I say, “Wait a minute.”

Martin yells, “Don’t open your mouth. Take camera two.”

The controller switches live to camera 2 which is still relaxed and aiming at the control room. If you see the kinescope of that show today, you’ll see a close-up of me in the booth mouthing the words, “Oh, shit.”

Martin sees me on the live monitor and starts screaming, “Take anything. Save me. Save me.” He stands up and throws-up on me, my script and the control panel.

I yell to my assistant, an ex-prizefighter, “Get this bastard out of here.” He throws a right hook to Martin's jaw, knocks him out and drags him out of the control room.

I take over calling the shots on the fly and we get through the show. It was sloppy, but not a disaster.

I run from the control room to the producer’s office and yell, “I’ve had it. I don’t need a director screaming and throwing up on me. I could direct better than that son-of-a-bitch.”

“Then why don’t you?”

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