From PEOPLE Magazine
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That was barely a challenge for the collaborative whimsy of Carol Burnett and husband Joe Hamilton, the executive producer of her CBS series, the longest-running variety show now on TV. They cutely glommed on to the idea of a black-tie, engraved-invitation garage sale, all proceeds to go to the Salk Institute for cancer research. Some 200 of their best-heeled friends were on the list, and more than half showed, including the Alan Aldas, designer Bob Mackie, Roddy McDowall and Dr. Jonas Salk himself. By the evening of the event, Carol, Joe and their three kids had already moved out of the old house, which before them belonged to Betty Grable and Harry James (and which, alas, is still on the market—for $795,000).
It was a garage sale in name only. The goodies actually were on exhibit in the 14 rooms of the house before being auctioned off on the lawn. But as it turned out, the hosts had lost their key to the front gate, and everyone, in fact, had to slip in through the garage. They were greeted by Carol, who gaily admitted to one group of prospectors, "Isn't this a lot of crap?"
A Hollywood columnist observed, "I've been in the house before. They've taken everything out and imported all of this." In truth, only one object, a pool table, was a ringer. The rest, for better or worse, was Hamiltonia. A supercritical guest dined around on the line "This makes W. & J. Sloane look like Versailles." In almost every room there were hors d'oeuvres, which included meatballs, mounds of chicken liver, tiny chicken thighs in barbecue sauce, cheeses, plus crudités which were to be dipped into that perennial favorite dip of brides: Lipton's onion soup and sour cream.
Almost on schedule, the guests were seated on white chairs beside the swimming pool. Dr. Salk and executives of his institute were introduced and gave the hosts a silver bowl inscribed "To Carol Burnett and Joe Hamilton with deep gratitude for your efforts on behalf of cancer research." Then professional auctioneer Bob Abel knocked down a garden furniture set to Hal Linden for $800. A banjo-shaped barometer went for $40, a painting by Xavier Cugat brought $225, and one of Carol's writers popped $90 for an ice bucket on rollers. "Boy, are you a patsy," she cracked.
Abel was spelled periodically by guest auctioneers. "A lot of these things," remarked one of them, Tim Conway, "are Christmas presents that we all gave to Carol and Joe. But since those were things once given to us, it evens out." It fell to Phyllis Diller to put on the block an impractical silver Gucci goblet which, once filled, could not be set down without spilling. "This belongs to a man who really drank," she said. "We've all seen bloodshot eyes, but he had scales."
The line seemed a little insensitive since both parents of hostess Burnett were alcoholics and died at 46. Carol, born 43 years ago in San Antonio, was shipped off at 8 to live with her grandmother in a somewhat different section of L.A. than her two latest pads. In those days she shared not 14 rooms but one, slept on the couch and had to hang her wardrobe, such as it was, on the shower rod.
Years before Mary Tyler Moore or Barbara Walters, Burnett became a $1 million-per headliner, but she apprenticed along the way working with ventriloquist Paul Winchell and singing I Made a Fool of Myself Over John Foster Dulles on Jack Paar's show before arriving as a regular with Garry Moore. En route, a five-year marriage to a former UCLA classmate went flooey, and she wound up with Hamilton, Moore's executive producer. Joe had also been married and was the father of eight—circumstances which did not win them the most favorable press.
Ten seasons ago, Carol launched what Mel Brooks called "the best variety show since Your Show of Shows." It was an affecting tribute even if Mel had been one of the writers of that breakthrough Caesar-Coca series. Any driven career tendencies Burnett might have had were resolved with three daughters 8 to 12—to whom she is a gloriously relaxed mother—and yoga.
There is a room in the new house designed for twice-weekly yoga classes. Drop-ins include Lucy Ball and, when in town, Maggie Smith, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. Hamilton coaxed Carol into trying golf at his Bel-Air Country Club, but that experiment lasted one round. "They wouldn't let me downstairs with the men," Burnett reports. "I had to eat upstairs all by myself. I said, 'Goodbye.' "
Carol has no trouble kissing off what she senses is wrong for her or the family. And she brooks no guilt hang-ups. "I grew up poor," she says. "I feel fortunate to have what I do." She has passed up TV commercial deals in the seven figures, and hasn't exactly frothed to get into movies (her last: a bit she wouldn't allow to be overbilled in The Front Page). As to the artifacts she is now able to auction off for charity, Carol allows, "It's nice to have things, and I'm very grateful my kids don't have to worry. That's what it's all about."
