for an interview. And I went over and I met with Gene Roddenberry and Herb Solow and Bob Justman and they said, ‘What would you do if we gave you the series?’” (63-3)
Roddenberry had explained to Finnerman how h
e would be lighting and photographing the inside of a giant space ship and the landscapes of alien worlds. The man with no prior experience as a DP loved the concept and the potential for painting with light, but he also had concerns.
“I said, ‘Well, I’d like to,’ but, in the meantime, in the back of my head, I’m saying, you know, ‘I’m only just a little bit over 30. If I don’t make it, if they fire me, I’ll have to sit for six months or a year, because I’m out of classification -- because that’s the way it was if you worked as a cinematographer for 30 days and then you dropped back. You had to stay back for a year.... And Harry was going to do Funny Girl, with William Wyler… and I wanted to very much operate on that picture. William Wyler was one of my favorite directors, and I wanted to work with [Barbra] Streisand, and, you know, I felt very good with Stradling, because operating a camera anybody can do. It’s not hard.” (63-3)
Finnerman wasn’t being offered a contract with Star Trek. He wasn’t even guaranteed more than a couple weeks’ work. What he was offered was a chance to prove himself -- with one episode -- and, depending on the picture he delivered, perhaps more week-by-week assignments spanning five months (the time it would take to film a half-season’s worth of episodes). Unable to decide, he called his mentor and boss. Stradling assured Finnerman that he would do well and convinced him to take the job. No one knew it yet but Star Trek had just hired itself an undiscovered genius -- a cinematographer who, on his very first day of work, would do something no one else had yet done in television: elevate a color TV show to the look of a feature film.
These Are The Voyages, TOS, Season One Page 20
